"Okay, NOW you’re gonna pay for snitching on me," Jake muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around the straps of the gas mask as he stared at the clock. The plan was perfect. Well, not perfect—his little brother, Tyler, wasn’t even home yet—but the setup was flawless. The kitchen smelled like a science experiment gone wrong, a mix of deviled eggs, tuna fish sandwiches, and an unholy amount of baked beans. And the pièce de résistance: an extra-large Reese’s ice cream cake sitting in the freezer, ready to turn Tyler’s stomach into a gas factory. Jake smirked, imagining the chaos. He glanced at his phone. Tyler’s school would be out in ten minutes. Sure, it was a little extreme, but hey, revenge was revenge. Tyler had ratted him out last week when he’d tried to sneak out to meet his friends, and Jake had been grounded ever since. This would teach him to keep his mouth shut. Jake grabbed his keys and headed for the door, the gas mask tucked under his arm. But as he stepped outside, something nagged at him. Wait… was it Friday? His heart sank. Fridays meant Tyler had his sleepover at his friend’s house. He groaned, slumping against the doorframe. All that effort, he thought, wasted. Defeated, Jake turned around and trudged back inside. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you notice every creak of the floorboards. He tossed the gas mask onto the couch and wandered into the kitchen, where the food sat untouched. The sight was almost depressing. Just as he was about to grab a deviled egg for himself—because, hey, he’d put in the work—the front door swung open. Jake froze. His dad, Greg, and his dad’s gym buddy, Carl, walked in, laughing and looking sweaty. Great. "Hey, Jake!" Greg called, tossing his gym bag onto the floor. "Smells good in here. You cook?" Jake hesitated. "Uh, yeah. Kind of." "Well, we’re starving," Carl said, already making a beeline for the kitchen. "Gym session was brutal today. I could eat a horse." Jake opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late. The two men were already digging in, piling plates high with beans, eggs, and tuna sandwiches. Jake winced as they devoured the food, the plan unraveling before his eyes. "Dad, maybe you shouldn’t—" "Don’t worry, bud," Greg interrupted, mouth full. "We’ll save some for you." Jake sighed and retreated to the living room, flopping onto the couch. The gas mask stared back at him, taunting him. This isn’t how it was supposed to go, he thought, running a hand through his hair. Minutes turned into an hour, and the sounds of laughter and eating eventually faded. Jake was about to check on them when his dad and Carl waddled into the living room, both clutching their stomachs. "Whoo," Greg groaned, dropping onto the recliner. "I think I overdid it." "Same," Carl said, sinking into the couch next to Jake. His stomach let out a low, ominous growl that made Jake’s eyes widen. "Uh, you guys okay?" Jake asked, trying to sound casual. "Not really," Greg admitted, his face pale. "We ate way too much. My stomach’s doing somersaults." Carl nodded in agreement, his face twisted in discomfort. "Man, I feel like I’m about to—" He cut himself off, his stomach growling again, louder this time. Jake’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t part of the plan, but… maybe it could still work. He glanced at the gas mask on the coffee table, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Hey, Dad," Jake said, his voice innocent. "You might wanna, uh, release some pressure. You know, for your health." Greg grimaced. "I think you’re right. But, uh… it’s gonna be bad." Jake’s smirk widened. "Well, good thing I’ve got this," he said, holding up the gas mask. Greg and Carl exchanged uneasy glances. "What’s that for?" Carl asked, his stomach growling again. "Safety," Jake said, his tone light. "Here, let me show you." Before they could protest, Jake slipped the mask over his head, the two tubes dangling at his sides. He gestured for them to proceed, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Greg hesitated, his face a mix of embarrassment and desperation. "Alright, but… don’t say I didn’t warn you." Jake leaned back, bracing himself as Greg and Carl shifted uncomfortably. The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. And then it started. The sound was unholy, a deep, rumbling noise that seemed to shake the walls. Jake’s eyes widened behind the mask as the smell began to seep through the tubes. It was worse than he’d imagined—a toxic, gut-churning stench that made his eyes water. "Jesus, Dad!" Jake choked out, his voice muffled by the mask. "Told you it’d be bad," Greg said, his face red. Carl wasn’t faring much better, his stomach growling as another wave hit. "Oh God," he groaned, clutching his gut. "I’m not done yet." Jake’s heart raced as the smell intensified, the mask doing little to block it out. He gagged, his vision starting to blur. "Hold on, Jake," Greg said, his voice strained. "We’re almost—" The room seemed to spin as the fumes overwhelmed him. Jake’s grip on the mask loosened, and the last thing he heard before everything went black was Carl’s voice, faint and apologetic. "Sorry, kid."

"Okay, NOW you’re gonna pay for snitching on me," Jake muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around the straps of the gas mask as he stared at the clock. The plan was perfect. Well, not *perfect*—his little brother, Tyler, wasn’t even home yet—but the setup was flawless. The kitchen smelled like a science experiment gone wrong, a mix of deviled eggs, tuna fish sandwiches, and an unholy amount of baked beans. _And the pièce de résistance_: an extra-large Reese’s ice cream cake sitting in the freezer, ready to turn Tyler’s stomach into a gas factory. Jake smirked, imagining the chaos.  

He glanced at his phone. Tyler’s school would be out in ten minutes. Sure, it was a little extreme, but hey, revenge was revenge. Tyler had ratted him out last week when he’d tried to sneak out to meet his friends, and Jake had been grounded ever since. *This* would teach him to keep his mouth shut.  

Jake grabbed his keys and headed for the door, the gas mask tucked under his arm. But as he stepped outside, something nagged at him. *Wait… was it Friday?* His heart sank. Fridays meant Tyler had his sleepover at his friend’s house. He groaned, slumping against the doorframe. *All that effort,* he thought, *wasted.*  

Defeated, Jake turned around and trudged back inside. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you notice every creak of the floorboards. He tossed the gas mask onto the couch and wandered into the kitchen, where the food sat untouched. The sight was almost depressing.  

Just as he was about to grab a deviled egg for himself—because, hey, he’d put in the work—the front door swung open. Jake froze. His dad, Greg, and his dad’s gym buddy, Carl, walked in, laughing and looking sweaty. Great.  

"Hey, Jake!" Greg called, tossing his gym bag onto the floor. "Smells good in here. You cook?"  

Jake hesitated. "Uh, yeah. Kind of."  

"Well, we’re starving," Carl said, already making a beeline for the kitchen. "Gym session was brutal today. I could eat a horse."  

Jake opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late. The two men were already digging in, piling plates high with beans, eggs, and tuna sandwiches. Jake winced as they devoured the food, the plan unraveling before his eyes.  

"Dad, maybe you shouldn’t—"  

"Don’t worry, bud," Greg interrupted, mouth full. "We’ll save some for you."  

Jake sighed and retreated to the living room, flopping onto the couch. The gas mask stared back at him, taunting him. *This isn’t how it was supposed to go,* he thought, running a hand through his hair.  

Minutes turned into an hour, and the sounds of laughter and eating eventually faded. Jake was about to check on them when his dad and Carl waddled into the living room, both clutching their stomachs.  

"Whoo," Greg groaned, dropping onto the recliner. "I think I overdid it."  

"Same," Carl said, sinking into the couch next to Jake. His stomach let out a low, ominous growl that made Jake’s eyes widen.  

"Uh, you guys okay?" Jake asked, trying to sound casual.  

"Not really," Greg admitted, his face pale. "We ate *way* too much. My stomach’s doing somersaults."  

Carl nodded in agreement, his face twisted in discomfort. "Man, I feel like I’m about to—" He cut himself off, his stomach growling again, louder this time.  

Jake’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t part of the plan, but… maybe it could still work. He glanced at the gas mask on the coffee table, a slow smirk spreading across his face.  

"Hey, Dad," Jake said, his voice innocent. "You might wanna, uh, release some pressure. You know, for your health."  

Greg grimaced. "I think you’re right. But, uh… it’s gonna be _bad_."  

Jake’s smirk widened. "Well, good thing I’ve got this," he said, holding up the gas mask.  

Greg and Carl exchanged uneasy glances. "What’s that for?" Carl asked, his stomach growling again.  

"Safety," Jake said, his tone light. "Here, let me show you."  

Before they could protest, Jake slipped the mask over his head, the two tubes dangling at his sides. He gestured for them to proceed, his eyes gleaming with mischief.  

Greg hesitated, his face a mix of embarrassment and desperation. "Alright, but… don’t say I didn’t warn you."  

Jake leaned back, bracing himself as Greg and Carl shifted uncomfortably. The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable.  

And then it started.  

The sound was unholy, a deep, rumbling noise that seemed to shake the walls. Jake’s eyes widened behind the mask as the smell began to seep through the tubes. It was *worse* than he’d imagined—a toxic, gut-churning stench that made his eyes water.  

"Jesus, Dad!" Jake choked out, his voice muffled by the mask.  

"Told you it’d be bad," Greg said, his face red.  

Carl wasn’t faring much better, his stomach growling as another wave hit. "Oh God," he groaned, clutching his gut. "I’m not done yet."  

Jake’s heart raced as the smell intensified, the mask doing little to block it out. He gagged, his vision starting to blur.  

"Hold on, Jake," Greg said, his voice strained. "We’re almost—"  

The room seemed to spin as the fumes overwhelmed him. Jake’s grip on the mask loosened, and the last thing he heard before everything went black was Carl’s voice, faint and apologetic.  

"Sorry, kid."

In a comedic twist of fate, a brother's elaborate revenge plan against his little brother backfires when his father and his dad's friend end up consuming the gassy food intended for his sibling.

They both end up eating all the food and then the son ends up having to wear a gas mask and inhale the fumes from their farts until he passes out.

The Gas Mask Gambit Backfires

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