There’s always one. It looks just like every other chair: innocuous, comfortable, inviting. Then you sit in it. And then it attacks.
Suddenly, you’re a shifty madperson, trying to make the chair make that noise again, to prove that it was the chair and not you. You would not dare to be so uncouth. It was the chair! The chair made those horrible, disgusting noises. The chair is rude! Not you!
There has to be a way to prevent the farty chair. I refuse to believe that we can send a man to the moon or make a dancing robot but not a chair that doesn’t make obscene noises when you sit down in it. Get on that shit, science. We’re all counting on you.