I hope I don’t smell foul. I don’t want to have a pungent body odor. I rather just smell like nothing or if I was to go the extreme, I would rather smell like old spice than smell like the person I am about to discuss. The guy, who shall rename nameless, had a horrible issue with cleanliness. I never called him out on it but I had my way of making his unpleasant aroma known. Maybe he didn’t know but others did. Other people knew what I meant and from the turning of their noses and the holding of their breath, they too agreed that he smelled worse than a man I know currently who has an issue with smelling like cat urine.
Many years ago, I had this friend who lived with about 40 people in their tiny, two bedroom apartment. While using the number 40 may seem like I am exaggerating, I am not. There truly was about 40 people living there. Maybe not all at one time but they shuffled in and shuffled out like the apartment was a central hub for illegal drugs and shady under the tables deals. I visited often. Not to partake in the activities mentioned above but to mingle and hang out with the people who I saw not as stoners but the people who actually made an effort to live in society and contribute like every hard-working American should.
The place was always dirty. Unimaginable things lived in that place. Bugs and parasites that have yet to be discovered lived in that place. It was just junk everywhere and from how they reacted to my reaction of the mess and clutter, they didn’t give a good goddamn. I must attract the dirty people because I was also subjected to another messy and unkempt apartment. This place housed cats. Not just one cat but many, many cats. They put crazy cat ladies to shame with the feline frenzy that was running wild in their tiny apartment. I am sitting down in the living room. It was a cluster. It was also the bedroom to two guys. They weren’t a couple or anything like that. They just shared the living room and slept on separate couches. So, I am sitting there. I am minding my own business and listening to someone talk about how awesome and amazing the night is going to be. As my eyes wander and my attention fades, I see it. Sitting on the floor, looking as if it’s been there for weeks, is a mummified pieces of cat poop. They have to know it’s there! You can’t miss it. The smell alone should have sent off some alarms and instructed them to clean up the toostie roll shaped piece of feces. I don’t know. I never did point out it out to them. If it had already mummified and turned to a chalky white color, they weren’t going to bother with it. No telling how many other piles of poop there were in that feline infested, poop palace.
The apartment I frequented wasn’t far from where I lived. One of the people who lived there could have passed off as Jesus, that’s if Jesus was a stoner with a liking to pony tails and Busch beer. I should be nice to this guy. I really should. I just can’t. It’s not that I didn’t take the time to get to know the real him, I did. He was one of those people who tries to be deep and discuss things that are philosophical and will quote Nietzsche when the moment arrives. Those are the kind of people who if I could, I would let them experience what it feels like to tumble down a flight of stairs because you are a tool. And like most tools, you become dull and useless after a while. Sorry, Ponytail Jesus but this post is about you. You never did interest me and you were one of those people who I never liked. It wasn’t because your ponytail or the crazy, pre-hipster ideas you had, it was just simply because I didn’t like you. You’re not alone. There are plenty of people who I don’t like for no reason. I am sure I am on the same list for people too. I don’t like you. I never did.
Plus, you kind of smelled. You really smelled. It was bad. You had a horrible stench that even people crossing the street twenty yards away noticed it. It was hard to talk about when you were around and even more difficult to insult you to your face when we wanted to make it known that we were all gagging and wishing a window would be opened or maybe someone would light a match. I do talk about people a lot on here and I always refrain from using their real names. The problem with Ponytail Jesus is sort of a funny story. I don’t know his name. I did at one point but as time went on and I kept my distance from him, I forgot it.
I started calling him Bo. I was calling him Bo when I knew his name but after so many times of calling him Bo, I forgot his real name and the name Bo stuck. I wasn’t the only person calling him Bo. Others did too. Even when people would ask him why I called him that, he would just reply,
Because he can. I’m cool with it.
And why did I call him Bo? Cause Bo stood for Body Odor. Yes. I am a dick.