I strolled through the office the other day like Stone Cold Steve Austin dropping fucking hot beef hurricanes out of my ass. Sheila comes out of her cubicle like she’s John Wayne, and she says she wants to throw down the fart gauntlet. So we square up and everyone in the office surrounds us within seconds, Jared from accounting has his green visor on and he’s booking bets, sales team is losing their shit, it’s a madhouse. Sheila is looking me dead in the eye. I’ve seen her smashing chili at her desk by the gallon-sized Tupperware container, I can tell this bitch came to play. She lifts one cheek and lets out this low, loud rumble that has me thinking I’m about to lose my undefeated streak—until suddenly, the sound turns wet and she realizes she’s flown too close to the sun. “That’s a shart!” Pete from R&D has his referee shirt on. “We’ve got a shart, DISQUALIFIED!” Sheila hangs her head in shame and waddles off to clean herself up. Everyone else is going crazy. A few people are close to tearing their hair out from losing big and Adam the 40 year-old intern has to hand over his wedding ring to the house. My mom said I would never be anything. Thankfully, she got me this job and she still works here, she’s right over there. I’m looking her in the eye, and I can tell by the way she’s shaking her head and averting her eyes downward that she’s so proud of the man I’ve become. 

---