"something died within the wall of the laundry room (most used entrance to the house) while we were fleeing.
the smell was bad before, and now it's worse.
and michael thought it would be better if he plugged in some thing which smells like apples and cinnamon into the very same offensive wall.
now it smells like the decaying crotchular regions of some large and long unwashed dementia patient who has found a convenient new place to stash rotten mustard greens, and who spilled some apple-spice oatmeal onto her muu-muu."
Now isn't that a lovely mental image?