I got on the elevator at the office alone yesterday, and quickly realized that someone on a previous floor had farted and darted. A full-on mustard gas assault. Then it quickly dawned on me that worst thing wasn’t the five-floor ride up in a fetid assbox—it was going to be explaining to the people waiting for the elevator on my floor that it wasn’t me.
If he hasn’t used this idea already, Larry David can thank us later
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