My boss has incredibly obnoxious halitosis. This wouldn't bother me too much, but he insists on leaning over my shoulder to proof my work, and I'm breathing his polluted air. I've tried "sharing" my Altoids with him, but he's not taking the hint, and besides even they don't seem to work. I need to solve this problem without losing my job or my sanity. Can you help?

-- Gas Mask in Denver

Any fool could tell you that chlorophyll cures most cases of halitosis by cleansing odiferous stomach acids, but since he's your boss, shoving the nearest office plant down his throat would hardly be appropriate. No, in this case I would forego medical treatment altogether and instead simply change the way you look at it. Here at Mr. Advice headquarters, we place a high priority on celebrating diversity (except when it comes to the freaks, crazies, idiots and morons who send in questions, in which case we mock diversity), so I suggest that you don't fight the big man's halitosis, you embrace it.

Bad breath, to the open-minded connoisseur, can be an enjoyable and lifelong hobby. It has a lot in common with wine tasting, but it's decidedly less snooty, and more impressive. Imagine at your next office party, when that jerk from accounting is sipping the box wine and commenting on its effervescent bouquet, what a show stopper you'll be when you correctly identify the brand of salami he had for lunch with a just a slight whiff of his breath. Like wine tasting, a good breath smeller spends years in study and gathers as many samples as possible to hone his/her craft. It can take a lifetime just to tell the difference between a champagne from Bordeaux and a champagne from Avignon, and breath is no different. As a public service, however, the following is a brief primer for the interested beginner.

French: The most easily identified and by far most popular breath. Each region has its own subtle differences, but in general French breath is characterized by its light odor of mold (because of the bread and cheese diet) and heavy metallic aftertaste. The best range for sampling is two to three feet, but in some northern regions it's recommended that you stay at least four feet away to get the best flavor.

Italian: Easy to find, Italian breath is the most common variety, with its overwhelming nose of garlic. The biggest variation between Italians has more to do with age than region, though in general you'll find southern Italians will be bolder and northern Italians will have a hint of fruit (rotted). In cases of extreme age, stay at least six feet away to avoid being overwhelmed by the forceful undertones of decay.

Californian: This was the "in" breath a decade ago, though it's now falling out of favor. Usually watered down by excessive amounts of salad, a good California breath will carry a bitter whiff of smog barely detectable in the bland odor of pure halitosis. You'll need to get closer to appreciate this subtle class of breath, but in the right subject, the experience is well worth the effort.

Peruvian/Chilean: I hate to lump these two excellent classes together, but the inexperienced have a hard time telling them apart, due to the heavy and alarming overtones of wet dog hair and horse excrement. Needless to say, these varieties are powerful, but their flavors, down deep, are endlessly fascinating, and are a favorite right now on the breath smelling circuit.

Well, there you have it. There are, of course, as many varieties as there are regions, countries, and people. You might have four or five good specimens in your own family! Now, put yourself to work classifying your boss. It will take your mind off the rigors of work and might be the gateway to a new hobby for you.

I'm going on vacation with my boyfriend next week. It's the first time we'll be sharing a bed (I hope!) but I've got a problem. I have gas at night pretty bad. I'm afraid he'll be turned off if I have my problem when we're together, but I don't know how to stop it. Aside from Bean-O, what can I do?

-- Gassy in Lakewood

I had this friend once (female) who had the same problem and she would just concentrate at night really hard on not pooting. After a while, though, she was tired of losing sleep and having a tough time keeping the vapors in during kinky sex, so she tried a butt plug. This worked pretty well for a while -- she would put the plug in every night and in the morning run to the bathroom, drop her drawers, turn the shower on, pull the plug, and let the morning Mozart out while the water silenced the symphony.

Anyway, tragedy struck one morning when she was too slow in her AM routine. She was pulling her panties down, bent over, when suddenly the fart came and the butt plug shot out like a bullet. It struck and shattered the mirror, then bounced off the sink and plopped neatly into a nearby trash can. When her man came in to investigate the noise, she let another rip before a suitable explanation could be conceived, and her secret was, so to speak, out in the open.

So what does this tell us (besides the fact that I need to remember to take her with me the next time I go skeet shooting)? It reminds us that farts are funny. All men and a significant minority of women find every fart a gem of comedic genius, so loosen up, literally. Chances are, unless you release bombs that would make Hiroshima look like a firecracker, your man will appreciate your comedic talents and love you all the more. The most important thing is to squeeze some music from the fart, since it's the sound effect that hits the funny bone. Just remember, to get a hoot, make it toot. You know, it's weeks like this that remind me why I'll never win a Pulitzer.