It smelled like ass, Ripe ass. The kind of ass you smell while walking by an especially dirty bathroom stall and worse of all; It was moving.
I shuddered as I turned behind me to see the largest human I had ever seen in my entire life. From the largest, hairiest roll I saw flooding out of the bottom of his shirt, I could only guess that he had spent the last ten years of his life sitting in front of a computer monitor, leveling up his sexy Blood Elf while he ate the most delicious Debbie cakes he could find. The kind of guy who probably never lifted more than ten pounds unless he was moving his massive computer system to the basement of his parent’s house.
He was quickly approaching me as I stood in front of the magazine rack. I wondered what could be attracting such a behemoth. There wasn’t any food that had more than 500-calories per serving. There weren’t any electronics. There weren’t video game magazine close by, I had been looking at Cars.
Then it hit me. It was my shirt.
Shit. It was my “Where’s the Beef?” T-shirt that a friend had given me that was attracting the foul-smelling beast. God dammit, why didn’t I do laundry last night?
I could see it now. He would approach me and say the phrase aloud as the smell permeated through the air, assaulting my nostrils. I would try not to vomit as I gave a stale chuckle, nodding my head. He’d tell me how he remembered the old 80’s commercials and try to bring up more. All the while, I would be subtle, holding my breath. I’d only inhale as I tried to pretend to scratch my nose, a brief shield from the agonizing mass of smell that no human should possess.
I braced for impact as he made it too me. I winced slightly as he held out his hand.
It was then I noticed a vaguely familiar piece of leather nestled between his meaty fingers. What the–?
“Hey, sir? You dropped you wallet.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. I wasn’t out of the woods just yet. He still had time to comment the shirt.
…But instead he turned and walked away. Walking towards the chips, the smell drifting away with him.