You all know of it. It stalks from the lavatory like a stalker, stalking anything that stands in its way. Of course, none can stand it for long.
It's the smell of...let's say...a 'fecal deposit' that Uncle Harry 'Twenty Hot Dogs'** Fartswell-[Insert last name of your choosing here] has just made in the Bathroom Credit Union. And the smell is awful. It's a horrible, miasmal, nose-exploding fog that shoots up the nasal passages and gives the olfactory system a good walloping. No one can stand it! But it just might be able to be dealt with. And woe to him who is chosen to deal with it.
My mom deals with it by opening a window and fanning the air desperately in an occult effort to get the essence of the stench to leave.
My dad deals with it by putting on his breathing apparatus, running into the bathroom and hosing the toilet's insides out (my dad's a fireman--he deals with most things the same way)
Scott deals with it by spraying about six gallons of air-freshener into the bathroom, which works by suffocating anyone who's around to smell anything.
I deal with it by doing a rite to the Stench Daemon of the Sewer Hells, which is comprised of standing over the toilet, lighting a match to draw the daemon's attention, tracing the shape of an air-freshener can in the air to keep him from taking over your soul, a spiral with the flaming match down toward the toilet bowl to signify that you hate the stench and you acknowledge his great, stinky power, waving the match out to signify that you wish him to make the stench go away, and dipping the match in the toilet-water to keep him from lighting your house on fire.
Personally, I think my way is the most logical.
*Haha I'm quite proud of that title--for those of you not versed in the works of C.S. Lewis, it's a spoof of the title of his book 'That Hideous Strength.'
**Named for his amazing ability to eat twenty hot dogs in two minutes.
