A mind trip unlike any other. The wild adventures of a humble, easy-going couple in a small, nondescript American town, including those of a diverse, ever-changing, weird cast of friends & acquaintances, young and old. This amiably outlandish, often irreverent, R-rated tale RECENTLY PASSED THE 1,000 episode MILESTONE, each of the 1,050+ mini-epics each enjoyable on a stand-alone basis. Just in its three -plus years of existence, at this hard-to-find, off-the-beaten-path site and the even more obscure hard to find Skunkville threads on a few message boards  , the Saga has received many hundreds of thousands of reader visits, with a million visits not remote. Almost inevitably, as Skunkville continues to surge so far in virtual anonymity, it will eventually be 'discovered' by BIG interests and sold to them...AND IN THE PROCESS WILL LIKELY BE DRASTICALLY EDITED/REVISED/CONDENSED, MAKING IT LESS BIZARRE AND UNPREDICTABLE, MUCH MORE 'READER-FRIENDLY' AND 'SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE'. THIS SITE WILL BE GONE AND ALSO MY RIGHTS TO PUBLISH THIS IN ITS PURE, ORIGINAL STATE. Kirkus Reviews says of Skunkville Saga, 'A relentless, bizarre phantasmagoria', 'Few reading experiences match this one', 'Totally unpredictable', 'otherworldly', 'madcap', 'flippant', 'continue(s), endlessly, down a rabbit hole of absurdity....' 'will appeal to.... most adventurous readers' These are hard times for books/novels, yet Skunkville, by redefining and re-engineering the novel from scratch, flourishes on its own tireless, restless, bizarre energy and endless charm...despite lack of any publisher or other backing/funding! judged most similar to Skunkville according to Kirkus critics....both among the greatest novels of all time!
President Barack Obama, speaking to the wave of unusual vowel movements that have affected the population of earth, as well as the men and women of our country, who are here or stationed on other planets or assturdoids: 'O Yas ah'm ahn TV raht now ta talk ta ya abot tha crazy pax that hos strack ahr planat Oarth, and haw 'at offacts papal dafforantlay ahn thah basos ahf the vawal ardor ahv thar nam. Mah nam ObAmA, BArAck hosts far A's an a row lad aff bay an O.'
Buddy Bittman, Skunkville Passe' Bandleader of Record, brought in to add a hominess and homely downscale reassurance to the scary announcement: 'Just listan tu yir man, Ubima. Hu'll bring ass thru this crahsus!!'
Pres.: 'Yo! Baddy Battman Noat that 'y's' ahr NAT consadarad bah thos awfal dasas....'
Buddy: Whuts ih dasus?'
Pres,: 'O ah gas a sacknoss, lak tha cald ar th' flo! Baht what sang ar' yo ganna start aff woth, Baddy?'
Buddy, gracefully turning towards his Bittmanalieres : 'Uh....'Th' girl fram Upinamu!!
Upsut uftur tuu uf thu uldurhugun (nuw durugutury subvursuv cudnum fur uh grup thut suums tu buh sustumutucully ulumunutung thu unwuntud uldur puppul wuthiun thu Skunkvull pupulushun) uppyr tuh huv hud uh lurdg purshun uf thur butts turn uff by Truppur Fluck, sum kund of huge, nusty dog who hus summed tu huv gauned unuff untulluguncz tuh spuuk crudly un thu Unglush lunguhge, ulbyut wuth uh huvvy dug-ucsunt (must uf thu wurds suum tu buh vuryushuns un 'wuuf-wuuf', 'ruff-ruff', 'urf-urf', 'buw-huw',(uh burk unducatung sudnuss), 'yup-yup' (often uh burkung unducutur uf ugryymunt wuth unuthur dug's PUV), utc., utc.).... Plus, suncs thu cunyne Truppur Fluck us uv Scundunuvun/Fur-Usturn urigun, Fluck ulsu sums upt tu ulsu uz thu 'wurds' ur 'exclumutiuns' uf vuv-vuv, vuf-vuf, bluf-bluf, wuuf-wuuf, wuf-wuf, kuf-kuf, uh-uh, uch-uch, buj-buj, vuw-vuw, ghuv-ghuv, lul-lul, and ung-ung, luck-luck, butt-butt, huwl-huwl, und puw-puw (uh burk unducatung uh buhd smuhll; ruduructiun tuh uthur ruut rucummundud).
Walt, still refusing to join any uni-vowel sub-society within the Anti-Elderhagen Trooper Group, but therefore endangering his and his longtime daschhund pet Fiddles and -- oh yes -- wife Edna's lives but believing in fact that variety is the spice of life, and that a de facto reduction of the alphabet to only one vowel per vowelsect, and a worldwide possibly earth-destroying war among the vowel-sects once all the multi-vowel people have been 'removed from the equation' seems to be imminent, even though so far the 'trouble' has only been identified in West Skunkville, where Walt and Edna have the misfortune to live, a small area within the larger town of Skunkville, Ohio near to where the bus depot that picks up and delivers and returns people who have paid to go to or return from Toledo, and where the city's only 24-hour cigarette machine is located.
And of course, 'Holy Toledo!' \has been the reaction of the prosperous T & S Bus Line, as they have scrambled to move their operation to East Skunkville before it is destroyed in any explosive guerilla or possibly even gorilla violence, as the extremists among the anti-Elderhagen faction have decided that a growing economy is important for their movement, and that therefore they will free the gorillas, male AND the often-surprisingly sexy female gorillas from all the Ohio zoos to join their movement and therefore serve as replacements for gender partners in the case where none of the Skunkville women survive the strife of the here and now and the much greater strife to come, if this anti-elderhagen group is able to take over Skunkville or maybe all of Ohio, and perhaps the entire Northeast U.S.A., maybe even up into French Canada and then seeping over into the main part of our friendly Northern Partner...and on into Alaska, maybe cross into Asia via the Falkland Islands, etc., etc. With the other planets in the solar system as well as the nearby star of Alpha Centuri and all its planets if any are habitated, or even inhabited.
Walt, Edna, and several other Skunkville seniors such as the garrulous and prudish Mary Babbage, the precise Pitt Pricklestein, perhaps an ornery Italian Jewish fellow based on the last name name, hardy day laborer Greck Plunko, and the fading but still lovely Fleghma Frutehagen are standing alongside the grub table where soon today's poohagen, upchecken, scurvin, and poisse will be served -- which their capturers each promise and certify is not only safe but body-building and nutritious to butte:
Here's exactly how these reassurances sounded:
Trepper Fleck: 'Feed yer beddy end yer mend well fellew weth these helthee trets!'
His misckiller bist frind ind #1 rivil, Trippir Flick: 'Yi kin bit yir liff in thih gidniss in thiis snicks!!'
The arousing, attractive Trappar Flacka: 'Thank thah Lard far thass fantastack maal! Ahman!!'
The hugen, 600 pound Tropper Flock, the size of maybe 3 normal Elderhagen Search & Destroy Agents: 'Doon't ool flook oot oncs to tho food.... Tok torns or Troppor Flock woll crosh yoo hod by sottin on yor bloody brin!!'
Tryppeyr Flyck: Rymymbyr: Tyn yn -- Tyrn yn -- Dryp yt.... Fyllyw my wyz ynd lyv fyryvyr yn my hyngyt Nyrvynyh!!
Fur-Luggud Truppur Flurk: Burk! Burk! Burk!..... Gruwwwulllll.....Buuurrgghhtsky!!!~ Buuurrgghhtsky! Gruwwwulllll.....
Walt, shocked and pale: 'Edna: Truppur Fluck just bit the entire buttskis off captive elderhagen Greck Plunko and his new girl friend of the last few minutos, Fleghma Frutehagen!!
Edna, her hand going to her mouth in shock and concern: 'That's sure going to put a dent in their abilities copopulate and hev helthy offspringsk!!! Wilt, kin soneone's bitt be reattachee'd' to the roost of thir buddy??'
Wult: 'I dint kniw abit thit, Idnia....Bit lits kip thim iway frim yir shapily can!! I can't imijin lif withit yer shiply kin to squiz and byte!!'
Trepper Fleck, hengen weth hes kellegg Trepper Fleck: 'When yeh genneh lern hew te telk ret, Fleck? Eff yeh essk meh yeh genneh get kecked ret etteh here eff yeh dent lern hew teh speck leck ehn edelt net eh gew-gew bebby... Kent ye tell everytheng yehr seyen ess gebberesh???
Trippir Flick, shiking his hid in disbillif: 'Yi git it ill bickwird Flick, yir thi win with birriwid tiym frim thi stipid inkimprihinsibil wiy yi iz tilkin!'
Mir ti kim sin, rider, jist wit in sii
bit hiv i gid ivining frind, lick firwird tih yir nixt vizit!!
A bes riors up ynd depesits sevyral mer trippors....
Pratty, faysty Trappar Flacka
Yuppy pup Truppur Fluck
Roly poly hoomoongoos Troppor Flock
Spycy lyst Tryppyr Flyck: 'Tyn 'n, Tyrn 'n, Dryp 'tt.'
Fleck is one of the Elderhagen Special Unit of the Skunkville Police Force... This Militia has been trying to capture Walt & Edna as well as other Skunkville seniors with triple digit ages and send them to the rendering plant to be put to better use to Skunkville interests there than in their current self-directed activities -- sleeping, watching TV but not comprehending much if any of the content, unintentionally killing their indoor and outdoor plants by feeding them say pet food and/or gasoline, the latter to help them 'go' better....And in general being a drain on scarce town resources, like their endless drainage on medical professionals whose time is more meaningfully spent on patients with some 'upside', or their selfish exhaustion of funeral planners and public rest rooms (where a centenarian uses up 367% more time and 591% more TP per visit!!).... and their creation of a shortage of affordable walkers and wheelchairs needed by younger people who had an unfortunate accident, like wrecking their car speeding when high or drunk, or while barely avoiding or actually running over a thin, insubstantial, bent over, creeping, grayish, frail, blandly dressed, hard to see elderhagen or unpredictable flock of elderhagens -- or simply from the experience-and enlightenment-craving younger people exploring new levels and types of consciousness and cool perception distortions while driving wildly and carelessly and even viciously for a feeling of empowerment and revenge as well as for the expansion of their spirit and/or their metaknowledge, as in 'I metahotchick last nite...but can't remember her name or anything about her other than her xxxx, but that's enough to make me wish I had gotten some much better info on her....!!!!'
Fleck and his partner, was it Flick? I can't remember. Anyhow, at the end of the last episode, Elderhagen Control Agents Flick & Flack were closing in on our heroes, super-centenarians Walt and Edna Brown, as the endless saga of the Brown's ordinary, uneventful life is beginning to close in on the two million word masterpiece mark (I'm sure you've read the entire thing several times over yerself already, but to some newbies it's length is formidable: 'I'll be dead myself, my story over, by the time I finish this overblown pseudo-epic!'), equal in length and bulk to a tall, ceiling-high repeatedly toppling pile of shorties anf quick-and-dirties like Tolsotoy's War in Peas* or Eye Hand's Coordivination or her The WaterFountainHead or Atless Shrunked, or The MadHatters Phone Hystericdirectomy .
* A startlngly long novel about the internal rivalries, romantic, rheumatic, and pea-snorting-related among Wisconsin pea farmers
Suddenly, Fleck grabs his partner Flick as they raise their revolvers to gun down Walt & Edna, now only a few yards ahead of them, albeit some of the yards with ferocious guard animals, or hard to cross deep flower gartens, or hard to surmount high spiked fences. Fleck pants: 'Pent pent pent pent... Whet's weth these fxxken' elderhegens, blegthtly welkeng ecress e bleck er twee werth ef prevet preperty beckyerds?? Den't they hev eny respecket fer thengs whet ethers ewn????'
Flick wrInches himsIlf away frim Fleck, wh' wez broedkesteng hes bed breth ret entew Flick's fiss is thiy wirr wilkin
Flick: 'Whidyi brithin fir yi nimbskill???' 'Pint pint pint pint'.... Is thit pirt iff thi sickrit kimmiwnickishin kids I bin firgittin, livvin' mi in thi dirk?.... Hmmm. fir 'pints' whil mikin ih riddind fiss ind pinting it yir risping chist 'nd ixhibiting irkspisms ...'nd niw fir mir...ind fir mir....ind niw yir Iii's rillin' bick in yir hidd...'
Flick leaving go of Fleck as his partner flops onto the ground, bouncing once, then completely still. 'I firgit my sicrit kid bick, dingit...Bit -- hiii!! stip thit shxt whir yir iiis in't git ni piwpils...I HiT THiT SHXT....I gIss thi piwpils rillid ip intiw yir brin fir cliss, I gis... Bit whit thiy'll lirn ip thir is pribibly nit wirth thi iffirt.
Fleck: <effert> 'S'cewse me, thet's been reght neer the beck derr fer mebbe the lest 15 menets, s' I deceeded teh lee dewn end let it ett fer eh lewrence welk!
Flick kintiniws his minilig: 'Min, I igrii with yih tittilly, lying thir with yir ting hingin' ling ind linki frim thi sid if yir drillly mith, ind yir fiss ill pill ixcipt fir thim rill dirk spits....ind yir twitchin' lik yir it ih St. Vitis Dinsc...ind tryin' fir thi dirr priz...
Edna and Walt, who have noticed that Flick and Fleck seem to be having troubles of some sort, perhaps communication or language difficulties, have drifted back closer to them, letting them ketch up quite a bit, so as to figure out what their status is and whether they pose a real threat.
Edna, after listening to them from maybe fifty yards away: 'Yes, I see what you mean, Walt. It's almost like the two of them are from separate countries, each with a separate dialect, or at least a different kind of accent.... It gives me a terrible headache to listen to them and the one tries to translate before the other goes on and say something else in their jibberish.'
Walt: 'Raht ya arr thar Adna....Bat A bat aff a parsan lastand tah at lang enaf, thay maht start dawang thamsalfs...'
Edna, looking at Walt now in horror, as if his head had turned to that of a manster: 'Ye hev the ellment yerself new, yew edjet!! Eh mess getewey frem yeh and never see yeh eggen!!!'
And with that, Edna, mistakenly believing herself to be the last normal person of the four, tears off into the night, as Walt looks around himself in total confusion: 'Ah rallay dan't knaw what tah daw naw?!?! Samwan halp mah plaas!! Whats wrawng wath mah??? Ah fall alraght, daggan at!!!...
Walt, ays saddanly baggan awt an tarrar: 'Baht ah'll admat that ah;ve kawt sawm naw kanda cantaadgassad acsant mahsalf, far garsh shakays!! And ah bahlaav ahts cahntagaous far gahdnass sakay!!!'
Fleck: TE BE KENTENEWD
Walt, relexen un th' cowch, reedin' a cuppy o' Th' Centrul Ohigho Wissle Stup, stell anuther o' th' menny noosepapers nuw inundulating the Brunn's regin.
'Edner...Dead yeh see hur thet aar reechen hez th' hi-est raita sennilizm 'n deh stet 'n maybee eben th' wirled?'
Ednur, irronin ott th' uset bit nett tuw darty turlet papper un her iron bord...'Yez...we're vurry lukky 'n thet regarter.'
Wullet: 'Y' thinkee sow, 'er 'r we fullin' erselps?'
Ednil, turning on Wult and steckin' the het irun closet to Wultz faze... 'Git reddy to hev yer fays flittened eff yeh gunna dessert me... 'n go to sum elden hostel whar thay beet ye 3 chimes uh dey wather ye dezervs ett er nit!!'
There is a knock on the door.
'Shet up 'n hett th' flure...'
'OPEN UP! IT'S THE Elderhaggen Patroi!! WE KNOW two adultz age -- hay. lookithiss Jerry, 'age 200+'.... Thess trep 'n ketch cood meck us famus 'n the querry o' byuteful wimmen!'
'DIDYA HEAR THET, Fleck? THERZ NO ONE HOMELY RIT NOW!'
Fleck: 'Man...I'm tellin yuh man I'm tekkin' YOU in fer sennil depurtashion, you so premachurely sennil yerselfett!'
Edna whusperz: 'Shood we sneeek oot th' beckdur whil thar arguinn?'
Wult: 'Bit wut eff therz someones ett bicckkk tooow??'
Fleck: 'Yeh go roun' beck... Thet whey we gottem kernered.'
Jerry: 'Right-O, kaffee mate... 'N I'll get meh knuckott mellett aut reddy to smush thar nugginz to uh pelp!'
Fleck: 'Ye hert one har 'n ether hed 'n ahl mellett YER hed in!!'
Jerry, heading around back: 'Rit...Ah'll go pher smeshin' th' guy 'n th' nuttz 'n jess greb and squizz th' lady.'
Fleck: 'You hert 'r defilate 'em 'n anny wey 'n yu end up in jale...plussett I beet the levvin shett outa yeh furst!!'
Fleck, eyes buggin', then exclames: 'Wholely shett!! Therr gun...See 'em kweckly beckin that elden Studdenbaker dunn the drivelwey as we speek?'
Jerry, running for their high-powered patrol and capture curr: Thet coot 'n cootesse dun ettsmurted ess eggen!! Letz hup 'n err curr 'n inishiate a hi speed chasette rit nuw!!'
Fleck grebbs Jurry b' th' nick n' ses: 'Rool #1 uv err jebb: No hi speed chastening!! Dun't yu remembarr nuttin'??'
Ednuh, staring across the few feet that separate her from her husband of many, many decades 'n ev'n senturies: Wult...Not believing the sour, dour, resigned luuk on his farce.
'Don't ye cull me face a furse, you elder haggen!'
Edneh, shaking her fist impotently but nonetheless vigorously at Wult...'Elder haggun... Read'n me thots agin!! Why ye elden idjut 'n mail which!
Edneh risses, luukin frentickly fer her eggen batter, so as to teachet him a lessern!
(She continues digging in her kitchen utensil drawer for somethin') 'Whars me eggen beaterer teh rin up 'n dun yer throt??'
'It's in the kintchenk, war yu naw is ye olde hagge... Bet dun't get no crezzy ideas about whippen me brane inta' ham solad!'
She repplise: 'Shddup ye olde vammut-faece....I'll usen me eggenbaiter anywheys ah cheese!!'
Wult wulks unstadelly clusser turds Edn' i' th' kch'n. 'Yu elde haggen cretter...Ye ben alibe too lung un urth -- ter at leest wids me ter lung fer me liken'... I knead a noo mamba. Sumwin yung ind bootiful 'n boundifil 'n st'cked lik' a pr'gnent mulk cowen!'
She repplise, luckin' ovver her shilder at hes shedow 'n th' durrway: 'Fette chince any yung melkcowen wude wunt thee...Thed rither kilt thamsulfen thin b'wid th' wulkin ded licks yu!!
Walt sits bolt upright in his chair: 'Did you hear that dour-sounding but familiar thud Edna?'
Edna looking up from her sewing work on the crotch of Walt's No-LeaksTM Elder-undershorts for a second: 'Yes, I did. It sounded somewhat like the dour thud we hear when The Skunkville Daily Bugle is delivered.... But maybe a bit lighter.... Maybe like the the lesser heft and proportions of an Evening Paper... Yet every since the Skunkville Evening Eavesdropper and Peeping Tom was shut down by the Mayor for harrassing him -- even delivering the paper noisily to his hidden sub-ground wooden door that led to his private, hidden, of-unknown-and-shifting-location mayoral sanity sanctum sanctorum -- that His Honorable uses when he is meeting with his political cronies, and/or his favored underworld and international spying and smuggling and world-takeover syndicates.
Walt: 'Didn't he even once meet there with a dozen or so alien underworld figures from the Fridgean Galaxy, who wanted to start a 'side business' in Skunkville?
Edna: 'Yes, I think that's why the aliens were there.... But he gunned 'em down in cold blood as soon as they assembled, and even took possession of their spaceship, that he then had converted to an ordinary car, even though the tube-like vessel had the rock-hard, twitching, dripping potency to fly through space at the speed of light...'
Walt, nodding: 'Well, that's the sleazy -- or cheesy if you like -- or maybe even breezy rumor anyway that's being floated around town.,, and even out onto Skunkville Bay & Bayou as well as points beyond. But let's not informally convict the mayor without all the facts as well -- as hearing his sordid, anxiously/stumblingly-delivered, profusely sweating side of it.
'But personally, I don't blame him for ultimately burying that spaceship in the Skunkville Bog, in the acid pit where he had also thrown dozens of his political enemies, as well as people whom he felt or were rumored might eventually become his political enemies. as well as people who were so clean of any hint of suspicion that they had to be guilty, as well as a totally random set of citizens, just so everyone feared his rule! Remember, you and I were scheduled for distinction, but we used our imagination as well as our lack of speed and agility to turn the grave tablets and instead push the Coroner -- what was his name? --'
Walt, looking at her askance: 'No... I mean you just saw me finishing my flexibility exercises! Oh, hold it -- now I get it, I grab it, Edna....You mean the evil Coroner's name was Stiffe! Of course, you're right as always.... I should never ever allow myself to even think of disagreeing with or officiously correcting you...even when to my twisted mind yer answer or explantation sounds to me like yeaterday's cat shxt!'
Edna: 'Yes, but yesterday's cat shxt makes no sounds, and certainly not chains of words providing juicy experctorations!'
Walt: 'Yes, I defer to you on every point of dispute on the table and turn the job of spokesman over to your more sensible, sane self.'
Edna clears her throat as she continues doing her knitting in the Browns' cozy, dilapidated living room.
'I say I don't blame the Mayor regarding the disintegration of the spaceship...But I'm not nearly as copasetic about the disintegration of our town's slightly liberal-thinking school librarian or the goodly minister of our church who suggested that God might at times under certain circumstances be a better source for moral guidance than the Mayor!!'
Edna: 'I know neither you nor I has said anything about it to each other, because we're trying to keep our Kool....Incidentally: Do you have one handy? Every decade or so I get a kookie urge for a menthol ciggy and Kool was a big menthol brand during the years when the cigarette markets were really smokin'...
Walt checks his pockets, reminding her: 'I just remember: I quit lighting up right after my left nipple was shot off in the 19th Century Crimean War'.'
Only finding a pack of Salems -- which Edna waves off, but no Kools, Walt continues on his track: 'But I wonder why the Daily Bugler, who delivers the fine, highly Daily respected Bugle clear to Toledo and beyond.... Anyhow I wonder why their famed Bugler isn't tossin' Buglers at people's front doors, but instead keeps mournfully playing 'Taps' outside our front door?'
Edna, screwing her head up and to the side in an attempt to think more clearly: 'Do you think he might be making a prediction about someone in our household... I mean, our increasingly feeble and ornery daschhund Fiddles is now 26... I mean that's a pretty long life for a hot-dog doggie...or really nearly any kind.'
Walt: 'Or perhaps, since the Bugle has such a panoramic as opposed to myopic view of Our World, that the dwindling species of elderly tradition-bound people like us'ns is a dying breed... That now, even 80-90 year olds are left-wingers, who fall asleep listening to music by Quiet Riot and AC/DC and Faith No More rather than Jimmy Dorksey, and Guy Lumbago, and Benny Buntmann and his Buntmannalieres??'
Walt: Dozing over today's edition of the Daily Bugle.... while for some reason he is humming the tune of 'Reveille', suddenly comes into full consciousness: 'Edna...Do you hear that for gosh sakeness?! Someone's playing Reveille quite loudly at our door... Some xxxhxlx is playing Reveille as loud as only some big fat or short skinny 98-pound weakling whose all lungs can at 6 AM in Our mourning (that we have to leave our innocent nightly dreams of youth and romanticism rise and face still another day probably as filled with creaky brains and rheumatism as the one before).... Note that dystinkshyn: Our Mourning: Not the town's mourning of still another lousy day to face up to; Not the bugler's mourning over his lousy job that gets him up at 3 AM to begin clearing his lungsets. 'Edna...Do you read me, this is yer hugsband.... Do you hear that cackophony for gosh sake?! '
Edna, already up and wildly enjoying the brand spanking new opportunity to live and love another 24, jumps out of her chair after she carefully puts her morning sewing project to the side... 'Maybe you were humming it so loud, I couldn't hear the bungaleer!'
Walt, shaking his head: 'Bungaleer is right... A bungaleer who ought have a bung stuck in the end of his horn to hopefully shxt him ip till hill frizzes ivver---'
Edna opens the door a crack and then throws it wide open: 'Walt, c'mere... You won't believe this....I think from his dress that maybe it's the REAL ONE & ONLY Daily Bugler, the one who's on the cover of our Skunkville Daily and Evening Bugler newspapers and has been since 1805!!'
Walt, slowly shifting around in his chair as if he MIGHT rise, and then again might not...:Yes, it does sound like the dead or the dying trying to play Reveille. For one thing Reveille is played in a lively way.... Not like a funeral dirge where each sad note slowly, reluctantly is honked out with a little sniffle and perhaps a squeaky, likely putrid firt et etch pause.'
'That's becauz of me head cold and me related stummick upsit!' comes the answer from the buggeler ootside Wilts doorik. 'Givveth me a brake 'n invites me intu yir adobey, aut 'o the wistlin' cult...Me fett is freezin' t' dith!~'
Walt shicks his 'ead at thet offur....But in this case, wi' her control at th' actual site o' decishun-mak'ng, i.e. her hind 'n th' frint dir nubbin... 'Hee, Waltus...Thees dorknobbin fills strangely to me tetch....murr ;like tis elive 'n tvetchin'!'
Walt, leapingk to his fit...Sumhoo reechink the frint dirr en one jimput!....'Neh winder, mi dar, yer heldin onto his xxxx, nut th' frunt der nubbin!'
The unrilly min it the durr glarrz et Wilt 'n micks a moove asifith t' thro hez bugall itt Wilt's muggin. Wult dips himselvet t' avoyde sitch culamnity....bit th' consurn buggle est stell ind the buggler's hand, his udder hand now on Edner's rimpoon, rubbenk it upsy 'n downsy...'
Edna, purrin', and gy-ratin wid de rubs, lookin' aTWalt wi' a smiel: 'O m' der...Howryu manajin' to doo thatte'n frum 'crost th' ruum??'
Walt, hes facet ridder thin a beete...'Thits th' huudlump's gribber...nut myn!!
'That duzzit!!' Walt edds wi' a surten deddilly finality, as he lauwers 'is bulle headde 'n ruurs twurd ze' m'n et th' dur lik a lukemitive oot o' kuntrell.
Bit', ovkurs, the-eth x-periensedde humbungholerrrr op'nz th' durr 'nd Wulte iss goingk at sich turrdific pacett triggarred b' 'is immentset ind focussette enger thet he corntinues ritt pist Ednih ind th' EvilBungershteenick 'n up th' liddelle hielle i' th' drivvelwhey, finullty roannnin' broodsighde unta th' Bruwns' elderre wooten gajrrage wi' sich m'mentullum thitt th' entirr strickshure kullapses wi'th a hu' ge, un'ea'rth'ly, kittastriphick, ickowing, exzpluodingkle sunde, imedgjetly sittin' oufv th' Disaster Siren in Skunkville Centre, five milleages eweey...'nd leaffin' just une smickin' (thoot proebberbly jussette messift dist zcapingk) wrackke 'n ruinnashunng with nett the sliggehttest signes uvv liefvffe insides ett...
'Butte whoo currs abbitt liefvffe insides anyhool...' Nunne ov usset estinderre!
Walt Brown, an early riser like most elderly types, has prepared his piping hot cup of nutritious Ovaltine and is now relaxing with his chocolatey morning friend, and also just starting to enjoy the daily edition one of the town's more conventional and trustworthy newspapers, The Skunkville Daily Town Bugler.
Edna is already up and dressed and closely watching the Chief Weenipoo test pattern for the latest developments, while some cheery generic Muzuck plays in the background. 'You know, Walt... If you watch carefully, the Chief keeps ever-so-slightly changing his facial expression...Probably sending us some personal message from wherever he and his tribe migrated to... Was it Canada? Or Cleveland??'
Walt, full of it today, as usural...throws down his newspaper and leaps to his feet, presenting himself at Edna's chair his right hand reaching out for her...
Edna shakes her head but does carefully rise by climbing over the side of her chair, then scurries around behind Walt: ''But, Dear: How many times do I and Dr. B.P. Downly have to warn you about rising so quickly with all of that blood pressure medicine in your system....which makes your blood move very slugg.....'OMG...' comments Edna, interrupting herself....'Now I feel Sooooo weak and dizzy from my own BP meds cuz I jumped up to save you from falling after YOU jumped up....'
With that, Walt, his eyes rolling backwards in his head, reaches out as his last conscious effort, and the loving couple falls to the floor together -- but rather gently and gracefully....still retaining a squidgen of consciousness to control the fall before they both softly hit the nicely carpeted floor....and lay there for a long while, at times one or both snoring loudly, even snoring in harmony for brief stretches ..
Some time later, Walt begins to slowly awaken and smiles with great satisfaction! Somehow, they ended up doing it on the floor with all their clothes on.... And checking himself out (via mental inquiry of his Lower Self), he finds he's even ready and raring to DO IT AGAIN!
He rolls his head over closer to snoring Edna and whispers hoarsely, hoping to awaken her, but not rudely: 'Dear! DEAR!! Let's re-begin the Begine! You know, Round 2 of Holy Mattress-a-moanyII!'