The Elevator was invented by Archimedes, who was also the first person to fart in one. Some believe that he invented the elevator exclusively as a fart chamber, so that guests wouldn't have to know what a disgusting troll Archimedes was.
It's 8 am, you're walking through the lobby of your community college student center, ass cheeks clenched in a defiant effort to thwart the bubbling, shifting miasma of decomposed shit probing at the gates of your fortress of compressed muscle. The perfect storm of Golden China Buffet egg rolls, a California Burrito from Betos, topped off with a Moon over My-Ham-i chaser was twisted and mutilated over the early morning hours more than Charlie Chaplin in that big old timey machine in Modern Times. With each cringing step a sneak preview of the sound and fury to come slips out, and a man can only cough so many times before it sounds suspicious.
Deciding that salvaging your dignity be damned, you shuffle-sprint the last 10 yards to the precious private safety of the unoccupied elevator. Your frantic whistling of the theme song to reading rainbow gets louder and louder as you attempt to cover the sound bytes of your escaping putridity. Splashing up between shrill notes, what can only be described as the sound of a unicycler riding an obstacle course through an abandoned beet farm after a rainstorm attracts the attention of the few others in the room, but you've made your adult diapers, now wallow in them. With a sigh of relief you reach the chamber of secretions and waddle around in place, hitting the 3rd floor button as a few more noxious bubbles escape the confines of your exertion. The double doors slide to shut and you experience euphoria unmatched in your life up until this moment as you release the tension in your upper thighs. The floodgates open and the laws of physics take over, forcing your high pressured squall of used-to-be cabbage, carne asada, and powdered eggs into the unsuspecting low pressure zone of the 200 cubic ft gas chamber. The innocent room fills with a vapor deadly enough to give Auschwitz a run for its money. Passersby might mistake the sound for a bakers dozen of rabid ducks attempting to eat each other while a wookiie barber shop quartet doesn't quite harmonize "Coney Island Baby." You blink twice as the door draws nearer closing, your business concluded, your stomach fire put out.
Joy is immediately replaced with abject, shit re-inducing terror as a hand slips into the closet sized hot box. Pure, unbridled dread creeps across your face as you recognize the dainty bone structure and polished nails of a female flesh mitt. You imagine the physical wall of floating feces inching towards the slowly reopening door. Your mind instantly summons a cacophony of excuses, ranging in believability from "I can't believe they are redoing the plumbing today" to "Hey did you hear about that escaped gorilla that had swine flu, the Ebola virus, malaria, and crock pot pants? They say he's loose somewhere in the building" Attempting to come up with a workable pardon for yourself, you mindlessly shout these piecemeal ideas, hoping one of your shit balls stick.
"I wonder why those guys were taking that dead narwhal up to the fourth floor"
"Did you ever notice that elevators smell an awful lot like national park outhouses during fat camp chili night?"
"I heard that all the sewage lines are getting redirected to the elevator shafts to save money, that's President Bartax Obortion for you, eh?"
The unfortunately hot girl that you are about to poison gives you a look of annoyed dismissal. "You know, that's really insensitive. I lost my olfactory nerves in a chemical fire when I was 6, I'll never smell anything again."
Your heart skips a beat. Not only are you safe from the torturous ridicule at the hands of the undoubted dozens of facebook friends of this girl, but a renewed euphoria flushes through your body.
You have finally found your dream woman.
Your future flashes before your eyes. You never take another shower again. Your gas permeates the fanciest of car interiors. You eat shrimp and chipotle tacos with impunity. All the while your lovely bride is none the wiser to the filth and disgrace with which she has enabled your operation.
Shaking out of your fantasy, you casually dismiss your ramblings and offer apologies for your offense.
"Say, do you want to go out some time?" you ask, already planning your wedding dinner of hot wings and polish sausage.
"I can't smell, that doesn't mean I'm blind, you ugly creep!" she exclaims, as the lift reaches your floor.
You exit, tail between your legs now covered in shit water run off. Revenge is nigh, though, as you pass a group of professors about to enter the elevator. "Jesus, you disgusting bitch, you need to get some serious tests done!" you exclaim, hand casually waving in front of your nose as you breathe fresh building air for the first time in what seems ages. You march confidently to the bathroom, ready to clean up your mess and glad that you went with the black denim today.