Maverick’s Heap of Trouble: Part 1 of 3

Captain Maverick's wings may be flawless, but his odor was downright criminal. A foul miasma trailed behind me thicker than a C-130's smoke trail—a putrid force nine olfactory assault that could choke a maggot at twenty paces.

I frantically mashed the sad little body spray pump, desperately trying to drown myself in a cheap citronella tsunami. But no matter how many gallons of that lemon-scented swill I doused on, that stubborn locker room stink clung to me like BO's clingier, way funkier cousin and that doesn't even help with afterburners down there that has causing me to go ballistic.

"Holy hovercraft exhaust, Maverick!" Iceman gagged,scrambling for an oxygen mask as I swaggered into the ready room. "You reek like a bloated roadkill skunk left to fester in the Mojave sun!"

"Just showcasing my musk of masculinity for once, Ice." I fired back with a cheesy grin, administering a firm slap on his shoulder that left a sweaty hand print glistening on his jumpsuit. "No need to get your panties in a wad."

Sporting a tank-top laden with fresh pit stains and gym shorts that looked like I'd dragged them behind a C-5 Galaxy aircraft, I sauntered into the lockers like a primitive alpha ape claiming his stinky territory. Hoot sand hollers from the other fly boys instantly shriveled into revolted silence.

Even the biggest jar heads scattered faster than roaches when you flick on the kitchen lights—fleeing for the nearest exit while cupping their hands over their mouths and noses like they'd caught a whiff of chemical warfare.

That's when Goose—my ever-loyal wing-man and the only chum brave enough to run interference—hurled a towel drenched in industrial-strength solvent straight into my face.

"Christ on wings, Maverick! I can literally taste the funky stench seeping out of your pores from over here," he choked,frantically swatting at the clouds of stink wafting off me. "Did you fall into a vat of warm grease and curdled milk back at the O-Club???"

Peeling the sudsy rag off with a wry grin, I gulped down a refreshing breath of oxygen. "Nah, just your classic case of thunderous under carriage chafe gone airborne. This bird's engine runs a little too hot for those flimsy stock gaskets, if you know what I mean."

As Goose's eyes bugged out in abject horror, I started to wonder...could I really be the only wingnut struggling with these funky physical afflictions? Surely the other hotshot pilots had to have their own tricks for keeping the swamp ass and pit stench at bay during those grueling18-hour hauls over hostile territory.

There had to be some sort of secret regimen I was missing out on—some covert sandalwood powder or hydraulic anti-friction solution meant for the saltiest of air jockeys.

If I wanted to avoid going down in infamy as the nastiest formation leader to ever crop-dust the wild blue yonder, some serious sleuthing was in order. I needed to infiltrate the ranks and discover what magical funky remedy the other flying aces were using to stay so fresh and so dry,mile-high club.

Goose's head shook slowly in dismay as I gave my damp pits one last emphatic sniff. "You really need to get that unholy friction situation under control, buddy. Before they slap you with a terrifying new call sign!"

"Like what?" I challenged with an arched brow, already bracing for the onslaught of low blows.

Yeah, it was officially confirmed. Captain Maverick had a raging case of musk——so strong it could choke a skunk at 20 paces. An emergency decontamination shower was imminent if I wanted to avoid going down in history as the nastiest wingnut to ever stink up the skies.

But of course, in typical Maverick fashion, that minor little funk malfunction was just the opening act for the true shits-how still to come...

Follow Maverick's Journey, will he find a solution or go down in flames...
part 2 to be followed...