Me and my buddies used to stay in the elevators all day just farting up a storm. We’d laugh and giggle and chortle and chuckle as wet blasts of pressurized pooper stray slapped out of our bean holes.

One, maybe two, sometimes a whole group of people would walk into our war zone, but were usually too polite to simply walk out before the doors close. By the time they were sealed in and realized the wretched smell they’re imprisoned with, it was too late.

I’d be the first farter, the envoy, the bearer of gas to come. Quiet, but audible, I’d announce my group’s presence with a slow bugle note with a sharp uptick in pitch right at the very end. Oh, and I was hardly a stinker. I saved that for the rest of my crew.

Next came Jay and Jesse with a pleasant duet, a back and forth really, a dueling anuses type of performance. They often stood hip-to-hip with their arms around each other’s shoulders, swaying rhythmically, patriotically as the elevator zipped along its oiled cables. These two boys and their steady diet of spaghetti sauce and spring onions made for some sharp, challenging farts. At this point, the humidity in the elevator would start to become a bit suffocating for anyone who wasn’t a seasoned fart breather like us.

Whoever was in that elevator at this point would have been trying to push the “open door” button, but as we all know, Big Elevator installs those buttons to fool us into thinking we’re in control of our own destinies. The truth is, the button does nothing. When those doors close, you’ll be going where that elevator, where fate, wants you to go. There’s no stopping it. There’s no changing it. We are all slaves to fate.

As Jay and Jesse wrap up their dancing farts duet, Josh would come in with a deafening boomer. The car would rattle, the lights would flicker, and, of course, ear drums would be tested and ultimately fail. Oh, what damage a single blast can do! We would all get so giddy watching Josh’s belly swell like a birthday balloon. Right before the kaboom, Josh would lick his lips and whistle with a wink at a pitch only me and my buddies could hear. This fart was a concussive blast meant to disorientate the unfortunate passengers. The rest of us had our fart legs, so we were always fine, but anyone else in that elevator buckled and dropped to the floor.

There on the floor, the poor souls in our elevator choked on the low hanging fog of stench. They were in Khalil’s world now. Squatting low, bare-bottomed, and grinning with insanity, Khalil would really pour it on. His farts were the stinkiest, and the stinkiest by a large margin. Even us veteran fart boys turned a nostril when Khalil uncorked his load. Every time, I would be absolutely amazed by the thick gas pouring from his open hole like dry ice from an elementary school science experiment. Ha, the passenger, our victim, would cough and gag and, more often than not, vomit from the assault.

And yes, we had no delusions. This was an assault every single time. Mean spirited and malicious, our fart attack was our sadistic pleasure.

Finally, as whoever walked in spasmed in an out of consciousness on that elevator floor, my gut bubbles would well up again. Like a superb host, I would close out our performance with a colorful little fart thanking them for their time and nose. As a parting gift, I’d gas out a little Tootsie Roll of poop. Sterile, of course, as much as my diet allows anyways.

The doors would open and the passenger would gasp back to life with my little turd resting in their open palm. Our combined cooking would waft into the open hall or lobby and disappear into the ether like an exorcised evil spirit, never to be seen again.

Sure, we’d have to roll the passenger or passengers out on their floor. Sure, over the years each of us would get arrested for fart related hate crimes, Sure, Jay and Jesse died of self-induced dysentery on a jungle vacation. Sure, Josh is doing consecutive life sentences for what he did to those puppies and Khalil is being extorted by the CIA to be used as a weapon overseas. But ya know what? We had fun. We lived our lives the best way we knew how, and I would never have it any other way.