Assman slowly stood. He’d need to make it back home and tell Butt Boy what had happened, and locate Gassassin and stop whatever he was planning. As he stood, he felt a pressure form in his gut. He realized he had to fart, it was what came so naturally to him after all. However, to his surprise, he couldn’t!
He grunted and strained to try and alleviate the pressure, to force the powerful gas building up inside him out, but it would come. “Great Crepitus!” He exclaimed, “I-I can’t-URK!” His stomach lurched forward, ballooning and pressing out the fabric of his spandex. He clutched his gut. He’d always been fat-but now he was getting fatter?!
He groaned as he stumbled out of the alleyway, feeling the pressure building up inside of him. He tried to fart, but still nothing. He couldn’t fart at all now. This devastated Assman, however he was reminded of the long-term implications as his stomach steadily grew.
When he couldn’t release his powerful gasses, they slowly built up inside of him. He was going to inflate into a balloon and pop if he didn’t find a way to reverse this. Not only that, but the resulting backlash of the massive butt bomb building up inside him would take out Metropolis more effectively than any H-Bomb! He groaned as the pressure built in his gut, belly rounding and expanding.
“I must -urg-find Butt Boy, and find a way to reverse this!” He yelled as he ran, but the pain in his stomach prevented him from doing it for long. It continued to gurgle and stretch out from the gasses building up inside. He could hear a creak as his spandex strained to accommodate. He couldn’t fly now, and running was hard. Gassassin had taken his communicator and other gadgets. He sighed, resigned to having to use public transport and embarrass himself as he steadily grew into a fat balloon, but he’d need to do anything to keep the good citizens safe, even from himself.
At the very least, these effects weren’t unfamiliar to him. He had a good idea of who was behind all this. He’d have to tell Butt Boy when he met up with him.
-
GasEx laughed wickedly in his office, decorated with ‘ANTI-FART’ propaganda posters that had long since been rejected by the city council. Across from him sat the Gassassin, who crossed his arms. “I had my boys take care of Assman, so fork over the dough!” He growled as GasEx smiled wickedly, “Ah, but it was MY invention that did him in, of course! Why should I pay for something that I could’ve done myself?” He laughed wickedly. Gassassin was not amused. “You told me to use it you twig, do yourself a favor and don’t get on my bad side.”
GasEx’s grin turned to a scowl, “How impotent! You know Gassassin, I really hate guys like you, always polluting the air with your filthy farts! That’s why I ordered you specifically to kill Assman!” He suddenly picked up the raygun the Gassassin had used to stop Assman’s farts and aimed it at him, “So I figured, why not kill to birds with one stone? Since you like farting so much, it’ll be the last thing you ever do! AHAHAHA!” He cackled madly.
Gassassin suddenly punched him in his stupid face and took the gun away, “Word of advice, punk-“ He pointed the gun at GasEx, who he now towered over, “-Don’t screw around with a professional gas assassin.” He twisted a dial on it. “No! Stop, fool! Don’t you realize what’ll-“ GasEx was stopped as the raygun was fired at him, engulfing him in bright light.
Gassassin placed the ray in his holster, turned, and left the office, not wanting to waste anymore of his time. GasEx sat in silence, a look of horror frozen on his face, before let out a long, tumbling blast of gas. It was long, and filled the entire room with powerful stench that practically peeled the posters from the walls. He uncontrollably grinned as he relaxed and sat back in the chair, more farts erupting from his butt, which had started to grow. All of him was growing, flabbier, gassier, and though he hated it and it disgusted him, for some reason he couldn’t help but smile in relief as he let loose loud burst of foul wind. A massive fart that went on for 5 seconds… 10 seconds… 15 seconds… 25 seconds… 1 minute… 20 minutes…3 hours….
He couldn’t stop farting.
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