50 Shales of Gas

Genres: parody Length: micro-fiction Series: x/twitter Reading Time: Less than a minute Tags: farce Content Warning: Mature content

I make a billion dollars a year." The infamous Liquefied Gas Mogul, Beau Backdraft Butane, steps forward and presses his hand against the wall, cornering his new personal assistant in the penthouse elevator. “You know what that comes out to per minute?”

The nubile blonde bites her lip and shakes her head.

“1,902 dollars. And 52 cents. Give or take.” He leans in and cups her dainty chin with his curled index finger. Her breath hitches as his icy blue eyes penetrate her soul. “You know how long I just ripped that silent crop duster for?”

Her brow knits. “What crop dus-” Her lips pucker, her nose wrinkles—the acrid stench guts her nostrils like a derrick boring the earth.

He cants his head. “Hm?”

“No,” she chokes out, eyes wide and watering.

“Six seconds. That was a $190 fart.” He smirks as he rips another. A frog croaks to death in his bespoke Italian trousers. “And there’s more where that came from.”