Life on the Willow lane

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 currently has 1,531,544 words, longer than any known, easily obtainable novel other than >Artamene ou de Grand Cyrus<,completed around 1650 AD, which boasts 2.1 million words    Each of Skunkville's 1,100+ mini-epics is highly enjoyable on an a la carte stand-alone basis and even better if consumed in sequence from Episode 1 to Episode 1,100+Just in its four busy years of existence, at this hard-to-find, off-the-beaten-path site plus a few no-longer-existant Skunkville threads on unrelated but busier forums  , the Saga has received hundreds of thousands of reader visits.   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 re-engineering the novel from scratch as an eminently readable/mid-brow/accessible comic-book style novel hybrid, flourishes on its own tireless, restless, bizarre, inquisitive energy despite  lack of any publisher or other support/funding; just a guy smiling as he hammers away on his pc several hours a day!  judged most similar to Skunkville according to Kirkus critics....both among the greatest novels of all time!Due to all the reading traffic at Skunkville, literally thousands of the characters, places and concepts of Skunkville have an Internet listing: TRY IT! TYPE in 'Nervous Balls Syndrome', or NBS, for which the Skunkville Saga OTC relief product is called NUT-REST!

by Thomas Pynchon
Cover art for FINNEGANS WAKE
by James Joyce


Father Dinkleton: 'Watch closely fambily... This is a BIG PLAY!'
Daughter Danielle: 'Ew! What a gross mess! Does that calamity mean the game is over?'
Mother Danielle: 'Oh... it is so beautiful, Don....'
Son Danny: 'And ths scary thing was, the people whom they aimed their gun at DISAPPEARED after they glowed from the ray of it ... GONE! Including YOUR BEST FRIEND from High School, Dad, Ron 'Krappo' Krapt'!

Mr. & Mrs. Dinkleton settle on the spacious, seats-ten-adults (or seats 12 adolescent-dolts, a-dolts, as Mr. Dinkleton links to quip when his son Donnie has a bunch of his sweaty, mischievous  athletic friends over to circumspectfully watch naughty stuff like H-B.O, as Dad-D calls it)....All of them sitting uncomfortably (because of all the horsing around of Young Don's dinklefriends, not because the couch is sub-optimal) half-circle sectional (now pushed together as of this episoda)  Dinkoliner.  But with just the M. & Ms., the vast couch seems like an empty theatre showing a 3rd rate movie, rather a hot pro football game on the TV.  So the presents (Father Don to Wife Donna when they arrive, sarcastically:  Look: All of our Best Friends have descended like locusts on the Dinklehouse) of Donnie's typically unruly dinklepals are a godsend mixed in with a time bomb.

But, on the brighter side....f there can be a brighter side with those troublemaking bozos in yer million dollar living room.....father and son Don/Dan have proven repeatedly that  a laserline projected from the perfectly evenly spaced tri-centers of the couch to beautifully, 'perfectly'  trisect the 38"/24"/35&1/2" 3-dimensional TV sphere perfectly, each passing through the exact same,  nexus-centrale of the 3 optalicons....Therefore a multidimensional proof of the optimality of the placement of the couch and the huge TV globule are essentially, within the range of perfect to tubular for human viewing.

Oh wait... a wrestlng match in Donnie's toxic friend zone has just knocked all three pieces of the sectional way out of optimal TV alignment just as the Opening Kickoff has flown out of bounds, seemingly influenced by the horseplay in the Dinklers' living room!

The couple's favorite game-time beverages are now in their chaking hands as a great sense of ultra-or-hyper-reality fills the room:  Father Don is holding:  a sturdy 20-ounce can of ultra-cheep but critically acclaimed  Dregweiler Light Autumnfust Beer.... 

And turning to lovely, still-youthful -- almost girly-looking! -- ooooh, daxn!: if she were only still available!!! -- Danielle (aka Dana, Donna, Danky, Dina, etc.) Dinkleton, mother of handsome/pretty, intelligent, popular (but not overly so, because of his reticence except when with his 'i9nner circle' -- whom all, along with son Danny, left the room and gone crashing and banging horseplaying their way down to the thankfully-soundproofed Dinkle-basement, claiming that 'this game is INCREDIBLY BORING, Dad!!  Geeesh!! when of course only the kickoff has occurred so far... This leaves daughter Danielle (aka Dana, Diana, Dinky, Dona, etc.)friendless (by her own choice on this day, to protect her friends from exposure to her brother's mini-brain friends), as well as sometimes ever-so-slightly reluctant wife of Don, about three yards away from hubby Don in Sunday football terms, or almost exactly halfway between hubby Don and the right end of the couch, at least in their current formation....another near-perfect bisection....  

Lovely adult Danielle, sipping on watered down persimmon juice spiked with a light Chablis on the rocks.....sipping this concoction  from a small goblet, feeling much better that the boys quickly flipped out and disappeared into a soundproofed zone of their lovely home.  

 'Okay, it's third downthree yards to go, my love...Pay close attentione' maintenantl!' warns a cheerful Dad Don aka Daniel Dinkleton, leaning toward his lovely wife, asking: 'Aren't you excited!'  ...Then swinging frantically back to the position where he has the clearest big-screen view... straightening himself back into his prior, 3-yard-distant neutral position, his face twisted with pure intensity, as if he may poo from being so fully clenched, his legs spread as wide as they will go, as if welcoming the game.....To Dad Dan, who has been sequestered upstairs, watching pro football games all day alone in his tiny, crowded Dinkleden with the standard orders from The Lovely Little Boss downstairs 'No pro football on TV downstairs in family space until 5 PM and the kids' homework has been satisfactorily completed, parent-reviewed, kid-revised and then given an official parent-approval! sticker, disguised as a colorful, fun 'Have a Tiny the Tickler GRRREAT day' sticker for the teacher -- and the child, too, of course.

'What's the name of the team with the ball?' comments Ms. D., who is actually NOT staring at the team with the ball, but tirelessly enjoying dusk slowly fall via her view from the dinklesofa of their rolling, pretty, 3 acre lot that lovely mature Danielle can see if she looks ever so slightly above  the TV set...albeit the palyers crashing and the whistles blowing and the commentator endlessly explaining and analyzing the organized chaos is a significant, discordant distraction re her attempt to focus on the beauty and peace they happen to 'own' (ha ha she thinks) at this point in the 21st century.  Yes, she needs to be careful in how far her face and eyes are tilted, but that is really what Donna is watching, excluding an occasional commercial that momentarily interests her.... 

At nightfall, somewhere deep into the 2nd quarter, after seemingly dozens and  dozens of life insurance, beer, tire, automobile, lawn mower, snow blower, muscle-building, pizza restaurant, male vitaimin, casino etc.  (some kinds only on the local station break) Wife Dana or Danky or Doodles  or Dewlap hen casually asks hubby Dan if it's okay to throw on the DinkleLawnBeams that light up their beautiful surroundings almost as if it were day.....  0h ,she thnks, I am dying under a landslide of cute names: contemplation of nature may be my only Dinkle-; NO!! my, Donna Dinkleton's, only course  ...Thinking on, her mind partial printout: 'there really are lots of nicknames, way too many really, a totally confusing amount, flying around in truly almost pathologically corny fashion within this Dinklehouse, the Dinkle realite'...No!  Flying around this house, and this, our God-given reality! 

Wife Danielle snaps back then into Dinklerealite' as she thinkles:  'Thank goodness there are no nearby neighbors to complain about our aesthetically tuned and crafted searchlights!  Oh, it's so so nice when deer -- or especially a fawn -- comes gently, tentatively. self-consciously walking through the lighted area, staring back at the beams, the beautiful natural animals probably naturally perceiving: 'You ask me, there's something wrong with those people.... real weirdos..and energy-wasters as well!'

Gazing back at the game, as she periodically in case hubby Don is keeping a close eye her, Mom Danielle Sr. thinks for the thousandth time:  I know $$, security for themselves and their families, and of course ego, and of course enjoying being part of a team of similar warriors, is the answer why the players play this stupid, violent game...Maybe combined with some kind of other-destructive/self-destructive rush to oblivion...Like Foreigner sang in 'Double Vision' when I was in kindergarten, and maybe it was recorded before she was Baby Born even: 'Tonight's the night I'm gonna take it to the limit!  I'm gonna to live all my life in a single minute!!...In my eyes, I see double surprise....'

But, thinking now of the observers, why in heavens name would any human being want to look at those armored men crash and smash into each other again and again and again... here comes the trainers rushing out of the field... whooops, and now here comes a stretcher for someone who's hardly moving.... 

'And how lame is that 'ball' that is fat in the middle with pointie tips on either end?  Why not put nipples on each endpoint too for these big 300 pound babies to suck on before they HUT1-HUT2-HUT 3 - HUT-HUT HIKE!!!!! I mean, isn't a ball supposed to be circular in all directions or it can't roll properly? 

These are a few of the millions of things Ms. D has never understood since she was a little girl ....Until she realized that at best we'll kinda understand a few things out of the millions.....And only if we don't look into the daffynition too deeply...

Andof course the obloid football question.....   The answer if there is one would probably make no sense to her, go on for days of heated discussions ebbing and flowing among all fambily members, could maybe even cause a big argument, with her needing for sanity to tear off to the Dinkletown Luxury MegaMall for a restorative period, since in its vast, endless-feeling parking loot, it contains a huge, beautyfull, Buckingham Palace Motor Inn... Oh, just for a day/night or two of luxurious peace, BY HERSELVES....leaving her kids to deal with Dad as best they can (and they are FAR better at that than her, at least in Donna's mind, at managing him as well as getting their way with him....

...But of course, she does love the Old Dinkler, as ultraconventional and weird and OCD and hyperstructured as he is... And she knows the kids feel the same dinkly way aboot him...  And she doesn't want to ever to do anything that will disrupt the heavenly(?, well at least surreal) DinkleHarmony. 

And she knows her hubby, God bless him, IS an incredible nuisance and so straight he's completely crooked... But still a darn good Dad, a daxn good dad, really, and, to be truthful, a decent husband too,  gentle, kind, pretty okay all things considerated.

It's halftime now, time NOT for the highlights of the other ongoing games (Danielle Sr. snaps off the picture with a flick of the controller), but time to discuss family issues, namely, the Dinklekids (particularly Danielle's, since she was the one that saw 'it' live) worry about a new alien invasion of Dinkletown.   

Mom nods to young male Dan:  'Tell us in a nutshell, Danny.  You and I both know that Dad and Sissy (just kidding, Sweety) are  hyper-anxious to see at least the 2nd part of the Halftime Report!'

Danny, coughing, then gains some composure, and says:  'Well, I didn't see it: sis Danny did...  But I know she becomes too scared when she talks about it, so I'll step in... Since I'm not as scared since I didn't see it, just heard about it... You know:  from first person reports from trusted friends....

Male Danny Jr., a blooming technical wizard, continues, having prepared for this before the 'big game':  'Those guys you see in the picture that I am projecting up onto the TV screen, using our own TV to project it based on my blooming technical expertise.... Well those odd, angry, or at least weird looking little fellows that are causing a stir among all the Holiday Shoppers in driving business away from our deserving local merchants -- and look, for all we know, it may prove to be something good they did, like your old best friend  and ex-football-star pride of Dinkletown Ron Krapt had some incurable disease, so they sent him back to their more advanced planet so the doctors there could save his life and then beam him back to earth, as good as new, if not even better!  But anyway, when they beamed their weird ray gun's ray at hobbled local legend Ron Krapt...'

Father Don, a bit shocked and terrified:  'Well, go ahead, I would have Krapt in my pants if they hit me with that beam.... OMG!!  This is awful...!!  Ron Krapt... we go back a long, long, long way....  What a guy...A pro football player too, most importantly, when it comes to friendship and bragging rights!  I didn't realize it was him...Ohhh  noooo...I love that guy, and not just for the celebrity-ruboff factor!!'

Dad raises himself shakily off the couch, wobbling:  'This better not be some kinda joke... 'Cause I gotta rush to the bathroom -- my whole body is an uproar of disbelief.... I may have even Krapt in my...  Look. I'll be back in to discuss this more if I'm able when I can pull my Krapt together....I goota find the hoooper!'

And with that, the usually unflappable Father Don dashes off to the bathroom, doing an end run, as if he were one of the players in the game they had all been at best half-watching....except for Dad D., that was.

And for you sensitive readers, we'll give you a little inside good news... Ron Krapt, his butt in the air in a sling, i.e. in buttraction, is now resting confortably in a local hospital, having been cumpletely cured of colorectal cancer by the supposedly insidious and evil Molemen...! 

Darn!!  Isn't that some darn thing??  Whom would ever belieb it?  Who says no news is goot news? 









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