There is no god.
Separate those buttcheeks as far as you want to, girl, but that fart you’re trying so hard to silence is going to be ricocheting around those jeans until you shake it out your pant leg and into the elf’s robe, and your ruse will be exposed when Arwen casts the spell whoever smelt it dealt it with +10 squeaky shoe blame.
Somewhere in the Midwest Tornado Zone there’s a box of Speef lying under a three inch layer of dust in an abandoned bomb shelter and I’m going to hunt it down just for the sheer glee I’m going to feel when I see the kids’ faces as I drop those cans into their trick-or-treat bags.
…and that downside is the level of coked-up rage that will inspire you to smack a cop in the gob and land you in prison because said cop confiscated your drugs AND your $2000 ivory paraphernalia. You’d deserve it though because you bought ivory and elephants are awesome.