Sawmill Ass

After work I sat down here at my writing and looking at pornography machine and I thought, "Fuck do my socks ever stink."

I held my cold can of PBR to my cracked lips, drank, and tried not to breathe. It did not work. The next thing I smelled was my underwear. I had taken off my jeans just as soon as I had fed the Hammer and my underwear was sitting there less than two feet from my nose. Except I was not smelling my underwear - underwear does not smell of much when it is clean. It was what was in my underwear that I was smelling. I had a bad case of sawmill ass. Not only is my job dirty, dull and dangerous - so are my socks and underwear.

No wonder Anne Murray will not answer my fan letters. I stink.

I got up, made dinner in my foul socks and underwear, had a couple more beers, showered and read the newspaper account of a skull found in a nearby lake.

Stinking like shit did not seem so bad after I read the skull story.