Does this smell funny to you?

It is hot. Damn hot. So hot that Kool and the Gang would have to change their name to Motherfucking Sweltering and the Gang. Hotter than the underside of James Gandolfini's tits while he vacations in El Salvador. Ok I'm done. If it wasn't for all the tall margaritas running around, I would never leave the house on a day such as this.


I dread coming into work on days like today because a large chunk of my day is spent outside, and I have to always wear work type clothes. If only jean shorts and Bart Simpson t-shirts were considered professional wear. I would be literally and figuratively chill. But NOOOOOOOO! When will humanity learn the error of it's prejudice ways? *Ryan shakes his head in disgust*

So there I am sitting on the Ferry to Manhattan when a startling and horrifying thought creeps into my head.


"Did I remember to put deodorant on this morning?"


Oh fuck! It's already a sweltering 86 degrees out and the humidity makes it feel like you are walking through a wet paper towel. In normal situations I sweat at almost Patrick Ewing levels, so if I allowed myself to slip into a B.O. panic attack, I would wind up wetter than Rosie O'Donnell at a Hawaiian Tropic clambake. What the fuck? I still had to finish the boat ride and venture into the oven known as the South Ferry Subway station. Without chalky protection in my stink divots, by the time I got to work I would be a walking biological weapon.


There was still a glimmer of hope that I had simply forgot I had applied my Old Spice. I needed to do a sniff test to find out. So I casually acted like I was scratching my shoulder and plunged my proboscis into the danger zone. *sniff sniff* My normal body odor is very similar to the smell one would find in an unkempt butcher shop, but that was not present. It didn't mean I was safe. The stink just be moving slowly while penetration the hair force field of my underarms. I had to be certain.


If I could just get my finger in there I would be able to find out if any deodorant was present on the scene. Because I am a rebel and poo poo that silly thing known as common sense, it didn't occur to me that I could go to the bathroom to complete this maneuver. Instead I unbuttoned the top button of my button down shirt and very slowly stuck my hand inside towards my armpit. Once I hit pay dirt I swabbed around for a split second and yanked my hand back out. I quickly began smelling my finger to find out what my situation was. A smile crept across my face as I recognized that sweet sweet smell of soap and old time mariners. YES! I RULE!


Twas at this point in our tale where I began to notice no less than four fellow commuters staring at me in disgust. At first I was shamed, then I became angry and full of pride, and I wanted to give them the finger. The Old Spice finger! Then I remembered that I am a vagina and returned to my normal thoughts of giving erotic massages to my favorite female basketball players. Mmm...T-Spoon.