When I got into my truck to head out for the gym I was assaulted. 

The smell was incredible. 

As I searched the vehicle it began to dawn on me that the funkadelic was actually me. 
Not in a smiley, funky beat sorta way but in a “something in here is dangerous” sorta way. 

Apparently I’ve forgotten that when you go to the gym on a regular basis it’s wise to perform a ritual on a regular basis as well called “washing your gym clothes”.

My eyes were watering & I was having visions. 

I could see waves of something undead coming out if the bag like looking across the desert at high noon and my socks were crawling through the zipper on their own. 
My shirt was making some sort of growling noise and I had to hold it down with a stick.

So now I’m headed to the car wash to hose out the interior of the truck and to burn the contents. 

If you see smoke don’t worry, it’s just me. 

Lesson learned.