MILWAUKEE, WI–An executive who recently accepted the position of Chief Executive Officer at an abundantly traditional corporation “that gives their execs the offices they deserve,” expressed, in lieu of his grand strategic plans for the coming quarter, his genuine excitement to “fart freely, resoundingly, with uninhibited passion and fervor,” in the privacy of his corner office. Duck Egleton, who previously worked as Chief Revenue Officer at a Chicago startup, brushed off the impressive growth in earnings that could be credited to his incredible tenure and which brought a meager 8-person startup to a some-200 people operation. Egleton, visibly bitter, still held considerable disdain and contempt for the open floor plan office space his former employer refused to walk away from.

“Two miserable years,” Egleton remarked.

I had to work constantly, if only to take my mind off the gassy trepidation that raced through my thoughts and rumbled in my bowels.

I’d do pages upon pages of mindless reports, the wanton desire filling my mind as I browsed the internet for pictures of fancy corner offices, pondering the freedom, the liberation, of unrestrained, unpunished flatulence, before realizing all at once… exploding in a sudden loss of bodily control. I’d howl, “”I gotta take a shit!”, and run for the bathroom.

On speaking of his former office, Egleton noted that, at first, the void of private office space for executives to fart, led him to uphold obligatory decorum. But after blaming one too many interns for his own uncomfortable vapors, the stubborn gas build up he tried to force out that led to embarrassment, his soiled dress pants, and the office that reeked of beans and shame, it was ultimately an amicable separation he accepted.

As he arrived in Milwaukee, he was filled with hope. “This is beer town, USA. These are my people!” He said between squeakers.

Egleton left his first meeting at his new headquarters quite giddy to get back into his corner office and let his four walls echo with deep vibration as his body convulsed in thrilling satisfaction. Employees, meanwhile, fled the foul-smelling conference room in horror and confusion, many with watering eyes, the atmosphere within hardly navigable, a thick fog permeating the air.

At press time, Egleton reaffirmed his complete satisfaction with his new career and, much more, its wafting benefits:

The first time I was able to let one rip, it was like Etta James’s “At Last,” echoing in my lower intestines and crescendoing unendingly, beautifully. Turns out, doctor says I have a preexisting condition.

-TTT.