Everyones got some other, some fucked up, idea of what your supposed to do and be. So you settle into some Low Rent profession with a Man who tells you how it is and a different Man that complains about it. The whole thing just kinda Smells and it leaves a Smell on you and you start to notice everyone else is Smelling like that too and all the sudden the whole fucking world stinks and you can’t barely stand it. Then one when day you decide you can’t-stand-it won’t-stand-it and you ain’t gunna mush no longer to no tune and no Smell and you decide to up and go. But then you're standing there with one hand holding your one nice suite and the other hand cupping your balls because you don't have nothing to wear and you certainly not wearing the FUCKING Smelly disgusting suit one more time so your standing there butt naked wondering what to do. So you ask your folks but they just act dumb like they ain't never Smelled that Smell and they ain't ever want to run from it so you start getting desperate so you starting hitting up this and those and them and whoever Mr Friend or so-you-thought and finally some Low Rent blonde you used to shag in Better Days says she’s down for the cause and you move in that next day. And everything seems Cool for a little while and you even get to banging that broad again mostly cuz you're board but you start to liking your new routine and you start to thinking “I can dig this” and she doesn’t even really Smell and you don’t even mind that she live in a one box one foot by one foot in a Clutch-Your-Pearls type-of place. But then you start to get to shagging too much and y’all start to get reaaaalllll comfortable - anal, pegging, rimming, pissing, no-condom, curtains up - then all the sudden she’s got that living growth, that John-And-Kate-Plus-8 type affliction, that titty sucker-attention whore bubbling inside of her. And now she’s talking crazy bout some ideal she’s seen online about some life where you only have to use the first address line and, matter of fact, you surrounded by a bunch of one liners and you’re waking up and getting the mail and you’re saying “Hi Bob” and “Nice weather today Bob, issnt?” and “I thought about fucking your wife last night Bob, she’s got one maaaaaadddd bush!”. And now she’s reaaaaaallll intent on this ideal and she starts waxing poetic about some Future, cept this Future don’t sound like no Future you’d be a part of cuz this one got you doing all that shit you were avoiding in the first place. And you get to telling her about the Smell and how you can’t-take-it won’t-take-it and she starts to get reeaaaaalllll mad and she gets to hittin and spittin and all kinds of nasty and you get to hittin and spittin and all kinds of nasty cept it’s six months later and some kook cross-dresser in a robe with some false sense of superiority don’t seem to see it like that. See he’s putting down and speculating that you was the one doing the hittin and spittin being as she’s a nice young pregnant woman and while he’s saying it and looking at her, he’s eye fucking her and picturing himself being the one that gave her that 9-month bump. And now another six months has passed and you're sitting in a one box one foot by one foot in a Clutch-Your-Pears type-of place cept funny enough you get your own bed and you got your three meals a day and hell they even make you leave your room which you wasn't even really doing before. So you're sitting here and you're thinking maybe this ain't so bad, hell maybe I LIKE this deal, maybe I can DIG this situation it ain't got no smell I ever smelled but it don’t got THE Smell. And that does you okay for some time and some time and some time. And now you’re sitting here at FORTY FUCKING FIVE and you're wondering and you're pondering and pontificating and you're thinking about everything and you're watching your life flash before your eyes just like as if you was dying but it’s happening everyday. And you can’t tell if you got Regret cuz you can’t help but think you were never gunna deal with that Smell and come to think of it maybe there was no right way, maybe there is no righteous path, maybe there is no meaning, there is no rhyme, there is no reason, there is only time that marches forward and a billion inconsequential consciousnesses along for the ride. And that brings you comfort.