Imagine you are in a crowded super market isle, shopping for a party you are throwing, in the honour of the awesomeness of yourself. Gliding effortlessly through the crowd, you enter the last section before fulfilling your voyage at the checkout counter- ‘the dessert isle‘. Decorating the lane is a bright neon coloured sign reading ‘Desserts‘ , and rows full of drool-inducing desserts engulfed in a paradisical halo. As you stand at the foot of the sweet loftiness, the bow-inducing grandeur, you let escape a silent, yet deadly cloud of noxious fumes.
The pesky-10-year-old fiend, standing next to you, reflexively cups his impish face with his hands and screeches ,”MUM!! This guy just FARTED!!!”.
Do we really need the truth serum, I wonder.