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Nose Candy

A turbulent journey of nasal distress.

By Steve WatkinsPublished 7 years ago 7 min read

The stench was unbearable; the particles that were floating their merry way about my head, as they rose up on the thermal of a steamy waft of anal produce; could easily be imagined to have their own universal atmosphere, each with their own sun and moon to collaborate a dance with.

Each tiny unseen monster of nasal insult; a biosphere, with its own mountains and lakes, great inventive minds and astronomers with grand telescopes, pointing at the empty space between myself and the origins of the birth of their tiny planet; a time that they have speculated was billions of bowel cycles ago when primitive sweet corn based creatures; reigned as the kings of beasts, second only to the primordial soup (they'll never know it was actually stomach acid).

Millions of putrid particles that form a whole great expanse of unknown size and distance; such that produces theories about space and time in the minds of great thinkers.

A light brown tinted, coco-pops-esque, chocolate milky way of murky, not quite so bright; stars and swirling planets, with little turd born beings living crappy lives, unaware of their place in the bigger picture; each with a philosophical question on the tip of their tounges; questions such as:

Is this the only planet with life on it?

And isn't this existence just a bit shitty to not have more to be discovered?

I ponder to myself, inspired by my imagined feces come Aristotle beings; would a breath from my own nose rock their world and would they notice it?

If their world shuddered in the wake of air moving from the pulse of an increased bpm in my chest would they say their planet was having a bit of turdulence?

As I'm now feeling slightly woozy from the smell; I can almost hear the rhythm of my heart. This airborne biological attack that was so thick it could almost be a gas on the cusp of becoming a solid was seriously taking its toll.

Or maybe they'd think the disruption caused as I wafted the air away from my face; were some form of global warming effect due to the excessive use of fossil fuels, some sort of planet destroying side effect from the act of fracking to draw up valuable methane deposits.

"Once all the methane is gone, what will we do then? There will be no brown energy solution that can support our needs."

Little did they know that there was a chance they could be drawn in up one of my nostrils and swamped in a protective mucus in preparation to be sneezed out on to a tissue and despatched down the loo, "mind out tiny poople; there's a massive flood due that will wipe out your planet and its nothing to do with any deities."

They probably have wild theories based on radical mathematics that deduce that their universe is expanding—if only one of them could see through my mind on some sort of fly agaric mushroom trip and find out the truth that the expansion is to do with heat and vapour, that whilst they call their stink cloud a universe, it is only a minor portion of a whole greater replication of what they perceive to be the limits of their knowledge, just on a grander scale; as if they are just part of another turn to repeat the fractal that wise men would call the absolute, just a leaf of the great tree that is just a plant of a great forest.

Even if one of them did suddenly see it all for what it was they'd be considered a heretic and probably burned alive out of fear that he may turn them into frogs or toads or even more scary and threatening, he might even be totally correct, but if leaked to the public; that could cause a mass panic and so disposal of such a dangerous knowledge could only be handled with a sudden disappearance of the source, in this instance the space cadet that took the shooms is quickly apprehended and given a free long term stay in an underground research bunker with all the magic fungus he could ever wish for.

The eye watering stink was emanating from my sons bottom like a fog that instead of causing a lack of sight in any direction, affected my sense of smell and caused a mild onset of nose blindness.

He began to waddle away from me with his usual cute, innocent smile on his face as he grabbed the fabric of my jeans and tugged me in the direction of his toy box, he pointed above it to request a toy plane that was sat out of his reach.

"Dada mmmwam! Mmmwam!"

Translated into adult, this means: "I would like the item I'm pointing to; fetched and brought to me immediately please jeeves."

I stood up slowly using the sofa arm as a support for my left hand.

Heady with the pungent nose candy I had just heard him release into his nappy, at the dizzying height of 6ft 2" I felt slightly wobbly as I straightened up to a full standing position, likely also due to the solvent like effects of my sons recently airborne, epic masterpeice.

I pick him up carefully so as not to disturb what I imagine to be a poohnami (my life partner's very apt description of a nappy that is so full it over flows out the sides and has the same destructive powerful wave of movement as a tsunami when you remove such clothes safety protection).

I grab the toy plane and hand it to him, a distraction for him to play with is very useful when dealing with this kind of nostril hair melting disaster, it stops his hands wandering down to explore the warm gooey mess whilst you are trying to clear up the aftermath still attached to his nethers.

I carried him over to the changing table still avoiding putting any pressure on his bottom and gently lay him down on the foam/plastic insert cleverly designed to be wiped clean with ease and also provide an amount of comfort for the precious young master.

I gently pulled his bottoms off and put them aside, prepared with five to six baby wipes hung on the edge of the table ready for quick application, I cautiously prized the little velcro grips from around the waistband of his nappy whilst he giggled and gurgled, unsuspectingly examining the undercarriage of his toy plane.

A word of advice here; this requires deft hands of dexterity and calm skill, it is certainly not one for the feint hearted and caution is the word of the day at play and it is so because if not implicitly adhered to the dreaded could happen.

I can say it has not yet happened to me but I have come close to contact, as aforementioned; exercise caution in order to avoid getting poo on your hands or fingers, such a devastating situation could cause chemical burns and require dialysis to remove the potentially deadly toxins that will seep through your skin upon contact.

Your hands will also be permanently scarred with a smell that can never be removed nor covered up by even the strongest cologne.

I peeled back the nappy with baited breath expecting the worst to find the smallest, tiny little nugget to ever have offended my sense of smell, all that noise, all that stink that could have warded off the most heinous of under the bed monsters. This titchy bum gift that had created a smell holocaust in the living room was such a small little pebble no bigger in circumference than a ten pence peice.

Unbelievable, this technology, if harnessed by the makers of fairy liquid; could create a concentrate far stronger than their current product.

The assumed smell to size ratio was majorly overstated, I was so surprised that before I disposed of my son's dutiful deed I'd considered donating it to a university science department so they could query its potential disruption to our space-time continuum.

I removed the offending nappy, wiped him clean and stuffed the unused baby wipes back into their packet.

Replaced with a new nappy and bottoms back on and my pint sized prisoner with what I can only describe as a fascinating ability to create a stink from next to nothing; was free to go terrorise the dog with his plane.


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