As Gordon sat there I could smell his unpleasant

As Gordon sat there I could smell his unpleasant nerves. His resume was more than adequate but I didn't know if he had that "it" factor we needed. I said "Mr. Durasno, please

remember to wear anti-perspirant when you start the job on Monday." Durasno leapt to his feet, his underarms frothing. Yes, I decided to take a chance on him, but I worried about

the effect his raw pheromones would have on Ms Jellicoe who needs no encouragement in the sexual harassment dept. Durasno's BO preceded him before he walked into the small office

he'd sometimes relent and spritz on a dash of aftershave. Mostly Durasno deemed that *real men* didn't need deodorant. Even the mosquitoes steered clear of him and his musky mist.

Durasno referred to himself as Sgt. Stinko. Eyes would water, dogs would hide, flowers died upon impact. But, he was the only living individual in this county who still knew how to

not only light a fart on fire, but accurately aim it like a human flamethrower. It was glorious, or at least Sgt Stinko thought so. The ladies were not impressed, and neither were

the retirees who lived in the gentrified homes he'd torched while showboating. Sometimes he would cut loose a fart so tremendous he would experience acceleration. It was his dream

to get to Mars on his own power, something which fortunately for the rest of us he worked tirelessly to achieve. "Beans" Baker thought if he could accumulate enough "Ummfff" in one

indescribable something or other he could jaunt over to Mars, come back and show us how. Luckily, when he did jaunt, he ended up in the catacombs and the Ancients revived him.