That’s right; I said there’s a rancid fucking pong in my vestibule.
It’s been there for around sixteen minutes and it is driving me to utter distraction.
Unfortunately, it reeks not of mint nor embergrass nor wild spunk flowers but is more reminiscent of stale crayfish sprinkled with the mushy stomach bile of a victim of Ebola.
I am simply at mine wit's end as to its origin. In my youth, I spent several years as a farm hand and am no stranger to pongs universal. However this acrid stink is tearing me from my merry musings.
Must find the source.
Smells like shit cheese.
