Andy Hanson
He was filling the 300 helium balloons that would take him, he hoped, high enough to photograph the gigantic art circle he had commissioned. His location was a remote farm on the edge of the 5000-acre wheat field that was his canvas.
He had spent his last 20 million on this, his latest art project, and had gone over budget in a big way. In fact his check to the Official Balloon Ascent Team had bounced; hence this do-it-yourself project was his only hope. The flattened week was unbending and rain was in the forecast.
After filling two hundred and twenty balloons, he knew for certain that he would run out of helium. He called his girlfriend and explained the problem. She persuaded her dentist to load her pickup with the five canisters he kept for recreational purposes, and she drove like a maniac to the farm. She was in time!
His last words as he ascended were, “You saved me from an very embarrassing situation!”
Unfortunately, those turned out to be his last words. The storm was the worst in a decade.
The dentist and his girlfriend lived happily ever after.
James (Ben) Mielke
Out in the desert, under the moon, on the side of the road, a car, alone, the driver stranded on a byway since midday-no traffic.
An urgent occasion awaits five hundred miles ahead. Many people believed he never intended to show. Only his wedding, after all.
He had to stay behind and finish a late job. Drove all day, took the infamous shortcut. Now, out of gas.
Just to keep in the mood he got his tuxedo from the back seat and dressed for the occasion--in style, top hat and cane.
A battered pickup came over the dawning horizon with one headlight out.
He stood in the road and tipped his hat at the approach.
Brakes squealed, tires skidded.
"What in Holy Moly are you?" came a voice from the dark space inside.
"I'm late, I need gas."
"Well shee-it pal. There's a truck stop at the crossroads a mile around the bend. How long you been out here?"
"Since yesterday."
"Shee-it. Bet yer hungry. I'll buy breakfast."
He made it to the Altar on time. His tux was wrinkled and grease stained. He didn't notice that a bit of straw adhered to the seat of his trousers.
Liz Stewart
If you are Passing Gas, you are likely in Kansas, somewhere near the edge of the state. Town fathers, chuckle-headed old farts, felt assured of recognition- perhaps even an award from the state legislature for originality. Their wives, used to all the hot air, needed a post office, so they wrote to the governor, swearing that they loved the name.
Or: If you are in Kansas, you could be passing Gas! Town fathers, chuckle-headed old farts, were challenged to score a post office. Their wives, used to all the hot air, wrote to the governor assuring him they loved the name. There's even a book with their name on the cover!
Michael Dean LongODE TO A BURRITO
You gave me gas
And created an embarrassing situation.
You were nothing more to me
Than a culinary infatuation.
I should have realized
Despite my inebriation
That this would culminate
In an unpleasant confrontation.
Why did I take you in?
Why did I have you for dinner?
Why could I not ascertain
That you would emerge as the Winner?
