Welcome to the Commune Podcast. This is Jeff Krasno.

Many of you may receive my weekly Sunday commusing article where I address a breadth of issues

from the spiritual to the sociopolitical. And on occasion, I will also record an audio

version of these articles and release it here as a bonus episode.

This week's missive explores the matchmaking prowess of our microbiota.

If you're interested in receiving my weekly screed, sign up at one commune.com and follow my regular exhortations on Instagram at Jeff

Cresno. Without further delay, here's this week's commusing titled The Hostess with the Mostest. Doing laundry is a simple way to write the wrongs of the world.

I cloister myself in the dark box of the wash closet to purge my sully gym shorts like one might cleanse their soul

in the confessional booth. There's a renewal and orderliness to the whole affair of scrubbing and folding.

But I can't quite sublimate my more corporeal instincts. Before front-loading Skyler's crop top,

I furtively sneak a wee sniff of the arm sigh.

Come on, don't pretend you haven't done it.

As I inhale the distinctive musk,

a warm sensation floods my body. The olfactory has a prodigious memory. The shirt

bears the same aroma that ensnared me 33 orbits ago, minus the hint of Pechuli. Schuyler no longer

makes any effort to apply even the most hippie of deodorants.

Still, her signature bouquet maintains its timeless allure.

I will cease disclosing further bizarre intimacies for, as it turns out, I'm not even whiffing Schuyler at all.

The actual source of her natural perfume is patently

less romantic. It might be better dubbed lactobacillus number five, for this irresistible essence

is produced by bacteria in Skyler's armpit who devour her sweat like kids munching Doritos at a birthday bash.

Human perspiration has no aroma at all.

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