And apparently, on the floor below us, they're doing some construction.
But all we hear is farts. Big, ripping, ass-flogging farts. The kind that go on for hours at a time, and you're in tears by the time they're done.
"WHOO! Excuse me!"
"Oh, Mexican night on the tenth floor!"
"Gee, Chrysler Building, can't you control yourself?!?"
Et cetera.
Yes, we're all twelve today.
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