Whatever it is that you are doing with your shoes that keeps washing me with a thick, oily wave of overly-ripe cheese scent, CUT IT OUT.
Oh yeah, and stop kicking my fucking chair while doing it!
MAN! One would think that people who go to documentaries from the 50's would, like, bathe once in a while. Well, I'm finding, that's not the case. Perhaps stinking to high heaven is some sort of documentarian badge of honor I don't know about? I made a doc once - shouldn't someone have informed me? Come to think of it - that fat guy with the sweater always looks pretty sweaty - bet he stinks. Of course, I am often a little clueless about these things.
Holy SHIT though, there were like five people who smelled like they had necrotic flesh under their vile sweaters! NECROTIC! SWEATERS! It was like 65 degrees out! Maybe that explains it? That, or they have dead rats in their pockets?
The mind reels. Mostly because I was faint from the smell.
Remember how Scully, A DOCTOR, would always see a body and go "Ugh!" at the smell, holding a dainty hankie to her tiny little nose? That was me last night. Except no hankie. And no dainty.
At what point is it not rude anymore to turn around and say, "YOU FUCKING STINK, ASSHOLE, STOP WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS THAT YOU ARE DOING?" What line does the offending party have to cross for it to be socially acceptable to say something to that effect? Is it when I start to gag? Do I actually have to vomit? Is the Scully face enough? Such dilemmas... and of course, both Emily Post AND Jane Austen are mum on the topic.
Oh yeah, and some parchmenty old lady tried to bring a wee dog in last week. A DOG! INTO THE ACADEMY! What the hell is wrong with these people?
wondering where have all the cowboys gone (hate that song, HATE IT),