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Wednesday, June 1, 2011

The Adventures Of Captain Cologne And Princess Perfume. Your Fragrances Make You STINK

Captain Cologne and Princess Perfume. Stinking it up.
You could be seated in a restaurant or on a park bench. Your day is suddenly interrupted by something foreign and unwanted. It's not a person. It's a scent. Join me on The Adventures Of Captain Cologne and Princess Perfume. Your Fragrances Make You STINK.

Globally, the fragrance industry is a $12 Billion business. Cologne and perfume have been part of human society for thousands of years. They were originally made from animals or plants and had strong significance in religious ceremonies.

Today, the fragrance industry plays a big role in our sexuality. Sex is what is used to sell all colognes and perfumes. You'll never see an ad for scents that says your life will improve or you'll get a better job because of the way you smell. Fragrance advertising focuses on our desire to be attractive to the opposite sex. What's interesting is that women are used to pitch both colognes for men and perfumes for women.

Look at any perfume ad, it's a sexy woman and you can almost hear here breathlessly whispering the name of the perfume, while in the throes of passion. Women want to be like her, sexy, sultry, alluring - desired. Men... well... they'll buy anything that has breasts in it.

Perfumes and colognes are supposed to be applied sparingly. In fact, the person you want to attract with the scent should not be able to catch a whiff of it until they are within the customary three foot comfort zone. Ideally, a man should actually have to lean toward a woman's neck to catch the scent - that is sexy. The same applies to men. A woman should be close to you before they can smell you.

However, in The Adventures of Captain Cologne and Princess Perfume, that is not the case. Both of these fragrance superheroes applies their favorite scent like a tick bath. Their fragrance of choice arrives minutes or hours earlier than they do to the party or club. They make your head turn in Central Park and they are nowhere to be seen.

The Captain and the Princess go through a lot of cologne and perfume. Because they use it like nudists use sunscreen. They also tend to stay near the cheaper end of the fragrance spectrum. You can purchase a gallon size of any of these scents at Wal-Mart. The Captain and the Princess restock their scents on a monthly basis.

Neither the Captain or the Princess have any idea about their impact on the environment and their effects on climate change. They don't know the number one rule when it comes to fragrances. "If they arrive before you do, you put on TOO MUCH."

I don't even know how the Captain and the Princess achieve their amplified odiferous status. I've tried to smother myself with cologne and then queried people I know to see if I'm stinking up the joint. Never have I achieved the level of noxious fumes that the Captain and the Princess emit with such ease.

I had a good friend in Las Vegas. He unfortunately was killed driving his Harley, coming down from Mt. Charleston. He was loved by everyone who knew him. He was successful, funny and originally from Cleveland, so we had a special bond - chatting about the motherland. He, however, reeked of cologne. His scent was larger than a rap star's posse. It covered a lot of ground.

My guess is that he applied his cologne via a sprayer. If you hugged him, your cologne or perfume was overwhelmed by whatever he was wearing and you could not get it off your clothing, all day. It wouldn't go away, no matter how long you stood in a wind tunnel.

I think he applied it every time he was about to get out of his car - all day long. He had to carry it with him to achieve that high a level of proboscis pulverizing putridity. In a small room, he could make your eyes water. I don't know the scent, but I guess it wouldn't matter. His application technique was thick and with several coats.

Princess Perfume has the same powers as my deceased buddy had, Captain Cologne. Overuse is more common among women, than me. However, out of the shopping malls full of fragrances, there is one WMD in the perfume catalog that only women can weild - Angel.

Angel should be outlawed under the Geneva Convention and UN ban on chemical warfare.

My ex-wife and I had a good friend that was an Angel rep and serviced several large department stores. She wore Angel all the time. She lived across town in Las Vegas, and I swear I knew when she put it on.

She routinely borrowed my wife's dresses. When they came back, they reeked of Angel. Instead of rushing the garments to the nearest bio-hazard containment center, my wife would put them in the walk-in closet we shared, until she had time to take them to the cleaners. Within an hour, our entire closest smelled like Angel. Everything in it smelled like Angel. Then our bedroom smelled like Angel. I started to panic when it headed toward the kitchen. HIV doesn't spread this fast.

As a result, MY clothes smelled of Angel. I tried Fabreeze, dryer sheets, steam, baking soda, hanging them outside - nothing worked. So, until I could get my clothes to the cleaners, I was the local "on the street" Angel sample scent dispenser.

When I first arrived in Las Vegas in 1996, I got a job through the Riviera Entertainment Department head, Steve Schirripa (Sopranos, Goodfellas, Animal Planet), my boss, comedy booking agent and buddy. He set me up as a cowboy on The Strip. I stood on a podium for several hours a day pitching "FREE LUCKY GIFTS" (which were tiny viles of glitter) to the drunk tourists walking by on Las Vegas Blvd.

One hot day, there was no one in site on the sidewalk. Suddenly, I was overcome with the stench of Angel. I'm talking a gag reflex whiff. I couldn't see anyone. Over the next five minutes or so, the Angel fumes increased in intensity. Finally, I spotted three large women with fanny packs waaaaaaaaay down The Strip, south of me - upwind of me. As I waited for them to approach, the vapors grew and grew. When they finally waddled their way to the front of my podium, I shouted out, "Who's wearing Angel?" A large women wearing her lucky Vegas shirt with fanned hands of cards and tumbling dice patches sewn on it proudly admitted, "I am." I just wanted to get a look at this toxic terrorist. I wanted to put her on the "Ten Most Wanted" list in my mind. Someday, I'd catch her and incarcerate or kill her. I didn't say another word as they kept waddling. I was holding my breath. Once they got about 50 yards downwind from me, the Angel aroma subsided and I could resume normal breathing.

My buddy Bob, his wife wears Angel; and he's taken umbrage to my scathing remarks about the scent. Bob is a great guy. He's always been my greatest stand-up comedy fan, but I think he lives in a world where his shit doesn't stink, either.

These fragrance poison clouds I speak of are not just MY little peeve with the world. I am not alone. Airlines and restaurants reserve the right to stop people with too much scent. If we can ban peanuts because 1 out of a million people has a peanut allergy, we have to have something done about the $12 Billion spent on personal aroma enhancement.

You know you've been a victim of this kind of fragrant chemical warfare if you are playing word association with your psychologist and your answers come out like this...

Frangrance --- Fumigation

Perfume --- Potent

Cologne --- Claustrophobic

And if you're black...

Parfume --- Dat be some nasty shit.

If you get agitated during the session, your psychologist might determine that you have no scents. (I rarely wear any of the stuff I refer to as "Stink Sauce").

One of the many straws that broke the camel's back for my last marriage was a perfume that my wife was so proud of. I'm not sure what it was called. But, every time she wore it, I got a massive headache. I politely explained to her that it's overwhelming floral assault on my senses probably made her very attractive in public, but in our home, it was giving me a damn headache that lasted all day. I believe I was served with divorce papers a month later.

I'd like to see a perfume called, "Barbecue" or "Roasted Garlic" or "Pepperoni Pizza"... the way to a man's heart is through his stomach... although, some men think it's through their zipper. But if we're talking scents, it makes sense to titillate me with the aromas of my favorite foods. Baby, if you put on "Fire Grilled Steak" scent - you'll have me forever.

In the meantime, department stores, drug stores, fancy boutiques and Wal-Mart will be dispensing fragrances with no regard for the rest of the noses in the neighborhood. And, daily, we'll get new chapters in The Adventures Of Captain Cologne and Princess Perfume. Your Fragrances Make You STINK.

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