p style="text-indent: .5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;"Dean Winchester was in distress. He had been in distress before he popped those pills (which was why he had popped them in the first place), but now it was getting bad./p
p style="text-indent: .5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;""And then I said, what do you know about alphabet soup?! Am I right, or am I right, folks?" And then he ripped one. Oh, God, it smelled like an exploding tumor! There was uproarious laughter from the crowd in front of the stage, but the first couple of rows started gagging and coughing after a few seconds. He tried to hold in the next one, but it blasted on out without a care in the world. Dean, always specializing in improv, tried to play it off as part of the act, but it didn't seem to be working. His face felt hot and sweat was coursing down his back like Niagara goddamn falls. He fiddled in his pockets absently, stumbling to remember the next part of his act. Failing that, he grabbed something at random from the dark depths of the compartment sewn onto the upper left thigh of his jeans./p
p style="text-indent: .5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;""Hey, uh, guess what this key opens!" FFFFRRRRRRTTTT! Oh, jeez. Some of the front-rowers were actually leaving, and Dean could have sworn he saw little green clouds following them. "Ha! Ha! Uh, how should I know? I took it from some crazy old dude!" That probably wasn't even funny, but it was true. Dean had thrown a random, homeless 'Nam vet a bill from his wallet. It had happened to have a picture of good ol' Ulysses Grant, the posterchild for the $50 bill. In exchange, after some rummaging in his shopping cart, the hobo produced a strange prescription bottle with no label and a little silver key. Then, without a word, he had trundled off, the wheel on his cart squeaking every few seconds. Dean had shrugged and swallowed two of the little white pills on his way into the Comedy Theatre./p
p style="text-indent: .5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;"A sound like a wet towel being ripped in half by brute force came from behind Dean./p
p style="text-indent: .5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;""Jeez, folks, can I not stop farting today or what?" There was almost no visible reaction from the rapidly diminishing crowd. Dean let loose again, and then just caved in: "Well, I should go take care of that. When nature calls, am I right?" His heart sank. This had to be his worst performance ever. Wait! An idea came to his addled brain. "Hey, who likes free stuff? Show of hands!" Four or five people… "OK, how about free stuff that could unlock untold treasure from the Vietnam war?" As a few more hands crept into the thick air, Dean lobbed the key into the crowd. A solitary figure knelt casually and picked it up. Then, they left the theatre. "Well, I'll be back in a jiffy! Or as some people say, a giffy!" He had totally used that last week. "Stay right here, folks!"/p
p style="text-indent: .5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;"He had intended to stay in the bathroom for five minutes. Tops. When he checked his watch, it was ten to midnight. His time was almost up. God! The Theatre was going to fire him for sure! He gritted his teeth as his body expelled what felt like his very heart and soul./p