I went to the fridge and removed the six-month-old food embalmed
in the tupperware that had stuck to the fridge racks.
Actually, it was more of a geological timeline, going back further
in time the further back I looked in the fridge. First, the smal
white beans that I'd left in there without eating because every
time I tried to I'd fart up a storm for the next day and a half.
That was put in there about a month ago. Not usually fast enough
to spoil, but unpreserved cooked beans seem to have a pretty fast
half-life, so it smelled like pre-fart when I pushed the contents
down the drain.
Next came the four-month-old beef curry stew. That fared surprisingly
well; I imagine it had to do a little with the vacuum seal and
a little with the fact that some of the contents were frozen.
Down the drain, no offensive smell.
Last came the six-month-old chinese fried rice. The top of the
contents was frozen, so I said, "no sweat, this'll be easy."
At which point I opened it up and this giant puff of gas, who
identified Himself as "Chiang-Sha, God of Six-Month-Old Chinese
Fried Rice Gone Bad (copyright and trademark of Chiang-Sha, patent
on 'Nth-Month-Old Chinese Fried Rice Gone Bad, where N is a number
between Five and Three-Hundred Seventeen' pending)", was
suddenly released.
I destroyed His abode, and in doing so, invoked the curse of Chiang-Sha,
which is, that He shall drain me of every nasal fiber of my being
as long as He has the strength to do so, He shall. While classical
diffusion will no doubt defeat Him in the long term, His local
concentration is such that he could quite conceivably kill me
in the short term.
I am in the bedroom. The permeating stench making its way through
indicates that He is coming this way. The only way out is through
the window. To give you an idea of how bad the smell is, allow
me to remind you that I'm on the second story, and that escape
means that one or both of my legs are very likely going to be
inconvenienced.
It will be worth it.