I have a problem, and I don’t know who to turn to. I’d rather not turn to you, because you smell, but you’re all I’ve got now that my goldfish died and my woman done left me.
You see, you’re not the only one who smells. I smell pretty bad. I reek. I just about started World War III a few years ago when I toured the United Nations and cut a fart so bad that the Chinese delegation were convinced that the Albanians (they’re known as goofy pranksters, those Albanians) let off a stink bomb and wanted to nuke the little creeps. Things were smoothed over (and covered up by the Man, which explains why no one heard of this unfortunate occurrence), but the underlying problem remains: I fart so badly that I am a threat to world peace.
What can I do, Reid? I haven’t had a girlfriend in six months, since my last one, Sylvie, ran out on me when I farted on her in the sack. My life sucks. I stink so bad that I got kicked out of Willie’s and was asked never to return, so now I have to rely on my cat, Spunky (who is smelling-impaired after an unlucky run-in with my dad’s acetylene torch) to bring me sparrows and small rodents to eat, and these cat kills make up 100% of my diet. Soon Spunky may leave me, as well, because, even though he can’t smell me, the stink lingers in his fur and it’s keeping him from getting cat chicks, and he’s bound to figure this out sooner or later. When he does, I’m really hosed. Help me!
I know how you feel. Well, mostly anyway. Basically everything except the bit about smelling really bad and eating small woodland creatures. But nonetheless, I feel your pain.
On the surface, your problem seems to be a simple matter of excess flatulence. However, I gained insight into the true nature of your dilemma from your recounting of the events at the headquarters of the United Nations. You, like so many others, have fallen victim to that elusive instrument of the oppressive international regime, the Man. The Man, in his domineering quest to establish a New World Order, has found a use for you.
It seems that you have been genetically altered in some way, probably during some kind of an abduction onto what may have looked like an alien spacecraft, but was actually a top-secret government aircraft using experimental anti-gravity technology. I’m certain that if you were hypnotized by an expert in UFO experience memory recovery you would remember these escapades, but they have probably been blocked from your conscious memory. The purpose of these genetic alterations was probably to use you as some sort of unwitting agent of the secret society.
They have undoubtedly implanted an electronic mind-controlling chip deep within your brain. With this device they can control your actions via remote satellite from anywhere on the planet (or probably from the colonies they have set up on the Moon and Mars). Their aim is to have you infiltrate enemy strongholds and distract their overseers with your stench, while highly trained commandos sneak in another entrance. I’m afraid you are meant to be a disposeable decoy, unwillingly helping the Man to further his own agenda for world conquest.
Until they activate you, however, I would suggest trying some Gas-X and maybe switching brands of deoderant. This should alleviate your short term problems, and maybe you’ll have a chance of getting a date.