That post about Kriss Kross made me nostalgic for 1992, AKA the Year of the Stinkbomb. We discovered that the Fun Shop (and what a fun shop it was) sold these for a dollar a box.

Our lives changed once we discovered these lethal vials. They smelled fucking horrible. Like someone took a shit on a fried egg, microwaved it, and encapsulated the smell into a tiny crack vial. No teacher could hold class inside when these were broken in the hallway; no party was safe; high school assemblies? Forget about it. They’re nearly untraceable. I wish I had a box now. I mean, not for the office. For, uh…. later. Later, far far away from the news room. Definitely not for the office.