"No," Larry said, his eyes narrowing like a pulp-novel super-detective who has decided to try to solve a mystery of some kind, "This isn't 'just how Cork smells.' One of you motherfuckers is farting."
It was at this moment that I realized how much my own dignity meant to me. No matter what happened, I simply couldn't allow Larry and Glorfindel to discover the the sordid price I had paid for the paltry financial victory of my St. Bernard's shepherd's pie. My reputation would be ruined. I knew that if I were discovered as the source of the Yankee Stadium Stink, it would become an inside joke and be repeated for the rest of the trip. "Are you sure that won't give you Yankee Stadium farts, Sargent?" they'd surely ask me, next time I bought a cheap meal. "Your ass smells like a New York Baseball team!" they might also say. "Your butthole sure loves foul balls -- of odor!" And so on. I'm a man with an extremely delicate ego; I couldn't have handled it, but I knew that they were hot on my trail and the discovery of my guilt was all but certain.
Certain ugly steps had to be taken.
With grim determination, I slid my hand into my boot to retrieve my Dragon Steel Dagger, which had been gifted to me by my grandfather after the Great War. My fingers tightened around the leather handle as I sized up my companions -- Larry was the more capable opponent, so I would take him by surprise. Once he was felled, I could make short work of Glorfindel. With a little luck, neither would have time to-
And right then, Glorfindel farted.
(Then he farted a bit more.)
"Ha! I knew it was you!" Larry cried, thrusting his fist triumphantly into the air like a pulp-fantasy-novel character who had succeeded in solving a mystery of some kind. The air crackled with intensity and ass.
"No, dude, that -- that was my first fart. I haven't farted all night!"
His voice pleaded his innocence, but you could see in his eyes that he knew he'd lost. Glorfindel must've known he wasn't really the culprit, because that's how anatomy works, but there's simply no defense against being a farter when, dude, literally everyone just heard you fart.
"Don't even try to deny it, man. You just let one rip, right in front of us. It's impossible that it wasn't you," Larry said.
"But this one doesn't even smell like Yankee Stadium!"
And this is where my story gets dark, because this is where I abandoned my integrity to protect my own dignity. This is where I became an active participant in the cover-up of my own guilt. This is where I threw Glorfindel right under the proverbial piano.
Featuring Special Guest Model Brendan McGinley.
"No way, man, we all know it was you," I said, grinning like a fucking snake, "besides, your name is Glorfindel. Clearly you're going to be the one farting, if any of us are."
(Note: That joke doesn't really make sense, because I had to change Glorfindel's name to protect his privacy, but trust me when I say that if you knew his real name, that'd come off as being reaaaally clever. Probably the best joke in this whole article.)
"Ha! Good one!" Larry cried, congratulating me on being so witty.
"Yes, that wasn't bad at all," Glorfindel admitted, casting his eyes downward toward the cobblestone pathway as we shuffled off into the misty, Corky night, connected as we were by a tenuous bond of friendship and lies.
Epilogue: What This Means for You
And so ends my tale of friendship and betrayal. I learned that night that the human heart contains a darkness few of us ever face head on. I betrayed Glorfindel, yes, but who are you to judge me? How many of you have found yourself torn between your reputation, your self-respect, and your gas-passing? Have any of you willingly given up the last parachute, opting to stay behind in a crashing fart-plane? Has even one of you stared down the flapping cheeks of a flatulent butt?
Andy Sotiriou/Photodisc/Getty Images
And could you ever love me, knowing that I have?
I've seen the inside of my heart, and it's ugly, because if I can get away with something, I'll do whatever is necessary to make sure of it. And I will never come clean. Except maybe in a comedy article six years later. If that counts.
JF Sargent carries around a lot of guilt. Read about it on Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook.
For more from Sarge, check out 5 Gender Stereotypes That Used To Be the Exact Opposite and 5 'Deviant' Sex Acts That Science Says Are Good For You.