We were sitting around discussing the cheesy smell of some rubber gloves, and it reminded George and Bob of the smell of Dean's boil. Dean had had this lump growing on his back for a year and a half. He didn't know what it was, and had never seen a doctor about it. It was the size of a walnut, and every time Bob saw it, it bothered him. One day Bob decided to try to burst it. So he put on some rubber gloves and started to squeeze. He squeezed and squeezed, and nothing gave. So he got out a liner needle and gave the boil a jab. Then he squeezed it again and thin stream of liquid started spurting out. He kept squeezing and squeezing, but he couldn't get the bulk of it out. George had strong hands, so he gave it a try. He started squeezing and suddenly, with a loud ripping sound, a big chunk of what looked like rancid cottage cheese flew out clear across the room and landed square on the head of Brutus, Bob's English Bulldog. George kept squeezing for fifteen or twenty minutes after that. Every once in a while, the thin stream would be interrupted by a large hunk of cheese. Meanwhile, the room had filled with a foul stench. Dean looked up and mentioned it. George smelled his fingers and nearly gagged. Bob took a whiff and started to vomit, but he managed to choke it down until he made it outside to the curb to let loose. Bob said that smell was worse, even, than the time he forgot to clean out the bandsaw at the butcher shop. He had worked as a kosher butcher cutting big sides of beef on a bandsaw. Bone dust and marrow would accumulate in the casing, so it had to be cleaned out every night. One summer night, Bob forgot. When he came in the next day, there was something dripping from the saw. When he opened up the casing, it was filled and swarming with maggots. Maggots were dripping out of it. He had to get a blowtorch to pop them like popcorn, then sweep them up. But Dean's boil was definitely the worst.