I was in line at the DQ on 6th getting mother's usual order of 3 hot dogs and onion rings. I was looking down at my Gameboy, not paying attention to the line when I felt the warm breeze hit my legs. I looked up from my Pokemon battle and there you were. 5'2, about 315 lbs. You had the remnants of your first two DQ orders stuck in your teeth, which were so gnarled, I could see them from the back.

You were polishing off a Dilly Bar when the methane cloud rose to my nostrils, curling my nose hairs. It was an aroma that could only be produced by a goddess. As I felched it, I detected a hit of salmon as well as delicate notes of chili. Subtle overtones of movie theater style butter pop corn were soon overpowered by the second wave, which brought a strong scent and taste of corned beef and cabbage. (Mmmmmmm...)

I could see the gas bubble trying to escape from your neoprene-esque tights, most of which were so far up your crack, I debated momentarily whether they were actually two pairs of pants, each housing one of your delightful cankles. The outline of your swollen, probably irritated pachyderm knuckle made me picture a furry cantaloupe split perfectly down the middle, complete with crateresque dimples. This image only further infuriated my raging erection. I struggled to contain my three inches until I eventually prematurely ejaculated. It might have been embarrassing had I not been wearing pajamas with the feet in them under my value brand khakis.

I know you will probably never read this, as I heard you commenting to the store clerk that you could not read, and proceeded to order by pointing at pictures and grunting. But I had to share my story.

I hope to see you again some day. And if by some chance someone reads this to you, please do not shave, I really liked your mustache