My 41st birthday is this Sunday. They say the mind is the first thing to go. For me, the mind is not the first thing to go. it will be my sense of smell.
Four years ago I had a neighbor that reeked so powerfully of God knows what that I thought I had smelled the doorway to Hell’s outhouse. He was later incarcerated, presumably for impersonating a septic tank. For the last two years, my Albanian neighbors have been cooking up dishes that must surely consist of wet dog fur and old jockstraps (traditional recipe). Truly that was the most noisome odor.
That is, until Tuesday evening.
The Bacchanalian bimbos that live to the right of me concocted the most fetid, noxious stench this side of Hades. Mind you, despite their habit of leaving their lingerie in the hallway, they are rather clean, so the smell roused my suspicions that possibly something was burning.
Perhaps they were suddenly detained by one of those all too common accidents that happen to women in the movies. You know, an accidental bumping of shoulders in the kitchen turns into an instant girl-on-girl lovefest. I know it happens. Constantly. Really. You can’t tell me it doesn’t. Excuse me, I’m digressing.
I knocked on the door and Karen answered, fully dressed for once, and toking on a joint so thick I mistook it for an Arturo Fuentes Double Corona. The weed was obviously a cheap homegrown variety — the type one often sees springing up between the sidewalk cracks outside Detroit’s 3rd Precinct Police Station.
If the smell of the pot wasn’t rancid enough to make a Jamaican sick, then dinner surely was. A starving pack of shrews would shy from this. Broiled Brussel Sprouts. I use the term broiled loosely. Perhaps cremated would be more apropos. The two odors together confected such a fatal fetor that rust was forming on the stovetop and fixtures.
Wow, a stoner that answers the door smoking a joint. They definitely aren’t paranoid.
All the stoners I knew would’ve freaked out and started hiding everything. Then answered the door nervously, making it quite obvious that they were up to no good.
I’m torn between suggesting that you try and move to an apartment complex that isn’t in the seventh level of hell, or just sit back, and enjoy all the trouble those crazy kids love to get into.:grin:
haha 😆
wishes on losing your sense of smell. 😛
yay. our birthdays are close together! that means nothing! yay!
I noticed it again!!
How come Americans always have to place a country or city in front of alot of things. Brussels Sprouts, French Fries, German shepard Pie, English Muffin, French kiss, Dutch treat.
“We” have Sprouts, fries and muffins.
We ONLY have the kisses WITH tongue, so they are “kiss”.
Can someone explain to me the use of the tongueless kiss?
Uhm, Anna, do you kiss your family members with your tongue?
God I love this place! 😀
On the other hand, I sense a book or short novel about this apartment block.
you could call it …
The Apartment
~ DaveZilla
THE concise history of what the neighbours did last night.
Comes complete with a unique smello-jello pag, for that unique sensation.
$29.95*
*plus postage & handling & statutory dealer charges & expenses.
Uhm, Kismet, do you kiss your family memmbers on the mouth?
So what I gather about Europe is:
1) It is unacceptable to kiss family members on the mouth.
2) The tongue is always used in a kiss.
3) Therefore, if I am Anna’s long-lost cousin, a polite greeting will be to lick her below the neck.
I am moving to Europe now. :wang:
How come Americans always have to place a country or city in front of alot of things
Simple, dear Anna. We have too many food items. If you went to a vegetarian restaurant and asked for “sprouts”, assuming the Brussel variety, you’d be a bit put off to receive a plateful of these. 😐
“girl-on-girl lovefest”
You’ll never know, Dave
This post stinks. 😛
Uhmmm, Anna…personally I favor Daschund Pie over the German Shepard variety.
@Moxie: well at least someone saw that. 😀
I am starting to think you like your wierd neighbors, because you have not mentioned moving yet.
broiled brussel sprouts? I think I’m in love…
But it’s mostly because they know how to roll a good fattie.
plus — GIRL on GIRL action? I am ready to rock and ROLL!
:wang:
Girl on Girl action usally naked and high. I don’t understand the problem?
This post should have begun with a warning: Do not read if eating.
Hmmm… that bagel went down a bit… ick.
Dave, all you need is to do is wear a little patchouli to fix that right up. 🙂
Oh, and you might want to start smoking to decrease the sense of smell, specifically Clove cigarettes.
And if you ever get the chance, place a dead rat in their heating vents.
Dead rats are perhaps what they are cooking…
:dead:
Mmmmmm, yummy.:dead:
There you are envisioning a girl on girl love fest and in actuality it was merely the preparation of a flatulence inducing vegetable.
My roommate just brushed against me. Does she want me or should I just make her some broccoli?
Better get naked and find out. Send the video in and we can all decide.
The two odors together confected such a fatal fetor that rust was forming on the stovetop and fixtures.
Sorry, that was totally accidental. Sure, the first is premature, but after that, I’m ready for the whole night and into the following afternoon.