The Stink that bought the Drink

Days turned to weeks

The smell was not weak

The man in protest

Did possess a foul weft

A weft that he wafted

All about town

Accosting the noses

Inducing the frowns

Of the townsfolk who whiffed him

They all said that sniffing Jim

Particularly after he’s been to the gym

Was quite the olfactory sin

Pungent enough to put you off your din

Turning your stomach for more than a min

You simply couldn’t eat with Jim around

Pound for pound his smell was the worst in town

Deadly enough to put the weak in a hearse

Old Mrs Creek tried using her purse

Scrambling to cover her nose-holes in time

In order to reverse the smelly curse crime

But one sniff and she snuffed it

Jim’s fragrance had done it

Another victim claimed

By Jim’s broken shower shame

“It’s getting fixed!” he exclaimed

But the blame game had started

The angry townsfolk departed

Returning with power tools

Which they all then started

Some had bought shovels and spades

“I’m for the grave!” exclaimed Jim

Praying to be saved

A few of them were bearing towels and soap

Others a greasy hair antidote

Extracted from an antelope

Not wanting to croak

Jim pushed passed a bloke in the mob

A guy he used to work with

At his previous job

A man named Emmanuel

Who organised the manuals

Surely he could tell

The angry mob to forgive Jim’s smell?

But instead Emman grabbed him

Two hairy arms wrapped around Jim

All too familiar with his sickening weft

5 years he had to work next to Jim’s desk

Everyday he’d spray aftershave

Potent Eau De Lathe

A lovely woody smell

Only it could spare Emmanuel

From his smelly work hell

So, stepping over the felled

Bodies on the floor

Neighbours reduced to gel

By Jim’s potent o-dour

Emman carried Jim to the centre of the rabble

Where they ripped off his garments

“My designer apparel!"

Screamed Jim as they dunked him down

Into a pre-prepared pool for the putrid

Next to a freshly cleaned gown.

As Jim submerged beneath the bubbles

It didn’t matter how hard he struggled

A hundred hands with rag and soap

Began to scrub about our bloke.

Under his pits and arounds his bits

Between his toes and up his nose

They didn’t miss an inch of Jim

As the water turned black

And the soap ran thin

They even gave his beard a trim

Which everyone agreed

Made Jim look slim

Soon, the bath was over

And the Mayor pulled the plug

Like the cutting of a ceremonial ribbon

Only this had far more sludge

The grand opening of a person

Jim, accepted once more

No more jumping out of windows

When Jim walked through the door

As the turgid bath of swirling rank

Poured into the gutter outside of the bank

A thousand rats and pestilent things

Came out to writhe and bathe in the ming

As a shivering Jim, half-drowned but fresh

Spluttered and spat

And gasped for his breath

The water and mush drained out from his ears

And the sound of cheering

And the chinking of beers

Battered his senses like a large fish&chips

The towns folk elated

The words on their lips

He’s clean at last!

His Pong, so wrong!

His stench, past tense!

Bye, Bye, so long

Our snouts and sneezers are safe at last

Now off to the Tavern

To refill our glass

Before he knew it, Jim was up in the air

Surfing the crowd

Who were now able to bear

To be within

At least a mile square

Of their neighbour Jim

Without losing their hair

A common affliction

If you got a whiff of Jim on the air

So like a king in his chair

Jim was carried towards the bar

The Landlord, Bill Kronenberg

Could finally remove the tar

That he stuck up his nose

Five winters ago

When Jim walked into the pub

To take shelter from the snow

Hello, hello! Welcome back Jim

May I just say, that you’re looking slim

Not to mention

(As he takes a deep inhale)

You smell, well, like nothing

Which is a win not a fail

What drink would you like?

A pint of Pale Ale?

With your usual favourite snack?

A packet of pork cracks?

You can have them on the house

Now you’re free of louse

As the golden elixir poured into the glass

And the landlord continued

To kiss Jim’s arse

Suspicion began to develop within Jim

He thought

Why all the “nice-ness”?

Why such a grin?

Sure Jim was lice-less

And apparently looking slim

But last time he checked the price list

Pork-cracks weren’t a free thing

It was then that Jim got a tap from behind

So he turned around to see

And what did he find?

All of the towns folk forming a line

Empty beer glasses in hand

Now it was time

They’d come to collect their wages

Payment for cleaning Jim in stages

The Scrubbers

The Grubbers

The Sloshers

And Jet Washers

All were there

As were the townsfolk that cut Jim's hair

Even the Mayor was somewhere back there

All of them with empty glasses

Yet no one seemed to care

They just smiled at Jim

As they collected another pint of ale

The landlord pouring 10 beers at a time

Trying to keep up with the sales!

But no one was paying

Instead they kept saying

“Thanks Jim!”

“You should stink more often mate!”

“And next time you do, I’ll bring a date!”

It was then that Jim realised

That removing his stench

Was performed by his neighbours

In order to quench

Their vengeful thirsts

Meant Jim was now cursed

With Paying for all their drinks

The consequence of his stink.