The Egg Tosser

Eugene sat hunched over on the corner of his bed, alone, and cried as he went through the day’s events in his head. His unhealthy obsession had become destructive and he was making people’s lives worse. Ruining their days. All because of his stupid obsession.

Due to his high-protein diet, he always had serious gas, up to 300 farts a day (to be accurate, 306 was his personal best), and they were real stinkers. He was obsessed with cupping his hand over his ass, farting into it, then quite literally throwing the farts into the faces of innocent bystanders and passersby. As he partook in the activity he found it absolutely hilarious and would laugh his ass off as he ran away. Plus it was good exercise, and as far as he could tell, not illegal. Seems like a win/win situation right?

Wrong.

He was happy as he first sat down to prepare his mind for a good night’s rest, having had a productive day of fart throwing. He’d thrown 27 farts, all successful, and he’d logged each one in his Egg Toss Journal. As he went through them in his head he got to #24, a young mother who was at the mall with her two young children. The timing was perfect. He felt a protein fart boiling up in his nether region with an intense heat, the predecessor of a truly disgusting flatulence. He was careful to maintain focus and not get carried away with excitement as he slyly paused outside of the Brookstone, pretending to window shop, his left hand subtly creeping down to his asshole. BOOM, his hand was full of the noxious gas just a second later and he closed it right as the mother was about to pass him. She was distracted by her elder son who had stopped to look at the hair extension kiosk, and right as she grabbed his arm to pull him forward, Eugene yelled “CUPACHEESE!” and released the fart directy into her face then ran away laughing.

It was a textbook egg toss, executed perfectly. But as he sat on his bed he remembered something that hadn’t registered with him at the time. After he’d run away for thirty feet or so he looked back at the woman. She had collapsed onto the ground, coughing, while her two concerned children just stood there, unsure of what to do, what to think. A strange man had just assaulted their mother and they were helpless. Eugene’s smile faded. What had he done?

It was great when people became angry with him and yelled obscenities as he ran away. But this woman wasn’t angry. She was completely incapacitated and confused, and his stupid little practice had actually negatively impacted those three people in a significant way. All of a sudden, egg tossing wasn’t funny anymore. It was sad, and he cried and cried harder than he’d cried since his pet ferret had died years before.

Enough. He was done throwing farts. Done. He cried himself to sleep and woke up to the early morning sun piercing through the crack between his light brown curtains. It was a new day, and it would be the first day without a single egg toss since 1987 when he threw his first fart at the age of fifty-two, twenty-five years prior. He felt like a new man. His life would be different now and it was exciting in a way, but also scary. The practice which defined him as a man would never again be a part of his life. Who was he?

After scarfing down six scrambled eggs with leftover chili, half a ribeye and a protein shake, he drove to the riverwalk near his house to get some fresh air and contemplate his new life path. On the ride he kept his windows up in spite of his usual gas. To help him abstain on that first day of egg toss abstinence, he wanted to cement in his head the pure terror of inhaling the fumes with which he’d assaulted so many innocents over the years. He could barely breathe and wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t shat his pants the smell was so intense. To make it worse, it was already in the high 90’s and his air conditioner was broken. It took serious willpower not to open the windows, but willpower was precisely what he’d need not to deliver multiple cups of cheese to the many people on the walking path.

Upon finally arriving at the river, he opened the door and stumbled out, coughing, lightheaded, and the familiar rumbling of his innards boiled up as the eggs, steak, chili, and protein powder worked their way into his intestines. No matter, he wouldn’t be using his flatulence. Not today.

The first passerby was a middle-aged man jogging in all spandex. His shoes were pink. Of all the people on the riverwalk THIS had to be the first one to pass? He deserved an egg toss just on account of his attire. But Eugene resisted, letting his fart blast into the air without cupping his ass as the man jogged by. The jogger laughed and said, “Nice one!” Eugene’s head swelled with rage. This fucking foofoo, instead of receiving the punishment he deserved, received pleasure from the fart. Infuriating.

The next three passersby weren’t anything special. An old woman with a walker, a young girl jogger, and an older man on a bicycle. Easy enough to resist. Eugene was feeling good. He finally felt like he was in control of his life and didn’t need to toss eggs to feel complete.

In the distance he saw what looked like an old man in a motorized wheelchair, slowly swerving down the path. The man had some kind of mental handicap, evidenced by the fact that his head was sideways with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Not to throw a fart in this man’s face would take perhaps more self-restraint than Eugene was capable of, especially because that familiar, welcome burning sensation was gathering around his anus. Twenty feet, fifteen feet, ten feet away…

Completely surprising himself, Eugene actually let the man pass by without assaulting him. But as the man passed, he ripped an impressive fart into his wheelchair and started laughing retartedly and drooling. Eugene didn’t even have time to consciously control his reaction and it was as if he were watching himself from a third-person point of view as both hands dipped down to his asshole to cup a massive protein fart and he ran back to the disabled man and smeared both hands directly into his nose as he yelled, “CUPA MOTHAFUCKIN CHEEEEEEESE MOTHAFUCKAAAAAAA!!!!!”

Eugene sprinted away faster than he’d sprinted since his first egg toss in 1987 as he giggled like a giddy little schoolgirl. Fuck it, he thought. This is who he was, who he was meant to be, and there was no changing it.

He was the Master of the Egg Toss.