mark maynard announces new fragrance

Its been hot the past few days here in Michigan and Ive been giving off a wonderful, new, full-bodied fragrance. I wish you were all here to smell me. It just cant be described… Have I ever told you about the toes on my right foot, the ones that are rotting, and the kind of sweet, country-ham kind of aroma they give off? Well, its kind of like that, but more musky. Its really quite sexy Again, I wish you were all there to smell it.

How about we set up something in Riverside Park next weekend? All my local readers can come out and then Ill jog around for an hour or so, or run some kind of obstacle course, and then, after Im good and sweaty, Ill allow everyone to sniff me for a full minute. Then, everyone will be asked to write a 100-word essay. The winner, the person who, in the opinion of the group, comes the closest to capturing the scent in words, would then win something, like a four free video rentals from my friend Lauras store, Liberty Street Video.

In case of a tie, wed take the top four competitors and have them write a poem about the smell of my decaying right foot.

I have to go and work on my comic for the Ann Arbor Paper now. Please excuse me.

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One Comment

  1. Anonymous
    Posted June 13, 2004 at 10:14 pm | Permalink

    Frank Zappa’s Stinkfoot Lyrics:

    In the dark
    Where all the fevers grow
    Under the water
    (water)
    Where the shark bubbles blow
    In the mornin
    (mornin)
    By yer radio
    (radio!)
    Do the walls close in tsuffocate ya
    You aint got no friends . . .
    An all the others: they hate ya
    Does the life you been leadin gotta go?
    Well, let me straighten you out
    About a little russian restaurant I know . . .
    (get yer shoes n socks on people, its right aroun the corner!)

    Out through the night
    An the whisperin breezes
    To the place where they keep
    The imaginary diseases

    Out through the night
    An the whisperin breezes
    To the place where they keep
    The imaginary diseases . . .

    Now scientists call this disease bromidrosis
    (thats right!)
    And well they should
    Even napoleon knows that
    But us regular folks
    Who might wear a tennis shoe
    Or an occasional python boot
    Know this exquisite little inconvenience by the name of:
    Stink foot

    Yknow, my python boot is too tight
    I couldnt get it off last night
    A week went by, an now its july
    I finally got it off
    An my girl-friend cry
    You got stink foot! stink foot, darlin
    Your stink foot puts a hurt on my nose!
    Stink foot! stink foot! I aint lyin,
    Can you rinse it off, dyou suppose?

    Here fido . . . fido . . .
    Here fido . . . bring the slippers little puppy
    Yes, thats a good dog! yes!
    Arf, arf, arf!
    [crash-crumble-bump-bump-bump]
    Sick . . .

    And now, ladies and gentlemen,
    We have a song for you about flying saucers
    This song is going to be sung for you by george
    And the name of the song is inca roads.

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