Hoot rips a fart so loud and rumbling it would make a Harley Davidson motor jealous. I scrunch up my face and immediately throw my arm over my nose to protect it from the assault I know is coming. Rogan gets hit by the noxious fumes first, and he scrambles away, a dry heave working its way up his throat. I move as upwind as I possibly can, never more afraid to breathe than I am right now. Hoot looks at me and then Rogan, and with a snort that I’m pretty sure means my job here is done,
I can't stop laughing
