Word: odorized
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...unhappy when not downright unnatural. A product of a menage a trois who loathed his given name of George because he shared it with both a pathetic father and the self-styled musical genius who became his mother's lover. An eccentric who attributed ill health and body odor to cotton and linen clothing and advocated a wardrobe of unbleached woolen garments. A purported avatar of women's liberation who called himself a "philanderer" and preferred married women for romance. A lectern-thumping socialist who prided himself on his aristocratic if fallen lineage and chronicled protest rallies from the sidelines...
First, one detects an odd odor, something like the scent of garlic. Then the burning sets in, blurring vision as the eyes begin to smart and itch. Uncontrollable bouts of sneezing and coughing follow, often attended by nausea and vomiting. As the hours crawl by, the inflammation slowly spreads. When it reaches the respiratory tract, swelling the internal lining, the breath shortens and the chest tightens. The skin darkens to a sickly purplish color, the armpits and other cavities turning almost black. Excruciating blisters appear on the neck, chest and thighs, causing patches of skin to fall off. Large lesions...
...Kathleen Turner, who lends her voice to Jessica). Something got lost in the move from storyboard to screen, and in the stretch from seven minutes to 103. From sad experience, Disney and Spielberg should know the perils of paying huge homage to modest genres, yet Roger Rabbit has the odor of a Toontown Tron, a 1941 for 1988. Zemeckis deserves credit for his will and wit, but he must have been handcuffed by the size of both the film and his ambitions for it. And, unlike the cartoon Roger Rabbit, this gifted director couldn't get out. Even when...
Andy Farmer (Chevy Chase) sits by the fireplace; his lazy, lovable pet, Yellow Dog, dozes at his feet. An odor catches Andy's attention -- hmmm, something's burning. The master of this Vermont farmhouse eases on over to the hearth, extracts Yellow Dog's tail from the cinders and gently stubs it out like a spent cigar. The pooch barely opens one glazed eye. This scene, briefer than a minute, is a vagrant moment of unforced drollery in Funny Farm's carnival of sylvan horrors...
...constant opening of soda cans or the incessant munching and crunching of Doritos that prove to be the most bothersome. It's not even so much the festering and lingering putrid odor of semi-microwaved food eating away at your brain, just at the moment you're deepest into studying for that final exam worth 75 percent of your grade...