Not so dynamic

Difficult working conditions here at Casa Da Woog this week as Mr. Woog spent the weekend tending to his beloved garden. With Spring upon us he has been going heavy handed on the fertiliser and may I just say that my eyes have been watering ever since. I have a very weak stomach and a very sensitive demeanour when it comes to unpleasant smells. (Which certainly makes life interesting when I share one toilet with three males.)

Now, riddle me this. Why is it called Dynamic Lifter?

To me, that name conjures up a few potential things. Perhaps it is that superstar at the gym who can dead lift 200kgs. Or perhaps it is a magical pill that you can pop when you are feeling blue? Or it could be used to describe a determined person who is not going to make two trips from the car with the weekly grocery shop. Any of these things, but not pellets that smell like the devils’ rectum.

Dynamic Lifter is made from composed chicken shit and I also suspect it contains fermented fish guts and rotted durian. I like to work with the front door open. This is the current scenario.

Apologies to Smaggle and my other OCD readers. I really should have shut that top drawer.

Every so often the wind will pick up and the scent of Dynamic Lifter will fill the house. Yesterday it was so strong that I had to actually go and hang out at the neighbours place for respite. Other smells that offensive to me include, but are not restricted to, the following.


You know when you have fresh flowers in the house, and after a while they die and you think to yourself “I really should chuck those dead flowers out…”  but then you don’t? Well, each day you leave them, you are creating an ecosystem in the vase that when you eventually do throw them out, results in revolting, pongy, slimy flower water. THIS.


The smell of boiled eggs makes me weep, and so when I do canteen duty the manager has to give me a lot of warning so I can go outside and take in huge gulps of fresh air. Please tell me that I am not the only one!


Ok, you can all do this right now, whether you are reading at work, or at home or on the bus. Stick your finger in your belly button right now and dig about a bit. Now sniff it. Now vomit. Aren’t you glad I let you know about that little fest trap?

But I suppose I should not complain. I used to live near a mushroom composting factory and MAN could that place pump out the pong!

I am going to be contacting Yates with a few suggestions of a name change of this product.

Have you got any ideas?