(My dad and I were having a post-Thanksgiving dinner farting contest. It was getting progressively worse and worse and thus funnier and funnier until he pauses and makes a weird face.) Me: What's wrong, Dad? Dad: ... I don't trust this one. Me: ... Trust what, the fart? Dad: Aye. I think it might be a shart in disguise.

(In the living room about 15 minutes before Thanksgiving Dinner with 20 family members and Grandma.) Gram: I think somebody farted. Younger Brother: You know what they say Gram, they who smelled it, dealt it. Gram: (laughs) That's true. (*Pause*) Gram; No, I was wrong, somebody's crapped themselves.