After work last night I jumped into a cab at a taxi stand outside my office. I sat down, gave the cabbie the directions, and he pulled away. I then realized that the cabbie must have spent the last hour in the cab farting like he had a spicy form of chronic colitis with the windows closed and the heat on. It was like someone was shitting week-old jambalaya into the back of my throat (it’s a terrible experience, take it from me). It was like a steamy rectal stew in there. If the power window hadn’t opened I am pretty sure I would have shattered the glass with my face just to get some fresh air. Thanks a lot, Toronto cabbie. You are now the inventor of some sort of Masala-powered Gaswagen. I look forward to your prompt ethnic cleansing of Toronto commuters.