Once upon an afternoon at Camp Wawanakwa, Geoff, the life of every party at Total Drama Island, found himself struck by the kind of peckishness that could only be quelled by something extraordinary. As the sun beat down with the kind of heat that makes you fancy a cold one, Geoff lounged lazily outside his cabin. His stomach let out a growl, one that felt more like a desperate cry echoed throughout the island. "Bro," Geoff whined, "I could totally go for some killer grub right now." Fate, in the form of a lumbering, jovial fellow, answered his plea. It was Owen, whose diet was as legendary as his consistent food-related misdemeanors. Owen grinned, an idea erupting in his mind like a burp after a soda guzzling contest. "Dude! I got the perfect plan! We're going fishing... with my farts!" Owen announced triumphantly. Geoff wasn't sure if he should be ecstatic or nauseated. Owen's diet had indeed granted him a unique superpower: farts so noxious they were rumored to knock a bear unconscious at thirty paces. With a spring in his step and a wicker basket in hand, Owen led a bemused Geoff to the nearby pond. Geoff watched in mixed amazement and horror as Owen approached the water, disrobing along the way like a sumo wrestler peeling off unnecessary layers before a fight. Owen's physique, a testament to the many meals he tackled with unwavering enthusiasm, was nothing short of impressive. A smooth, huggable belly led outwards, eclipsing the sun as he waddled toward the water. His behind, a pair of pale moon cheeks, stood in stark contrast to the surrounding greenery--a comedic spectacle that drew an involuntary chuckle from Geoff. Splash! Owen entered the water, stirring waves like a jolly, submerged giant. Geoff squinted at his friend, appreciating from a safe distance Owen's dedication to the cause. Owen settled waist-deep, gathering his breath for the 'performance'. With a furrowing of his brow and a determination to provide Geoff the epic snack he craved, Owen began the strain. Beads of sweat mixed with pond water on his forehead, a journeyman in the throes of his craft. The look of sheer concentration etched upon his face transitioned smoothly into a picture of sweet, sweet relief. Relief that was palpable even from the shore. The water around Owen's derriere rippled as the silent-but-deadly approach of his specialty loomed. The moment the gaseous aberration was released, the water frothed and fish near the eye of the storm keeled over, no match for Owen's remarkably lethal fart-fishing technique. As the pond settled, the surface was graced with a bobbing bounty of belly-up fish. Geoff gagged, then guffawed on the shore. Owen, as proud as a fisherman with the catch of the day, began scooping up the floating fare with a glee that bordered on child-like. With a basket brimming with their unconventional catch, Owen waddled back to shore, his buddy laughing in an uncomfortable mix of admiration and disgust. They had food aplenty--foul as the means had been--and all it took was Owen's unique take on aquatics and his infamously toxic farts. Camp Wawanakwa had indeed seen many a spectacle, but none quite like the day Owen and Geoff went fart-fishing in their quest to sate a case of the munchies. And that tale, dear friends, was certain to waft its way into the annals of Total Drama Island history.