THE STANK PRANK
by Christopher Livingston, Not My Desk
For all my fondness for fart jokes, I'm not all that taken with actual farts themselves. I wouldn't dream of deliberately passing the anal winds in the company of others, and I don't really appreciate the stank of others, unless I'm wearing a Canadian-made C-3 M69 Gas Mask and I'm locked safely in a Perry SIGMA Monoplace Hyperbaric Chamber, which is only the case about once every two weeks.
This is one of the drawbacks of working in an office trailer with a bunch of engineers and construction workers. There's a real juvenile sense of humor about the place, and with just a single engineer being a woman, the grab-assing, profanity, and scatological references go more or less unchecked. I'm fine with low-brow jokes, and the constant profanity in the workplace is refreshing after the sort of muted, button-down offices I've worked in previously. But I draw the line at farting. Sure, the occasional squeaker is one thing, and I've let my share of SBDs creep into the air when people were at a safe distance. But what I'm dealing with now, unrestricted gas attacks that strain the boundaries of the Geneva Convention, are really starting to get to me.
My co-worker, to whom I will designate the moniker "B", is an estimator. Good guy, wicked smart, aggressive, energetic, and the biggest instigator of office horseplay. Our typical morning exchange goes something like this:
B: "Where's my coffee, bitch?"
Me: "Fuck you, douche-bag."
B also has a particular flair for farting. Not just letting one rip in his office, but going into someone else's office, walking into a crowd of people talking, or, worst of all, coming right up to my desk and blasting a juicy one. And I mean juicy. The kind where you figure he's gonna have to change his pants afterwards, or possibly dispose of them for good. The smell? Bad. Awful. We flee. We have to. Something died up inside that boy.A few months ago, B's brother, "D", came to work in our trailer. They don't look much alike, but something definitely runs in their family, because they share the same deadly gas, and they aren't shy about sharing it with everyone else. They even started tag-team farting. They'd walk together into someone's office, and two simultaneous explosions were heard, then felt, then smelt. They were out of control.
I decided it was time someone nailed them, and good. They share an office, and I figured I could easily prank them both in one fell swoop. But how?
