Free Carter Finally Gets It by Brent Crawford Page A

whisper, shut my eyes as tight as my butt, and pray she didn’t just hear that. Silence is golden, dude. I bolt down the stairs and just get around the corner when I give birth to a monster! It’s quiet, thank God. But as all Taco Bell farts are, it’s awful! “Silent but violent,” Bag would call it. It takes like thirty seconds to exit my body, and a great weight has lifted—WHEW!— I’m still watching the movie from the hallway and I’m terrified that this smell is going to fill the theater and kill everyone, but I don’t think it’s possible for a fart to travel fifty feet. I hang out in the hall for about a minute and a half, so it looks like I’m peeing and not taking a grumper. I bust a couple of jumping spin moves to separate myself from the stank. (My boys and I came up with The Farting Ninja Spin last year, and it works.) I go back to my seat a stink-free happy fella.
    I’m watching the dude have an argument with his mom, who’s just died, and I’m thinking that this is something I’d probably say to my mom if she ever died and came back from the dead to nag me. It’s really sad. I feel the tingle in my forehead, the pinch in the nose, and finally the watering of the eyes. OH NO, CARTER! Fart all you want, but please, please, please don’t cry on your first date!
    Think about football, think about how nice Abby’s boobs look tonight. That works, but then I imagine how funny it would be for a guy to start crying on his first date, and that gets me laughing. There’s nothing I can do. I’m totally cracking up. A lady in front of us turns around to see who the insensitive prick is who is laughing at the death of this dude’s mom. Abby shoots me a look because everybody’s all sniffling and her date is over here giggling.
    I finally get it under control, and Abby must be grateful, because she softly grabs my hand. Dang it! I should have washed my hands when I was pretending to pee. The dude’s making a final plea to the love of his life and apologizing to her for wrecking everything . . . Uh-oh, another fart! I’ve only got a couple more minutes. I have to fight it off! I squeeze my butt cheeks and Abby’s fingers with all my might. Abby jerks her hand away, and I realize I was crushing the poor girl’s digits as I was trying to save her life. I then accidentally place my hand on her inner thigh. Actual hand to almost private part contact! That did it. The mainframe lost focus and . . . PRISON BREAK! Coach is right; my lack of focus is hurting everyone! It was silent but it’s a doozie. I pull my hand away from her thigh and try to move the air around us away from Abby. Is it possible to catch a fart and throw it away from innocent bystanders? I’m subtly blowing the air to my left, hoping this fart will jump on the jet stream I’m creating in the theater. Oh, it’s strong and refried stinky . I think Abby’s being spared, but I steal a glance over at her just as her face crinkles. Then it contorts into bug-eyed shock.
    “Ohh, nasty!” she whispers. She’s been hit with the fury of post–Taco Bell syndrome. She sits up straight, grabs her stomach, then doubles over and pukes everywhere. The stream splashes off the nosy lady in front of us. Her neck and hair are covered, and she bolts. Vomit is everywhere. The only smell worse then my Taco Bell bomb is the stink of Abby’s regurgitated Weight Watchers entrée. Oh gross, I hate puke! But I feel responsible for its presence, so I hold her hair back as she burps and gasps for air . . . because that’s the kind of guy I am. She lets go of a few more servings of chicken à la king before she finally stops. Jeez, no wonder she didn’t want snacks; this girl was full! I lift my feet off the ground just a couple of inches so as not to get any of her “points” on my Shox.
    The movie’s over, and I have no idea if the chick took the dude back or whether they live happily ever after or not. If I’d missed the last couple minutes of The