I found out what the horrible smell was

[wvvdiup1]

Now these comments are beginning to sound like a script for the comic strip, "Peanuts" (the one with Snoopy and Charlie Brown)! Sorry Nettle, but this sure does sound like Charlie Brown!

Or, maybe a script to Albott and Costello's "Who's on first base, what is on second base,..." comedy!

[Nettle]

My life is one long sitcom only I never seem to be given a script.

[wvvdiup1]

Nettle wrote: My life is one long sitcom only I never seem to be given a script.

Sometimes I think not only is life one long sitcom, but it has a lot of drama, documentaries, and you name it, that life itself becomes interesting without a script and without any of the predicaments to keep one guessing and thinking what is going to happen next -what surprises lie around the corner kind of thing.

[jacksdad]

Now these comments are beginning to sound like a script for the comic strip, "Peanuts" (the one with Snoopy and Charlie Brown)! Sorry Nettle, but this sure does sound like Charlie Brown!

Or, maybe a script to Abbott and Costello's "Who's on first base, what is on second base,..." comedy!

One of Jack Benny's gags was the inspiration for my comment so you were close with Abbot and Costello.

[thepennywhistle]

To quote a song from Buffy the Vampire Slayer
"Life is a song you can't rehearse,
and every single verse,
just makes it that much worse."

There are definitely days when I agree.

I had a lovely tack box once. It started out as an Army footlocker
back in the 40s, but I ended up with it and it served me well for
years. The wood on top had a hole punched in it when someone
dropped a circular saw on it. I was unhappy, but ignored it.

Then came the smell. First in the tack room. Then in the stable.
Eventually it reached the house, and I steeled myself for stalking
the stink without a gas mask. It turned out that a a badly injured
possum had crawled in there and died. She was a mommy possum.
I know this because all her babies crawled out of her pouch and
died in there too.

Major gagger. I shoveled the family, along with the bottom layer
horse gear, into plastic trash bags, and the trunk was hauled into
the woods at the back of the back field to continue decomposing.

Never again! I'll beg. I'll pay. I'll blackmail. Whatever I need
to do to get someone else's Mr. Nettle to rescue me.


I'm glad your stink is gone, Nettle. Having that in the house must
have been awful. *shudder*