Going down, right? That's great. I need to cut this day short, gotta get home and take care of some urgent business. This morning has NOT gone as planned.
You see, I had an extra large bran muffin and a tall coffee for breakfast this morning. It seems to have pushed things into high gear, my insides are red-lining at the moment.
The bran/coffee combo doesn't typically have this affect but when coupled with the 17 Cerveza Caguama I threw down last night while alternately feasting on dozens of habanero street tacos and that hooker's crack, my guts are ready to explode.
Oh no. Oh fuck.
A man can only hold off the bubbles and pressure for so long.
I hate that it had to go down like this, here in this packed elevator. I made the terrible mistake of releasing a scout before I walked in and now we're all paying for it. Well, not so much me. I've learned to embrace my special brand of funk. But you poor bastards. You're definitely paying for it. Especially that woman curled in the fetal position in the corner. Is she breathing?
Word to the wise, folks. Don't try and hold your breath, simply breath as you normally would. If you take a deep breath and hold it, the beast will work it's way down and gutrot will then ensue. Trust me, it's pretty potent stuff. My poor wife just about died on our honeymoon.
Can this thing move any faster? World's slowest elevator combined with man helplessly emitting lethal methane while almost shitting his pants is not a good combination. They should build these things with our colons and noses in mind. Man, this is ridiculous.
Is someone's nosehair burning? I'm sorry, I can't help it any longer. Once those first couple escaped, it was all over. Seriously, is she breathing over there?
Just a few more floors to go folks. I know it's unbearable at the moment but is the uncontrollable retching necessary? Let he who has not squeezed a gaseous demon through their keyster cast the first stone!
I need something to help me relax. Sphincter muscles can't take much more. Fading fast. FUCK!
This is the worst day ever. Not only have I ruined everyone's sinuses for life, but these suit pants will never be the same. Thank goodness we've at least reached the ground floor.
Here's my card. Send me your dry-cleaning bills, I'll take care of everything. It's Peirera. Mike Peirera.
I'm sorry. I really am.
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