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We had the tiniest, crappiest little production office you can imagine. It was a little carpeted sphincter with 7 foot high ceilings and a funky smell that rented for $150 a month -- the office, not the smell.

Trey was basically living there, and we used the room to store lots of papers, props, and costumes. We also had our official Avenging Conscience phone line there. Ian, who was more mature, upstanding, and dickish than the rest of us, would get amazingly pissed off when Trey and Matt would leave loud resonant farts on our out going messages.

Ian was living in Denver at this point, so it was extremely inconvenient for him to drive forty minutes to change the message, but he actually did so a few times. The rest of the time he would leave these pissed off messages to Trey and Matt about how fucking lame they were and how they needed to be more professional, etceteras, And Ian would be so god damn mad that his angry anti-fart messages were even more hilarious than the actual farts themselves. So I would usually show up and find Trey and Matt replaying an anti-fart message over and over and laughing their asses off.

Pretty soon everyone was doing Ian impressions and farting. This impression thing was quite common, and regrettably remains so -- if you are out of ear shot there is a good chance that someone is doing some fucked up impression of you. I should mention here that there is absolutely no truth whatsoever to the rumor that Cartman's nasal bitchery resembles my own dulcet locutions.

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