Don't sugar coat it. Take out the fart spray

Don't sugar coat it. Take out the fart spray and goose this turnip good. I'm tired of everyone blaming the fat guy for unowned odors. This time I will strike, and strike hard until
the dystopian office malaise boils over into a savagery befitting the anguish it relegates me to daily. The untraceable, yet pervasive stench, once under the carpets, will taunt
the tastes of any connoisseur of pungent delectables. I was like a truffle caught in the path of stampeding swine. This is what I have to
endure because my sweat glands naturally produces the aroma of chocoloate chip cookies straight from the oven.
Though I'd tried sticking myself in the oven to compensate for the cookie aroma, I'd only ended up smelling like
Girls with bubble-gum lazers that took a bite out of crime for the next fifty years.
The BGLG (Bubble Gum Lazar Girls) replaced police and soldiers everywhere. Criminals could spot the Lazar glow shining through their teeth even in Noonlight! Crime became so rare
that wannabe-nonconformists started joining crime groups, making it grow more rampant all over again because it was so kitsch. Hipsters were breaking into banks, dealing crack and
laundering money. When they refused to install carbon monoxide detectors in their homes, the President twatted a plea for order (#ohgrowupalready), but the criminal hipsters
just tweeted back, "How long do you have to be ignorant before you start experiencing bliss?"

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