Ahem...One day, Skunky was being used to prop open a convenience store door in southern France after the owner had mistook his corpse for a draught excluder. "Sacre Bleau!" Exclaimed the French, money-grabbing store keeper "'ow deed my draft excloodeer git out intoo ze rud?" The French store keeper, who, for the sake of argument, we shall refer to fondly as Dicky, was confused about how his favourite draught excluder had managed to get 10 yards up the road and changed colour, whilst still emmitting a faithful odour. He was not baffled enough to risk the disappointment of knowing that it was not his draught excluder, so, with no hesitation, he scooped up the pile of mangled fur and carried it back to its rightful home. Of course, by now it was the height of summer, and Dicky had no need for his trusty draught excluder, so instead, he hatched an ingenius, yet risky, plan to use the draught excluder, or, as we know it, the rotting corpse of a skunk as a door stop. Of course, this had no effect on the number of customers, because in general, the French are attracted to the smell of stinky dead skunks. In fact, if anything, Dicky was gleeful to see his tills full to the brim... until an armed robber came and held a gun to his head and demanded that he hand over the skunk. You see, the armed gunman was an avid collector of rare skunk corpses, and he just HAD to have this wonderful specimen whilst it could still be recognised as the dear old skunk it was. The robber, who, for discretion, we shall name Rob, was a dab hand at sewing, and he planned on restoring the skunk to its original, beautiful form. Unfortunately, Dicky had grown fairly fond of Skunky, and enjoyed the practicality value of having a dead skunk as a door stop. He turned to Rob and said, "Non. Non. Yoo shall never git your stinkin' 'ands on my faithful draft excloooder!" Rob was a little upset by this, because he had really been looking forward to getting his hands on Skunky, so, a little reluctantly, he ran out of the store, snatching up Skunky on his way. "Noooooooooooooooo!" cried out Dicky, "I weel git you, you scurvy engleesh scum!" Unfortunately enough for Dicky, Rob was already out of the country, as he had a turbo super-duper fast motorbike and a sidecar just about big enough to fuit a mangled skunk corpse. "I knew that crumpled skunk-sized side car would come in handy someday," thought Rob slyly to himself. "Come on Skunky," said Rob, "let's get it on." Unfortunately, Skunky had other ideas, and leapt out of the side car which, unluckily for Skunky, also meant he had leapt out of a ferry into the middle of the english channel. "Farewell cruel world!" screamed Skunky, on his way down, and with that came the end of his poor little after-life.
Poor, old Skunky.
Poor, poor, old Skunky.
Dicky went out of business after being told that his store "smelt of roses." The stress got to him and he had a breakdown, during which he accidentaly ran over a skunk.
Rob was really upset about Skunky's demise, but he was ok. He found a new hobby: collecting offal.
Skunky has now been reincarnated as a coaster, and is living happily in Turkey with a family of Monks, who use him to satisfy their needs...
THE END
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