Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

The target was 10 yards away. I was currently residing in some pseudo-shrubbery, outfitted in impeccable office camouflage. In my head I reviewed the operation I had planned an eternity (about twelve minutes) ago... how had it gone so wrong? The hit was supposed to be a quick in and out job, a rookie mission. That all changed when someone had tipped off my unsuspecting target. Immediately he launched the perfect preemptive strike: a doughnut was hurled over 2 cubicles, armed with what apparently were homing sprinkles. The maple missile hit its mark: my right thigh. As a result, I was now sporting a dark sticky stain on my once immaculate khakis. My mind snapped back to the present situation: I was deep behind enemy lines, and my Dockers demanded retribution. I felt a disturbance in my bowels and knew my patience was about to be rewarded. Rewarded with gas so foul that it cleared out the 3rd floor men's restroom earlier that morning. A flatulence so potent, almost symbiotic in the way that it latches on to living beings in an attempt to ensure its disgusting survival. These particular toxic fumes were brought into existence by last night's dinner of Wang Thai's takeout red duck curry, although I nor Mr. Wang could have predicted the sheer magnitude of the weaponized methane about to be released. Carefully I peeked out of the bush to check for bystanders. The cubicle hall was deserted, only the murmur of forced phone conversation prevailed in the background. I felt the final pressure surge below my belt. Quickly I ducked back into the bush, unbuckled my belt, and dropped my pants. As I felt the release coming, I sealed the open end of the Airzooka Air Gun directly against my bare posterior. Immediately the all-familiar sensation carried its course and as this gas was actually denser than air, it remained in it's cannon-shaped container. I caught a whiff of the fume's overflow and my eyes watered as I hastily refastened my pants. Silent but very deadly, indeed. I carefully positioned myself in the optimum vantage point in the plastic ferns and raised my Air Gun, it's plastic crosshairs trained directly on my completely unaware target in the cubicle across the hall. I smiled as I pulled back the trigger... Harold was having a very productive day. He had finished two proposals, chatted up the beautiful new receptionist Melanie, and even managed to hit Sean with a doughnut projectile flown over 2 cubicles! He smiled to himself about the prank. Sean had looked ridiculous scrubbing his pants with a wet napkin, which led to the poor chap's hilarious failure with Melanie shortly after. Harold was sure he wouldn't take it personally, after all these pranks were an amusing way to circumvent boredom in the office and always in good fun. Still, something in Sean's eyes was unsettling as Melanie laughed at his apparent semen stain... something shifted Harold's wandering mind back to his cubicle. Something was off about his cubicle, something crucial. Slowly he realized what it was, something smelled rotten in here. Of course Harold had no idea the abhorrent ordeal he was about to experience. Instantly the toxic plume hit him, wrapping the lethal cloud around his body. The ghastly odor forced its way into his nostrils, overriding every other smell in the room. His vision clouded and his senses felt like they were exploding. Harold spun in his chair, desperately trying to grasp what was happening. His eyes began to tear up and his tongue tasted like a jock strap. The noxious sensory overload forced him to the ground, hacking up spittle on the carpet in an attempt to get the horrendous taste out of his mouth. Harold could see only green now as the symbiotic stench continued to assault its new host. Hauling himself up with the cubicle wall, Harold realized he had inhaled too much of the wretched fumes; the office walls began to tilt and warp as the deadly gas now began to act as a hallucinogen. Stumbling out of his cubicle-turned-Hell, he somehow managed to navigate down the hall which in his mind had turned into a sick perverted labyrinth. Suddenly the urge to exorcise this demon surfaced: Harold needed to puke. The nearest container was a trashcan by someone's feet, and Harold snatched it away like it was the lost gold of Atlantis. Collapsing to the ground, he stuck his head in the plastic bin and spewed as if his life depended on it. Several minutes went by, and eventually Harold regained his bearings and stopped convulsing on the floor long enough to look up and out of the can. His eyes were greeted by two shapely legs. He followed the incredible hourglass figure all the way up and met the eyes of none other than Melanie the receptionist. Silence ensued for what felt like an eternity, their eyes locked in confusion and disbelief. Finally she opened her luscious lips and to Harold's horror, said the 8 words no man ever wants to hear from a beautiful woman. "Did you really just puke in my trashcan"