Peaches...

...more concisely, "shitty peaches". What are "shitty peaches" you ask? Well, it's not the name of my band, mostly because I don't have a band. But if I did have a band, I would lobby real hard to name us "Shitty Peaches".

But, I digress...shitty peaches are in fact the smell when someone at the office makes a feble effort to mask the scent of their shit with the can of peach-scented spray that's been sitting on the back of the can for the last three years. Shitty peaches is not, I repeat, NOT a good scent by any stretch of the imagination. It's about enough to make me throw up a little in my mouth. (Not sure why I'd want to name a band after something that makes me puke, but that's for another blog entry.)

Here's the deal. Shit smell on its own. Acceptable enough, because it is what it is. Peaches on their own are hands down one of the best aromas in the world. Together...they're a recipe for disaster. Does the stink turn the peaches rotten? I don't know, but it seems like a good theory.

I should add that "shitty peaches" should in no way be confused with "shitty melon burst", mostly because "shitty melon burst" actually sounds like something that could happen...and it doesn't sound pretty.

So, what's the solution you ask? Hang out in the bathroom a little longer. Read the entire golf magazine. Enjoy a good book. Play solitaire on your cell phone. You're on the clock...do whatever the fuck you want. But, please, I'm begging you, don't spray the peaches to cover your stink. It won't work.

**Two blogs about poo (and their accompanying smells) in six blog entries. Damn it. I thought I was above all that, but I guess I'm just like every other man.