You get my drift?

     I was driving today to get my taxes done. I know it’s hard to believe that I could come up with a blog while driving what with all the voices in my head, the stress of taxes, and my self-professed inability to multi task. There are probably a few drivers thinking that I was putting on makeup, texting, reading the paper and setting Sheila to a new destination. The fact is I was driving and conversating (add to dictionary Norman, the spell checker) with myself about the newest ramblings for this blog…

     Spring stinks…There. I said it. Don’t get me wrong, I love spring, but seriously, there are some rank, rotten, odoriferous, and obnoxious spring smells. There are good ones as well. I love those. I am not talking about those steaks and twice baked’s. Get my drift?

     The first odor of spring is the drifting stench of thawed out poodle bombs. Actually browndog bombs, but poodle bombs is such an eloquent term. Well, it is either browndog, of the iceman from the glacier on the roof. I recently checked the gutters and they were filled with some sinkus-stenchus americanus. Why do rotting leaves smells so bad? Maybe it is not rotting leaves maybe before the iceman ran off in his Speedo, he left a little present. (BTW, you can now reference these references from my blogspot, by typing in a keyword, in the JADIP finds stuff search engine, cuz that’s how I roll. I am always thinking of you, my faithful followers.)

     For instance you know that the Grand River smells like the Mancave toilet after a three day Stanley Cup Finals drunk, where in your over-served stupor you decided that you REALLY could just let it mellow. And then forgot about it for the next week. You get my drift. I knowYou have driven by the I-196 area in question where if the wind is right the smell drifts in and stays like an unwanted in-law.

     Then as I wander down the e-way, past the farm pastures, another assault on my olfactory function drifts through the open windows. For a moment I wonder did I just shart? The fields are filled with fresh manure that some farmers still use as fertilizer. I wonder if they know that there are chemicals that do not smell, as much as dung, but work as well. Maybe they don’t work as well. I am not a farmer, but I do know that manure, if you get my drift, stinks. You may want to say I don’t know shit. You may…However, I do what shit smells like.

     Poop stinks so that the dullards of the world do not mistake it for food. Although for some reason dogs think it is perfectly okay to eat other animals’ excrement. The fat white dog used to eat rabbit turd like it was Rasinettes from the bunnygods…However, dogs also can lick their genitals. See God does have a sense of humor.

     Then I hit  the gas station. I do not know why, because I am not Bill Nye, but petroleum products are more pungent in the spring. Even the trash cans near the pumps proliferate putridity as the weather warms. Nothing like the smell of stale Starbucks twisted around partially pre-masticated hotdogs and other discarded refuse. Yummy! You get my drift?

     As I am driving, I am bombarded by malodorous malfeasance. Spring has sprung a leak and it smells like those shrimp you put in the refrigerator 3 weeks ago and forgot about. Oh wait, that smell is Coopersville. I think it was named for the amount of chicken coops. From what I have heard there is no turd that is worse than chickenshit. Now, however, Coopersville has a land fill. And that my friends are "why I don’t eat shrimp"…http://www.americanwaymag.com/charles-barkley-basketball-tnt-nba-nbc-phoenix.

     No, wait a minute, that is why Coopersville smells so bad now. Come to think of it Coopersville stinks even during the winter. I can understand why people do not want a landfill in their back yard. Get my drift?

    Spring time is also the time of year for the LIONS to stink up another promising young college athlete’s life. Yes, the LIONS Superbowl happens in April. Every f’ing year. Being a LIONS fan means you have to drink the KOOL-AID. Hopefully it was not mixed by Jim Jones. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Jones  (actually it was flavor-aid or something else...whatever, koolaid, it is still publicity) You can only have hope that this year they don’t screw it up and that they pick well. KOOL-AID!!!

    This year I call it the SUH per bowl. (You can Google this in the JADIP finds stuff search engine on my blog page.) It has always been a gamble for any team to draft. But Matt Millen perfected the art of gambling and losing... And brought it to a new level. thank god he is gone!!! The LIONS draft during his tenure smells worse than a dead man in a van for three days.

    I really do know what that dead guy smells like. It is not a smell you can forget. EVER. A dead animal in a crawl space is close. You may wonder how I know this particular odor. I could tell you but I would have to kill you. Just like that guy in the van. (Just kidding). You get my drift?

     Many years ago, in the spring of 1986 or ’87, I was married to the first ex- Mrs. Johnson. We were living in Louisville, KY. We were looking for a house. We were going to put down roots. We found the perfect house with three bedrooms with hardwood floors, one and one half baths, on a big lot. It was convenient to the city, the highway, and our jobs.

     It was on a crawl space. Intermingled with the lilacs and the dingle-lilies was a scent that can only be described as ab-so-f’ing-lutly-god-awful. (Yeah, like I really know what kind of flowers and such were blooming. Seriously?) It had a rotting meat smell. It was baffling. We checked the crawl space. No dead meat in there. We checked everywhere.

     We found nothing. Every where we went drifted the sticky sweet, yet undeniably awful aroma of a tyrannosaurus’s dentures. Baffled we stood near the street. Unfortunately, that was when we noticed that the smell was worse. Maybe it was the sewer. Maybe it was a dead alligator?

      It was not the sewer. However, a few minutes later, the street was filled with the sound of sirens and flashing lights. Apparently the smell was not from our dream house. It was from the van parked in front of the neighbors’ house right next door. Right by where we were parked. There was a dead guy in the van. He offed his wife or girlfriend inside the house next door and then put a bullet in his brain case in the van. He had been there a few days ripening up. Spoiled our day. Probaly killed our marriage. (RRRIIIIGHT!)

     We did not buy THAT house…

     The next smell cannot even be described. So horrific, so putrid, so inevitable. Just like death. The smell of tax time. Yes friends, the fifteenth of April is right around the corner. Tax time sinks. More than a dead guy in a van. More than Coopersville. More than the LIONS draft day. More than browndog bombs. MORE THAN ANYTHING!!! Doesn’t matter if you owe or get money back, you still have to file. And the forms, oh great googgily-moogily…

     Don’t even get me started on these particular assclowns. Suffice it to say, never over pay the IRS!!! (Idiots Really Stupid) if you get my drift…They have a way of not knowing WTF is going on unless they want your money. I usually try to keep as much as I can during the year, so the feds cannot use my tax dollars to do something stupid. Like exist. Seems like I f’ed up this year… Muchly costly!!! If you get my drift…

Just another day in paradise