Times Are Tough: General Smelly

This guy holds a special place in my heart. Let's go down the list. This boy:

1. Is a musician. (Check)
2. Is an artist. (Check)
3. Lives somewhere inconvenient, i.e. at least a 20 minute cab ride away from my house. (Check)
4. Only drinks PBR. (Check)
5. Has very poor personal hygiene. (Oh God, CHECK!!)

It's this last point that puts him on this week's list as a "times are tough" story.

I ran into an old friend, let's call him General Smelly, when I was out at a dive bar last winter. I hadn't seen him in a few years and we instantly hit it off and I was feelin' it. Mostly, I was happy to have a viable prospect who happened to be an old buddy. Yay for me. Shannon was pretty stunned that I would take an interest in him, but what could I say? Times had been tough!

Now, General Smelly is an intense little guy. At 5'5, he has a skeletal, bony frame and sharp cheekbones that would probably cut you if you approached him from the wrong angle. His oily hair is matted to his head and he has a wiry, unkempt beard that Rip Van Wrinkle would covet.

He is the kind of guy that carries around old, dog-eared bibles from the '40s or Russian-English dictionaries in a weathered, leather satchel. Basically, he looks like a homeless Civil War Veteran. He should be warming his hands over an oil barrel on fire under a highway somewhere chomping on a can of baked beans.

When he suggested that he come back to my place for a few more drinks, I figure I'd go with it. I was happy to break my dry spell.

Well, we were sitting on my couch and I literally had to hold my breath because his stench was so bad. I was in amazement. Did he stuff dead cats in his armpits? Was there tuna in his tube socks? How could a human smell so unbearably funky?

"You know, you've had a long day today. Why don't you go unwind and take a shower?" That was my attempt at giving him an out. And he declined, politely.

I insisted, "No, really. You'll feel so much better. Just take one! It's not a big deal." Still, he wouldn't budge on the issue and got up to grab another beer.

I seriously contemplated leaving a trail of PBRs to the shower then pushing him in and turning on the water. What the fuck? I wanted to break my dry spell, but at what cost to my olfactory senses? As I leaned it for another kiss, I thought, "Wow, times must be really tough that this bumfighter is actually able to successfully steal some smooches right now."

After he left, I felt so dirty. Even the couch cushions he sat on smelled like his B.O. I still shudder to think about it. All I can say is that there wasn't a loofah in the world strong enough to exfoliate either his stench or the shame that I felt.