The house smelled like stale infection and circus meat with a slight hint of putrid clam. This was actually a huge improvement over the previous days when uncle Rick was here. Uncle Rick is a large man, so large he could barely walk. He mostly depended on an electric scooter to shuttle him around, leaving a trail of vile odor in his wake. He refused to bathe claiming that soap and water dried his skin. He also wore the same clothes every day, never bothering to wash them either. It was a potent combination. But he was family and he was rich and we wanted to be kept in the will. So we put up with the stench, rats, bugs, and relentless foul language. We often wondered how such a giant piece of morbid, mouth-breathing fat could have the business wherewithal to become so rich. It was as if Gordon Gekko took a galaxy-class sized shit... over 400 pounds strong... a shit that was inherently brilliant and able to expertly trade stocks. They could make a movie about him. It would be called "Wall of Shit Street" and it would star Charlie Sheen and Michael Douglas. Better get that screenplay over to Oliver Stone quick. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com