I’m late today. Why? Because I’m in a big, hairy rotten mood. That’s why.

Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s China’s fault. I don’t know. Maybe you should just blame Walter Knoll for failing to deliver my wife’s anniversary flowers yesterday. Those bastards. I hope they get pricked by a rose and get a really nasty infection that smells bad.

Plus, I encountered a serious problem on the elevator today. It smelled like Body Odor of Biblical proportions. The entire defensive squad of the Rams doesn’t smell this bad after playing a day game in New Orleans in August.

Look, if you have body odor that’s so bad it LINGERS behind you, you have a problem. How in the hell could you not notice that you smell so bad that you leave vapor trails that peel paint off the walls? I know people want to leave their mark but, my God. This could cause brain damage.

I rode the elevator, trying to hold my breath (I don’t want pit stank in my blood system! It might seep into my body and start oozing out of me!). I said a silent prayer to the God of Embarassment. “Dear God, whose name I do not know, though I suspect it may be Bob, please don’t let anyone get on this elevator, lest they think it is me that smells like the rotting floor of a boys locker room.”

Friggin’ thing stopped at the next floor. I guess there is no Bob. I decided to head off his thoughts at the pass.

“This isn’t me,” I said to the very tall man who entered the elevator. “There must have been someone who boarded the elevator before me who has a glandular problem.”

His response, “Yeah, that happens.” I could see that he didn’t believe me.

Jerk. I was reaching out to him. Trying to connect on a level that few people ever connect on. And he rejected me.

And you wonder why I don’t like people.