Sweet Jesus, I Reek

I'll be honest with you. Outside of yesterday's ill-fated visit to Madame Ching's, I haven't left my palatial home in three days. You know, what with recovering from the gallstone operation and all.

So anyways, I ripped off a monstrous fart after dinner. Nothing unusual there. Except it made the room smell better. That's when I remembered I hadn't bathed since the last sponge bath at the hospital. And when you're as fat as I am, you can work up a sweat lying prone in an air-conditioned room. Trust me. Add it all up, and you've got a house full of stench that a whole team of Honduran cleaning women may not be able to get out.

Well, they'd better. Or there'll be hell to pay. You can trust me on that, too.