Gut Rumbles

April 01, 2007

It ain't Irish Spring, that's for damned sure

Originally published July 6, 2002

I have been doing MANLY THINGS. Stripped to the waist, armed with a sharp blade and dripping manly sweat under a hot Georgia sun, I scraped the scales from numerous slick fish bodies, cut off their round-eyed heads and ripped their guts out with my bare hands. That is savage, bloody work, fit for a savage, bloody MANLY man.

But I don't smell manly. I have fish scent all over me and that's not the aroma of testosterone. In fact, I smell like... well, never mind.

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