Rebel Smell

I think Satan may have broken into our apartment and farted into our refrigerator. A few days ago, my girlfriend, Sarita and I noticed a foul smell coming from the interior of our aforementioned household appliance. This odor has since been getting steadily stronger and now smells like what I would imagine Jeffery Dahmer's apartment might have smelled like when he was finally arrested for a string of horrible serial murders. Our stench is a stench of mysterious origins, wicked and Lovecraftian...as if birthed from an alternate dimension. The smell of nightmares and rot. A thorough cleaning of the interior had absolutely no effect on this odor..it only seems to gain strength through our disgust. We had no rotten food stored away in some dark corner to give this hideous smell some kind of earthly origin, rather it seems to have simply come into being of its own accord. There is something uniquely disconcerting about opening the door of your refrigerator and being met with a stench that might be more closely associated with something you might encounter during a visit to a county morgue. This "thing" is like some kind of olfactory syphilis. Every time we open the fridge these days it's like being forced to inhale smelling salts that have been extracted from the asshole of a rotting cadaver...if I was hard pressed to pin the odor down, I would describe it as a rotten cucumber that had been infused with the DNA of a dead rat and then pickled in a jar of formaldehyde and cocktail onions and served up on a plate of burning plastic and slathered with a hearty dollop of stagnant water drawn from an abandoned septic tank...oh and this would all be experienced in the world that the film Tron took place in...when people die in that world...this is what their bodies begin to smell like when they rot.

Ingo Gets The Squirts

The man introduced himself as "Bob Bunyan". "Like the giant" he added.

"Giant?" Dr. Becker wasn't sure what possible significance the comparison could have.

"You know...Paul Bunyan."

"Oh...that giant" Looking at the man's chart, Dr. Becker saw that Mr. Bunyan had also included this trivial tidbit on his insurance information form.

"The one with the giant blue ox" the man said. "The giant lumberjack".

Dr. Becker sighed. "I get it, Mr. Bunyan. There's no need to belabor the point...wringing it dry like a blood-soaked rag. At this point you are flogging a dead horse, Bunyan. I get it! Next time leave this kind of trivial horseshit off of your insurance forms, or I'll put my foot so far up your ass you'll belch Birkenstocks"

Mr. Bunyan looked a bit shell-shocked by the scolding and Dr. Becker relished the man's uneasiness. Becker did not suffer fools and the tongue lashing had been quite satisfying.

"Having the same last name as a legendary giant lumberjack does not make you anything special, Mr. Bunyan. If anything, pointing that out makes you seem meek and insignificant...like some kind of wriggling, slimy worm...or better yet, a maggot....squirming in a sea of feces with others of your ilk."

Mr. Bunyan bowed his head, looking ashamed and Dr. Becker withheld a grin. He loved nothing more than berating his patients...except perhaps for stabbing them...but he didn't do that sort of thing anymore. He'd had the "Bad Becker" under control for quite some time now. His mask and knives were safely tucked away in a safety deposit box just in case the police should come to call on him.

"Here, Mr. Bunyan, I'll just fix this form of yours". Becker removed a ballpoint pen from the breast pocket of his lab coat and scribbled out Bunyan's "like the giant" notation and replaced it with the words "like the asshole". "There we are...much, much, much better!" he said, passing the clipboard to Mr. Bunyan. Bunyan gazed at the notation and began to sob quietly. Delighted by the man's waterworks, Becker couldn't resist ridiculing his patient further.

"I hate you, Bunyan! You're an idiot and I hope you die!" he hissed. Mr. Bunyan gazed up at the Doctor, red-eyed and full of self-loathing. "Why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded. The Doctor threw his head back and laughed. "I'm only funning ya, buddy boy!" he said and patted Mr. Bunyan on the shoulder gently. "It's all good, peckerwood, I'm just making a funny ha ha joke...like the stand up comedians do down at The Funny Farm Comedy Club!"

Bunyan looked confused but somewhat relieved by this information. "A...a joke? Like a comedian?"

"Yes...a funny funny ha ha joke like the comedian! Like the Bob Hope or the George Burns make with funny mouth! Make many joke so as to be laughed at by public!" Becker then began to walk stiffly around the exam room as if he were some kind of robot. "Dr. Pookie make funny joke for patient man in exam room!" Bunyan was further befuddled by his doctor's odd behavior, staring at him with his mouth agape. "Dr. Pookie is made of metal like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz!" Becker said robotically.

"Or like C-3PO?" Bunyan asked

"Ya ya! Little Dutch Boy! Me like C-3PO! Me robot!" Becker suddenly froze in his tracks. "Uh oh!" he mumbled.

Bunyan examined him. "What's wrong, Doctor?"

"Robot doctor accidentally make shit in pants." Becker answered.

Mr. Bunyan looked uncomfortable. "You shit your pants?"

"Robot doctor make doo doo download in drawers. Red alert! Red alert."

Bunyan quickly gathered his clothing from the chair he had draped it over. "Well...I guess you'll want to take care of that then, Doctor...uh...I'll just be going."

"Robot doctor want Mr. Bunyan for friend." Becker said and then broke wind loudly. "Oops! Make more robot poo poo in pants!"

At this, Bunyan bolted for the door of the exam room only to find it locked.

"Stay awhile" Becker whispered. "I was just about to make some of my famous sangria."