2003-03-21

OK, ladies, I need my space. Because you STINK. Do you hear me, people? YOU STINK! I have had it up to my olfactory organs with having your reeking asses next to me on the bus, in the elevator, in the food court on my lunch hour when I�m trying to EAT, and worst of all, in my OFFICE.

What kind of primal, biologically hardwired mating urge forces you to cloak yourselves in this stank-ass aura? It couldn�t possibly be any deliberate cognitive function that leads you to think that the world in a hundred-foot radius of you needs to be bludgeoned with the cloying aroma of Eau de Cougar. It must that primitive, unconscious reptilian brain that makes you compulsively bathe your ENTIRE FUCKING BODY in synthetic hormones in hopes of enticing some barely sentient, grunting Neanderthal to hump your leg or whatever appendage now houses your sagging reproductive apparatus.

But even if that�s the case, and what passes for coherent thought among aging public servants these days is not responsible for the ubiquitous cloud of horrid chemical putrescence, why is it necessary to troll yourselves up like this to go to WORK? Who are you trying to impress? Is that elusive lonely divorc�e going to meet your eye over the photocopy machine? Perhaps you�re hoping for a night of passion with that hot Chilean refugee who empties the recycling bins? Whatever the fuck you�re thinking, it sure as hell isn�t �I give the tiniest shit about human beings other than myself,� because if you did, you wouldn�t wander past my office and leave a lingering odour so pungent it brings tears to my eyes and leaves me desperately waving my arms around like I�m being swarmed by killer bees.