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Dorothy Prangholm was enigmatic soul. Raised on a farm in rural Idaho, Dorothy had one passion in life. Driven by this strange compulsion, Dorothy would stop at nothing to fulfill the sickness that ravaged her soul.
Upon waking, she would begin the daily ritual. Shower, bush hair and dress in colorful cotton clothing. She had 4 pairs of brown penny loafers all exactly the same. No socks.
Breakfast consisted of cabbage boiled the night before lightly sprinkled with salt. Also on the menu were a boiled egg and 1 12 oz. can of Albertsons brand chili, with beans. To wash it all down Dorothy drank 3 bottles of Munich Dunkel dark lager beer. It was torture for her to drink it as she hated beer, but nothing worked quite as well and the results were worth the effort.
As Dorothy got in get car she wrestled with herself on where to go today. It was either going to be the mall in Boise, or the Regal Cinemas. Being that today was 2 for 1 at Regal it was an easy choice. The theater would be packed. As her mind wandered, Dorothy’s stomach roiled from the noxious gassy mixture that fueled the sick twisted force driving her to such extremes.
The place was positively packed. 2 for 1 day is popular in Boise, and it was opening day of the new Michael Moore film. Dorothy parked her Toyota prius in the closest spot she could find, grabbed her purse and walked briskly to get in line at the box office. As she waited for her turn to pay, Dorothy was experiencing sharp stabbing gas pains in her abdomen. Her bowels were screaming for her to release the gas that was building from the noxious fuel she had ingested earlier, but Dorothy stubbornly refused. She was saving it.
After paying for the ticket, Dorothy walked woodenly through the turnstile to the back theater behind the snack bar. As she entered the dim auditorium, she waited until her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting before choosing her seat. This was the most important part of her plan, and took time choosing the seat that she would fulfill this strange twisted ritual. Spotting a rather portly old man eating a hot dog, Dorothy knew he would be the one. Taking care not to let any gas escape, Dorothy made her way to the center row, midway up the aisle.
Smiling, Dorothy sat down and bit her lip at the gas pains became almost intolerable. The large man next to her wolfed down the hot dog and began systematically shoveling down the popcorn between gulps of an undetermined soda, large. In what seemed like an eternity Dorothy waited for the lights to dim and the previews to begin. Sweat trickling down the back of her neck, Dorothy was elated when the lights went down and a hush came over the packed movie theater.
As the previews began Dorothy placed both feet firmly on the smooth concrete floor. As she barely spread her legs in the practiced position of a professional, Dorothy let a small amount of gas escape. In less than 5 seconds the smell reached her nostrils.
It was an oily smell. Like boiled eggs and sulfur, it was so thick and strong you could almost see it. Looking out the corner of her eye for a hint of reaction from the man next to her, Dorothy’s pulse quickened. This was what it was all about! As he was lifting another handful of popcorn to his cavernous pie hole, the portly man caught a whiff the nasty odor and paused. He sniffed cautiously and wrinkled his nose.
At that point Dorothy planted her feet and let out a steady stream of the horrid death smell she had so carefully formulated through trial and error. It came out without a trace of sound. Many years of practice gave Dorothy the ability of being able to pass gas silently at will. Her eyes watered as the smell assaulted her senses. As more gas erupted from her screaming bowels it took on an even nastier smell. Like burning plastic and rotting chicken. Her eyes watered as the smell wafted out into the theater.
The reaction in the packed room was swift. Heads started turning. Groans erupted from the crowd as people were forced to breath in the horrid odor. Like a well rehearsed role in a play, Dorothy turned towards the man next to her with an accusing look. “Oh my god”, Dorothy said. “Was that you?”
The portly man turned beet red and exclaimed embarrassedly “It wasn’t me!!”
The reaction from the crowd was just as she had hoped. “Dude that smells like a fucking turd wrapped in burnt hair” a teenager shouted. His girlfriend tried to shield her nose in the crook of her arm to escape the foul stench.
As the objections from the crowd grew louder Dorothy let loose another full 20 second stream, the noise of the crowd drowning the flapping noise of the uncontrolled death gas. The more Dorothy let go the fouler the smell became. People began to exit the theater. An angry man with a John Deer ball cap slapped the portly man on the back of his head as he said “you fucking asshole” between clenched teeth.
Pretending that she was gagging, Dorothy grabbed her purse and began to leave. As she passed by the portly man Dorothy clenched her muscled abdomen and pushed hard. The smell was so strong and foul that when it passed through the portly mans nostrils he instantly started gagging. As Dorothy walked up the hall toward the exit she heard the portly man dry heaving as he was denying that he was the culprit.
Satisfied for now, Dorothy made her way to the ladies room. In the privacy of the stall she removed her panties, wiped herself and put on the spare pair she carried for such occasions. That last effort ruined the ones she was wearing, but it was a small price to pay for the expressions on the faces of the people in the theater forced to smell the rancid concoction she had so painstakingly developed.
Daydreaming of tomorrow’s assault, Dorothy put on her sunglasses and started off to the car.
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Old S.V.
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