Friday, July 27, 2018

An Oldie But a Goodie: Limberger Incident

Picture this: 1998

I’m living with my cousin (a nun), following my leaving my WASband. This was a temporary (one year) arrangement as “transitional housing” until my divorce was finalized.

And as I’ve alluded in other threads, the whole notion of “Cleanliness is next to Godliness” did not apply to my cousin, whether it be her house, her cats, her car, or more specifically for this thread, HER BODY.

After a few weeks, she and I had gotten ourselves into a system, a habit. I’d come home from work and immediately take a nap (from 6 p.m. til about 10 p.m., when she’d go to bed). I set my alarm and would get up when she was already ensconced in bed.
I got up, splashed some water on my face, dabbed off the excess with her cute little fingertip towel she kept by the sink, and then scampered off and wandered to the den, and popped online.

Suddenly, I became aware of an aroma of the most-foul nature. Sour, tangy, cheesy. Definitely fermented...NEIGH... definitely EVIL...

I sniffed my pits, and whafted air up from my crotchal region, taking a stink assessment, both of which came up with negative results.

I got up, and as much as it pains me to recall this, I sniffed the upholstery of the chair, thinking perhaps I was sitting in her filth. No dice.

So I retraced my steps from whence I woke up. I found myself back in the bathroom. At this point, I am very afraid and reluctant to pick up the fingertip towel (which for all intents and purposes APPEARED CLEAN).

Reluctantly… hesitatingly… dry-heaving-ly, I put the towel up within sniffing range… and FUCK-ME-RUNNING-WITH-A-RED-HOT-POGO-STICK-THERE-IT-WAS!~

I can only deduce that my cousin used this cloth to either dry her vajoosh or perhaps take a swipe at the yeasty underfolds of her belly, which were forever in a state of candidiasis.
I have nothing else. Nor do I think this story requires much else, other than to share that OH-YES-THERE-WAS-MUCH-PROJECTILE-VOMITING.


  1. Along with being a cheese factory, perhaps she was also a mushroom garden. Yum.

  2. It's been 20 years since the Limberger Incident, and it still leaves me recoiling in disgust. I see people quoting her quotables from her books, and I wonder what measure of esteem they'd hold her in if they knew how revolting she is IRL.

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What sayeth thou? (Mean people suck, don't fuck it up.)

"I hate people."
"People" stop being "people" when they become friends.
Friends stop being friends when they become assholes.
So to refine my hatred, I hate people and I hate assholes.