dog shit, brut, and a tunnel
First of all I'd like to send a shout out to my boy Madison, who wonders why I gave him a girl's name. He told me the following this morning: "Contrary to popular belief, the Lincoln Tunnel was not named after Abraham Tunnel."I also want to tell you guys about my childhood friend Greg Varnish and a Christmas gift he got. Someone in his life had the poor taste to give a 14 year old kid an enormous economy sized bottle of Brut (by faberge) cologne. Now, you people may not remember Brut very well, but it was a cologne that was formulated and heavily marketed by the Faberge people when I was but a lad.
It had the approximate smell of 16 farting mountain weasels trapped in a cedar box with a half dozen rotting eggs, but being 14 year old boys, we didn't know that it smelled terrible. As such, we would slather ourselves with it and go to school functions in hopes of attracting some females for our nefarious parasexual purposes. This proved to not be terribly effective, but it could have been because we were both 14, fat, and pockmarked with acne so large that a few of our boils were given social security numbers in case they should prove to be siamese siblings.
After a while of completely dousing ourselves in the stuff and not making much of a dent in the enormous bottle of Greg's, we began to find other uses for it. It proved to be a flammable liquid, and that's always entertaining.
Most notably, however, we began to use it to cover up any smells that might develop in Greg's room as of spilling things like cokes or gasoline.
I have a very vivid memory of Greg dancing around his room squirting Brut willy nilly on his carpet to cover up a particularly large accident with tracking in dog shit on his tennis shoe, and for that I would like to thank him, wherever he may be.
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