I picked a fight with a skunk and the skunk kicked the shit outta me.

November 16, 2017

Oh, ya'll thought I meant me?

 

I am a lot of things, my dudes--A potential Person of Walmart, a person with an easily confused bladder, a person who dates cautiously--but to be so aggressive and combative as to start some shit with a skunk? There's not enough nope in the world to cover that one.

 

No, that honor belongs to this muthafucka right here:

It's hard to tell, but there's real remorse in those eyes.

 

 

A skunk, for those blessed to live in a society free from such creatures, is this piece of shit:

 Deceptively cuddly, no?

 

All this thing has to do to pollute a square mile is squeeze out half a fart. Half! Half a toot (prfft) a few blocks away from your house and it's a wrap. And don't let it be summer with even the barest hint of humidity in the air.

 

*Pours more wine to numb the pain.*

 

The mere presence of this little fucker, sans toot, is lethal. The entire biological make up of this beastie has evolved so this bitch can perform it's primal functions in peace, i.e. eating, fucking, dying. 'Cause really, if you stink to high heaven, who's gonna fuck with you while you're grabbing a snack?

 

I really apologize for all the cussing, you guys, but I'm still so traumatized by the following:

 

Timeline of the Events on the Day in Question

 

Wednesday, 2:04 a.m. - I'm sleep, damn it. What else am I supposed to being doing? (For those who are all, I'd be up in the club. Hush up; grown folks are talking.)

 

2:05 a.m. - I'm awoken by a stink so pervasive, I can taste it in my mouth and throat before I can say, what the fuck?

 

2:05:30 a.m. - My motherfu--my dog, aka patient zero, comes drooling and coughing into my bedroom, sees I'm awake and fully cognizant of the problem before heading back downstairs.

 

2:06 a.m. - *FRANTICALLY Googles how to get rid of skunk smell* There's no mistaking that smell for something else, my skunk-free people. Google, as per usual, knows exactly what I need before I finish typing.

 

2:07 a.m. - I haul on a pair of sweatpants--it's an unseasonable 30 friggin' degrees (0 celsius)--and head to the kitchen to search for the items Google tells me I need to deal with this issue, to wit: Dawn dishwashing liquid, baking soda, hydrogen peroxide. If it sorta sounds like I'm constructing a bomb then you are starting to understand how bad the skunk smell really is.

 

2:08 a.m. - There is no Dawn, baking soda or hydrogen peroxide in my house. NATURALLY.

 

2:09 a.m. - I throw my winter coat over my short-sleeved t-shirt, grab my keys and drive to the 24-hour Walgreens near my house, which btdubbs has been absolutely contaminated by patient zero. (She's in the backyard* drooling** and whimpering and behaving as if she's entirely unhappy, which dampens my impulse to kill her.)

 

2:09:30 a.m. - I drive to Walgreens with the windows wide open because I reek. Remember, it's also cold as shit.

 

2:20 a.m. - I arrive at Walgreens and approach the door. A homeless guy who was chillin' near the front door sniffs, looks at me like, damn baby, and immediately leaves.

 

2:20:10 a.m. - I enter Walgreens. The three shoppers inside sniff then quickly, yet safely, evacuate the premises without purchasing anything. The security guard says to the cashier, "I'll be right back," before casually stepping outside.

 

2:20:37 a.m. - *Heaves sigh.*

 

2:21 a.m. - I gather the necessary items and bring them to the cashier who leans so far away from me, her fingers can barely reach the cash register.

 

2:41 a.m. - I arrive home. I leave my car windows wide open confident in the fact that the skunk's evolutionary advantage will keep my totally contaminated car safe from any hopeful car thieves. (Spoiler alert: it does. I live ghetto adjacent so this is especially impressive.)

 

2:41:20 a.m. - I enter my house and open every window in the joint. Front and back doors are also opened. I mix the Dawn-baking soda-hydrogen peroxide solution and go in the backyard to greet the enemy.

 

2:42 - 3:30 a.m. - I bathe my dog in the solution several times, gagging all the while and vomiting once, then rinse her. Using the hose. Outside. In 30 real degrees. In a short-sleeved t-shirt. Yeah.

 

 3:31 a.m. - I remove my clothes and throw them in the garbage. I put on clean clothes then go stare at my wet, shivering dog who, admittedly, smells a lot better. My house and car on the other hand...

 

3:35 a.m. - Friday, 6:05 p.m. - I launder my entire fuckin' house from top to bottom. I won't bore you with the details, which require another trip to the store to purchase more bomb-making materials (baking soda, vinegar, etc.) to add to the thousands of loads of laundry I did. Just know that the drinking of wine occurred continuously throughout the whole process.

 

Moral - Who the hell knows.

 

Talk soon,

Joss

 

 

* I have a dog door.

**Despite her penchant for murdering groundhogs, she's much too fastidious to drool, which is sign--as if I needed one--that shit just got real.

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