Cologne, Gasoline and Italian Sausage

There’s an area downtown littered with bars that attracts douche bags and sluts. In fact, you might find those Jersey Shore fucks fist pumping there…Snooki came to town just a few months back! Wait that probably isn’t something to brag about. Anyways, it’s rare I stumble down douche drive but when I do I try my best to make sure I’m good and drunk. This particular night a few years ago was a success! I drank enough booze to fuel two lawnmowers. Believe me, after spending a night at these bars you’d have to drink at least that much just to stop yourself from choking on your own vomit all night. One sure sign that I’ve had too much to drink is when my mouth salivates at the sight of the truck that serves greasy meat, or as it’s known around here, “Street Meat”. Tasty, right? We joined the line and started with the usual small talk while waiting to order.

“What are you getting?”

“I dunno, maybe a cheeseburger. What are you getting?”

While my friends and I are having this delicious conversation the guy in line ahead of me decides to chime in with his wise words as he overhears that I want an Italian sausage.

“Hey, I got your Italian sausage right here!” he says while grabbing his bulge which I’m sure was 97% balls and 3% wiener. Instantly I was impressed with his wit, creativity and originality. I turned my head slowly to share my look of disgust and noticed that he was the epitome of a douche bag. He was wearing black dress shoes, ripped jeans with a button down shirt that seemed to have lost a lot of buttons, gold chains, at least three bottles of gel in his hair to get it to blow out all nice like and he smelled like he rubbed every cologne sample he could find from a magazine all over his body. Were his eyebrows waxed? I don’t remember.

I started by ignoring his comment which only made him say it louder and more often. The genius and his comrades laughed as he continued to tell me what I could do with his sausage (or cocktail wiener), he was right where I wanted him. Suddenly I started to comment on his offensive odor.

“Oh, God! What is that smell?” I started to sniff heavily as my friends nervously laughed. “Ugh! Oh! Oh, God! It smells so bad! Do you smell that?” I said to the prize standing next to me.

“Uh, no.”

“Oh, God…it smells like cologne...like really, really bad cologne. You don’t smell that?” He knew it was him.

“No,” he said while his smile escaped his face.

“Oh my God! It’s horrible! Someone really reeks!” I continued to yell as he tried to ignore me. This wasn’t working. I had to take it a step further. The car parked on the street behind me smelled like it was leaking gasoline. Perfect. “Is that gasoline? Do you guys smell gasoline?” I asked my friends. They encouraged me to stop and I was not going to let that happen. This was just about to get good! I was crossing the line and it felt so right, so good. I continued to sniff around and yell that someone smelled like gasoline and cologne. My Italian sausage friend kept looking over at me and he looked angry. This held so much more satisfaction than any name I could call him!

“Do you smell gasoline?” I asked him.

“No, not really,” he said while trying to blow me off.

“Ugh!” I moaned over the stench, “It smells so bad! Like gasoline and cologne.” I continued to dramatically sniff while his friends ordered their street meat until I finally sealed the deal and began to put my nose as close as I could to his body and inhaled deeply.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” he yelled.

“Oh my God! I think it’s you!” I shouted. “It’s you!”

“Sssssstoooop,” my friends whispered as I continued to ignore them.

“What?! No it’s not you crazy bitch!”

“No, it really is you!” I leaned in closer, “You smell like gasoline…and cologne.” I said this a few more times until I could feel him glaring down at me.

Our eyes met as I was practically resting my head on his chest. Right at that very tender moment a cab pulled up in front of the car that smelled like gasoline and a skinny, blonde kid in his twenties stepped out. Italian sausage spun around and knocked the kid out with a punch and took off running. Blondie laid on the cement in shock as a small crowd started to form. We decided pizza seemed like a better option and left.