NEW YORK CITY — For Mr. Dave Edgars, his day began as any other. He arose from bed, pulled on his tighty-whities, brushed his teeth for the recommended two minutes and made his wife breakfast.

He then left his apartment on the upper westside and strolled the fifteen blocks to his office in midtown, stepping aside for every stranger that crossed his path.

Upon reaching the intersection of 57th and 9th, a witness named John Devon, who sat on a nearby bench, observed Mr. Edgars turn his head both ways, carefully inspecting the area around him, before laying out one of the all-time dankest farts he’d ever heard.

Astonished by the man’s mix of courtesy and anal acoustics, he chased down Mr. Edgars in a quest to learn more. Edgars, while at first embarrassed, soon opened up to Devon about the incident.

“No one understands,” he began. “I’m constantly bloated with no end in sight. But my wife complains and berates me for my toots so much I can barely even fart in public now. She even makes me sleep on the couch some nights because of my deep sleep seepers. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have a compressed barrel of stink puffs inside of me that need releasing. So I do what I can to be polite. You never know if someone’s behind you. I know what it’s like to get farted on. I get beefed on everyday at work, metaphorically speaking. It’s not always easy though. Sometimes I catch myself by surprise. It’s for that very reason I mostly stay away from jalapeños.”