“The funny thing is they never even found out about the laundry basket.”

With those words, Ernest Pinkerton pressed the muzzle hard into the roof of his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Dr. Evans calmly put down his drill, removed his mask and latex gloves, and picked up the nearby phone. “Janice,” he said, “call the maintenance crew and warn them they may want to come in early tonight.” He hung up the phone and gazed out the window. “I think I’ll have chicken tonight,” he said to no one in particular.

Across town, his ex-wife Bess was trying in vain to capture one of her own farts in a mason jar.