Absolut Fetid

OH MY DEAR GAH...I now have 2 followers, and one of them is one of my absolute favorite bloggers.  I only discovered him yesterday while I was "working," but the piece I read is already a classic.  It's like one of those TNT New Classics, only without the ad breaks.  You'll re-visit it a million times, be able to recite it at a whim, and never grow tired of it.
May I present you with: Mr. London Street's take on the end of a relationship.

I would typically use that as a segway into some post on the last time I felt the same thing about some relationship corpse I still have tucked away in my brain folds, but there is a 9 inch tall stink demon currently rooting through my purse that I feel the need to acknowledge instead.

Said stink demon's name is Toby.  He is a year old American Bulldog with an apparent penchant for sniffing out the dankest dungeoniest food he can fit his gigantic mouth around, and for growing balls the size of my fists put together.  He is the faithful companion of my cow-orker (yes, I meant to spell it that way), but you would have no idea the two of them are a pair since it is MY purse he's fascinated with, MY papers he has disheveled, and MY legs he has covered in mephitic farts.
Were I one of the other cow-orkers, I'd be angry, vindictive, even.  But he slurps my entire left side, and I am smitten.  Mr. Toby could teach Mr. Watson a thing or two about making a woman swoon.
Whether I'm swooning from those sweet, brown eyes hidden away among the folds, or from noxious fumes emanating out of his posterior....one may never know.