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The problem with a leather coat that hangs to your calves is that you've basically sealed yourself inside the fashionable carcass of another animal, like Luke inside the tauntaun. And maybe nine times out of ten, that's no issue at all. But I invite you, when you have a chance, to put on a heavy leather trench coat, do it up, and fart. Then just stand there a moment. Sway a little -- maybe take a step or two in whatever direction.

20th Century Fox

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It'll smell just as good on the inside as it will out there.

A warm fart in a cold leather coat has but one direction to go. It will meander slowly but surely up your spine, over your shoulders, and up your neck, right into your face, like the hand of a late-night kidnapper with a rag of ether trying to subdue you into a shit-scented state of unconsciousness. It will happen every single time, as there's literally nowhere else for the fart to go. It's hot air; it's going to rise. Your only chance is to literally try to run away from it and achieve enough speed that the tails of your coat fly up in a sort of Batman cape behind you, and the fart is sucked free in your wake. And how is that even an option? How can you, as an adult, seriously contemplate outrunning your own fart on the street?