11/15/2006
Dude, With the Fart That's Percolating in My Bowels, You Do NOT Want to Get on This Elevator
Guest editorial by Matthew Vellequette, man on elevator
I see that you are in a hurry, and Lord knows when the next car will come along. However, let me make something perfectly clear:
You do NOT want to get on this particular elevator, dude.
You see, I ate a couple of bowls of high-bran oat cereal this morning, and had an egg salad sandwich for an early lunch. With onions.
The net result is that I am producing copious amounts of rather foul-smelling putrescence that could peel three layers of paint, or chase a hungry mutt away from a garbage can. I've been holding this gut bomb for about three minutes now, and this ass geyser's about to blow.
I'm not talking your everyday fart here, but rather the sort of gastrointestinal outburst that is reminiscent of a cross between raw sewage, dead chickens, and cotton candy.
It's the kind of Jockey-roasting rectal explosion that would bring tears to the eyes of a seasoned sanitation worker.
So do yourself a favor, pal, and take the next car, or you will soon be overcome by a stench so bad it would be outlawed as an illegal stimulant in a puking contest.
I see that you are in a hurry, and Lord knows when the next car will come along. However, let me make something perfectly clear:
You do NOT want to get on this particular elevator, dude.
You see, I ate a couple of bowls of high-bran oat cereal this morning, and had an egg salad sandwich for an early lunch. With onions.
The net result is that I am producing copious amounts of rather foul-smelling putrescence that could peel three layers of paint, or chase a hungry mutt away from a garbage can. I've been holding this gut bomb for about three minutes now, and this ass geyser's about to blow.
I'm not talking your everyday fart here, but rather the sort of gastrointestinal outburst that is reminiscent of a cross between raw sewage, dead chickens, and cotton candy.
It's the kind of Jockey-roasting rectal explosion that would bring tears to the eyes of a seasoned sanitation worker.
So do yourself a favor, pal, and take the next car, or you will soon be overcome by a stench so bad it would be outlawed as an illegal stimulant in a puking contest.
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Hey Matt, just a friendly reminder, from a fellow "paint peeler," don't forget to wipe (or, possibly mop) when you're finished. . . :-)
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