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 and acquaintances, young and old. This amiably outlandish, often irreverent, R-rated tale is closing in on 1,000 episodes, each enjoyable on a stand-alone basis. Begun on Sept. 26, 2010, it is now, according to some sources the longest true novel ever written and published in English, closing in on 1.5 million words, 5,000 pages and 1,000 episodes .... Just in its three years of existence, at this site and the Skunkville thread at CNN/SI, where it has recently been partially banned, the Saga has received more than150,000 reader/visitors. Kirkus Reviews said 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...and due to that, plus its unbelievable energy and endless charm, Skunkville Saga is defining a BRAND NEW kind of intellectual/entertainment medium for the 21st century. Books most similar according to Kirkus critics:
The two owners of this currently quite crowded unit of the Louis XIV's Down Home Style French Provinciale Barbequed Sparerib Apartments -- the somewhat more bounteous Blonde Linda, and the slightly more slender/chic dark-haired Jill, who has just removed her makeup and finally revealed once and for all that she is actually a lovely African-American personage rather than the pale white, less attractive young woman she has been posing as for years, open the door to see who has been ringing it and wringing it...
Black Jill: 'I'm ready to wring the neck of whomever has been ringing and ringing our doorbell, right sister?'
White Linda: 'Whatever... I think the problem is that they can hear a lot of noise inside and wonder why no one is responding to their entry-desired signal...'
Black Jill swings the door open with gusto, accidentally knocking over several of the unidentified party-crashers, who apparently keep arriving in a seemingly endless stream as a result of a collision of dark matter and dark energy (in this context, 'dark' relating to astrophysics rather than the presence of a number of African-American people, now including out-of-the-closet Jill, in the crowded, stuffy apartment.)
But when dark-haired Jill she sees that it is her old friend Dogman, his lovely wife, and the absolutely adorable and sweet Dog-Girl and Dog-Boy, regularly rated by glossy, extra-large, expensive, monthly $15/Issue Skunkville Living Magazine as the Most Unique and also the Cutest Looking Family in Skunkville, Jill first rushes to hug Dogman, then stoops to kiss the Dog Kids, while Linda follows in the same sequence, but lagging slightly behind, to prevent any collisions or accidents!
Dogman, staring around at the damaged, chaotically noisy, packed apartment, nervously asks the girls: 'Oh... Did we stop in at an inconvenient moment??'
But Jill, seeing this family as just the kind of down-to-earth stability that this situation demands, grabs them and starts pulling them one by one across the threshold, like it or not as they giggle at her enthusiasm to make sure they are staying... Then locks the flimsy door with the secret combination.
Linda: 'Hey, Jilly... I just noticed that as each of the Dog Family crossed the threshold, a number of the anonymous human flotsam that arrived from the other dimension just disppeared into thin air...
But as she finishes saying this, she hears a little voice next to her ear: 'That's what you think. But we're still here....It's just that some force has minimized our size to so small as to be invisible! Wow!! You wouldn't believe how dirty this floor is when you become tiny.... Dear!! Watch out for that giant microscopic-sized praying mantis-like thing behind you!! We've gotta get ourselves and the kids out of this dirty, diseased shxthxle... RIGHT NOW!!'
And with that, apparently a mass exodus of the beings from alternative dimensions quickly occurs...all arriving home safely, having had a great cross-dimensional adventure to share, to bend ears again and again, for eons!!
Jill, grabbing Linda: 'Hold it, girl! Don't shut that door... It will trap some of them in here with us.... They want to leave... and the feeling is mutual.... We'd love to have them, but there's not enough space. Plus now, we can't even see them. I don't want to step on someone and crush them near to death!'
And pretty soon, miraculously really, for those few of you who may have been following the entirety of this chaotic story, the people in the room only number:
1. Dogman and his family
2. Linda & Jill
3. Rob, the plasticky-looking but still man-sized human-like sales android for Dr. Derrierre's acu-placekicking medical practice... as well as the TV celeb and world renowned medical genius Dr. Derrierre himself.
4. GWAGGS, the gout-sufferer featured on the ads where a burdened man is stumbling onto, and then riding a bus, with a huge, almost too heavy to carry, greenish, smelly, sloshing and splattering transparent vat of gout water... nearly causing a mass panic on the Skunkville city bus used in the Gout Water Remedy ads for Gout-Rout. Wanna Rout yer Gout? You need a package of safe, inexpensive, easy-sliding, stomach-liking Gout-Rout pills! Remember... Rout Your Gout with Gout-Rout.. Don't ferget, just walk up to your pharmacy counter and say loud and clear: 'Neighborhood Pharmacist? I want to rout my gout with a package of inexpensive, easy-sliding, stomach-gentle Gout-Rout.'
Neighborhood Pharmacist, busy making up two prescriptions while talking with several customers at the counter, plus his girlfriend on one cell phone on one ear and his wife on another cellphone on the other ear. 'Come back later when I'm not so busy... I couldn't follow any of that crazy ad verbiage shxt you axxholes just laid on me...'
5. Wally, who has falsely claimed for decades that he is the son of Walt and Edna Brown, the oldest couple by far in the town of Skunkville, with the venerable pair dating back to perhaps as early as the start of the 1800's.... But still looking pretty darn good despite all those lightyears of mileage. Like GWAGGS, Faux son Wally has also developed a fetish or whatever you might call it.... An unstoppable urge to quietly pee in Linda and Jill's bedroom window at night, when it is left open -- or unlocked... Not to completely empty his bladder, but just leave a little squirt, to mark the place where the two women live that he would most readily consider marrying.... or at least cohabitating with...as far as any physical hanky-panky, he's not sure he's quite ready for that yet....And plus, he has no wealth to support a partner, or even himself: 'Since my own flesh and blood, my own parents, refuse to admit I am theirs and take me in.... or have anything to do with me.... And are not even willing to give me large amounts of money!! It's so, so inexplicably cruel.... No one's story is sadder than mine!'
6. And GWAGGS, the gout water guy, remarkably has simultaneously developed a similar fetish, something which has made GWAGGS and Wally bond in a way they have never before experienced with another person. In GWAGGS case, his fetish was to splash a little gout water from his huge beaker-shaped vat into the girls' (Black Jill's & White Linda's) window...if it is left open....Or, in some desperate cases, to put his Heavy Burden down and splash a somewhat larger, but more precise amount in the window, using a Starbricks coffee cup he keeps in his pocket, just for that porpoise.
6. The new narrator, who happens also to have served some time in this role before. I'm the one who loves Humps* and is always happy as all hxll to share them with anyone, male or female, monkey, dog, gopher.... whatever gender or species, as long as its an intelligent one: say, including those mentioned above, plus whales, poorpussys, molepople, the last who live in a far more advanced civilization as you readers all know, at the nice, warm, non-toxic, NO-solar-ultra-violet death-ray earth's core...Which they have holloweed the hxll out and terrafied to make just like-above-surface earth, except with earth's hot core high in the 'sky' as the sun, all the land a spherical shell that surrounds the sun in a very benign, human-friendly, moleperson-friendly, light-gravity, pure, natural, high-quality air enviornment.... And of course NO cancer-causing rays emitted by their benevolent, feel-good, smiley-faced sun...and much less visibility and vulnerability to attack from above or on the ground by enemy countries, or worse yet, evil high-tech aliens!!
* He refers to packs of Camels Unfiltered Cigarettes that he carries rolled up in his T-shirt sleeve, revealing his un-muscular arm.
This is Linda, your best friend if you'll let me be....I'm always starving for the warmth and intimacy (i.e., INTO ME SEE) of human kindness, especially female, because there may not be many, if any, males with H.K., at least in terms of feeling it towards me... Probably my raging, hard-to-conceal neediness -- as well as Jill's, my inseparable bestie and roommate, who is nearly as high on the desperate neediness scale as me -- is overwhelming and perhaps even revolting to guys... and sometimes girls as well...not that I want a romantic relationship with another female... Well, I shouldn't really say that, because I may soon myself so desperate....even same gender....or even alternative species (e.g., hunky caveman or hunky male alien or hunky, clean-shaven gorilla....)
Anyhow, I'll try to recap what's happening as quickly and succinctly as I can, because I know you are in a hurry today.
Jill and I are of course two 30-something divorcees who have been living together in the run down Louis XIV Blah Blah Towne Domicile's -- ever since we finally realized that we were both married to the same guy...Who was also having steamy affairs with our neighbors as well...
Anyhow, at our shabby towne house development, recently we have had an influx of strange male (hooooorayyy!!) visitors -- not lovers, but men who are not leaving for some reason (yayyyy!)..... Though not without their slight imperfections. For instance, Ken is rather plasticky and doll-like and apparently is a programmed male android: a life-like, intelligent, self-willed yet nonetheless artifical male, programmed to hawk acu-placekicking procedures for obesity, aging, chronic illness, acne, heart disease, chronic fatigue syndrome, hemorrhoids, flat hair, undistinguished overall appearance, mood disorders, brittle nails, dry skin, fear of strangers, old age, quitting smoking, homosexuality (if you'd prefer to be straight), normal sexuality (if you feel becoming gay might just be your answer) and so on...
Dr. Derrierre is the medical and marketing genius behind these acu-placekicking procedures, as he is renowned worldwide (I'm sure you've probably heard of him, or seen him on TV, say on Rachel Ray) for his use of place-kicking an NFL regulation football, kicked by the Doctor himself, usually from 30 yards away, the ball being held by Dr. Derrierre's college holder during his ANCAAAA record-setting carear.... And he still uses his old backfield 240 pound blocking back protecting his kicks from being disrupted or even blocked in the backfield for the procedures, where several times the Doctor's big, brutal blocking back has brutally, successfully deflected or sometimes flattened 'rushers' who were running towards Dr. D. at the critical moment when the blocking back, Nick Centers, was hiking the ball to holder and AmerIndian Frank Braveheart...
Although three times, I have to report for complete disclosure that Derrierre's blocking back Nick C. has been charged with a 'clipping' violation (i.e., blocking a rushing sadistic madman operation-disruptor, e.g., someone who hates Dr. D for some crazy reason, or has been hired by one or more competing conventional hermorrhoid doctors, more from the back than the front.. i.e. pushing the madman from behind rather than levelling him from the front!).
The patient of course is hanging on the goalpost, ten feet off the ground, outside, usually on a regularly-used football field, their afflicted area in a carefully positioned attitude, their treatment area, for instance, the main hemorrhoid 'target' or 'Hemmorhoid #1' in a hemorrhoid procedure, being pointed at the doctor so that the flight of Dr. Derrierre's kick will have maximum 'impact access' to it.
But apparently Dr. Derrierre's practice has grown so large that he no longer has time to 'drum up' business himself, and has found that available human salespeople are insufficient to the challenge of convincingly conveying the incredible efficacy and overall comfort of his techniques... Thus the need for androids designed and programmed by genius Dr. Derrierre and what he describes as his crack sales team (always remember, his billion dollar+ business was built on hemorrhoids!).
Could Rob, this doll-like (in more ways than one) six-foot, black-haired muscular android possibly be the answer to all my (Linda's) lifelong dreams, so long as I can succeed in keeping him flesh and red hot blood, and not plastic, with tepid water in his veins?? Of course, I can certainly hope so... But how was he able to transition from a rather artificial and Ken-doll-like being into a vibrant, bon vivant, muscular, hairy, warm-blooded American male stud -- or who cares, he could be Polish or Martian for all I care... As long as he is as male as the day (and his thing) is long.
Ever since the collapse of our (Jill and my) couch, while we were entertaining too many visitors, a chain reaction was somehow initiated that left many people disoriented, actually or really injured, or wanting to stay at our place until insurance adjustors or the towne house management arrived (I warned them: 'Ha! Wait all you want to get your lawsuit started with the 'responsible parties'... As far as when La Maison management will arrive to address the building flaws that led to this calamity, that will be in about.... let's see.... it's 10:23 right now...the management's 4-hour lunch has already begun at Bumpkus' Bozo Bar or Old Historic Hooters.....I'd say...you'll probably just have to wait until......let's see: 2 hours for lunch, 3 hours for sleeping it off....an hour to revitalize at the Hooters' All-Body Massage & Fitness Center.....hmmmm....then there's the fact that they find a way to put off issues forever, and to be sprung from jail as soon as they are locked up for failure to serve the needs of the renters and owners in their buildings.... So probably about.... let's see... it's 2PM now... five times 24 times 365 minus 13 plus some kind of additional x-factor with explosive effects -- you'll get to talk to them for a one-minute initial griefing.... about when... when..... Heaven freezes over! Yeah. That's it! When hell freezes over... Or when the North Pole, complete with Santa, Mrs. Claus, Rudolph, the midget workers, etc. becomes a tropical island!... Wait, that might be pretty soon, now that I think of it...!'
Jill: 'You know, I don't even know who most of these people are any more. But if we have too many more people arrive, the unit surely will cave in, like the other buildings made by this company, and sink down far within the earth, as the others also have...none of the occupants ever being seen again.... But, unfortunately, apparently not far enough to reach the pleasant, superior in many ways (to 'surface earth') center of the earth world run by the molespeople.'
Linda, blatantly staring at Jill, as if completely baffled.
Jill: 'What? 'Lilttle' sister?? Why the continual staring...??'
Linda: 'Have you looked in the mirror lately?'
Jill: 'I was just redoing my lip gloss, how's that for recent?'
Linda: 'Have you noticed anything? Anything, maybe just slightly different than the past??'
Jill: 'Give me a clue?'
Linda: 'Skin color....'
Jill shakes her head: 'No help.... Give me more, BIG sister...'
Linda: 'Your racial background...'
Jill, stumped. 'You becoming racially prejudiced all of a sudden? Everyone knows, the must uncool thing to be is white... The vanilla ice cream of personal identity. Passe'....completely.
Jill continues, as Linda seems totally spaced, unable to comment: too many major changes for one day: 'Yes, I realized that I became African-American in appearance and heritage after that second round of new people appearing out of nowhere on our couch due to some kind of dimensional collision or foul-up....The dark energy creating more dark matter that then appeared on our couch somehow as part of our universe, in part due to the chain of events you began by jumping on the couch and causing it to collapse.... In most cases, a brand new person is born when certain fluxes like this occur... But, in my case, it appears instead that I was modifed....and the open space that was created on the couch allowed some new people to flow into our reality from wherever they had been previously hangin', in Dimension X or whatever!!!
'You see, as soon as that occurred, my sense of self and life history and heritage anchorage shifted abruptly, as a kind of back-adjustment to all the other surrounding changes.... in order to keep the Fundamental Cosmic Balance in place...to keep the Universe from splintering and being udderly shattered... So... now you have a hot black bestie instead of a pearly white one!!! Stay with me, girl... I tell you, and I say it loud: i'm Black and I'm Proud!! Honestly, I always envied the women of color from when I was little.,.. Now my dream has officially come true... probably because I was always secretly yearning for it!'
Linda, embracing her new/old pal with great emotion: 'And don't forget, soul sister....'
'Uh.....never mind....It was vivid and seemed real important a second ago...but now I can't remember....'
Jill, kissing Linda on her hair in happiness: 'What did you forget, love? Hey: Is that the wonderful Dogman and his lovely family entering our humble adobe?'
Linda: 'Get out the flea spray... right away!!'
I know you're probably dying to know what's happening here in this complicated couch collapse crisis at La Maison de Rendezvous avec Louis XIV Towne House Complex. I'm a Narrator, I believe there are others claiming to be also, but since I seem to have the credible inside access right now, let me try to bring you up to date and straighten things out for you before the next cataclysm occurs and whatever I've said becomes completely irrelevant...
It's really all very simple. In a rambunctious moment, the kind we all may have now and then, Blonde Linda, co-renter of this rundown apartment unit, recently was jumping up and down on the couch for some reason, perhaps to demonstrate her still impressive cheerleading skills... Being on the left end of the couch as she bounced up and down, naturally, it was the left leg of the couch that broke off, although big mama Linda, who abruptly stopped cheerleading then, still claimed that nothing went wrong as the result of her fancy jumping... That she was 'very careful'... and that any real or imagined damage must have been done in an earlier or later incident in which she had no part.
But still, anyone could see that the heavily used centerpiece of the girls apartment was heeling to the left, tilting the couch sitting surface dangerously, nauseatingly to the left, like a ship keeling in a bad storm... while the tilt had a bounciness to it that not only leaned to one side, but also was constantly changing the angle of that lean, to the instant nausea of all but the most seaworthy couch occupants...
Given that there were way too many people on the couch at the time, in spite of the clear and stern warning plastered on the bottom of the couch in bold letters 3 inches high that was only found days later when the couch was dissected for more intelligence regarding its role in the resulting tragedies:
MAXIMUM SEATING CAPACITY IS SIX NORMAL VIRTUALLY MOTIONLESS HUMANS.
And also found on the dusty underbelly of the sofa was a smaller, 2 inch high sub-warning:
SEATING CAPACITY OF SIX ASSUMES EACH WEIGHS NO MORE THAN 150 POUNDS.
And beneath there, a sharp-eyed observer shouted 'Everyone come here! Look at this new commandment that I just unearthed!!' when s/he had meticulously scraped off enough hardbaked couch underbelly crust to see a 3rd warning that significantly whispers in one-inch print:
CAPACITY IS REDUCED SHARPLY and Fleer CoachcoLiability > $0 IF THERE IS EXCESSIVE MOVEMENT ON THE COUCH. FOR EXAMPLE BUMPING, JUMPING, HUMPING, PUMPING, DUMPING, RUMPING OR EXCESSIVE GRUMPING!
And now, I, the Master Narrator/Investigator info the Unfolding Tragedy found IN 0.5 INCH PRINT:
IN ANY CASE, THE FLEER COUCH COMPANY IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURY OR INJURIES TO CONSUMERS WHILE ENJOYING THIS FINE COUCH PRODUCT REGARDLESS OF THE CAUSE, INCLUDING POOR SOFA CONSTRUCTION OR DELIBERATE DESIGN FLAWS DESIGNED TO CREATE OR FACILITATE SERIOUS INJURIES, INCLUDING USER DEATH AND INSTANT ASSIGNMENT TO THE PLACE OF ETERNAL TORMENT, I.E., ONE SIMILAR TO EARTH .
Another large, easily found sticker on the back of each couch pillow sticker provides
RULES FOR SAFE COUCH USAGE:
(a) ONLY ONE SITTEE CAN SIT DOWN OR RISE FROM THE COUCH EVERY 60 SECONDS.
1. ONE PERSON LOWERING THEIR STINKCAN TO SIT DOWN MEANS NO ADDITIONAL PASSENGER SEATINGS OR DEPARTURES IN THE NEXT 60 SECONDS!
2. ONE PERSON LIFTING THEIR POOPBLASTER OFF THE COUCH AND DEPARTING MEANS NO ADDITIONAL POOPBLASTER SEATINGs OR DEPARTURES FOR THE NEXT 60 SECONDS!
regarding above 1. and 2.: A HELPFUL TIMER CAN BE FOUND ON EACH ARMREST OF THE DELUXE VERSIONS OF THE SOFA.
(b) ONLY ONE PERSON MAY BE SPEAKING AT A TIME WHILE IN THE COUCH'S SEATING AREA.
(c) THE COUCH MUST NEVER BE USED FOR BUMPING, JUMPING, HUMPING, PUMPING, DUMPING, RUMPING OR EXTENDED GRUMPING.
(d) PHONE CONVERSATIONS, CELLULAR OR LAN LINE OR IMAGINARY, MUST BE RESTRICTED TO NO MORE THAN 3 MINUTES, OR THERE WILL BE ADDITIONAL COUCH CHARGE OF $1.75 PER MINUTE, AS DETECTED BY THE COUCH'S ON-BOARD COMPUTER WITH 24/7 CONNECT TO THE FLEER COUCH COMPANY'S INSTA-BILLING COMPUTER WHICH DRAWS MONEY DIRECTLY OUT OF FLEER COUCH OWNER'S CURRENT OR FUTURE BANK ACCOUNT, AS AGREED AT TIME OF SALE.
Brunette Jill, raising her hand, which the new chairperson/leader graciously acknowledges after pondering over it for about 20 seconds, leaving Jill's hand dangling in the air in the meanwhile... perhaps giving her time to connect via mental INTERLINK with FLEER COACH headquarters regarding Jill's intrusion.
Finally, the person with the FLEERSOFA-embossed blouse/shirt replies: 'Yes, Miss Jill?'
Jill, seemingly not surprised by all this information: 'Would you please move along with whatever relevant information you may want to provide us now that you have assumed -- without our endorsement incidentally -- a leadership or spokesperson's role during this crisis?'
There is a murmur of satisfied, warm agreement from the others, many still struggling to disentangle themselves from each other thanks to the lingering, unresolved effects and consequences of the couch breakdown and ensuing tumult that recently occurred... Mixing together all of the people who were already part of the 'party' as well as coinciding with the appearance of numerous strangers whom had never been seen before, just came out of nowhere as the crisis deepened...One of whom now raises her hand:
'Mr. or Mrs.Interim Leader, I have an important question for you. Where have all these weird strangers come from who are now cramped together on my couch, imposing and squeezing against us. Our doors were locked and so were our windows. I have answered in personality tests that I am 'friendly and congenial with strangers', partly because yes seemed like the 'right' answer and partly because it seemed somewhat true to me at the time, providing the strangers are good-looking, but not better-looking than me, and generally quiet and well-behaved -- adjectives that would in no way apply to this motley crew of low lifes, like the shiny-faced man apparently made of plastic, or the young fellow who's wearing a stinky ski cap even though it feels like it's 90 degrees in here, with me deep in menopause, and the guy with the huge vat of greenish gout water on his lap for some reason, and the fellow who keeps offering Camel Cigarettes to people...and the fat blonde pig of a girl... '
Linda, who has worked and with success in our eyes at becoming 'becomingly plumpish' rather a straight, standard-order 'fatso' untangles herself long enough to fight her way to her feet and go over and slap the critical stranger hard in the face, making a sharp crack, almost like a rifle report, satisfying (to some of Linda's entourage, at least, if not to the strangers who came out of nowhere onto their couch)..... Even producing cheers from the people whom we believe were originally sitting on the couch at Linda's and Jill's before the latest catastrophe, and groans and mumbled curses and threats from most of the rest.
Linda, hands on her broad hips: 'How can you Johnny and Jenny cum latelies possibly claim that YOU are the original sittees, when we know for sure it was us, i.e., me and Jill and various hangers-on and invitees of ours!!'
Narrator tries to referee: 'Clearly, there is some misunderstanging -- but I agree that this is a bad, unstable situation. We need help!
'By any chance, does anyone have an old WINKY Dink transparent screen that we can put on the TV monitor that is recording this event?? And then maybe WINKY DINK, who successfully dealt with every problem that came his way as far as I can remember, back in the 1950's, with the lousy but good-spirited help of the kids at home, who used their expensive mail-order but reality-altering WINKY DINK screens and markers to modify reality in any way they pleased!!!'
So now our original little group has reconvened in Linda & Jill's unit in La Grande Maison de Louis de XIV Luxury Towne Homes and Cheap Flophouses, the subsititute narrator from Colonial times now having returned to the 18th Century, to help make the Grand Dream of America come alive.
Wally, the faux teenager, spread out on one of the matching chairs to the sofa... The couch that's seating area slopes downward much of the time due to the loss a while ago of one of the legs...and the excess number of people who try to co-relax on its weakened, frail, failing, disheartened, overburdened frame.
Jill, commenting on this: 'Yes, one day the leftmost back leg was on, and the next day it was off... It may have something to do with my heavier sidekick jumping up and down on that left end of the couch during a show on cheerleaders.... She was showing me the cheers she used to do in high school (fat chance!)...
'But then she helpfully clarified that she was talking about how she would jump and down in the stands 'in sync with the real cheerleaders', her jumping platform thus made of solid concrete, except for the steel-anchored wooden bench seating, imitating whatever the real cheerleaders were doing, including trying to scream what they were screaming!... Those were some of the worst nights of my life... But she was my bestie, so I had to be supportive... Although in retrospect, I should instead of....' Jill finishes, leaving the listeners hanging...But as usual around their place, no one is really listening to anyone else, just talking themselves.
Despite the lack of any real listeners, Jill goes on: 'Linda just wouldn't stop with her 'cheerleading' from the stands, even now, when the NFL games are on TV...despite the neighbors banging on our door, and then even occasionally throwing rocks with explicit messages about not being so noisy through our windows... Fortunately, it was the summer time the last time, and she was cheerleading to a Cleveland Indians baseball game, and we had the glass part of the windows up so the rocks just flew into the room and put holes in some of our walls.... But still some of the windows were -- and still are -- busted!'
Linda, her face contorted with emotion, struggles and wobbles to a standing position on the couch, standing high above all others, then pointing at Jill with vengeance in her eyes, admonishing her as would a deity or perhaps an anti-deity: 'May you have no busts at all, from busting my chops for purportably busting the couch!!'
Jill looks down at her own rather flat-chested physique, different from chubby Linda's: 'Sorry, that curse is invalid, since you're threatening me about something that is already and has been for some time an embarrassing, regrettable, physical fact!!'
A sober, clear-minded Narrator, no longer hiding in the back room to 'spy' on the rest of the cast, and no longer smoking Humps or offering them to the girls..or guys, even, rises off the wobbling couch to speak:
Original Narrator: 'Girls... I have a couple of suggestions. First of all, Jill, I find your relative flat-chestedness to be a real hot turn-on, as in 'lean and mean'! And secondly, regarding the missing leg on this couch, didn't I see a copy of the bulky Encyclopedia of Sexual Positions and Perversions in the bathroom just today?'
He continues: 'Now [as he bends again to get the right perspective on the analysis of the couch situation that he has been formulating, issuing a loud, fulsome fart as he does so], based on personal visual application and approximation of some of the laws and measurements of perception and perspective and correspondence, I believe that if we put the Encyclopedia of Sexual Positions and Perversions in the place -- back left corner -- where the broken couch leg was, this convenient seating device will actually become much more stable and much more comfortable and much more level than it was in its wobbly condition before Linda's over-enthusiastic cheerleader imitation turned that poor wobbly couch leg into sawdust!!'
GWAGGS, staring wildly at Narrator, both thrilled (to perhaps not be as seasick in the future as he is right now, just from sitting on the far left, less stable end of the couch) and amazed (at the sudden mental discipline, coolness under fire, and jem-like brilliance of thinking of the previously befuddled, Hump-offering/chainsmoking Narrator), jumps to his feet to do something (cheer for him, rush over and give him a hug, something) but then becomes woozy and flops back into the spot he just left on the sofa... And in the process, there is a loud
CCCRRRRRRRRAAAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!! as the couch rotates treacherously backwards, like a chair on a merry-go-round, as now its right back leg has broken off as well.... If truth be known!!
Wally, who had squeezed back in on the couch to hear the Narrator's worthwhile rant, now struggles out of the tumbledown mess, stands up, turns and faces the assembled crowd, who have all been, just like he was momentarily, thrown backward, half on the sofa, half against the wall of the apartment, half on top of each other, half dangling in an uncertain position... well, yes, I know that adds up to too many halves....It's just a figure of speech after all, we aren't setting up a mathematical problem for our readers to solve or anything like that...
But, to repeat, now the entire group of mixed up people is, by virtue of a second failure of the couch's integrity, mixed together in a melange or pileup of arms, legs, boobs, heads, butts....these poor, dazed, inextricably intertwined ex- sittees.
Wally, who missed out on most of the mess and confusion by escaping quickly, in the split-second before things were really dire, now begins to address the assembled multi-headed, tangled human, miserable, moaning hydra: 'First, I would like to thank you all for inviting me to speak here tonight....'
Roy, the acuplacekicking medical salesman's, head appears from the melange as he cries: 'No one invited you to speak, so shut up!! Are you crazy or what? Thank goodness I am just a lifelike doll and not a real living human like most of the rest of you... and therefore can be quickly and inexpensively repaired...' Then he resumes his apparent attempt to 'mount' a dazed Jill in a seemingly misdirected, bogus effort to free himself....Jill weakly pushing him away so she can catch her breast -- I mean her breath and protect her flat chest from unwanted intrusions!!'
Ken-doll-like but man-sized Roy's head snaps towards me, the Backup Narrator, a new character who just appeared along with several other random strangers somehow during the couch collapse, perhaps from another dimension or time, called into being by certain dark energy forces and dark matter content in the universe, the Original Narrator being trapped in the Great Couch Collapse... and my attention being now drawn to the growing crack in the very thin, springy hardwood floor underneath the terribly cockeyed and overburdened couch: 'Backup guy, I'm getting out of here right now... This floor is about to collapse... and who knows what lies below...in the groin, in the underbelly of La Maison de No Return Apartments?? The entire population of this apartment complex have twice before disappeared in toto, in two earlier supposedly not-as-well-designed versions of the housing.... Scores of people gone each time without a trace! The owners alibi being that all the residents became such close friends because of the wonderful ambience of La Maison that they decided to all go on a trip together to some faraway place!!'
So, I look down at my hand, and the loaded revolver in it, and I say... Look, I'm lazy and unreliable... I smoke to much and I drink and drug a little too much. I got this here gun for 'protection' given my paranoid thoughts from the drinking and drugging.... Maybe huffing on all those Humps is humping away some of my brain cells too...surely my lung cells.
I take one last deep drag on my latest Hump, cough a while, then retch up some bile that makes me think of that poor GWAGGS guy...But I know that if I keep goin' in this direction, I'm going to be far worse off than GWAGGS... I mean, he has all that stinky gout fluid to contend with, but he's otherwise sound of mind, and even seems reasonably healthy except for the gout issue.
I took this job after talking to some weirdo who actually writes this stuff as am obsessive hobby. He says what works best for him is to stage events and interactions among people who are comical or colorful or scary-seeming and then just sit back and record the action while he watches or pays someone else to watch. He even has some guy he calls Big Boy or the Investor that funds all his sleazy mondo weirdo efforts.
Look, though, between you, me, and the landpost...Hey, what's a landpost anyway? Well, I get paranoid when some rich guy or mastermind is staging stuff for 'artistic reasons'... Wouldn't you? On the other hand, the money is very good, say compared to minimum wage..
So, look, I know I'm a little fxcked up... probably a lot fxcked up...But I'm not a bad guy... I just got off to such a bad start that there's no redeeming me now... I mean not up to being a pillar of the community or anything like that...there's too much track record, too many bad habits. But these people in this 'story', which is actually just their real lives for gosh sake... They are altogther pretty nice people, higher quality than me, for sure... I mean of course Jill, Linda, GWAGGS, as disgusting as his big spashing gout water vat is, that guy Ken, assuming he's not actually a robot... But then, I guess robots if they's have a consciencenous... or would it be a consciousness.... Are more or less just like us.
Well, except they've usually been programmed.... But then what about us?? Ain't we been programmed too?? Say by our parents if they were strong-willed.... or by our friends, if our main thing was fitting in to some group or 'pack'? In the end, you want to feel good about yourself, have people respect you, (second best is at least they laugh at or, better yet, laugh with you). I really don't want to hurt nobody. I want to have friends and have fun. I want to be somehow different a little from everybody else and be respected for that, like 'have you seen the size of that guy's....????'....but actually, that's a little shallow, isn't it?! So just for people who are basically nice to seem to really be happy when they see me coming.... Not groaning or looking for a place to hide... Knowing I am nothing but misery and trouble for whomever interfaces with me.
But I know my own inclinations often lead me into trouble...I need a mentor. Maybe I really should try Jesus, like so many people say. Just 'do what He would do...' But first I've got to verse myself on what that is... And I don't want to be no pussy just wipin' everybody's ass while they're mind is elsewhere. But He was no pussy like that, I know. And there were others, like Confusious, and Buddha Boy, and those Mormon dudes, and Howard Stern... No, maybe not him... But sometimes our Presidents like Washington Machine and Lincoln Town Car and Roosesvelt Raceway and Ronald Reagen and Jimmy Carter Little Liver Pills and his naughty brother Billy. These people can give me ideas if I understands who they were or are. And of course President Oh, Bama! and prior President Bush Wacker. They were nice men who really cared about their cuntry.
The other Narrator, the one who seems to be from centuries before, now approaches me and smiles. He gives me a big hug... 'You're on the right track now, sailor!' he says. 'I'm sorry I brandished that lance at you when all you had was that little pop gun!~ '
We hug, although in doing so, I am suddenly aware of how badly I stink and how I need to address that. 'Maybe the girls will let me briefly use one of their showers?' I say outloud.
Other Narrator nods, 'Yes, and if they have second thoughts, I will reassure them... Let's take care of that right away!
And the two of us walk away towards their towne house unit, his hand feeling really good on my shoulder!
So after I finish my meal, I go clean up as best I can, given I only have the clothes on my back to work with, and I wuz a little sloppy when I ate since I wuz so starvin' from the girls not givin' me nuttin' to eat... And pardon my change in writing decorum, but I was gettin' worn down from trying to sound civilized like I had to do in my earlier posts. I figure I'll go back in the Dark Room, the Observation Room, thanks to that big living room mirror I can see through this hole I drilled through their wall, have a coupla Humps, calm down, usin' the observation hole I drilled in the wall... I mean to blow the smoke from my Humps so it doesn't collect in this room and make my eyes waterate...and then get back to work, observing these fxckxng weird axxholes.
This is the worst spying assignment, bar none, I have ever taken. But the Skunkville Saga magnate was offering minimum wage minus expenses, so I am what he got. But for the sake of you, my devoted readers, who probably admire and envy the crxp out of me for doing what I'm doin' and doin' it so well, I'll keep on keepin' on for a least another day or two if I can stand it. I just wonder who that other Narrator was that they mentioned, who took over my job when I was in one of my blackouts, and who the girls apparently got all hot & bothered about??
'Do you perhaps mean me, dear sir?' Says a voice with a fxggy old fashioned accent from right behind, causing me to immediately fire a smelly brown egg into my undies!!
'Oh my... It is so close in here, now, with the two of us....The room is small. And now I have just perceived a ghastly new odor! One that reminds me of Philadelphia during the Yellow Fever Plague of 1793!! Sir, do you have digestive problems....or are you a carrier of the Plague -- I pray not!!?'
'Nope... I only have problems in digesting what you're saying, and your insulting delusions, and the way you're plaguing me as I try to faithfully fulfill MY assignation!'
'You mean to say you were hired by the girls to peep on them for some reason, perhaps as a lead-in to you romancing them? Given my sense regarding you and what I've seen of the above-reproach Miss Jill and Miss Linda, I find that entirely unbelievable! While down-to-earth friendly types, I doubt they are the kind to jump into bed with every Benjamin, George, Emmett, Rupert, Thaddeus, Sebastian, and/or Tobias!
'Therefore...' the man from long ago declares, noting the revolver now glistening in the slobs' hand...'Therefore, to defend the honor of the girls, and the decorum of their home, I demand you drop your weapon and move on to your next asignation...if you even have such!'
'And if I don't, Sir Lancelove? Then what... I just fire this revolver and blow yer head off before you can move an inch... That's fine with me... And I never heard of any law against killing centuries-old-evil-ghosts that are plaguing the home of two sensitive, caring young women!!'
Linda, as her legs slowly peddle the bike, staring off into space, trying to lock into her mind forever the handsome, gentlemanly, old-fashioned face of the youthful Narrator as he appeared right before he disappeared. 'As far as the first Narrator, though, I hope I never see that axxhole again!'
Jill: 'Agreed, although, as you know, we have to be careful about ruling out anybody, since our success rate is around .000000001, and that is only based on keeping a guy around for one night, perhaps because we have him locked in a room, or stone drunk and snoring, or in those supposedly authentic, terribly heavy, medieval leg locks that we bought at the Bondage & S&M Budget Mart!!'
Linda, panting, though to Jill it seems as if the wheels are hardly turning: 'Yeah pant pant whew! whewie! pant pant...'
Jill: 'Do you have the resistance set too high, love? I don't want you to have a coronary and leave me to live this singles life alone for gosh sake!!'
Linda, still panting: 'No... It's pant pant pant turned off.... No resistance..... It's just pant pant that it's so pant whew!! phew!! phewie!! It's just that... It's just pant pant that it's so pant whew!! phew!! phewie!!'
Jill: 'What, you totally out of shape bimbo?? OMG!! You're such a pain!!'
Linda: 'It's just....'
Suddenly Linda's eyes shut and she falls like a big deadweight off the bike onto the hard floor, nearly crushing Jill's foot, which she moves out of harm's way at the last second....
Jill, starting to give Linda the Heilmlach maneuver!! But wait, Jill! Is that the right thing for a person with a heart attack -- or is that for someone choking on a solid object?
Jill: 'I don't know... I don't know.... I don't know the other one anyway... and doesn't it involve French Kissing the sufferer and blowing down their throat, maybe jamming your tongue down it...'
Linda pushing Jill off, her face red: 'Whaddya tryin' to do?? Kill me, for gosh sakes.... Back off Boogaloo -- and just let me breathe please... I'm very stressed from this whole series of events, and I guess high-speed spinning wasn't the right antidote!!'
Jill: 'HIGH RPM SPINNING???? What, one wheel rotation per fxckin' minute??'
Narrator: 'Do you mind if I just come and join you in the living room? I was becoming lonely and distraught in that spare room without lights.'
Linda looks up, surprised to hear a new, different male voice: 'Are you kiddin', guy?!?! Here: have a seat right next to li'l ol' me!' Then she pats the lumpy, stained couch on a section near where she is sitting.
The Narrator nervously crosses the room, almost as if on tiptoes. The light is blinding compared to that in the lightless room. This is true even as dark as it actually is in the living room, with many of the girls' light bulbs burnt out long ago.
Jill, quickly sliding over near her friend and sometimes competitor Linda: 'Here, sit right here, on my right, away from the overly touchy-feely Linda, Narrator sir. You look different than you did when you stepped into the room with us earlier. Have you been resting, or have you changed your clothes?'
Narrator: 'Honestly, I'm not quite sure at this point. But I'd be glad to sit wherever you suggest.... Frankly, it's been a long time since even one female has invited me to sit with them!'
Linda: 'No way! You've gotta be kidding! Come, right here.... This clear, clean open spot (well, relatively speaking) right between me and Jill, albeit on my side of the main cushion gap... I can tell you, it's no fun sitting there 'dans le gap', so squeeze over towards my side to avoid the gaping crevasse!'
Meanwhile, seemingly plastic-skinned Ken, a friendly sort who also may be eyeing Narrator as a possible piece of business for whatever Dr. Derrierre's amazing new acu-placekicking treatment is.... Seats himself midway between Linda and Jill, meaning that Narrator by mathematical definition will either have to sit next to him on his left, or next to him on his right!
But then Linda slides over next to Ken, while beckoning Narrator to sit on her left, thereby putting this man with the new look between Linda and the left end of the couch. But he defers from the offer, and instead takes a spot to the right of Linda...as Ken then gets up and circles around to take the seat where she wanted the Narrator, against the left cushion.
Ken, happy to be next to one of the girls, still mutters: 'Curses... this guy is trouble for sure...We've gotta find a way to get ridda him...and plus rapide!' as he rubs his hands together anxiously.
Jill staring down Linda and muttering to herself: 'There she goes again, hogging the action like the Big Blonde ManHog that she is. But I wonder how and where Narrator got that nifty period outfit. It must be from the 1960's, maybe even earlier... Dang!!'
Linda, now that Narrator is seated, is very close to him and can see how handsome he actually is: 'Honestly, Narrator, I can't believe you are the same ordinary, almost nerdy I would say, homely fella who was hanging out in our extra room, spying on us and taking notes, until just a little while ago~!'
Narrator, nodding: 'Yes, neither can I... Nonetheless, that seems to be the case, as far as I can tell. It is all very confusing..'
GWAGGS, the Gout Water Guy from the famous TV ads, who had been using the bathroom for a while, now re-enters the living room....whispering to young Wally... 'Is that the same guy that was offering Humps* to us before?? No, it can't be!'
* A Hump in this context refers to the pack of unfiltered Camel Cigarettes that Narrator offered to his new friends in a prior installment of this story......Not the whole pack of course, but one Hump at a time per interested smoker....'
Jill, totally enamored now the 'new/old world look' of the Narrator, thinks: 'I wish Narrator would offer ME a Hump right now. but not the cigarette kind!!'
Narrator turns to Jill, and softly comments: 'I find you lovely, but I'm not that kind of person...'
Jill, dazed by all of this, finally comments, with difficulty and emotion: 'I know... I believe you. I am momentarily overwhelmed with you... I need to turn away!'
Narrator: 'Overwhelmed by me? My dearly departed wife would laugh at you....I'm just a farmer and occasional servant of the local government... I don't think I'm this other Narrator person you are describing...But I am glad to be friendly with kind folk like yourselves in this strange new place!'
GWAGGS: 'Hey, kin I sit here between you and Jill, Period Piece? I'd like to get t' knows you a little bit better... I promise I won't talk at all about me grossout gout problems...'
With Jill reaching over to try to keep GWAGGS big rear from actually landing in-between her and Narrator, GWAGGS nonetheless easily takes the space, as the couch now seems to be sagging somewhat dangerously in several points of already weak structural integrity!
Narrator, responding to GWAGGS: 'Yes sir, we do have gout where I usually am... It is considered a disease of the rich there.... Almost like the Good Lord frowning on people who live too well or have too many possessions or are able to enjoy much fine food and drink while others around them, less fortunate, barely survive...'
It's at this point that Wally charges over to confront the Narrator: 'Look, fellow... It's obvious to us, as messed up and high as we are from some dope we were just smokin', that you ARE NOT the guy who was passing out Humps before and hanging in that dark room recording stuff like a leering, drooling Peeping Tom! Now, do we have to call the polleese on you, or what? We were here having a fine party-type time with these two lovely girls, and now you, with your old-fashioned clothes and polite act have butted in and completely changed the whole landscape of our wonderful evening. Look: If you're really the Narrator guy, go back in yer fxxkin' dark room and change back into the way you were before...If you know what's good fer ya!!! Me and Ken and GWAGGS can kick butt with the best of them if the need arises... And I see the need to get rid of you once and for all as arising fast!!'
Narrator listens to all this without showing the slightest upset or surprise. He shifts in his place on the couch, turning back and forth once from Linda to Jill and back to Linda. 'Really, lovely ladies.... I am sorry for my intrusion. I will now go back to the room of which he speaks and disappear so that you may never have to see my plain, very forgettable face again. Presumably then from what I am gathering from your conversation, the 'old' Narrator will appear and everything will be back to normal!'
With great vigor and not the slightest sign of annoyance or frustration, he systematically arises from the couch, trying not to disturb the girls' seating comfort, then bows towards Linda, taking her hand and kissing the back of it ever so softly and gently, and of course repeating this process with Jill...and is gone!
Our remaining friends look around the room in silence, catching one and another's eyes, but unable to hold anyone's gaze. Then Linda and Jill begin to sliently weep, tears gracefully sliding down their flushed faces.....
Narrator, hiding again in the dark side room from which he can view the entire living room/dining room portion of Linda and Jill's neglected towne house unit via a large mirror next to their living room fireplace.... a fireplace currently stuffed with overstuffed trash bags featuring, on the worst end of the scale, overflow items like used tampons and used MYOWNBARFBAG(R)'s for bulleemicks....
Narrator: 'Holy.... Readers, I hope you caught what just happened after the doorbell rang, by reading the pictorial sidebar and its explanatory verbal content... I can't believe Dr. Spock is actually here. His advice that children should never be physically punished saved one heck of a lot of pain and fearfulness in my childhood, and enabled me to just flip my parents the bird and run out the door whenever I thought they might possibly be mad at me, coming back for a short negotiation visit when I figured things had sufficiently settled down.
'I would negotiate with them on what they were going to offer me to return and thus maybe not run to the police and children protection agencies with my highly exaggerated, bloody, twisted, grotesque tale -- a hundredfold exaggeration of my parents mild, sensible, loving discipline of me -- and to make it even worse, I told them I would spill ALL 'OUR PRIVATE FAMILY' BEANS, INCLUDING MANY HOPPED-UP ONES, AS WELL AS SOME REALLY RAUNCHY, SICK, MANUFACTURED FROM SCRATCH EPIC TALES OF ABUSE AND NEGLECT -- MAKING DICKENS' TALES OF EVIL CARETAKERS PALE IN COMPARISON --
'Yes, I would release them as a serial, one episode per mild-mannered interruption in my selfish life they had laid on me,...in the widely read and highly respected Skunkville newspaper of record, The Skunkville Corn Holler and Corn Hxler.
'But it is absolutely fatuous (I am on the Metrocal Diet Plan right now) and out of order for me, the lowly scribe, the lowly observer, to talk so much about myself in a story intended to be entirely about others, with me as simply the eyes and ears and reporter of what I see, written as objectionably -- I mean as objectively (well, but we do want some excitement, something to stir people up and make them think, even if it's about something that never happened but maybe could happen...)'
'When Jill & Linda's visitors were tipped off by visitor Ken that he sensed his famous intellect father coming, they all got together and hid out in this darkened extra room, the one that I, the au current narrator for the Delphi Blog, have been using as my base of operations. Now I'm going to pull out my powerful electric beam lantern and see who's here.
'How about this! They've moved on to another location... They must have done it quietly while I was texting to you.... Or I dozed off and missed a lot of the really juicy action.... So I'm going to leave my devilish little hideaway and track them down, one by one.
'Would you like to join my on my 'rounds'...? I've got my phony police badge here, and we'll just barge in on each of them as they sleep, relax, do naughty things, or do normal things... Just a kooky little ruse to get them excited and perhaps get the story moving again. I've taken alot of High Times Enterprises' SUPER-SLEEP-NO-MORE, a new product for people whose finances are so bad they actually need to literally work 24/7 for a few years before they can finally kick back, relax, and waste time sleeping again.
'Plus, in case I start to go over the edge from sleep deprivation, which eventually I will almost for sure, I have brought along a bottle of INSTANT-POWER-NAP(R), where, after the pill 'cuts in' about 5-10 minutes after you take it, you are medically & legally dead for about 10-15 minutes -- but then, when revitalized by a component in the complex drug, similar to the effect of multiple electroshocks, enacted by chemistry rather than electricity, you are jerked back from the Hands of the Devil and all the endless millenia of Evil Work he was planning and outlining for you by the special time-capsule ELECTRO-SHOCK-BLITZKREIG(R) component that makes you BUG-EYED-AWAKE(TM) and back on Terra Firma unable to want or get any sleep for up to 10 days afterwards. But, if you start to go mad from being BUG-EYED-AWAKE(TM) after several days of non-stop manic action/thinking/twitching, you can always take another INSTANT-POWER-NAP(R)....or two, if you need them.
'Now, don't get me wrong.... I'm not advocating drugs like these, which have essentially ruined my life....For which I have to more or less continually take NO-REGRETS(R) pills.... Which incidentally definitely work, making me glow with feelings of life accomplishment and pride in everything I did, good or bad....the latter because of its value as a 'learning' experience that I can pass on to others so that they do not 'take my path'....
'But unfortunately, also very quickly after taking NO-REGRETS(R) or especially SUPER-NO-REGRETS(R), I tend to start having some side effects, like excessive gas. and a feeling that I am floating above everyone else around me, like my soul craving for the end of this madness on earth and a craving for some kind of Heaven, where my mind knows I would never be wanted... unless the Being in Charge is the most Forgiving Fellow (or Gal) in the Multiverse....
'Anyhow, regarding my floating problem, my back or head repeatedly banging against the ceiling or the ceiling fixtures, seemingly from my excessive gas, as if it were like helium or even super-helium... As I feel trapped, but for once, not with my back against the wall, but rather my back against the ceiling...
'And if someone would grab me by my necktie and pull me outside like a kid with a big middle-aged circus balloon....To kindly give me some fresh air... I might begin -- say, if s/he forgot about me for a second and let go of the string -- to ascend straight up into the sky, day or night, up through the clouds, past the jet planes with the axxhole passengers pointing out the window and waving to me, or flipping me the bird, or just slamming down their plastic window-curtain to diss me once last time!!
'In these situations, as you all well know, you of course you need a supply of WEIGH ME DOWN -- or just maybe a five-pack of Children's SAFELY WEIGH ME DOWN.....
'But I digress from our story... I do want to point out, though, from experience, there's no end to this process other than to abstain from everything but a diet of bread and water -- If you are lucky to be able to reach such, or have brought your lunch bag for your 'trip'.... And keep your eyes closed, let the barf fly as it may, pray real hard and honestly, and/or say your mantra if you can remember it!'
....Skunkville once a town rundown in general, as loyal readers of this massive epic know... But Skunkville now is only run down in specific...With this place, where our dear beloved friends Jill & Linda live, perhaps being one of the best specific examples of said rundownside of Skunkville. In fact, people with cache' now speak of the dwindling seedy Skunkville and the booming nouveau Skunkvilla, which is rapidly devouring the old original Skunkville, destroying what was there, replacing even the polluted land itself down to its subterranean ancient rocky substructure, and replacing it with fresh, yuppified, brand-name land-fill...And then transforming it above surface into nouveau Skunkvilla as if the old, wretched Skunkville (where, say Walt Brown and Edna live) as if old, unhistoric Skunkville and new, historic Skunkvilla were two entirely separate places, one representing the embarrassing old side of Skunkville while the other, nouveau, cachet-soaked Skunkvilla, stands for the new upscale, more exclusive, snootier side, where, for instance, some of the high rollers like to snoot an expensive white powder of some sort to make it all seem even grander yet...at least for a while anyway....not realizing that enough of that kind of snooting may land them back in in the dead center of rundown Skunkville.
However, the only thing that visitors to the apartment of our long-time friends, perennially man-seeking Jill and Linda, will be snooting is the dust that may be drifting up from their rarely-vacuumed carpet, especially as people move around the room and their shoes/feet 'stir things up'... including whatever is in the weird admixture of substances from their edgy, lazy, sloppy lifestyle that is compounded into their carpet.
I, your narrator who, hidden away in the darkened, cluttered next room, a la Walt & Edna's Uncle Leonard, am listening in to all the 'live action' and reporting it as accurately as my failing short-term memory allows, while also watching the torrid, strangely gripping events, albeit backwards, in a large, cheap, cracked mirror that happens to hang over Linda & Jill's fireplace, which appears to currently be used, rather sloppily I might add, as a closet or storage or 'dumpage' area.
Using my parabolic reflector, I am able to hear and record every word being spoken...every sound being made, even the occasional rustling of the mice, reacting to the sudden increase in noise and movement...
And also capturing statistically significant odors, including ones emanating not from the mouth, ones that I'd rather not smell..or hear....with my odorabolic refractor...with great acuity and faithfulness. Excuse me while I quietly break from you for a second to barf into my barfabonic collector, which muffles the sound of my gagging and splattering, and also quickly reduces the smell of the barf to only 0.3% of what it's uncontrolled actual level of stinkage would be.....
I notice that while Jill and Linda have naturally returned their focus to the nicely coiffed, if somewhat standardized, almost artificial-looking man (robot? doll?) who is representing the interests of famed local surgeon and acuplacekicker expert Dr. Derrierre, and is trying to convince them to agree to a procedure which would involve the acu-place-kicking by the doctor of a football, held at an angle on the ground by another of his football uniform garbed, helmeted colleagues, the point of the football supposedly striking some part of the patient anatomy while they patiently, anxiously hang half-naked from a football goalpost in front of a bevy of local and travelling, roaring, fanatic Dr. Derrierre procedure 'fans' seated in the packed stands, waving their 'Dr. D' flags, which show a beautifully colorful picture of a terrified hemorrhoid about to be impacted by a spinning football...
The Gout Water Guy (GWG) has now pushed his way into the mirrored scene in Jill and Linda's humble living room, and NOT LEFT his Gout Water Wagon (GWW) out in the hallway as he has originally promised, while the young-looking 'Wally' fellow (although apparently he is in his late 30's) who has made a fetish of occasionally peeing or 'depositing' something similar in the girls' windows at night if they leave any of them unlocked, have begun a very intense back-and-forth discussion, almost like a negotiation of some sort, I would say.... If I were to guess, I would say it seems to my ears that 'young' Wally is trying to convince the GWG to let him pee in his Gout Water tank.... Just to see what happens, out of scientific curiosity...with possible commercial ramifications (but what in the world could they be??)!
Hold it.... Now I notice the plastic-complected-Ken-doll-like young man has risen from the couch and appears to be moving towards the two other men, perhaps wanting to 'be part of their action' or even to eject them roughly from the premises for rudely interrupting his pitch, which has curved unexpectedly as the situation has developed into partly being apparent romantic interest in one or both of the girls??
So, with no further ado-do, let's listen in to what's happening over there.
'Ken', the rep from the acu-placekicking doc's office, stepping up to the other two, smiling (but in friendship or in anger?): 'Hey guys... What's happenin'?'
'Gwagg' the Gout Water Guy (GWG), the man with gout who has to carry his gout water around in a huge transparent glass vat in the recent outbreak of advertisements for gout medicine, complains compellingly: 'My big toe is killin' me as usual during these dxxned attacks... I'm telling you guys, that ad -- with me and my sloshing vat of gout water on the crowded bus -- may have made people laugh about public gout water spillage, but I can tell you that gout itself is no laughing matter!!'
'Wally', the young man who, now near 40, never seems to age on the outside, but still devoutly claims he is and always has been the natural son of Walt & Edna Brown, even though Walt claims to have had his (Walt's NOT young Wally's) left nipple shot 'clear off' by a Russian sharpshooter during his action as a soldier of fortune in the Crimean War... Thus making he and Edna part of a long-gone generation, which would be far past child-bearing age in the 20th Century and not be consistent with Wally's claim and frequent request to Jill & Linda: 'Now that my own parents -- locally famous Walt & Edna -- have abandoned me, I figured maybe I could stay here and work for you girls as a made-to-order mail order male maid... Whaddyou guys think of that proposal?'
Plastic-doll-like 'Ken quips: 'I'll drink a goblet of gout water to that... even a gauntlet of gob water, if you insist!!'
'Gwagg', grabbing Ken's arm: 'Don't you dare, young artificial-looking man... That stuff is unpleasant to the palate and certainly not safe to drink... I wish I didn't know so much about gout and gout water, but I gout it!! I mean -- but I got it! And, hey, doll-like young man, you seem to have a way with the women... I noticed how those girls seemed to be digging you while you gave your sales pitch!'
Wally: 'Yeah, agreed. Gwagg and I want to know yer cigarette... I mean your segret.... Hey, speaking of segrets, do either of you two have a smoke... I'm jonesin' bad... That's why the word slipped out Freudianly like that...'
Gwagg: 'Are you kiddin', young fella?? A. You don't look old enough to smoke to me and B. I quit once the gout struck... I wanted to do everything else I could to stay partly healthy!'
Ken: 'Partly healthy?? That sounds like something from a weather forecast. I want full sunshine...no clouds...no compromises..'
Wally: 'Yer crazy, El Plastico... Everyone knows that the sun is more dangerous than a few smokes here and there!'
Gwagg: 'Look, to each his own... I'll stay out of this brawl now... Getting too excited gives my gout the upper hand on me!'
Narrator, generously pulling a pack of Humps out of his shirt pocket, and shaking a few out to offer around to 'the three boys'. 'My treat... And I even got a Bic to flick to light your Hump in fine style!'
Ken: 'Whaddya mean 'Humps'?!... That's a pack of Camel Cigarettes that you're flashing at us... Oh.... I just got it... Pretty lame, though, I must say!'
Jill and Linda now sashay over, glowing but confuselled at the same time, not used to have so many males in their place at oncet.
Jill: 'Hey, what's this male pow-wow-wow-wow-wow that's going on here, wow-pows?'
Linda: 'Yeah.... This is our place... You can't very well expect to cut us out of the action like we wuz fur-nature.'
Wally, looking down at Linda's shapely, but somewhat chubby legs showing beneath her short skirt: 'Why not shave or debilitate or pluck off some of that fur off yer legs then -- if you want some kinda action that's not going to give my neck a rash??'
Gwagg: 'Hey, lighten up, kiddo... I say Fur Whom the Bell Tolls! I like a woman's legs all natural like and hairy -- NOT half-shaved off like most guys' beards -- and of course the same same up north a little, with her port of entry!'
Ken, engrossed in the conversational action, but rocking back and forth like mad: 'I can't believe it girls... This is a first for me... But I've got to take an urgent, wicked pee... Can you point the way?? My plastic kidneys don't hold as much urine as your-en's...Hold it, I meant my spastic kidneys... I'm a real man like the rest of us!!'
Wally: 'Last time I was here, the girls told me to go outside.... That the facilities were broken....Here, I'll show you to their inner door to the development's 'Courtyard', i.e., where you'll find all the tenants' pet shxt and bxrf, and sometimes even a fist fight or a robbery going on!!!'
Narrator: 'Hey, Wally, cool it way way down with the disgusting foul and violent talk... If you want to be in any more Skunkville episodes, that is!...We prohobbit any little wise guys with dirty mouths like yours...Plus, vanity-wise, if you want me reporting anything you do or say -- or whether I treat the whole event as Wally-free!!'
Jill, kindly but hurriedly grabbing Wally by the arm: 'C'mon... I'll take you to the bathroom in our bedroom...'
Linda: 'Hey, no fair!'
Gwagg, at this moment, seeing Linda's upsetedness, sidles up to her: 'Hey, baby: Gwagg at yer soivice!!'
Linda turns somewhat skeptically and gives the famous gout sufferer a quick look over: 'In a real pinch, I might actually consider you, Gwagg...but --'
Narrator: 'I know that I would be both of you gurls' first choicers, hands down... Especially since I'm from the blaagh company and control what is said and shown about you two -- if anything -- in the Skunkville Saga, the most widely read fictional work in the world!!'
Gwagg: 'Speaking of wild, irresponsible, sleazy claims and similarly wild, irresponsible, sleazy fiction... Your last sentence was the epitome of it!! Yes, it's a pity to me that it still is being publershed, although I do occasionally read it, then hate myself afterwards.'
Ken returns, a little out of breath: 'Huh? I can tell you guys, I feel so so much better after that pee. you fellows ought to give it a try some time!'
Narrator: 'Did you finish it off with something special??'
Wally, putting his fingers into his ears through the material of his permanent ski cap: 'Hey, I may actually may be closing in on 40, but I still have the innocent sensitivities of a kid... So knock off that kind of dirty talk!'
Gwagg: 'I second that emotion!'
Jill, filling in Linda: 'I had just a dreamy time escorting Wally to the bathroom facility!'
Linda, her face reddening: 'You dirty dog! You pervert!! He may be 40, but he looks a lot less... In the future, play with people whose wrinkles match your own, Toots!!'