Something must be done

While the general quality of foodstuffs has increased greatly since taking occupancy at the Stonesifer residence, the sum of my gastro-intestinal activity is a general and all encompassing fecal malodor. It clings to my person like a condom to my dong. What I feared most has come to pass: I have forgotten the clean tract which I gained in Japan. I have come to accept, expect, and even identify with the odd mix of fish sauce, cantaloupe, and fried burritos that regularly exits my hindquarters. Something must be done.