Little Miss Nose

by James MacLaren

Where do these people come from?

Petite little semi-cutie, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old.

IQ of perhaps 65 with a good tail wind.

Lives in her own tiny little universe of competing females, suspect boyfriend, Bob Marley records, and of course, all that damn clothing, makeup, and the rest of it. Appearances, appearances, appearances. Substance? What’s that? Nevermind.

For some genetically obscure reason, her olfactory bulb is horrifically outgrown. Not her nose, mind you, just the processing hardware within. The bitch can smell a half-empty milk carton that’s been in the trash for exactly twenty-five minutes.

“Ooh, yuck! What’s that NASTY smell in here? Why don’t you people ever clean this place? What’s the matter with you?

Don’t get me started on that one honey, ok?

Apparently she was a dog in a former life and inhabits a universe of smells that none of the rest of us can possibly detect. That fact doesn’t keep her from constantly bitching about the way things smell, though. Funny how she never seems to pick up much of anything that actually smells GOOD. Just the stuff that annoys her. Which she’s neverendingly ready to share with us, like it or not. Has zero concept that other people might just perceive the world in ways different from herself.

“This place disgusts me. I don’t even know why I keep coming here. You people really oughtta DO something about this.”

As she blows motherfucking cigarette smoke right into my face!

Fuck off, asshole.