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.
