Blow your mind safely in the comfort of your own home

A mind trip unlike any other.  The wild adventures of a humble, easy-going couple in  a small, nondescript American town, including those of a diverse, ever-changing, weird cast of friends & acquaintances, young and old.  This amiably outlandish, often irreverent, R-rated tale RECENTLY PASSED THE 1,000 episode MILESTONE,  each of the 1,050+ mini-epics each enjoyable on a stand-alone basisJust in its four years of existence, at this hard-to-find, off-the-beaten-path site and the even more obscure hard to find Skunkville threads on a few message boards  , the Saga has received many hundreds of thousands of reader visits, with a million visits not remote.  Almost inevitably, as Skunkville continues to surge so far in virtual anonymity, it will eventually be 'discovered' by BIG interests and sold to them...AND IN THE PROCESS WILL LIKELY BE DRASTICALLY EDITED/REVISED/CONDENSED, MAKING IT LESS BIZARRE AND UNPREDICTABLE, MUCH MORE 'READER-FRIENDLY' AND 'SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE'.  THIS SITE WILL BE GONE AND ALSO MY RIGHTS TO PUBLISH THIS IN ITS PURE, ORIGINAL STATE.  Kirkus Reviews says of Skunkville Saga, 'A relentless, bizarre phantasmagoria', 'Few reading experiences match this one', 'Totally unpredictable', 'otherworldly', 'madcap', 'flippant', 'continue(s), endlessly, down a rabbit hole of absurdity....' 'will appeal to.... most adventurous readers'  These are hard times for books/novels, yet Skunkville, by redefining and re-engineering the novel from scratch, flourishes on its own tireless, restless, bizarre energy and endless charm...despite lack of any publisher or other backing/funding!  judged most similar to Skunkville according to Kirkus critics....both among the greatest novels of all time!

by Thomas Pynchon
Cover art for FINNEGANS WAKE
by James Joyce
9:40 PM

Walt/Edna Try to Settle Into Their Cave

1,000-foot+ Elder Mountain here in a currently U.S. controlled section near the volatile Texas-Mexico borderline is purportedly the cave home of approximately 10,000 sweaty but grateful elderly U.S. and Mexican citizens
Some of the more affluent Elder Mountain residente's have vehicles similar to shopping carts, in which they sit or lay -- or even stand, if the cart has a backboard, as they attempt to drive up and down the narrow, rockstrewn unprotected ledges that can take (if one knows where and how to turn) the skilled driver and up to one not-too-portly passenger from top to bottom of the incredibly treacherous and poorly maintained mountain-side 'elder haven 'road, off of which all units are located!
Edna: 'Well, the two natural 'windows' are nice, although neither of us is tall enough to look out them... And since they're both on the side of the cave near the door-like large hole leading to the ledge path, the ventilation is not of the healthy 'flow-thru' type...And of course, the 'door' is the 3rd opening and there are no real open/close doors allowed... In case a senior has an emergency and needs help right away....So they say is the reasoning...For the doors always being wide open, without a swinging. closable door!'
'So, Meester Browns... Is that your final answers?'

Now that they have completed their terrifying, death-defying trip to their Unit 23G, they relax across from each other, Walt sitting against one curved cave wall, and Edna sitting in 'her' cavehole, similar to Walt's across the small, rather dark cave from him.

Walt:  'I wish we had thought to bring some furniture....Like your sewing chair and my easy chair...  And a fan for Goodness sakes as well!!'

Edna, looking especially peaked:  'Well, you can stop beating yourself about that.... There's no electricity in this unit.  We could only afford the cheapest unit, remember, and the man we were talking to did not speak or understand English, so we were unable to clarify much more than that if we assign our Social Security checks to them forever, there 'weel be nice scenic place for us two... where you can leeve till end of yer days....wheech blessedly may nots be too far awaist for yer sakeys, bless you both!''

Walt:  'Well, I'm glad to find out that the people who seem like they may be in charge have assured us that those hundreds and hundreds of elder skeletons and ruined, rusted elder carts at the bottom of the cliff are fake or 'borrowed' and were just put there to make sure the elders were careful when navigating their way up and down the narrow, sloping (in all directions), rock-strewn, half-broken-off cliff path that leads up to our high altitude location...'

Edna, a bit out of breath: 'Yes..... Walt.....isn't it......wonder......ful      ....that we've.....pant pant!  pant.....finally ....pant pant!. .. to the.....pant! pant!....   pant...(Edna shaking her head...    unable to finish).....

Walt beaming:  'I guess the secret word is....pant! pant! pant......TOP for $50...FINAL ANSWER!  You want say 'Isn't it......wonderful we've finally made it to the TOP!!  Well, babe, don't ever forget.... It's what I always promised you....     pant! pant! pant......To take you all the way....pant! pant! pant......up the ladder of downhome Midwestern society....pant! pant! the very TOP!!'

Walt wondering why he's momentarily thinking he's live on a widely-watched Mexican game show... Then he remembers how the government warned them that the first week or two at 10,000 feet would be experienced as physically coolish and also as somewhat pant! pant! pant.  gee. I'm even panting in my thoughts now.....pant! pant! pant...... the first week or two at 10,000 feet would (GASP!!!) be experienced as short of oxygen....But that we....pant pant skirt!...... would adjust just as old....pant pant.... mountain goats inevitably do.....pant! pant! pant......GASP!!!)!!'

Then they both lose consciousness...and when they 'come to' several days later, they are thankful for the Elder Mountain workers who put them on and off oxygen during the intervening days, trying to wean the Browns -- not OFF oxygen entirely, but -- off the wasteful, overdone, spoiled brat oxygen addiction they had to a overdose of excessively good quality oxygen in the U.S.!!







Walt: 'Edna...Whuts the number of our cave unit again...23G?'

As they climb up the narrow rocky, open air, no railing, 100+ foot drop onto jagged rocks trail  to Elder Living Budget Unit 23G, Walt asks Edna:  'How did we get here in the furstest placet, Edner?  I doan't rememberalize any jurny or hi-speed travail... Do you, dearie?'

Edna, her hand on Walt's back to stabilize him as he inches up the narrow, slanting path..and also to grab onto him if she begins to slip over the precipitous edge onto the jagged-edged rubble hundreds of feet below.  'You're going just ahead of me, if I go... So make a stalwart path fer me, yer loving, always usually caring and fateful wife....'

Walt:  'At leest it seems to becoming cooler as we climb up towards our lebbel...Those ground unit people must swelter in the high 80's, mebbe in the 90's!'

Edna:  'What'er you talkin' about?  Some of them people in the safer, more convenient units down lower looked only in their 60's or early 70's to me!!'

Walt, shaking his head...then stopping, after he nearly walks off the precipitous edge, shaking his head at the risk factor:  'Then I hope they brought some blankets with 'em....  It can get freezin' cold in the dessert at night!'

Edna:  'Of course...usually you keep dessert in the fridge even if its naturarilly cold, like ice creem, you numbskull...But, hitch-hiking on yernonsensical point, I'll bet it can get  freezin' cold in this desert at night!'

Walt, huffing and puffing as the trail becomes steeper....and narrower:  'There sure are a lot of what look like elder-skeletins -- or smashed parts of 'em --  and smashed up walkers & wheely chairs -- seemingly deep piles of 'em at the bottom...  That's why I'm trying not to look down....'

Edna, shaking her head in disagreement, the simple movement almost causing her to stagger right off the edge:  'Wooooowieee... That was a close call.  Avoid shaking yer head if ye can.  The alteetoot already has us duzzy ennif!'

Walt:  'Well, there's a Unit 23C sign, up ahead... Maybe that's a good sign that our new home sweet hole is right 'round the corner...' he says, turning to make sure Edna hears this comment...Then he turns the corner, holding tightly onto rough sections of the inner edge as he does so ....  Walt staring hard to see the other numbers ahead:  'But no... I believe if my eyes aren't mistooken which theys probebbly are that the unit after 23C is 11Q for some cockamamie reason... Come up with me, Edner -- take a look yerselves...'

But when Edna reaches where she believes his voice was emanating, Walt is no where to be seen....Or is that an ever dwindling dying cry she hears, as of someone falling a long distance, becoming fainter and fainter until she hears a noticeable, definitive, Game-Over-and-Out THUNK!.... Which seems to be accompanied by one tiny faintly dying scream or expletive, perhaps 'consarn it!' or 'thess resky setup eats shxt!!'....'Im cullin' 60 Minits and Mike Dugless about this...' 

The THUNK sound embroidered with a different kind of splatting sound, like someone had thrown a water bomb, or bag of easily squashed groceries that hit the ground from high above  right near or at the location of the THUNK!

'No Walt,' Edna comments, probably prescient in those two words.  'The unit after 23C is 24C, meaning that tho' we've been climbin' for an hour it seems, we're still in the C's and have to werk 'r way thru the D's and E's and F's and...'

Timy feeble voice from far below:  'No, Edner... For goodness.............. sakeys, the G's...... uhr rit here un the buttum.....we shoodas notist.....arrrrrrghhhhhh.....arr unit rit nixt t' whar I!

'Well', Edna chuckles... 'That couldn't have been, I mean Ralph....Wilt?.... Waltever... It couldn't have been him...I mean, how cood he've gottan  awhey frum me so durn fur so dirn quigkly...???'





'Listen Bozo... I got a great idea about how to bring this blog back to life, like it was in the old days, way back in say 2010... When the Whole World was tuning in to each episode....'
Creative Director: 'Look: We're desperate for a solid if not outstanding replacement vehicle to throw up on this blog now that we've belatedly killed off worn out Skunkville: But how can I trust someone who looks like you....??'
'Okay, Bozo...How's this? Any better? Lively and himan enuff?'
'How in heck's bells did you do that? But still. I can't see your face for some reason...Come into the light and maybe we can talk...'
'Look...let's stop fooling around.. And what's the matter with yer eyes anyhoo? I have great respect for the blind, but I don't want a boss where I have to paint a picture for him for every xxxkin' thing I suggest!'
''Step into the light... although you already seem to be in it.... I've never had a problem seeing people's faces before...Did someone drug me...? Mebbe you for example?' The Blogmaster General, one of the world's most talked-about execs, moves towards the shadowy figure in order to grab him and bring him into the light...although really, it's not that dark where the man is standing...
'How's this, Mr. Suit? Can you see me now...?'
'Yes... yes... fine... But I don't understand why all the drama was necessary!'

The smoking man, whose cigarette turns out to be one of those supposedly healthier electrical variety, ignores the exec's proffered hand.

'I'd proffer not to shake your wing, if you don't mind, bossmam.  And are you 'The 'Creative Director' or the 'Blobmaster General'...excuse me:  I mean Blogmeister General?  The sidebar information as well as yer own babbling has me confused.'

Exec, nodding:  'Yes, it can be confusing around here... There's time and  expense involved in fixing inackuracies or striving to make things make more scentsible and co    hes                 ive.  This is a shod dy opuration at best... Like most of the big operations in the world too, if you take a reel closer look...Like reel the corps in real closet to check out what its problems, its code red skeltons are/were....'

Young Man:  'Sounds like a cop out to me...  But I'm not fond of cops anyway, so I guess we're least for this moment.'

Exec nodding, knowingly, anxiously:  'Well did you cop today or not??'

YM:  'Cop?  I stay away from that kinda action.  Coppin' isn't a healthy lifestyle either way you looks at it...'

X:  'Easy to say...But if you're 'in need'....Like I am today?'

YM:  'Jonesing yet?'

X:  'No, I'm interviewing him tomorrow, today I was hoping to cop some dope from you....'

Y:  'Cop some dope?'  Who are you, a cop??'

X;  'Like some inside poop on how revive this dead turkey....'

Y:  'Has the turkey gone bad, or is he still fresh?'

X, shakes his head:  'Fresh, fer sure.... He was just givin' me a condescending line of B.S. a couple of hours ago...'

Y:  'Huh?  I thought cops were supposed to be honest!'

X:  'Huh?  Who are you talkin' about?'

Y:  'Cops, you nitwit...just like you...'

X:  'Meaning people wantin' to cop or the peopholes who arrest 'em?'

Y:  'One in the same in many cases, don't you know?'

X:  'Oh, you mean the fake cops on the street....'

Y:  'Yeah...the fake action that attracts the real action...'

X:  'But whuts the reel action...the cop reeling in the joneser, or the joneser coppin' some from the fake -- or mebbe even reel -- cop?'

Y:  'It's no winder the hole situation is such a mess.... Two intelligent peopletts can't even communicate clearly to eech other given the deteriorfxxkineration in the English language.'

X:  'Yes, as strong as we Amerikaners became, we should have started our own xxxkin language to avoid all these unnecescesssary jamups and blowups and gundowns and fxxkovers and other chumanikation probblems.'  




'Walt.. Hi. Nice to meet you, I'm Hiram Wells' brother and partner at EOBHR-SKUNKVILLE INTERNATIONAL.. My monicker is Firam Wells. I guess you're aware that this blog has been a disappointment to its many expectant investors... And we're going to have to make a complete break from you now, and see if we can reposition the Skunkville Saga in a way that resonates much more with today's high school and college well as young people iun the work force. He's your final check for $17.39, and at the same time I'd like to thank you, and especially, Edna, for all your devotion... Albeit to what in retrospect we are sure now was from the get-go a hopeless, stupid cause!'
Thank you for your kind 'GOING-AWAY' or better 'GO-AWAY NOW!!' giftation of $17.39. While you and most of your smug team were always ready and anxious to drop us like a hot potato, or maybe a hot potato with dog shxt on it for rmphasis of your real feelings, we of the creative staff and actors and support people for Skunkville want to thank the loyal handful of people, probably despised by their friends if they knew what you were reading, have stuck with is and apparently enjoyed what 99.9% of readers found to be a stupid and worthless unending story. We did it for YOU out there, that special group who felt what we were doing was at least mildly entertaining if not gripping....'
Walt continues, as he believes he is placing a picture of Edna into this quasi-live blog sequence, the rambles on: 'I know if Edna were here, she would give her heartmost love to anyone who read a decent number of episodes...If any such person (i.e., a multi-episode reader) existed and are still alive.
Walt: 'I'll finish by saying that I believe if he were still alive, and not run over by President Obama's limousine driver when the President hustled over for a photo op with Stinky the Talking Squirrel on a rainy National Small Wild Animals Day -- a truly dreadful situation, caused by Stinky being so crazily excited with all the attention... that he didn't remember that which I hope all of you readers remember: 'Safety Fist'!!


Claimed Lifetime Celibate, Miss Priss, Skunkville Junior High School Secretary, after Walt hears her knock between his sobs, and opens the door to see if it might be Edna, unintentionally moaning:' OHHH NOOO when he sees Miss Priss!'
Walt: 'Here, Miss Priss... Let's talk outside...My house is kind of a wreck ever since Edna departed to another galaxy where they promised to make her young again...sob sob...'
'Make her young again?? Brown...Let me tell you in no uncertain terms. The key is to not get old in the first place... Like me: I look the same now as I did in my junior high school days...!'
Walt, sizing her up and thinking back to when she was in high school: 'Well, I'll admit there's some truth to what you say, but...'
Walt: 'A pinch is all it takes to relax...'
ALTERNATIVE VERSION OF MISS PRISS FOR YOUNGER READERS) Claimed Celibate (at least up to now), Miss Priss, ex-Skunkville Senior High School Cheerleader, after Wally hears her knock between his sobs, and opens the door to see if it might be Enda, unintentionally moaning:' OHHH YEAHHH when he sees Miss Priss instead!'

Please take a look at the cartoon-like beginning of a story on our sidebar, then we will advance the story beyond what you have seen, albeit in standard prose rather than pictures.

Miss Priss, raising her fist, but not knowing in which direction to shake it:  'Who's the other cowboy who's providing some b.s. commentary on what is happening here, live, in our that unnecessary bullcrxp in the above paragraph?'

Walt, shaking his head:  'I long ago stopped trying to answer that question... It's just the way it is for me, from dawn to dusk, 24X7X365X197...and apparently for you as well...'

Priss:  'Now, Brown, just because you believe you're 197 earth-orbits old, that doesn't justify that hangdog look and hangdog attitude.  You've gotta start thinking 100% positive like I've done all the way through my life, starting when I popped out of my dear mother's womb practially on my own, saving her of a long labor and steeper doctor bill (the $difference for which she later reimbursed me, albeit at my repeated requests!)! 

'Other about-to-be-newborns just cower in there, squirming this way and that to avoid the tongs and to avoid facing reality, life, The Big Sky Conference... HAH!!  What idiots:  Thinking they can stay inside their poor moms or surrogate moms FOREVER if they can just play their cards and the forceps just right... But actually jthey're just making their birth a real drawn-out ballbxster for everyone, INCLUDING THEM, so that some people never forget and dislike the cowardly, clingy, comfort-loving brat for the rest of their lives after they have to circumsize the mother to get her out!! '

Walt, confused:  'You mean, give her a Ceasarian?'

Miss Priss:  'Call it what you like: you know what I mean regardless of which exact words I used, right or wrongt... You simpering wise axx...'

Walt, his face reddening a bit:  'Listen Miss Priss... This is just like you, to make a long harangue about something that has no bearing on my sad situation.... I'm an easy-going Skoal Brother trying to learn how to get through day by long day, without my Life Pardner.  Incidentally, Miss Priss -- may I just call you Prissy, like the nickname for Priscilla?'

'NO.. You fresh-mouthed ingrate!!'  She cries, as she takes a clawed swipe at Walt's face that misses due to one of Walt's still operating reflexes.  'Keep in mind, I don't believe in holding hands or ANY kind of physical contact until after the first year of the relationship of daily normal human intercourse between us has successfully met my high standards.....' 

Walt, reaching for his chewing tobacco:  'You and I both need to calm down, I think....May I at least offer you a pinch while i take a pinch myself??'

Miss Priss:  'You better pinch yerself instead...and not your xxxxxxx either....For a number of reasons, like a) I'm not going to be allowing those kinds of free privileges ever: and b) so you wake up and smell the pure clean daisies who advise 'no physical contact of any type for the first year, even including  inadvertent 'bumps' when forced against each other at a crowded event, or purportedly 'saving' your partner from drowning...'

Walt:  'So then I guess after depriving oursleves for that long first year, anything will go come the first moment of the second year....oooh la la.....I'll be ready and rarin' then, deary!!'

Miss Priss:  'Fat chance, you old overblown windbag...You obviously weren't listening to me clearly to say that...and also failed to read all the information I provided between the lines either...Clearly your inability to communicate meaningfully and within bounds, and to follow your wife's strict/unbendable orders probably drove her into despair and thus out of town in the first place....I may be hard up...but I also have some taste and some criteria after all, just like Edna!' 


Miss Priss rings the doorbell.  Walt is enmeshed in an 8-person linked PC War for the Universe.

'Go away whoever's there....  Otherwise Earth may fall to the slimy Grabmorians...'

'But Wally...It's me...Miss Priss..'

Wally turns absolutely pale and abruptly shuts off his PC.  He falls back into his chair, hands covering his face.  From what he heard, Miss Priss is anything BUT.  And beautiful?  That's clear for anyone to see.

She bangs again,  'Wally... are you in there?  Look -- I can see you're in there from looking in the damn window, immersed in some lame computer game because you're afraid to have some real life adventure...'

As he lies back, his eyes bugged out, his face in a grimace, Wally's heart seems to be beating almost out of his chest.

'COME IN.... COME IN...PLEASE!!!'  He finally is able to cry...


Shaking from head to toe, he staggers over to the window, and sees Prissy's xxx and xxxs swinging sweetly back and forth as she slowly walks away...

'OH NOOOOOOOOO' comments, Wally. 

But Wally is on the track team as the best 300 meter dasher...  She's only about 50 meters away, Wally.... What's holding you up... you freakin' numbskill idiot...

Shaking, Wally mumbles:  'Maybe I really am gay....  But no!!  Dr. Nutley said I was as straight as the bonxr he got while examining me...

And with that, Wally races out the door, crying out:  'Prissssssyyyy!!!'




Walt is trying to adjust now to a likely permanent situation of loneliness and lack of any idea about what is going on in general, now that capable, informative, care-taking Edna is light years away, apparently abandoning him for another entity, a robot no less. 

'But then, who's to say that we're not all robots.... Humans, animals, fish, insects, plants,' mutters Walt, this concept cheering him up for a second.  'Even Edna... It's just that Edna and I and even you the reader, are more subtly made.... The spawn of pairs of opposite subtly made robots, ones that we often call females and males.'

He adds:  'But at least Edna sent me a SPACE-O-GRAM to cheer me up...'


Walt, reading and re-reading the SPACE-O-GRAM... 'Fiddles.... The name does ring a faint bell.  But I've been so wrapped up in missing Edna I've forgotten exactly who that might be.   There was that animal that somehow got into our house -- I guess from outside -- maybe looking for food and shelter... given that the nights are becoming chillier here in the NW extreme of SE Ohio...

'Then there was that  thing -- a brownish, low to the ground, elongated animal, maybe 10 pounds or so, that I found lying stiff as a board, like a statue, outside my front door after that record-breaking cold snap... So I decided to mount the animal on the wall...  But when I leaned over to place it on the mounting board, it bit me and ran out the front door, which I had foolishly left open....Never -- at least so far -- to be seen again... Although I do see the Johnson's, my next door neighbors, walking an animal just like that one...and also giving me dirty looks and obscene hand signals all the time, like I'm some kinda criminal!'

There is a knock on the door, interrupting his reverie of real or imagined events since Edna's disappearance.

Walt opens the door, and there is a policeman.

'You're under arrest, buster...'

Walt:  'Sorry, but your mistaken... I'm not Buster.  Good luck in finding him,' Walt finishes, closing the door.

There is a much louder thudding on the door.

Walt, who had just reached his armchair, has to jump up again, being an old-fashioned person who actually opens the door whenever it is knocked upon, rather than being silent and pretending he's not there.

He hears an 'Open up.... It's the Police.  You're under arrest for multiple charges, now including the major charge of closing your door in the face of an officer of the law.  How do you plead?'

Walt swings open the door and there is the same police person.  'I plead standing up... I don't believe in that groveling on one's hands and knees crapola...'

Policeman, fingering his nightstick:  'How would you like to be knocked down a notch, wise guy??'

Walt, shaking his head:  'I've already lost several inches in height due to the depression -- or maybe it's the compression -- of old age...  But while you're here, I would like to report that my wife Edna is missing.'

The policeman chuckles as he forces his way in the door:  'No wonder.  Are you sure you really had a wife, or was it just yer imagination gone wild?'

Walt ignores the wise comment and continues:  'It does seem to me that someone or something besides just Edna is missing,.. Although a woman saying she was my Aunt Ingrid from Rhode Island did turn up at the door the other day... She wanted to visit with me for a while, but I said...

''Aunt Ingrid, I was never very good at remembering all of my extended family.  But, whether you're really part of my extended family or not, you're welcome to stay here if you can cook and clean and make whoopee now and then with moi....

'I was shocked when she slapped me in the face and walked out!  But I'm hoping that she'll change her mind and return... She wasn't bad at all, and seemed kind of gentle and sweet too... Until I mentioned making whoopee...or maybe I accidentally said pooppee... That would better explain her quick departure, wouldn't it, Orificer?'







Walt: 'And how did that alien make Edna over like that... That's no fair... He needs to give me ons too so I can compete on an equal dueling field!!'
Walt: 'Whut chintz kin I hiv wid dis mug verstus hir buttey??'
Tink, thi Isshiulian: 'Im I thi only gii irund here who kin hill ixx ind mike tings hippin fir himsilf?'
'Oh yes... one other thing: Imperial Guards, throw Brown into the Pit of Death as the cliffhanger to wrap up this episode!! And hustle it up!! THE EMPEROR MING COMMANDS!'

Walt, after he awakens from one of his long deathlike, hibernationatory-like naps....  Drowsily reading the scribbled, code-like, scrambled note he finds on his belly...



Not fully processing it in his dream-like state, Walt groans and rolls over away from the note, deciding to hibernate for another year or two...  On first look, Walt surmised that the note was a straightforward one that Edna wrote in a hurry, thereby making quite a few spelling mistakes... Maybe she was under durass from that purported movie star Tank fellow whom they had invited in for a rich delicious chocolatey cup of ultra-hip Ovalteen, feeling sorry for someone so clearly an out-of-towner, and probably feeling quite lonely...

This Ovalteen spinoff for the younger set now that most of their loyal consumers are in old age homes where Ovaltine is already such a staple that the gaffers not only drink O-T but often eat it dry and even gobble it up out of the bottle before they are caught and sent to SOLITARY or HEAVY WORK DUTY OR THE HAZARDOUS WORK DETAIL,,,,

If the geezer can just slip even a partly full bottle out of the kitchen -- to spoon down or eat sloppily by the handful once they reach safety -- perhaps hiding under their bed, assuming someone isn't already there, or the one(s) there are sound asleep and not using all the space. 

Most of the geezers who are clever enough to actually swipe some O-Teen (or even just O-Tine) of course know that they must also bring a generous amount of water or Kool-Aide or Oldlunger's Hi-Proof Health Beer or some kind of easy-flowing liquid under the bed with them to offset the lost-in-the-desert-type dry throat that can be caused by eating the O-T 'raw', plus jamming it down their throat extra fast and dangerous due to the protective need to 'get rid of the evidence'...

,,,,,And the necessity of an easy-flowing, water-like 'chaser'  learned overe the years from seeing what happened to their bug-eyed elderfriends who tried to gorge themselves with dry, powdery substances like O-T or instant Coughee or Fib Detergent with nothing to 'wash them down'.

'Harry... where are you for xxxxxxxx* sakeys?'

Goodness =, xxxxxxxx for those of you not offended by this kind of reference

Muffled voice of quickly-hiddenaway Walt:  'Ssssshh... Don't allow a loud voice to raise the guards or guard dogs from their drug-self-induced torpors....  I'm in O-T though, for your information... But only a few minutes left....unless I snatch another cache and go into a 2nd O-T 'scoring' period!!'



'But I AM the guard, you old lunkhead!  The good news is that I want to escape this job as much as you wanna escape this place... So trust me, as a helpful fellow escapee, who, if I'm caught, will say that you took me as an involuntary human shield to cover your escape...'

Walt:  'I don't quite understand yer explanution, but I'm gled to hev a pertner...'

The guard, known as Buzzy, climbs under the table where Walt is also hidden, gruffly shaking hands with Walt, but with a big smeel on his face at the thought of escape...

Walt, moving over from his hideaway spot under a large table to give his possible new partner some room, looks puzzled:  'What's that 'smeel' on your face mean, Mr. Ex-Lax Guardia?

Guard, squeezing against Walt in the limited space under the sink:  'I've never heard of a 'smeel'... But perhaps it's an evil smile.... One which gives another reason to the apparent smile?  Or one which indicates that the smiler isn't to be trussted?'

Walt, backing away:  'Then you have some bulging hernias...?'

Guard, squeezing in farther negating Walt's shifting away for a feeling of companionship after making his difficult if not deadly decision to try to escape.

'Shxt!  Now, Charlie, you've pushed out into the wide open spaces, right below the surveillance camera that has twisted its nosey neck and is now glaring straight down at me, relaying his tattle tail images right back to the Management!!  Let's hope they're all asleep... But then he hears a deafening alarum go off!!

Guard, turning:  'Oh No!! Now the place is on fire as well!!!'


Belated Background Information

Sent to a discount old-age place, once the State and its Chief Health Commissaar decided to place Walt there due to Edna's sudden disappearance -- and the fact that they had always feared the repercussions of doing anything with Walt while she was there to protect the old goat, even though she was just a much more wily, overaged old goatesse herself, Walt
 continues to study the puzzle or perhaps secret code message instruction on how to escape.



Walt turns to the escaping guard, with whom he is currently sharing his under-the-table hideout...  'Guard... Can you unscramble these caode letters to have them make something meaningful to us?'

Suddenly, after hours of intense concentration the guard cries out, with a clear tone of exultation:  'I got it!!!  DARE 'TWAL EVAH FELT YOU FOR NEATHOR DENIAL....' the Guard cries out ecstatically and victoriously, making the 'We're #1' gesture in Walt's dozing face....

Then Walt's new pardner mutters to himself, as Walt continues to snore:  'But actually, there's no D for the denial...  Probably a mistake she made in her hurry to complete her secret message....Or maybe this means his Edna's in denial about something too, something that makes her muddle her words a bit.....  And I can't explain the EVAH, unless she was talking like Tallulah Bankhead (i.e., the bathroom in a financial institution) for the Deep Southern aristocratic way she says her name so breathily...

Walt, coming out of his doze into a daze, manages to mutter:  'Yes, her breeaatthhhhinessssss was one of the many things that turned me on about good old Ednaaah while she was still here...  Unless she had just been eating garlic or onions or dog shxt...well, skip the last: it was that the first two things made her breath smell like the 3rd.

A burly Prison Aide enters at this point and quickly subdues Walt again in his Straight Jacket.  'You know, bellboy, I find this suit I wear to dinner very tight and uncomfortable...GLUK!'  The GLUK when the guard  jams the SHUTUP ball and strap back in his mouth and around the back of his head.  Then the guard says to Walt's seeming getaway partner:  'Good job, Rosco... It never ceases to amaze me how you can befriend these losers so quickly, so as to help us learns more...'

At this revelation, Walt struggles wildly.....unlike his usual compliant self, who would strategically be building up trust so he can find a way to be  so as not to be trussed like this...and to escape forever and would somehow find his Edna...and live long enough to enjoy a bit to a heck of a lot more of life, that thing that he treasures most...As he says about His Life:  Look, my life's got everything in it the relates to me and nothing that doesn't!

Even in here, but....Wait!!  In taking his mind off off the puzzle for a second, his mind has gone into its back workroom and solved it for himself!!  Proving again the adage that if you just get out of your own way, great things may happen!


'Gee,' Walt mutters to himself... 'She didn't even say goodbye to me in person...and when she did, she said it in some foreign code...  But if she had said goodbye like a man, she knew that I would stop her from running away, and also make me question why her voice had gotten so deep and rough!   

'Or, better yet, now that I consider more clearly, throwing caution to the broken winds, if I knew I would have run away with her and Tank... And then Tank and I would either have to share her (which truthfully I simply can't imagine... I mean, Skunkville isn't Haight-Ashbury in the late Sixties...) ...or have a duel to the death to determine who would be the only one left to enjoy her love, if we weren't crippled for life from the battle.  I wonder which side Edna was planning on cheering for, though?' 



Tank: 'You forget, Edna: We have been together for all of time and even before and after time...or, say, above time. Your remaining fragments of memory about Walt are fading away as we speak...And soon he will be entirely and irrevocably forgotten, like the brand of TP you used x number of years ago...'
'Ill say Chicken of the Sea as my guess on your TP puzzler... Do I win anything if I've just nailed it rightly!??

Walt, pacing back and forth across his living room, with his elderly but still feisty dash-hund (aka hotdog dog) yelping and yipping and snapping at his heals all the way, tirelessly as he does so.  For the first time in his long life, at least as far back as Walt can remember, he has usually lived in the same house as Edna, or at least (say, back when they were children) on the same street.  But now Edna has finally left Walt, apparently captivated by Tank, the Asshaulian alien from the planet AssHaul... with whom she is now hauling axx back to Asshaulia in Tank's private lightspeed cruiser, with all the amenities -- wet bar, swimming pool, live music 24-7-52.... actually 35-5-99  in the Asshaulian day units.

Edna, cuddling with Tank as they watch pairs of various aliens he has collected in his conquests haul axx against each other, competing in sack races or arm-breaking-off contests or dicey games where the loser is then ignited and shot into the depths of empty space....

Tank, lying:  'You know doe Edneh, tham guys bein' shut ento spayce err jest handroids, not reel intellichent beings like uz iz.'

Edna, cuddling closer to Tank:  'Thank you for sharing that update with moi, Tank.... I knew in my heart you and your other Asshaul friends were too civilitized and nice to realy do stuff like that to innozent living things!'

Tank, impatient to get the really hot action started with this gorgeous old buzzard:  'Wood you like another dreenk, mon petite pette?'

Edna, already dizzy and feeling a bit goofy and vulturable in this jamb she somehow put herself in, and strangely even having some very mild but still detectable feelings about missing boring old Walt...

Tank, who like all Asshaulians, has perfect ESP 'hearing', a being's thoughts coming through loud and clear like they were saying them out asshaulin' loud. 'As the centuries and light years pass as we haul axx through space, those rummaginiscences will begin to fade, untul one day you will say to me, when I mension Welt's name:  Who is he?  'Wilt'??  What uh lame name...I must have once been a lame dame to have hunged out with him...'

Tank, not fully understanding all of her earthly colloqueeralisms but also filling her mind with forgetfulness:  'I am wiping your brain clean and spotless, Edna, so you won't have to think about any of your earth bozos any more.... That way nothing will interfere with our red hot love retching higher and higher crescendos!'

Edna:  'Wow!  That was amazing what you just did... My mind is now totally free of clutter -- really of anything -- its like its been shaved clean by a a tabula razor....  Yes... I see now.  I have really always been with you Tank.... Ever since the beginning of time, and  before that, in the timeless era..... even that.  What a wonderful, almost infinite relationship we have always had.  I am nothing without you.'

Tank, nodding condescendingly and bowing slightly in false modesty with each compliment:  'That's right... Good girl.  Now why don't you take a little rest... I'm fxckin' tired of you and your nonsense!'

Edna leans over and tries to kiss Tank, but then is not sure which of his many orifices is the appropriate one for that kind of mouthular or oral affection, so she just rubs the top of his Tank,,,, shines it up a bit...or so she thinks...then falls dead asleep from all the changes that are suddenly occurring in her life! 



Walt & Edna's surprise Asshallian visitor and new-found friend, Tank,  shifts the expression on his pug-ugly face:  'But you see, we all are this bad looking....So I never had any trouble landing a decent-looking (at least relative to other Tankettes) Tankette to romance at my launch pad or, say, to take out to eat some nice specialty intelligent beings on other planets than Asshalll...  We're not naturally the brightest race, so we find that if we supplement our normal vegan diet with an intelligent alien or two, freeze-cooked -- then served fried, sautee'd, raw, i.e., tushi style, boiled, or baked -- then we seem to become perhaps a shade brighter ourselves... With each more-intelligent-than-us alien we consume in such fashion.  Like you two -- what a party I could have serving you two to myself and my Tankbuds....  Whaddya think, Mr. and Mrs. Brown?'

Edna, smiling with seeming interest to Tank's offer, while she also turns to clutch the Ovaltine cannister to refill Tank's empty cup.... 'Walt -- you know:  Of all the things we've tried in our long, long -- almost too long lives -- we have never tried being served as food for ferocious aliens!  Isn't that odd, given all of our experimentation with every possible experience life can offer us?'

Walt, a little befuddled, not wanting to contradict or revise what his wife Edna just said, and reap the unwanted consequences that usually involve a period of enforced celibacy for the old geezer, answers rather vaguely:  'A thoughtful point, Edna. Tank... Not to change the topic:  But what do you think of the new Skunkville Skivvies Woman's Baseball entry in the Midwestern Woman's Softball League?' 

Tank, taking a big slug of his Ovaltine, almost as if he wants to throw caution to the wind and get really xxcked up...  But not realizing, at least to the best of Walt's knowledge that Ovaltine normally has no alcohol or hallucinogens in it... although they may be added by gung-ho users.... So Walt changes the subject:  'Tank... what specifically is the interest of the planet Asshallia of the Gamma Centauri system in Earth?'  Walt reaches over then and pushes the CrxpMart tape recorder RECORD button he has sitting on the little wooden side  table next to his chair.  The machine whirrrrrs for a second, then there is a screeching sound as the tape and machine begin to issue a small but growing amount to black smoke.

Walt, juggling the tape recorder as he hurries out of the living room and into the kitchen so he can throw it out the back door before the fire gets worse:  'Sorry, Tank, another example of shoddy American technology... I just don't want it to burn down the house.'

But when Walt returns to the living room, his hands a little scorched, he finds that Tank has answered Walt's question in great detail to Edna.... And the two are smiling happily at one another.

Edna:  'Yes, under those circumstances you just described, I would consider abandoning Walt and joining you in Asshallia to be your 5th mate.  Walt: sorry... I know we've been together for a long time and this may be a shock -- or maybe even a relief to you!!'

Walt, taking a big bite of one Edna's special fall leaf, cinnamon, charcoal-cigarette-filter and nutmeg sandwich....'  Good.... But a little on the dry si - (gag, gag) -de, I would (gag gag -- spits out a glob of the sandwich into his Ovaltine cup as he shivers with relief) ...have to say...'

Edna:  'Oh... You're always so critical... and picky too... That's why I'm apt to accept with 'tanks' Tank's offer to me...'  She turns to Tank as she rises:  'Tanks?  Tanks!!'  And as he quickly erectifies himself to be eye to eye with the lovely senior fox, she melts into his warm metalliic and vinyl arms.




Pardon me,,. But I am seeking the abode of friends of the Universe Walt & Edna Brown
Doctor: 'Yes... These are the Grapes of Wrash alright... My grandfather saw a lot of cases like these back in the 1920's and 1930's. (Picking one from her hand and eating it)...Mmmm. Your best bet is to just keep picking them and enjoying them: your daughter might even enjoy them herself once her fear level drops to where she can speak and feed herself again... If the Grapes of Wrash keep coming, you might even open a corner stand until she stops producing them... They almost always disappear within a few days!'

There is a somewhat metallic-sounding tap on Walt and Edna's humble front door, just after our last episode closed, and we haven't had time to update all of you millions of ardent Skunkville readers and re-readers worldwide as well as the generally elderly Skunkville scholars or the many bright young folks who are making an analysis of some section of Skunkville, or, for instance, a comparison of Skunkville to The Grapes of Rash as the topic of their master's or doctoral thesis.

'The Grapes of Rash?'  (A response already from someone who has paid for realtime access to the Skunkville Saga...)

Yes, dear lucrative interactive reader.... A Depression Era story... in other words, occurring in this very era, where everyone talks of being depressed or that their parent, partner, or friend is depressed.  And in some cases, not to make litely of depression... I mean it's those Tropical Depressions that can cause Hurrycanes...So no bout adoubt it, a hurricane can blow you away, just like drinking a 24-can case of Colt .45 can if you have it on say an empty stomach.... or even on a full stomach, which may soon not be....

No, but to be serious, some people, if they behave too rashly.... Like marry someone they just met a few minutes ago and then decide to  honeymoon immediately in the Arctic Circle....Can develop grape-sized & shaped stress 'balls' all over their body... And if the stress balls -- kind of like hives in the way they appear -- are 'popped' (very painful...don't try it at home by yourself) a dark purple fluid, about 30 proof usually, may flow out that is drinkable if you catch it (say in a wine gobblette) before it stains your rug (on your head or on the floor) and slug it down... Thus the term, Grapes of Wrath.

Sorry...let's get back to the realworld now, where Edna has opened the door and a huge, metallic, alien-like being has entered, as their wooden floor seems to groan in pain with each movement the heavy alien makes.

Edna stage whispers to Walt, a little shaken by this surprise:  'Walt...get yer nose out of the newspaper for a second and take a you think I should let this .....person? our humble home?'

Walt, checking out the 'guy' (but it could be another gender or a no-gender) and then scurrying to pick up all of the clutter on the living room floor: 'Sure Edna... But stall him for a moment while I quick straighten things up a bit!....'


30 minutes later, as the Browns and 'Tank' sit enjoying each other's company in the Browns' humble but livable living room.

Edna, leaning over toward Tank with her cannister of piping hot, super-delicious, super-nutritious Ovaltine, family favorite since long before the television was inverted, leading to the burth of PC's.

Tank:  'Well, Miz Brown, not to sound corny, but tanks for dis Obalteen....It really hit the xxxxin' spot, if youse knowz whats I means!'

Edna, leaning toward Tank with her steaming hot cannister, still issuing plenty of heat and aroma and steam:  'Oh please, Tank... Just one more cup so we can keep on talking with you...and maybe three of these giant Taylor Porkroll and chocolate chip cookies....

Tank, seeming to emit a metallic, echoing burp-like sound:  'Tanks, but no Tanks....  They're really delicious buts they seem to make me feel a little sick and ditzy...Kinda like the room is spinnin' faster and faster the more I havet...and makes me silly and air-headed at the same time I'm ditzy.'

Walt, putting out his good right arm as a barrier between the Edna-proferred Ovaltine cannister and treat platter and their charming if a bit dog-ugly guest...'Edna.,..We've gone thru this many times with many different and diverse guests... And I will repeat:  A visitor at our humble adobe  should be treated like royalty....And when they say NO or even whisper no, do not diss them by trying to change it to a WELL OKAY IF..... YOUSE REELY INSISTUS...

to be continued  

«September 2014»

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