The Ideal Way To Start The Day.

I had just walked out of The HQ, nursing a bruised rib and a tender ego, after unsuccessfully trying to pin The Girlfriend down on the floor for some early morning shenanigans. However, like an electric eel drenched in oil, she proved to be rather elusive and feisty and so, after numerous failed attempts to have sexual relations, I eventually conceded defeat and talked her into putting the pepper spray down, and removing her elbow from my throat. The combination of her fly kicks to my testicular region, together with the mace she had earlier managed to get into my mouth, left my tummy feeling a little queezy, and so as I entered the lift, I understandably broke wind with fearsome velocity.

Once this occurred, it was obvious that the lift would not take me all the way to the ground floor, as it usually does in the morning. No, on this occasion, it was only natural that the lift stopped at the very next floor, and a pretty young brunette with long, shapely legs and a blouse two sizes too small would enter. She must have been about 20, possibly a student, as she was wearing a low cut shirt with UCT proudly emblazoned across her ample bosom, and seemed to have a love-bite on her left breast.

Our eyes locked for a split second, and there was an immediate glimmer in her eyes as she sized me up, clearly liking what she was seeing, and picturing me naked in front of her. (Sometimes you just KNOW that’s what they’re thinking)

This initial attraction on her part lasted for precisely 3.45 seconds, before she stepped into the cesspool of toxic fumes that was the elevator.

To her credit she didn’t say a word, despite the fact that her lungs were probably bleeding, and the small pot plant she was carrying had just died in her arms.

I was slowly dying myself, staring intently at the floor, and urging it to somehow open up and let me fall through. Alternatively, I began hoping that this was just an elaborate dream, and I would soon wake up in a cold sweat and crawl out from underneath The Girlfriend’s thighs.

Alas though, no wake up was forthcoming and so we stood in stony silence, waiting for the lift to painstakingly make it’s way down to the floor.

And that, dear friends, is all the proof you will ever need, that breaking wind in a lift is bad for you.

Warning: Farting In Lifts Can Kill.

A lesson learned.

Shaun Oakes

This was written by the hulking mass of manliness known as Shaun Oakes. If you enjoyed what he had to say, you owe it to yourself to follow him on Twitter at @shaunoakes. Do it now.