Three
Stinky-Winky looked out of the rusty metal-framed windows of their shack. Perched upon the top of a hill was a rusted windmill - that often span randomly - sending orange sparks flying everywhere; and anyone who was unlucky enough to get in the way, would find themselves with shards of rust embedded in their eyeballs.
Whenever the windmill span - all four Tubbies would gather on the hill, and dance in a stupid way - the sight of their waddling and bouncing tummies would often nauseate the rabbits who surrounded. Then they would all choose a Tubby - usually by swamp wrestling, to stand up and use their genetic mutant powers to broadcast some crappy T.V show from the mid seventies. The windmill was beginning to spin now.
Stinky Winky raised his middle finger at it. "Yeah, screw you spinner!" He growled. "I am not sitting through another hour of 'Dance Fever' like last night!"
Then there was a deafening roar, echoing around the room. Stinky-Winky was puzzled - the swamp was only home to rabbits and cockroaches… No tigers. Then it roared again, louder this time - and Stinky-Winky realised it was coming from his own stomach.
"What the-"
But he didn't finish; the disgusting sound of a slimy shart was heard, as several sprays of projectile crap shot from his behind and quickly filled his underwear.
Now Stinky-Winky had 'Dance-Fever', as he shuffled around awkwardly - trying not to let any of the contained slime escape and trickle down his legs, as it was attempting to do.
"Awww shit!" He cried, clutching his stomach tightly as another wet fart erupted from his bowels. "I dunno what the hell was in that toast… But-"
He screamed as it started yet again. Now he realised he needed to plant his bloated ass on a toilet seat, and fast.
He scuttled over to the now free bathroom - clutching the bottoms of his trousers to stop the liquid from escaping and cascading onto the floor. He pushed the door with his forehead, and gingerly stepped inside as the door creaked open.
"Oh F-" He gasped, as the most foul sight he'd ever witnessed filled his eyes. Dumpsy had re-painted the porcelain in a shade of green-yellow-brown and practically every colour imaginable. To make matters worse - it was sprayed all over the seat, the reserve tank… And even the walls and floors of the small room. Stinky-Winky didn't need telling twice that he wouldn't be utilising the relief facilities of that particular crapper.
So, painfully - he shuffled around carefully, and made his way outside - his pants almost overflowing by this time.
The outside scene that greeted him was not a pretty one either. The rain was thundering down, denting the marshland surrounding the shack. The thunder was roaring almost as loud as Stinky-Winky's tummy, and the wind made it very difficult to stand up.
Stinky realised this as an enormous gust blew his off balance, and he fell flat on his back across the muddy ground.
In an attempt to re-compose himself, he let go of his trouser legs - and stupidly relaxed the muscles in his butt. This was a big mistake. Stinky yelled as his curry from last night exploded from his behind in a scorching hot rush that burned his ass cheeks, and ran all down his legs and onto the floor.
He jumped up, and sprinted across to the nearest tree, leaving a trail from his trousers behind him.
Around ten metres later, he reached a tree. Not a very good choice - it had hardly any branches, so no protection from the rain. Its trunk was gnarled, not ideal for gripping your hands to, and there were no leaves to relieve himself with afterwards.
Stinky was so desperate, he had no other option.
He forcefully removed his befouled suit and his molten underwear, and let it fly up the side of the tree. He smiled to himself as the remains left him calmly, sliding smoothly along. Then a wave of ice cold fear swept over him, as the fire crap started to fly out, splattering everywhere - over the tree, the ground and his own feet.
The heat was so intense, the bark of the tree was beginning to shrivel up.
His legs became weak, and his knees shook hard as even more left his colon. It gave him the impression of a fire-hose throwing up a volcano, complete with sharp rocks that scratched hard.
Then, one final perfect turd slowly slipped out and tumbled onto the ground. Stinky smiled. His ordeal was over.
And with that, his legs gave way, and he slide down the tree, landing directly down into the puddle of crap - and fainted.
Dixie: Heh, that was making me feel pretty sick myself. Oh no! That extra-spicy bean burrito I ate last night is having revenge! (Farts loudly) Uh-oh… Umm, I'll be right back!
Evil Espeon: Hee hee, I always knew it would be a good idea to pour liquid ex-lax into Dixie's Coke. Ah, Espeon, you amaze even me.
Look out for a sequel - Coming 2008!
