The Potato and How My Children Became Addicted to Crack.

The following post may or may not be a true story, but if you are my neighbour, I'd be checking your porridge each morning for ground glass. 

Thing 1 and Thing 2 are rather fond of telling each other they stink.
"You smell like a stinky old goat bottom," says Thing 1.
"You smell like a dead goat rhinocerous bottom boils," replies Thing 2.
And so it goes on until they have covered the entire zoological, dermatological and infectious disease spectrum.
Speaking of fragrance spectrums, the domestic setting plays host to all manner of apongination (that's a distinctive blend of abomination and pong).
Humphrey's metwurst farts spring to mind.  These are so bad that he can sometimes be seen scrambling to escape from himself.  I prefer to quarantine him in the garage, but he says this banishment constitutes domestic violence.  I told him perhaps he'd prefer to be tried for murder....as in "Man Kills Entire Family With Flatulence" type murder.
His socks come a close second.

Being a farm girl my pong radar is pretty well tuned; dead foxes (9/10), dead sheep (6/10),  flyblown sheep (8/10), blocked septic tank (7/10), bore water (2/10), putrid water (5/10) Humphrey's morning breath (900/10).
Nothing, however, packs an olfactory punch quite like the dead potato.
I say this because I'm sure one crawled into our wall cavity and died.
It wouldn't be so bad if it had the manners to die with dignity, like lettuce.
Lettuce is a well-mannered vegetable.  Generally lettuce is all bouncy and green for a few days and then suddenly one day you open the fridge door only to find it sliding from the crisper toward the compost bin.  Carrots are rather considerate too.  They alert you to their imminent death by getting a bit droopy and then break out in melanomas.
Onions are fickle creatures.  I'm yet to meet one I really like.  They tend to be a bit sly when it comes to death.  They can look all fresh and crisp.....until you pick them up and  realise that all their papery skin encases is a puff of green spores. Ponk level: Moderate.

Potatoes win in the Ponkinator stakes - especially when you can't find them.
Our wall cavity victim has left us all smearing Vicks Vaporub under our noses which is akin to using hairspray as an asthma inhaler.  Our entire family has been whacked out on Vicks for the last three days.  Whilst it makes for interesting dinner conversation, I think the likelihood of Things 1 and 2 graduating from primary school has somewhat diminished.
I suspect they are not too far away from becoming fledgling criminals because everyone knows that once you've tried Vicks the next stop is crack and I just can't see Humphrey going out to score.

Anyway, the local media has been parked on the front lawn ever since men in nuclear fall-out suits knocked on the door Thursday morning.  Apparently neighbours had been complaining about the smell so the EPA investigated and their little ponkimetres had peaked out at our front gate.
I don't know if we'll ever get our house back.  Right now it's under a giagantic sheet of plastic and the men in suits with Darth Vader breathing apparatus are trying to locate the source of the odour which is apparently a violation of the smell pollution code.

I'm guessing that I'll have to wait another year for my "World's Greatest Mum" mug.  It is generally expected that anyone initiated into the delicate art of housewhiffery could keep track of their potatoes.

I need some Vicks.