Peep this article in Newsweek about the importance contained in the way shit smells. Shit, meaning all kinds of shit, including, of course, shit.
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.
Official beatbox…classic
this is hilarious!
I have a story to donate, but due to me being a female and I proudly rock my myspace link, I don’t want to sabotage my “dark butt rep.” Besides, DP has the silent creepers that read his page every day, one of them being my ex.
D, speaking of hair grease smell… have you ever smelled the hair of a woman who rocks extensions? not the Patra box braids, but those braids that the African Mamas from 125th street between Lexington and Park Ave by Popeye’s be harassing you to braid your hair. This chick’s scalp had 2 inches of newgrowth and she NEVER washed it. Her hair smelled like she replaced shampoo and water with hair grease and oil to clean her scalp. and you know black chicks will leave that weave and extension in their hair for 3 months…4 months if they can get away with it.
You try smelling that shit 8:30AM on a crowded ass 6 train that’s stuck in the tunnel because theres an infinite amount of train traffic from the rush hour. The funk took up the entire train car. When the funk hit my nostrils I responded just like you…
“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. ”
but then me being an alum of an all girls high school forced me to recall this stank bitch that would never wash her hair and having to be her partner in Gym and smelling that funk! ugh….
Mo,
The worst shit I ever smelled that was unleashed on the subway wasn’t an arab’s armpits or a subway bums unwarshed arse, but the time I released the funk spores from the potatoes collecting behind my ears.
You see, I’m very much a seven yr. old when it comes to bathing. My dad used to have to make me take a shower. And nine times out of ten I would forget to wash behind my ears. That funk can snap a neck.
Sometimes I like to go several months without cleaning out my bellybutton and then I let C.S. go in there and uncover the buried treasure. She sticks her pinky in there and scrapes around. Then she smells her finger and sometimes she faints a little. I love when she does that.
Lurk Lurk Lurk…Lurking you in your dreams…LOL.
When I smell fried chicken I think of Ralph Tresvant’s sensitivity and swimming at the Y.
maaaan, smell is a major dealbreaker for me…………………The foulest shit i did was back in highschool at a houseparty………….getting wit this chick in my boys bedroom……………I’m fingering shorty and her puzzzy was stank………Yo I wiped my fingers off on homies bedsheets(foul I know) got up told her I needed to go to the bathroom…..left that stankness rite there and proceeded to go pour Ajax on my fingers and scrub………..
An hour later shorty comes downstairs and sees me playing spades having a jolly old time………………didnt even speak to her
You know, the story I had wasn’t about you but I just didn’t want my shit out there on this site.
But of course, you responded. Bravo.
@ DP:
“The time I released the funk spores from the potatoes collecting behind my ears.”
WTF… You amaze me all the time D. I’m glad when I hugged you, everything was A O.K.
I had one or two nasty nappy dug-out experiences. I really couldn’t believe fine girls would produce offensive odors.
Which brings me to the small Reebok Queens. Do you remember the cutesy colorful Reebok that was all the rage back in the day?? Those sneakers were not made for many girls feet but they crushed their toes just for vanity causing many foot problems. And their feet were probably kicking. I got hit with horrible cheese doodle funk that made me think a dead rodent was in the area while chilling with this one girl who decided to get comfortable.
Oh yeah, the pic is sick!! 🙂
VeE,
Them joints is called 54-11’s.
http://styledropblog.blogspot.com/2007/07/freestyle-forever.html
The hoodrat classics.
Smell is powerful indeed. I remember a dude in college that was >>this close
Mo,
I thought we were gonna hook up that night so I bathed just in case.
I thought I was being funny, my bad…no harm, no foul Mo…
Hook up in the old school sense, meaning hang out of course.
Just so no one feels any kind of way.
@DP:
LOL just in case? lmao. Yo that was THE HOTTEST (as in heat!) event I ever attended and you looked like you came from the pool! I still didn’t smell anything and we were chatting it up for a minute. Your BO must be made of Oust or something.
Anywho, you know you my NUH! (in my ODB voice) we should ” hook up” again! Let me know what’s really good with you.
@ DennLive:
Ok.
hahahahahaahahaha.
oh man.
worst smell i can remember was my sophomore year in college…we were at an AKA party at the clarion and all the gals were wearing skirts….and also seemed to all be on their cycle at the same time…
the scent of sweat & musty monkey filled the air and singed the nostrils.
the belly button smell, classic