New World Odor: Smellection Time VOTE

Volume II

“Smellection Time VOTE”

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, UNKNOWN– I thought I was finished.

I swear it.

I wrote one article for the man and really thought I had had it.

The putrid smell that cropped up the back of my nasal cavity reminded me of my time in the stink so–I nearly flashed back.

There I was.

Brow-deep in the smelly blue of used port-o. Bubbling from the nose, and at the gut, and for all I could tell in my very brain itself. The peak of stink. The emergence of the me. The General.

When Tronald Dump poked his orange turtle head out of some innocent intern’s inseam and into the election, I thought ‘Here it is. The shitkens have come home to poost. The toilet cloggers of this shittown have finally gotten what they deserve. And I’ll just shit back and enjoy the slide.’

But now, things have escalated. I don’t know how, but by the spite of some poo-litical God or Devil or something in between, like a solid loaf that quickly looses into sprays and pellets–a floater has emerged.

An insistent load that, since its arrival and, despite the thoughts and wishes of most all, ceases to go away. One “J. Louis Reilly” and his Makeson Drinxon skidmarks. No bleach or detergent has been able to quell the rise of these smellies, and I’m beginning to think with my nose.

Tomorrow is decision time. There’s no escaping the odors. Just a choice in what you smell. And with this write-in candidate available in every state, (my undisclosed location included), I find the water continues to rise and rise, despite my fevered flushing.

To the left, a stink so foul I cringe at the thought of it. To the right, the scent of death. That, biting aroma that digs into the pores of your soul and tickles your deepest fears. Decay. The horror. Marlon Brando had no idea.

But even farther to the right, is a putrid paragon of commerce and vice that makes Mr. Dump look like a teddy in the claw machine. He is the turd that we deserve.

Smellection time is upon us. And I never thought I’d say it Odor Eaters… but the more I do that thinking… I may just be a Reilly Man.

Until next time, VOTE.

Odor and out. (Voter and Out)