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 IS NOW APPROACHING THE 1,100 episode MILESTONE,  each of the 1,100+ mini-epics each enjoyable on a stand-alone basisJust in its five years of existence, at this hard-to-find, off-the-beaten-path site and a few no-longer-existant Skunkville threads on a few message boards  , 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 redefining and re-engineering the novel from scratch, flourishes on its own tireless, restless, bizarre, inquisitive energy 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

Origin of Their 'Retirement Villa'

Walt, donning his management-supplied helmet: 'You know, Edna and Fiddles, Retirement Hotel Management has recommended that all occupants where a helmet at all times... And especially when we are navigating our way up and down the several-mile-long downward-spiralling cave-ledge walk to the Exit!' .
Edna: 'Yes... I take my helmet with me now wherever I go... And aren't you two amazed at how much weight I've lost by just doing the hour-long from our mountain top loft up and down to the regular surface of Mexico.. Like when we're bringing the groceries in from our rental mule...!'
Fiddles: 'Yes... And I've noticed the female daschhunds are paying attention to me for the first time in decades,,,Since I now look like a lean mean hotdog dog, not like a fatty, greasy sausage with legs!'
Walt: Yes, some of the staff have told me that this is not actually a rundown, rat-infested ex-mountain, but actually a run-down, rat-infested Mexican pyramid...!
Walt: ' know now I've begun thinking this could well really be a rundown Aztec -- or now I'm thinkin -- MAYBE INCAN!! -- pyramid, not just a rundown mountane!'
''re a real genius! Where did you think all the rooms came from in this shxt-castle anyway? Giant bees hiving??'
Hostoric Elder Mountain Elder Lodge
Walt: 'Mebbe them Inkcans are renovating YOU too Edna...Mama Mia!! But what are you doin' with that steplattern? Putting up some more home decore for us'ns?'
Walt: 'You know what Fate Magazine said about these peeramidst and the o'cult, Edna??!!!
Edna: 'Oh shutup with that old 1950's hoax crxp...Help me put this picture up!!'
'Do either or both of you need a carter to take you to the Infirmity?'

Walt, running his fingers over the top of his helmet, so nice and smooth.  'I feel like nothing can hurt me once I put this on...'

Edna, sweaty but beautiful, who's been working all day on improving the interior of their high-altitude scum-cave.  'Then try diving off the ledge outside our unit and see if you still feel the same way!'

Walt, turning decisively and walking towards their front door, or 'cave mouth', that opens onto the five-foot-wide, unprotected ledge -- the distance over a thousand feet to the rocky ground below!!

'You flakin' axle!' growls loyal, protective Fiddles, the now-talking daschund, as he races snarling towards the 'mouth' of their cave to stop or at least slow Walt down!

But Walt is tired of the mental battering he is getting from what he perceives is the 'team' of Edna and Fiddles, and he quickly turns left and then leans against the wall, so that when Fiddles comes out, he will think Walt has finally 'gone over the edge'!

Instead, though, the loyal and loving Fiddles sees open space outside thecavemouth, and immune to any fear but that about his longtime owner and caretaker, poises to himself leap over the edge!

Walt, in terror at this development, dives across the ledge, snatching Fiddles by his hind legs...  But his momentum carries both of them OVER THE EDGE!!!!

Immediately, though, they hit a solid surface a few feet below the ledge... An automatic catchment ledge fashioned without any kind of electrical or chemical power by the ancient Aztecs, they learn later!...  

Luscious revitalized Edna appears casually at the cave door:  'Hey, boys... In what kind of dangerous tomfoolery are you two tangled??'

Walt, sore despite the fact his fall was only a couple of feet:  'Tomfoolery??  I need someone to cart me to this resort's Infirmity to get myself checked out...  You too, Fids!'

Immediately, an ancient carter appears around the curve in the ledge near their unit's 'door'...really just a curtain.

'Do either of you need a ride to the Infirmity?  I'll be glad to oblige:  But it will have to be one at a time...'

Edna steps out of the doorway, as the carter cries "Va-va-voooooooooooom!!' to himself.

Carter:  'I'm the carter, fellows... But Ladies first...  You two males look fine to me... Just a little bruised.'

Edna:  'Huh?  But I'm not even hurt?'

Carter:  'I don't care who you are:  Climb in and enjoy the ride

more to come




Fiddles: 'Of course I know how to play cards... What about you and Edna??'

Having purchased a beat-up, slanting old collapsible card-table from the management for $115 American and a deck of what turns out to be 49 greasy cards, including three 4's of diamonds instead of the aces of each suit and two Old Maids, the threesome, sitting around the card table, are trying decide what to play....while a very pleasant dry clean breeze steadily keeps the air fresh and dry in their cave perhaps 700 feet above the Mexican ground.

Walt keeps shuffling the cards as they try to decide which game, if any, to play....

Fiddles, winking lewdly at Edna:  'What about strip poker?'

Edna, annoyed:  'Sure... You're already naked... What have you got to lose?'

Walt, eyeing his adversaries:  'Well, all you have on is your bra and a pair of air-conditioned panties... While I am also featuring my air-conditioned Jockies....'

Fiddles, squinting, and growling a bit:  'Air-conditioned?  I would say things down there are half in and half out, given the size of the holes in that sad pair of undies!!'

Edna, primly:  'I agree with Fiddles, Walt... Find something you can place on your lap, even if it is only Fiddles himself...  The view is kind of seedy, not very scenic at all.'

Fiddles yaps angrily at Edna's suggestion:  'Why not lend him a pair of your panties... I sniffed -- no, I mean I saw you had quite a few panties, Edna, that looked pretty serviceable...Your waist measurements are about the same as Walts, I would say...'  Fiddles finishes, eyeing Edna's groin and then Walt's, and then back and forth again, his head dipped under the table for the best view, as Edna's eyes flash and she again begins to raise her hand in a threatening way towards Fiddles....

When Fiddles finally returns 'above deck' again:  'Phewie!!  We need to point the fan under the table, I think!  Blow some of that fetid air back out at the Mexicans... as well of course as our other neighbors from the U.S. and supposedly a dozen other countries including Atlantis!'

Edna, raising her hand, as if he was still a mischievous pet rather than simply another intelligent, communicative animal like her and Walt. 

Walt, jumping up and grabbing her hand in mid-air...'I think NOT!  I know it's perpetually hot, and we all are frequently dripping sweat unless we're Fiddles who somehow has his armpits in his mouth... Let's accept among ourselves that we will each make a daily effort to become at least semi-clean and semi-decent-smelling, and leave it like that for now!'

Fiddles:  'Look, let's just start with something simple like War.  Walt, deal us out three equal size piles of cards and then we'll start simultaneously each flipping over the top card, the highest card defeating -- and thereby capturing -- the other two, lesser cards!!'

Edna, dazed:  'What?  In this uncertain, unfamilar environment, it may take Walt and I weeks to learn complex rules like that!!'

Fiddles, shaking his head:  'Okay.  We'll flip one card up apiece and I'll tell you which one wins.... You should get the drift after just watching the flow of play for a couple days...'

Walt, concerned:  'Say... If what you describe is really a game, it sounds like someone might run out of cards after a while...  What then?'

Fiddles:  'Well, of course, they lose. and have to be the gofer or servant for the other two players until one of them runs out of cards....'

Walt:  'Okay, but then what happens?' 

Fiddles:  'Game over.  I win.... I mean, the last person will own all the cards,  Thus, they can decide which game to play next.  Or, we could add kookie rules, like the losers have to lick the winners xxxxxxxx sparkling clean, or give them a nice cool bath, or a bone to chew on...!!'




Edna: 'Hasn't this curtain I've put up over the cave wall really cheered things up, given us a splash of relaxing, invigorating color??'
Walt: 'Yes... Now we can really rest in peace...Knowing we're already safely entombed in our mountain retreat...'
Edna, turning almost white: 'OMG!!! Look..Lo-oo-ok towards the cave opening..... I swear it's Fiddles at the cave opening...How could he possibly followed us all the way from Ohio to Mexico,,,, And found the right unit 23G in this hidden mountain elderdevelopment??... And look how angry and almost demented he looks!! Is that a tiny one of those Derringer pistols in his right paw??'' Walt: 'Yes, I think it might be.... But that's his left paw... Don't you remember? He's left-pawed, Edna... You know, the more I'm with you now, the more I realize how much you've kind of...'
Edna: 'Yes,,,, I can see the bitterness...the almost insane anger now...If only we had some kind of communication device to call room service,,, or the management...'

Yes, as the sidebar indicates, the Browns have begun to settle into their unique new home, and have begun to experience the joy and contentment to which they are used, even though they are jonesing off their ungratified Ovaltine habit and finding the cave floor somewhat hard and uneven to sleep on....  And then Fiddles arrives, angry at their betrayal, their abandonment of him!

As Fiddles alternatively growls and whines and then suddenly seems peaceful and even a little playful, only to grown and whine and growl and snap again, Edna says:  'It has to be the rigors of his incredible journey....He's likely half out of his mind from the sun beating down on his thin fur....Then the frigid, windy, rainy nights. The experience may make him stronger in the long run... if a daschound could be said to have a 'long run' at 20+ years of age....But in the meantime, it has been very stressful and has lefted him in a weakened, emotionally unstable state!'

Just as if to dramatize his 'Mom's' POV, Fiddles approaches Walt snarling and gnashing his teeth and foaming sporadically at the mouth.... But then as Walt reaches gently out to calm him, he bites Walt's hand hard -- well, as hard as a dog with very few teeth and not much remaining vigor can...

Walt, rubbing his hand, reaches out again, ready to retract it...but really, it's only bleeding a bloody little bit....

And now Fiddles, those thousands of miles of following their scent to this hellish region having made him feel quite an adventurer and quite brave as well as weak and sick as a dog, a dog perhaps literally on its last legs....

'I'm all mixed up, guys.... I'm double-dog-tired from that seemingly endless four-legged death march... The heat, the sun on my tender, sensitive skin 'neath my thin covering of dark brown hair.... And worse yet on my bald spots....'

Walt nods, rubbing his still overly dry, sunburned bald area on his noggin.  'Tell me about it, pal... But, not to interrupt:  Are you now finally capable to speaking our language, as it seems from your last comments... I mean, I always felt I knew you were saying the things like you just said, by your expression, and the tone and timbre and speed or leisureliness of your yips and yaps...and by your body language....and the smell and direction of your breath as well as that of your xarts.'

Edna, wild-eyed, looking back and forth at the two as they banter.  'Hey... Have you guys had this secret society all along.... But what about me.... What about my love and caring.... My special treats, like dog bisquites a la Ovaltinie....?'

Walt:  Look.... I think we're all overwrought....  Let's just chill and accept things as they're happening.... This is the way it is and probably the way it's supposed to be....If there even is a 'supposed to be' in this crazy universe we call the Skunkville Sogga...'

Fiddles, nodding slightly, shuffles over, obviously in some pain from walking thousands of miles at his age, and shakily raises a paw for a 'high five'.... But instead, Walt gently holds it, using his other hand to support Fiddles' shaky body, and leans over and gives Fiddles a big sloppy kiss on the forehead....  Then backs away, nodding to Edna to complete the new ritual with her smooch.

Edna:  'No way, Jose....I'm not kissing that spot where there's all o' yer slobber.... But I will pick out my own spot to smooch him....'

Fiddles tilts and turns his head, trying to watch both at once, muttering 'I really need a split screen here...', studying Walt's reaction to this compromise.  Walt shrugs, then thinks some more, and slowly nods.  'So be it...' he pronounces.  'We are a new family now in a new land.  So it is also appropriate for new rituals to emerge...'

Edna, her old head shaking a bit, seems lost in thought, or caught in an impossible dilemma... Then she darts forward and gives him her big smacker right on his snout....Was there even some tongue to tongue action there for a second???  We'll have to check the slo-mo video replay for that.... And the engineer, cracking up, has just given me a thumbs up yes to photo-documented tongue tangling in the smooch!!  As a surprised Fiddles swoons, rolling over on his back his paws in the air....his mouth drooling...his eyes bugged, looking at the roof of the cave!




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?' 


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