The Great Broccoli Fiasco
Apart from a few facts that may be the products of my faulty memory, this story is completely true.
It came from the kitchen, and it was horrendous. It stung your nostrils, and it turned your stomach.
Note: my roommate’s name in this story was Al, but for the sake of brevity and ease, I will be referring to him simply as: Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man.
Me: what is that horrendous smell?
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s probably me.
Me: it is a sickening and repulsive stench, but it’s a different kind of sickening and repulsive stench.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I think it’s coming from the refrigerator.
Me: but there’s nothing in the refrigerator apart from a bottle of ketchup, some old pizza, and mysterious yellow stain that seems to move about on its own.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: the stain scares me; it’s shaped like a spider.
Me: (opening the refrigerator door, only to be staggered by the smell) it is coming from the refrigerator and it is foul.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it must be the anchovies on that left over pizza; they taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.
Me: well, I’ll have to defer to your expertise in ass-tasting related matters.
Note: anchovies are lumps of decaying fish, infused with all of the salt in the world–they’re delicious.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: I know how to get rid of it.
He grabbed the pizza box from the fridge and hurled it onto the roof below the kitchen window of our apartment.
Me: brilliant.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: of course it’s brilliant; I’m the one who did it.
Me: your brilliance is only matched by your humility.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: it’s my humility that makes me great.
(Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man is sometimes a walking oxymoron…usually he’s just a plain moron.)
So the problem was solved…or was it?
Not only did the odor not dissipate, it grew in strength.
The next day:
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: why hasn’t the smell gone away?
Me: it wasn’t the anchovies.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-Man: anchovies taste like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.
Me: we have to do something; air fresheners won’t cover it up.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: air fresheners won’t cover up the ass-end of rhinoceros?
Me: probably not, but I was referring specifically to the smell in the kitchen.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: well we’ve checked everywhere.
Me: is there anything in the vegetable crisper?
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what?
Me: the drawer where you keep the vegetables.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: the what now?
Me: I’ll show you.
I slid open the vegetable crisper to reveal a bowl of expired broccoli and possibly the most rancid smell that has ever stimulated my olfactory senses.
Me: how can vegetables possibly smell that bad?
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I didn’t even know that drawer was there.
Me: we have to get rid of them.
Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man: I have an idea.
So Pathetic Pea-Brained Weed-of-a-man grabbed the bowl of tainted broccoli and flushed it down the toilet.
The problem was solved…or was it.
It seems pouring a bowl full of broccoli down a toilet is the equivalent of pouring a bucket full of concrete down a toilet; it was a mess. There was literally a waterfall of human waste pouring down the kitchen wall of the downstairs neighbor.
She was unhappy…loudly.
A few days later we had a typical western New York snowstorm which dropped about four feet of snow on us.
The landlord came to shovel the snow from the roof outside our kitchen window. He struggled with something that was solidified to the roof. It turned out to a pizza with anchovies.
He was unhappy…loudly.
Note: if you were unaware: anchovies smell like the ass-end of a rhinoceros.
idiotpruf 