Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Christmas Stinks!


  Firstly, for everyone actually working this Christmas Day, a sincere tip-o'-the-hat to you.  You guys rock!  This will be the first Christmas Day (by random luck) that I've had off since 2008.  I'm alone for the majority of the day as Becky has to work (we both haven't had a Christmas off together since about 2002).  I can understand what it's like for those that do.  Whether you're in the service industry or military, you're appreciated.  Thank you.

  What peeves me this morning is that some people stink.  Not in some philosophical way but in a physical way, particularly during the winter season.  Why?  Maybe no access to a toothbrush or soap?  I notice this often I get to take a bus halfway to where I work from a portal area.  This doesn't sound like a big deal but I half to walk in the dark, often in the wee-hours about a little over a mile.  It's pitch-black both ways due to my hours I work in the winter and there's no cover to protect against the 50+ mph winds and when it's 10 degrees outside it's like being on another planet.  Like being on some sort of Pitch Black novel, and I'm the main character, or the first victim in a list.  A halfway bus makes it a little safer, but such conditions could kill a person unprotected, or at least induce frostbite within 15 minutes, which is when you lose ears, limbs, and other body parts.  So.. when it's available, I take the bus.  It runs during the weekday and so I'm not tortured all the time as much.  Because of these conditions, several people have left where I work, though the mud-path tread-down has finally been paved with a short 3' walkway (unlit) during the warmer days suspicious bull-snakes and rattlesnakes lazily frequent it, making for a painful bite, and out in that distant field, no one can hear your cries for help.  Fun!

  The bus is a diesel-deal, and it's usually warmed-up about 15 degrees from the outside as diesel vehicles aren't prone for warmth, but it's something and I'm grateful.  What irks me is the others that hop onboard, most of whom don't need to continue-on the extra half-mile from where it drops folks off, stink.  Not the military, mind-you.  They seem to all have some sense of humanity and decency.  Praise them!  It's the others.  It's the contractors.  They're wearing bulky coats and huff fatly onboard after me, reeking of various things.  I'd be probably okay with body-odor.  That'd be fine, almost, though it's the beginning of the day, so really there should be little excuse for that lest they were summoned-in for some greater satellite-cause; it's possible.  No, it's not that.  There's more.  SO much more.

  So the typical non-military contractor will heave onboard and I can't help thinking of Jethro Tull's album Stand Up (1969) and the song "Fat Man". 

  The smells are mind-bogglingly confusing.  Often it's safe enough, bad, low-grade perfumes from toothy, beastly women smelling of baby-powder and cheap hair-products, the stank of thick, unyielding synthetic ambergris lingering like a Barrow Wight from some lost chapter in a Tolkien novel.  The presence of the smell is unpleasant, and I suspect the she-devil used the odor as a lotion instead of a delicately-dabbed, gracefully-proper "hint" on the pulse-zones of the jugular and wrist as a Lady might in discretion only to be noticed by gentlemen suitors within the closest, most intimate proximity, a dainty wiff of something coying?  No.  FAT, stanky, lazy, unthought, rank odor, a violent splashing like a desperate she-orc in a hurry for one last rude hump by a drunk ogre-sailor bellowing a shanty about lost dreams.  This scent is rude and frames the she-beast like a book's blurb on a dust-cover.  It explains her fully: lazy, uncaring, apparently olfactorily-dead, and all but given-up on life.  Stank, inside the soul and out.  "Stay away!", her smell demands, ironically, creating the exact opposite effect.  I've known younger idiot women do this too, reeking of stinky perfume, leaving a room, her presence lingering for hours afterwards like a thick cloud from an evil green dragon.  Not good.  Retarded.  No one wants this, ever.  What are you trying to do, miss?  You can't disguise.  Your very core reeks.

  Other smells are that of bad coffee seething-up from the bellies of fatties like cauldrons of boiling acid and poor-grade, peasant-class coffee, often mixed with pesticides and insect parts microscopic.  Starbucks is a horrible coffee shop and hides its failings with corn-syrup and burnt beans and chemical sprays.  Definitely the most poisonous and unhealthy of "coffee shops" frequented only by women and liberal-idealists in denial.  The vapor of death makes its way up the mouth-breathers that hope the caffeine will start their sluggish, empty hearts. 

  Unwashed teeth stink of garlic from the Asians (sorry, stereotype-haters) that thought it'd be a nice, good idea to reek of the cloves for the entire day and into tomorrow for everyone to unjoy.  Worse still, folks with scummy teeth mouth-breathing like stupid, freak-thumbed Megan Fox, the bacteria taking flight, evolving to a 1903 Orville Wright civilization, finding new worlds in the frigid air, the thick layers of yellow muck on the tooth enamel celebrating a new era for their race for me to smell.  Please, use a twig if you can't find a toothbrush.  Even rednecks will use Trident, and it kind of works for them at least.  Ugh.  Brush your teeth once a week.  Please?  I'll buy.

  There's something worse.  Sometimes a smell of decay and death you can only smell from dank sewers in ancient places, wafting up.  Something evil before the creation of the universe.  Before the big-bang.  From a place the Shadow People come from.  Before Light.  Some smell of a pure decay not unlike wheat and filth like 3-week-old dead bodies left to rot lest poppies grow from their ichor as in the Battle at Passchendaele in World War I.  Something fungal and foul from the deep reaches of sinister distortion.  The Apocalyptic Rider "Pestilence's" best weapon.  He keeps it for last, and now it's here.  The final decay unknown except for the unfound regions of the Fungus Kingdom, out their faces, projected through lung diaphragms and into my way for me to suffer.  How is this person walking?  Some cruel joke by the devil no-doubt.  Even the undead would back-off in reverence, and bow. 

  How can people stink so badly?  Why can they not know how bad they stink?  This is everywhere, not just this mad bus of despair.  This happens in places all around!  They should be culled!

Or.. I guess I could just walk. 

Merry Christmas!

What?  It's just a guy eating a candy cane.. right?  Least his breath is likely peppermint-y.. or.. 

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