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Peep this article in Newsweek about the importance contained in the way shit smells. Shit, meaning all kinds of shit, including, of course, shit.

Common Scents

I have been telling y’all for years that the way someone smells determines what their relationship with you can become. The wrong smell could mean disaster. My classic story goes like this…

I had this fine little shorty in my Corona apartment a few years ago. I was about to give her the business something good too. I had been waiting to cut this chick for a minute and since I knew her ex-beau I kept my hands off her in public but she knew she had that official beatbox.

Boom. So fine and dandy shorty comes over the crib to spend the night and let me get mine. I prA’li even prepared my special bachelor beatbox dinner special – a BirdsEye stir fry meal kit with fresh shrimps added. Wouldn’t you know this chick was a seventh day adventist and she wouldn’t eat shellfish. My Hebro vows be damned I love me some scrimps. I should’a knownt right there though that homegirl was off.

We made out a little bit on my crappy futon. Homegirl had one of the baddest bodies in the game. Five foot three with the cola bottle shaped body. Perfect B+ breasts in the fanciest little bra and panties set I could remember. I couldn’t wait to notch lil’ mama’s name on my bedpost. I was about to win.

Inside my bedroom we climbed under the sheets and I began to kiss her upon her neck. That is when I smelt something. I tweaked my head up like when a forest animal hears a twig snapping underfoot a stranger. But this smell was no stranger to me. This was the smell of the ass kicking I used to get when my dad tried to comb my hair with that metal rake pick. This was the smell of that Posner’s blue-colored hair pomade that he would put on my hair before pulling out that pick. Homegirl’s scalp smelled like that grease.

“Awwww hell nahh!”

I jumped up with stark terror on my face. It was like I was seven yrs old all over again and my dad was about to de-napp my afro. My dad used to be able to keep a lit cigarette on the edge of his lip while he cussed at my unkempt hair. It was like that shit lasted for hours. By the time my dad was done my scalp was sore and throbbed like I had been clubbed with an aluminum little league bat.

This chick had to go. Not now, but right now. I told her to get dressed and I called her a taxi. I never got another chance to smash that bad little shorty, and truth to tell you, I didn’t even give a fuck. That is the power that your nose knows.

True fuckin’ story.