Throughout life Rory had battled with smelly farts. They were so bad that when he turned eighteen his family kicked him out. He had been estranged from them ever since. Being alone fit his milquetoast personality and allowed him freedom to fart whenever.
His childhood had been spent watching Mid-Atlantic Wrestling and he always imagined himself in the ring with Ric Flair or Wahoo McDaniel. His signature move would have been the Hippopotamus. He would open his mouth wide, let out a thunderous roar, and steamroll his opponent with all he had. Wrestling would not be, but since he lived alone Rory could watch whenever he wanted.
He also ate what he wanted. Today, Rory enjoyed homemade yock. His recipe included Ramen Noodles, fried spam, and plenty of cayenne pepper. One thing about Rory was that he was an individual in a natural system and he was in tune to his natural functions. His permaculture penchant allowed him to sense when something was amiss with his innards.
Rory’s felt doom as he did not have any toilet paper and nature’s functions were cranking up. There was no time. He drove his AMC Gremlin to the Little Sue. The lights were off, but the door was open, so he headed in like nothing was going on. He grabbed some Charmin, walked to the counter, and looked up to see a gun staring at him. He nearly lost it right there.
“Uh, what’s going on?” Rory asked.
“I am a Native American, Powhatan Pamunkey, who has had enough of the deplorable way this store represents our people. Their advertising is awful,” said the activist.
“Okay,” said Rory, “I agree, but would you mind if I paid for this and left?”
“No, you are now a hostage.”
Rory looked to the attendant, who was cooly leaning against the cigarette counter. “Restroom?” he asked.
She pointed to a sign above Rory that said, “No Public Restrooms.”
He looked to the going-about-this-the wrong-way activist and knew there was a chance for disaster. If Rory did not get outside someone might get hurt.
Rory began, “You obviously have no plan. You are right to be upset, but it doesn’t look like you’ve thought this out. I can help, but there isn’t much time. What you need is something that will allow you to have your cause known without anyone getting hurt, right?”
The activist nodded.
“Come with me.”
Rory knew there was no chance of making it home. The bubble inside his gut was nearing a critical point. “Get your phone and video this.”
The young man did.
“Ready?” Rory asked.
Rory stood with his back to the Little Sue sign. He dropped his pants and opened his mouth as wide as he could. With a mighty roar and a quick clenching of his teeth, Rory unleashed a furious flamethrower that sought to blow away the injustices committed against Native Americans.
The sign fell, the video went viral, and healing began.
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