Anecdote in need of an Antidote.

So there I am, minding my own business - ipod in, sunglasses on - waiting for take off to commence towards Sedona-miz from Marrakech after a consolidation drill this weekend. An unveiled young lady comes and sits next to me with a welcome smile and in the back of my mind I'm thankful for a female seat mate for the duration of the ride. My mind wanders out the window and for a moment I'm blissfully unaware of the nuclear strike that is about to commence against my nasal passage.

These two, obviously troubled and possibly homeless, young teenagers - tweens if you will - are the last of the stragglers hopping on board before we pull out of the bus stop. No seats are left vacant, so they are forced to park their rears directly in front of myself and my soon to be bff, just beside the exit doors of our fine bus. In that very moment a wave of absolutely, deliriously, bitingly sour nausea passed over me. The little receptors on the interior of my nasal passageway were literally screaming 'WTF?!?!' And pushing through the vomit inducing fumes, I tried to figure out what the hell was creating this plume of epic disgust.

The source of my current dry heaving was obviously a direct result of these two youngsters in front of me, but the act of pinpointing exactly the cause of my imminent fainting proved difficult to say the least. The kids blatantly hadn't showered for... Allah knows how long, but the smell was much more pungent than that alone. Pee? Their own mixed with any other domestic or otherwise wild animal? Skid marks left from an ineffective bitlma run? Souvenirs of vomit-packed mikas? Possibly... But there had to be something else... It did occur to me that it was a hot, damp summer day... could it just be an extreme case of swamp-ass? Or worse, genital sweating in combo with poor hygiene? We were too early in the ride for that to have developed, I was sure, though to some degree there had to be something awry with either their perspiration levels and/or junk. Lil' Johns timeless prose of 'til the sweat drop down my balls' internally programmed on repeat despite the omnipresence of my ipod.

While all these various options were further dizzying my lightheaded brain, I bonded with smiley lady next to me. I gave her some intensely minty gum, two pieces to be factually accurate, in order to relieve some of the stress upon our nasal cavities. She in turn hosed me down with her spray deodorant - focusing mainly upon my fingers and palms so as to suffocate myself with the fumes in order to best override the road to unconsciousness lying before me. Our strategies were mediocre at best. The thirty minute travel time with Stinky and the Pain exhausted any power the aerosol can may have once had.

It was upon their exit, however, that we discovered the mystery of the Moroccan stink bomb - glue huffing mixed with hash out of some sort of pipe device they each had up their sleeve (literally). Gag worthy to say the least.