My family is having company over tonight. I don't like these people; they're tri-athletes, free spirits, and fairly odd people. The mother, a first generation German immigrant with 2 PhDs, is an intriguing and witty woman, but the men of the family are found somewhat lacking. They are found to be very lacking.

Gundi, the mother, has one son named Lucas. This little boy is quite extraordinary; apparently his entire existence upon this earth has been spent without taking a single shower. I swear, not a single one. There is no way someone who has ever bathed before could smell this bad, it's simply not a possibility. Rolling around in canine feces does not leave a smell like this, although the odor is just as penetrating. It's more subtle, less explicitly dreadful, yet far more pronounced. The second he enters an edifice it's as if a fetid blanket of malodorousness permeates the building, flooding every hallway and opening with this inconceivable, inescapable stench. The smell is so thick and so concentrated that one can almost see it; a normal human being instinctively attempts to extend an arm so as to feel it, catch it, and ultimately force it to disappear. It fills a room immediately, leaving the dwellers inside to languish and to suffer, to drown in a sea of an indiscernible poison. Overwhelming and inhuman, this boy's odor exists as one so unbelievable it appears fantastical to many. What crazy fool thought of something so horrifying? Such an extreme is hardly pragmatic to the majority of the populace, it simply sounds absurd. But it exists- this stalking, preying, unforgiving aroma. It exists, and is currently defiling my living room. I find such inimitability creditable; I almost respect him for it. Surely someone with the power to create such a substance is to be treated with reverence and esteem. Surely someone with the ability to be so disagreeable has supremacy of his own, a preeminence fought for with every second he's got. His power to dominate through repulsion is prevailing, and is therefore to be handled with disgusted awe.

They're leaving now, thankfully. His weapon completely departs with him. I don't know how one lives in such a putrid perdition; I'm left feeling quite puzzled. I don't understand it.

Tomorrow I have a busy day. I'd write about it, but I'm left completely weakened by the smell that's currently dictating my mindset. I'm destabilized, shaking on the floor, striving fruitlessly to recover.

You have no idea. This kid smells really, really bad. My eloquence has been ravished and beaten; my already feeble ability to articulate has been crippled. I can't tell you, I'm not a good enough writer.

He smells.

He smells so bad, I don't understand it. I'm almost in tears; what cruel, malicious beast would do this? Who is capable of such brutality?

Wow- I'm a priss. Huh.