Diary of an armpit aroma (by Fat Jim)

As I strutted through the doors of the Pub with a confidence and arrogance so heavy it builds muscle on my shoulders, I head towards the bar in my smartly heeled shoes that click across the wooden floor. Leaning over the bar, winking at the bar lady, I feel the other girls look over and give the once up and down, my cock twitches in my pants. All the guys want to engage me in conversation about my latest sexual exploits and tap my brain for witty repertoire to enrich their lives and make the world a better place. It is fucking great being ME.

As I (Fat Jim, for clarity – Ed) stop fantasizing about being Angry I quietly shuffle over to Angry and his group of friends, with my head held low, I stand behind this handsome popular group hoping that just a little piece of it will rub off on me via osmosis.

Angry whispers in my ear “You fucking stink, don’t come and talk to me when you fucking stink like that”.

After another few twitches of his nose he proclaimed… “You stink like a fucking curry”

“You think so?”

I was almost pleased. I love curry.

“One of those sweet Kormas with some mango chutney and mint sauce you mean?”

Angry’s furrowed brow deepened.

“No, more like a tramp rifling through a skip outside an Indian restaurant looking for his dinner. But if it was the hottest day of the year, and if there was bits of rancid bhaji hanging from his beard, that’s what you smell like.”

As I pondered if you could indeed survive on Indian food found in beards, I didn’t want to admit that Angry actually had a point. On Sunday I was lucky enough to eat some traditional Indian food. Not pseudo-indo-englo curry, but really innocent looking lentils that ended up setting fire to my bowels. That was Sunday, and now its Thursday and the smell of Lentil curry is still being passed through my armpits.

I value what friendship I have with Angry (it is limited at best – Ed) but feel this latest episode of armpit antics (added to the new jumper armpit cat piss incident) that it will tip me over the fine line of being a “slightly annoying friend” to the “smelly social misfit” category, where he will deny I exist, delete my number from his mobile and punch me in the face whenever I am nearby. I had to think of some way to thank him for pointing out this personal hygiene problem so I gave him a big hug and nestled his nose close in to my underarm.