The weird guy who always stood next to the window eating cans of tuna at quarter to 7 in the morning was Sgt. Gas. After just six years of service, he had worked his way to TSgt, qualifying him as, what military personal refer to, a fast burner. Devotion and hard work had paid off for Sgt. Gas who was now enjoying the respect and distanced admiration of the entire squadron. The early riser began his routine at 5.30 AM at the base gym, where he would lift weights for an hour before coming in for work. 'Farting, is like a power.'� he once told me before going into a long explanation about how he used to envy super heroes till he finally found a power of his own. This may partially explain his success in the military. Anyway, unlike any superior I've witnessed, he would motivate his subordinates by flatulating on or around them. The crew, made up of young guys, responded well to this other kind of discipline. In good fun, two of the more frequently humiliated Airmen swore a smelly revenge, actually altering their diets with the sole purpose of adding punch to their wind. Only, they never had a chance. Not only did Sgt. Gas possess an inexhaustible almost psychotic drive, he was determined to be the absolute best in every walk in life. Even in farting! Once at work, Sgt.Gas ate non-stop. A hard boiled egg every hour, a can of tuna during every break, rice cakes and bananas were constantly shoved down his throaght, to wash it all down he brought a gallon of milk, and in order to keep himself jacked on caffeine all day he would chase down it with a couple cans of Mountain Dew.

No one was immune, myself included, I got my share while going to the job site in a vespa. After picking up Sgt. Gas and driving for a bit he mentioned that he was cold and asked if I wouldn't mind turning on the heater. Which I did, naively agreeing with him, while adjusting the vent in my direction as I drove along. Sgt.Gas´s next question should have clewed me in to the obvious. 'Hay, do you want some hard boiled eggs for breakfast?'� Me, the stupid ass, thought he was offering me something out of his food bag. 'No no thank! Ahh, Ahh! God damn man! Ahh!'� I screamed rolling down the window as I closed the heat vent that was blowing his now heated fart up my nose. Sgt Gas. Just smiled, looking at me demonstratively holding one of the hard boiled eggs from his lunch bag and asked, 'Are you sure?'�

The most memorable lesson, involved Carl, who on this particular morning had been sitting in the same spot babbling on about his fathers corvette, occasionally flopping a tile into place to make it look like he was doing something. He wasn't fooling anyone; in fact his laziness was in part responsible for demoralizing the entire crew. This time Sgt.Gas decided to use his, 'power'� to motivate him. Not wanting to miss the action, I placed myself in full view as Carl, still ignorant to Sgt. Gas's plans, continued talking away with a cigarette in one hand and tile in the other. In the mean time Sgt.Gas had began creeping backwards towards him. Now, standing right behind him bent over, Sgt.Gas slowly lowered his ass till it was within centimeters of touching the back of Carl's head. He pressed simultaneously making a face while clenching his fist. For a brief second nothing happened. Then it came. The loudest window shaking fart I had ever heard! Carl's hair actually moved from the wind! Sgt. Gas ran out of the room, later to find out he went to the bathroom, to whip up and Carl after turning white with anger got up and vanished for an hour. We, the rest of us, were in pain, laughing to the point of hyperventilation. Carl eventually did return to the work site opting not to talk with anyone the rest of the day. The flip side of the story is that Carl finally did get up off his ass and do some work. I guess farting does have power after all.

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