Juice Vs. The Stench Volcano Part II: It's been Stankronized!

I sure hope this isn't a trend. Mr. Stanky was back today, and how! His girthful, crazy salt and pepper-haired, days unshaven, dispenser of foulness self had at least changed clothes, though not into clean ones.

Why? WHY? WHYYYY?!!! Why must he inflict himself upon us?!!!

Just like last time, I stuck him at the little wooden-chaired computer station by the stairs where he proceeded to spread his WMD-grade funk in radiating waves. Unfortunately, aspects of my job caused me to have to walk past him on several occasions, but I was able to hold my breath for the most part. I did manage to steal a glimpse at his screen on one such pass. He was surfing Amazon.com, though I didn't see what he was looking for. Mrs. A walked past him and caught a whiff, causing her face to contort in disgust and horror as she approached my position at the circ desk, where I was still trying to Febreeze away Mr. Stanky's funk wake.

"How can he stand himself?" she asked.

"No idea," I said. Spray, spray, spray.

Soon afterwards, Parka came in for a computer and Mrs. A bravely went back to log him on.

"Did you put him by Mr. Stanky?" I asked with evil glee upon her return. I was sure she would have, because Mrs. A has no love for Parka.

"No. I couldn't do that to even him," she said. I suppose it would have been rather cruel, but I would have done it. Regardless, Parka didn't stay long.

At one point, I snuck past Mr. Stanky and stole the small Glade automatic air-freshener from the restroom, turned it up to 11 and discretely hid it by the potted plant on the window-sill beside him. I don't think it actually helped, but I had fun doing it.

After nearly an hour, Mr. Stanky left the building and waddled away, presumably toward his stank mobile. Once again I was left with the task of fumigating the computer hall. Had just as much success as last week, which is to say very little. His funk had possessed the wooden chair in exactly the same way we had feared it would ruin our cloth chairs. Even the keyboard seemed somehow stinkier than before. The whole area had been Stankronized (tm).

And no matter how much Febreeze was dissipated into the air, I could still detect the ghost of Mr. Stanky hours later. I think we're going to have to give the whole place a tomato juice bath.  Or call an exorcist.

Maybe we can also start researching obscure city ordinances concerning intolerable levels of airborne offensiveness.