Two summers ago I was living in Palm Beach. The off-season residents of this wealthy enclave was 10% of its winter population. A few of the fabulously rich resided in their mansions. They appeared once a day at the Publix supermarket. No one ever saw rush Limbaugh, the country's richest radio pundit. He rarely leaves his bunker, although not out of fear of the masses. The only poor were the dutiful off-island workers attending to the vacant estates. Actually I might have been the poorest person on the island. My income was $350/week. $300 of which went to my wives in Thailand. Living on $50 a week was nearly impossible and my revenge on the idle rich was to abstain from bathing in sweetwater.
My daily ablution was in the ocean. A sabbatical from shaving further enhanced my scruffy appearance my attire of torn jeans and shredded shirts. The rich would wrinkled their noses in the supermarket aisles. I smiled politely, as I picked out my weekly jug of wine.
$5.99 for 2-liters.
Funny, but I didn't smell dirty to me and neither did an Japanese scientist orbiting in the International Space Station who wore the same experimental underwear for a month. His fellow astronauts were ignorant of this test and he said, "The station crew members never complained for about a month, so I think the experiment went fine."
The underwear are supposedly antistatic and flame retardant, which must have been helpful against dingleberries and wet farts. Still the racing stripe must have been impressive.
He had to have smelled worst than me.
But maybe in Space farts don't smell bad.
I doubt it, then again I never smell dirty.
No comments:
Post a Comment