It has just come to my attention that a friend of mine has a serious disability. It pains me so much to see him suffer that I felt it was my obligation to inform the world of his condition even though he has not authorized this entry.I discovered his unfortunate circumstance recently. It all started at a slumber party in my friend's basement last weekend. I brought my Masters of the Universe sleeping bag. It glows in the dark so not only is it kickass, but neon green He-Man protects me from the dark too. My friend's mom made chili and we devoured it like crabs on crotch fuzz. And as these boys-only slumber parties go, the evening devolved into a veritable fart-fest, as in a festival of farting, as in a continuous celebratory display of flatulence. We called it Difwarti (high five for culturally competent puns!).
But there was one problem: my friend, let's call him Luke, couldn't join in on the fun. You may be wondering, does Luke suffer from a mute colon? No, far from it. But he does suffer from a deaf nose. That is to say, his nose knows no scent. So while we continued to release putrid gaseous waste into the air, Luke sat there unkNOSEngly and incogNOSEnt of what was going on. The nose-cripple bastard ruined Difwarti! 90% of the fun comes from making someone cringe at the vile sent emitted from your escape pod (the other 10% comes from the satisfaction of emission), but alas, Luke cringed not. That's when he came out to us and said, "You guys, I've been meaning to tell you this for a long time...I'm nose deaf...I hope we can still be friends."
We were shocked. A few guys even stormed out of the room. One yelled, "I knew you were lying when you said I didn't have B.O.!" As for myself, everything suddenly made sense. I always found it odd that Luke never put his nose up to scratch-n-sniff snickers, but instead just kept scratching, kind of like a pathetic dog trying to get into the house. And rarely did he ever have blue or red marker ink on his nostrils from getting too close to the Mr. Sketch markers. And never once while we were in a public restroom did he laugh at my joke that "damn, this bathroom sure smells like a bathroom!" Then again, no one ever did, except my cousin Borris who can give you a contact high just by breathing on you.Luke went on to describe his condition to us and how it's affected his life...how he loves hard-boiled eggs and tuna fish sandwiches, how he never knows when to change his baby sister's diaper, how he's tasted spoiled milk more times than he can remember, and how this one time, someone told him to stop and smell the roses, and he cried himself to sleep that very night. This after he surrounded his bed with a roomful of crushed roses and he screamed over and over towards the ceiling "I CAN'T!"
After hearing his heart-wrenching story, I committed myself to finding a cure, not just for Luke but for all the nose-deaf people out there deprived of enjoying the full experience of a warm apple pie. I don't care if it involves shoving smelling salts covered in Sex Panther(made from real bits of panther) up his nose, I will find a way to jumpstart his malfunctioning sense. Just call me Nostrildamus 'cuz I only see his nose in my future.As for the rest of you, you can learn more about Luke's condition here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anosmia. And I encourage you to donate to my foundation NoseNoLimits.org because you just never know who might be nose-deaf or eye-dumb or mouth-blind or ear-mute or brain-impotent.
