Stan hardly ever ventured out any more. He

Stan hardly ever ventured out any more. He was stuck inside, mesmerized by his massive
collection of farts. He'd collected them from famous people after framing them and threatening to expose them if they didn't fart into the jam jar. They always complied.
Really, who doesn't secretly like to fart? He saw himself as a liberator, not some creepy stalker. In his fantasies, his grandchildren would be on Antiques Roadshow and
they would bring in the frozen head of Walt Disney and ask the Antique Dealer on the Roadshow how much it was worth. And no matter the price, the kids would say, "Aw shucks!"
and little cartoon moths would fly out of their inside out pockets. But the Antique Dealer didn't mind because he didn't like to be paid in cash. He perferred
to be paid in fuzzy teddy bears. He wanted to know why the
darn stores cost so much. He believed fuzzy teddy bears had to bu the best way to buy things. Thats why he wanted
to get a job at the toy store where there were
bountiful amounts of legos and Lincoln logs. It was a young adolescents dream to be surrounded these worldly possessions but he was
a man-child all the way through, and nothing in this world could separate him from his dream of living in a bouncy castle and having his own clue-finding blue dog.

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