The Butcher Makes Me Smell Pretty

Straight women and gay men, I cannot believe you have not yet snapped up the Butcher. Okay, so he has some attributes that might have, initially, made you cross him off the list of possibilities: he's not gay, he has little ambition, he sometimes farts and then gets a weird look on his face and says, "I hope I didn't just shit myself" but he doesn't bother to go check, he has, allegedly, in the past, when we lived in another state, participated in activities that can be heavily taxed in this state as another tool for an oppressive government to butt into our business (What next, Tennessee? Will you raid the Nashville zoo and sic the revenue service on the tripping leopards?), and he'll eat all the Oreos you have in the house--1 pound, 20 pounds, it makes no difference. But, folks, right now I smell so good that, if I hadn't made afternoon plans, I'd just sit here in front of the computer sniffing my hair. I don't know what it is, but that boy has this uncanny ability to buy the best smelling bath products, not too stinky, but not too ordinary. So, if you're out to Cumberland Furnace and an ordinary woman passes by and her delectable-smelling hair makes you want to grab her and give her smooches, that's me.