Stank Week

Oh, the unpleasant smells of humanity I have smelled this week.

In addition to daily visits from The Sweatiest Woman in All the Land, whose stank is now in danger of achieving Rogue Status all on its own, we've also been visited by an even stinkier person.

Bear Piss Man is his name. I first met him on Sunday when he came in to use a computer. He doesn't live around here, though he'd fit right in. He didn't even smell particularly bad that day and I even talked to him for a bit. He had mentioned not being from the area nor having a library card when he'd inquired about the computers. I asked if he was in town for the Fair and he confirmed that he was. Seems he's something of a professional carny and is in charge of the Freak Show booth. He invited me to come by and said I just had to mention his name to the ticket taker and they'd let me right in for free. I even thought about taking him up on it when I went to get my cinnamon rolls on Wednesday, but decided not to.

I've never been to the freak show at this particular fair before, but from what I understand there are more animal oddities than human oddities on display. And most of them are dead. Most. Regardless, I didn't want anything to spoil my roll, so I didn't stop in. This was a wise move in retrospect, as when I did turn up for work at the "liberry" Bear Piss Man was already there at the computers, reeking of urine.

The staff had already classified the urine smell as cat-piss, as it's in that general neighborhood of unvanquishable stench. Then they had second thoughts.

"I think he runs the bear show," Mrs. J suggested.

"Oh, so it's bear piss?" Mrs. A said in a low voice that Bear Piss Man probably couldn't hear.

"Uh, I don't know about that," I said. "He told me he ran the freak show."

"Freak piss, then?" Mrs. A countered.

Regardless of the species that actually issued his pissy smell, Bear Piss Man was the name that stuck.

He spied me while I was logging on a computer for someone else and asked if I'd been to the fair yet.

"Well, yeah, I was there this morning, but just for the cinnamon rolls."

Bear Piss Man then reissued his invitation that I should stop on by the show, tell the ticket guy his name and come right in for free. I found the urgency of the man's invitation more than a little bit unsettling. I told this to the wife over the phone last night.

"He probably needs a new Fat Man," she suggested.

I'd argue, but I do still look preggers from my double shot of cinnamon rolls.