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The Highway of Skunk Death


I am dead, yes?

A road that borders one side of the Island of Dr. Moreau has lately been the Highway of Skunk Terror and Death. For some reason, Pepe Le Pew’s progeny have been coming out of the woods and flinging themselves in front of high-speed traffic at the rate of one or two a day.

I sometimes wonder if this is some sort of proof of reincarnation; the skunk suddenly gets a vision of past life as a human, realizes that he or she has been reborn as a skunk, says “fuck this,” and goes looking for a Buick to lay down in front of.

Whether that’s true or not, yesterday I believe it was the Skunk King himself that met a squishy end.

I’ve gotten use to the smell, more or less–skunk juice is, as we all know, potent stuff, and this was especially foul from the get-go. As I drove along, however, I wasn’t seeing a skunk yet, which made me think that either a whole group had been hit in one spot or one member of a group had bit it in especially gruesome fashion, causing the rest to void their skunk-nuggets in sympathetic horror and shock.

To my surprise, neither was true. The smell intensified and intensified–bear in mind, I’m doing 40 mph in a car with the windows rolled up, and yet it got to the point where it smelled like the skunk was sitting in my lap and hosing my nostrils down with concentrated liquid hell.

Finally, I rounded a bend, tears streaming down my face, barely able to breathe, to see the biggest skunk I’d ever laid eyes on, squished on the side of the road. This was a majestic beast fully the size of an adult porcupine–in skunk terms, this was Andre the Giant Skunk.

I adjusted course to avoid a long loop of intestine and hit the gas, needing to get out of the effluent so I could breathe again. Four hours later, coming out of DaveTV a half-mile away after the afternoon session, the smell was still so strong I could swear His Majesty wasn’t more than a hundred yards upwind.

Is there a moral to the story? I suppose. Even if you’re the biggest baddest bearer of skunk-nuggets out there, you’re no match for a speeding Buick. Or something.

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About Anechoic

we are always asked to understand the other person's viewpoint no matter how out-dated foolish or obnoxious.

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