Flatulence of the worst kind. A severe fart that is like an obscene phone call from nature. The
air--
dank, fetid, unsavory and far from fresh--feels as if it is being exhaled into
one's face from a nuclear blast channeled through an unkempt brown
eye. Sometimes the smell even tastes like effluvious rotting death- beer vomit, infected diarrhea, gangrene, and the mystery smell of the river entering the
ocean at low tide, amplifying the intrusion of feculent compost. It is obscene and repulsive, harsh and violent at the same time. In close proximity, miles from the barking bowels of the guilty anus, the
air maintains this quality of putrid death, although unknown where it acquired a tinge of
Satan's rectum, perhaps due to fumes expelled by tormented souls asses being delivered by rancid demons.
A smell awoke him. It was a scent as old as time. It was a hundred aromas of a thousand skunks. It was the tang of sweaty underarm. It was the musk of rough
anal sex. It was the muscular rot of Gruyère
cheese in urine. It was the spice of rotting savorous road kill. Meaty and redolent of death with decay and repugnant rot. It was horrid and offensive and nauseating and obscene. It was solid and alive - so alive! And it was close, lying
right next to him in fact. The vapors invaded his nostrils and his hair rose to their roots. His eyes were as
heavy as manhole covers, but he opened them. Through the dying calm inside him snaked the horrible realization that she had expelled another heinous anus fragrance.
