Wednesday, December 09, 2009

Elevator Auschwitz

I'm running back to the office. My stomach is churning. I feel like I might explode. I race to the back of the lobby, jam the call button and shift around uncomfortably, waiting for the damn doors to open. The bell rings, the doors open. In I go. Alone. Thank god.

Floors 1-12 are not available as this car only stops on 13-27. The stomach turns. I have no choice but to let one small fart out. How bad can it be? I unclench. A little whistler comes out and then, sensing the release valve's been opened, my intestines unload. The whistler builds. The comes out louder, no longer a high pitch squeal, more of a baritone. The wind tunnel grows, my ass cheek are actually vibrating from the gas flying out between them.

The fart turns, it now has a more melodic lilt to it. It's breezier, an almost airy quality to it, like it can life me up and float me away. I start rocking my hips, creating a rhythmic quality to this symphonic squelch.

The fart tightens up, the sound is sharper, harsher, higher in pitch again.

The sound coming from my ass twists and twirls as the last gasp of air escapes my bloated innards.

My stomach feels normal again. I didn't shit my pants. Big plus there.

I feel great.

And then the smell hits me.

It's a stench for the ages. A real bomb and I'm stuck in this elevator with it. I'm half choking, half laughing as the floors start to light up. Thank god, salvation is coming.

I'm gonna make it
what the fuck? no, please god, no, please this is horrific, I'm so busted, please don't open up, damn you elevator, get stuck. no, wait, plummet down, killing me instantly. It would be better than having the door open and....

it had to be a good looking woman
so fucking typical
there go the doors.

Welcome to Auschwitz honey. Me and you and our own little gas chamber. her eyes are watering. I must be the wrongest color of pink ever.

And there we go. I'm now getting the giggles.

Great. She's going to think I'm having a seizure from the smell of my own ass cheese.

Either that or she'll panic and think we've been attacked by some crazy nerve gas that makes us laugh like loons.


She's holding back a gag.


she's got her hand over her mouth.


her eyes are burning holes thru me. she's pissed


the doors open, I stumble out, turning to say something and seeing her gasping at the fresh air. I shake my head, give her my best "I'm a sorry loser" look and crawl into my office.


Anonymous said...

what the hell did you eat?

Trenton said...


I can't believe that you didn't perfect the age-old method of disguising those little bastard's smells by using a good-sized can of deoderant. Might be a suggestion for any future events...


Sorry man, I can't help it. But then again, you knew that right? That's why you posted it, isn't it? You gotta be one of the most open people I know, to be able to talk about that so openly, LMAO!!!!!


Trent :D :D :D

foxy roxy said...

If you were quicker on your feet, you could've fake-gagged when she joined you in the boxed hell and blamed it on the asshole that got off on the 15th floor

Floogin McNoogin said...

It must've been a combination of foods. Nothing in particular would've produced a weapon of this caliber.

Trent, my humiliation is funny, thus I provide the gift of laughter during these miserable times.

Foxy, I was not thinking clearly at all, might have been the fact that I was suffocating from my own stench.