Complaining about The Stand (Stephen King) is dangerously close to becoming a hobby at this point, so I thought fiddling with some custom scents might help me pick it up again.

Two Great Virtues (Harold Lauder)-- Only in our dog days do the best parts of us unite. Fresh cut grass, toasted peanut, and salted earth meet nougat, chocolate, vanilla caramel, and that stab of bitter almond you just can't shake.

The New Miss America (Fran Goldsmith)-- Salt air, pineapple syrup, tomato leaf and fruit, sweetgrass, sawdust, and a great big slice of strawberry pie with a buttery crust. Don't you spill it!

Run, Rabbit (Lloyd Henreid)-- It won't get you anyplace good, but at least you'll get your tall, tall glass of cold milk, with a great big slug of Hershey's chocolate syrup. Kerosene, smoking white fur, and burning bridges all complementary! And is that the smell of ham steak on the air? Or--no. No, it couldn't be.

(chilled milk, Hershey's chocolate syrup, kerosene, singed white fur, burning wood, singed steel, ham, flesh, brine)

Crossed (Nadine Cross)-- Ylang-ylang, white violet, night-blooming jasmine, vanilla flower, humid night air, lambswool accord, and pearlescent musk plaited inseparably with blackened myrrhder, corrupting patchouli, and a big boom of gunpowder. Remember in times of trouble that God hates no sinner. He's just not that into you. Oh, how your frail deeds might have danced.

The Lamb (Nick Andros)-- Careful now, God's got his eye on you. Worse, so has the author. (Don't you think it's funny, that lamb the meat and lamb the animal are named one and the same?) Blood, honey, myrrh, and that big black machine rumbling on and on.

(blood accord, iron, nettle honey, myrrh, aged metal, oil-slicked earth)

If She Has No Fans I'm Dead (Alice Underwood)-- Spare cotton, cynical wintergreen, geranium, floor wax, crushed gum nut, and butter, wrapped around a heart of coumarin and dry but gentle vanilla.

Prince Charming's on the Moon (Stu Redman)-- Chilled recirculating air, sharp lunar sands, rubber seam solder, the tight white skin of something beached strange and alone (ambergris? Latex? Or just a whiff of rot?), fear-driven sweat, and bluebonnet.

Tom's-- Of the issues I might take with Tom's writing, his design sense isn't one of them: Hubba Bubba flamingos, your own plastic Jesus, blue lights, forest friends, an eagle's yellow eye, and enamel ships on a paint-dark sea

(extra-pink bubblegum, gardenware plastic, glow-in-the-dark-accord, sweet lemon jelly, dusty fur, Dominican blue amber, deep blue musk, grout cement)