Smells Like Eggs

The Lineup: A bunch of floating heads, each with noses pointed at a different fart source.

Fart Factor: 8 out of 10. (from clockwise) Big Blonde detects a big one; Baseball Cap can't pinpoint if it's a skunk or an ass bomb; Waitress is unimpressed; Doof in the Middle thinks it may have been him; and Small Blonde kind of likes the smell.

Most Likely Fart Suspect: NOBODY. The place just reeks like that!

Album Cover Fartness

DID YOU KNOW? Fabolous—other than really fucking with your autocorrect—can pass entire gaseous planets after two breakfast burritos.

MR. CRACK!

But It Smells Like Detroit.

The Lineup: Peter Sarsgaard, Sienna Miller, and the server from Bennigan's who would like to know if I'm interested in Tanked Wings, Hoagie-Stogies or B-Bite Sliders this evening or if he'd like to just start me out with a drink order.

Fart Factor: Way high. About an 8.87. Sarsgaard plays it cool, not trying to make any eye contact through all the lens flares. Sienna, however, knows what's up already. And the server from Bennigan's is sorry, but they're out of both Guinness Glazed Chicken & Shrimp and the Black & Bleu Bacon Burger, but they can make a Tavern Melt really quickly, if I'd like that.

Most Likely Fart Suspect: Bennigan's. Either the melted American cheese or the sautéed onions were enough to cause my ass to start a Happy Birthday clap song.

Chief Staininshorts.

The Lineup:
Legendary Indian chiefs (from top) Horseback (Comanche), Bloody Mouth (Sioux), Wolf Robe (Cheyenne), and Lazy White Bull (Sioux). They're all great leaders. And with experience and wisdom inevitably comes gas.

Fart Factor:
6.5 out of 10

Most Likely Fart Suspect:
Bloody Mouth looks a bit wide-eyed and guilty, the others look angry, or at the very least, perturbed. It's Bloody Mouth by a mile.