"DanielJackson?"
"Teal'c?"
"Did you just break wind?"
"Ah . . . um, no. Eeuu! Who died?" Daniel fanned the air and winced.
They frowned at the long-legged occupant of the couch, chomping down his fifth beefy bean burrito.
"Whaaat?" Jack asked around a mouthful, sniffed the air and gagged. "Crap! That's nasty." He put down the burrito and scrunched his face. "But, err argh . . ." he belched and pointed to his food. "After this last one, I'll outdo whoever takes credit for that barfy fart."
All three men turned to the lone occupant in the center of Jack's living room floor.
Sitting cross-legged Sam grinned around the mouth of her beer bottle, and then announced with military pride. "It's great to be one of the guys." Sam leapt to her feet and sashayed into Jack's kitchen leaving a distinct popping sound and odor in her wake.
Three sets of wide eyes watched her windy departure and then two astute gazes settled on Jack who had yet to shut his mouth.
"O'Neill, I believe you have finally met your match."
"Sure has and she farts on cue too." Daniel drained his beer and winked at Jack.
"Oh, ye of little faith." Jack waggled his brows. "Hey, Carter, wanna play strip poker?"
Two hours later:
"C'mon, Carter, give my boxers back!"
Fin