Shot Across the Bow

This week, I've been hit in the face with the fact of mortality...of my car.

Early last week, the beloved Flying Dodgeman started having difficulties. Difficulties of the flashing-check-engine-light, no-acceleration, power-failure, inability-to-start type.

The Flying Dodgeman has been with me longer than any of the other women in my life. A 1999 Intrepid, I have owned her for 5 years and 100,000+ miles. The thought of her passing saddened me deeply.

On Thursday morning after arriving home from work, I limped to the shop in her, convinced that this was to be her final voyage. I gave the mechanic my number a quick run-down of symptoms, then walked across the parking lot to WaHo to wait for the doc to pronounce her.

I sat at the bar, drowning my sorrows in scattered smothered chunked hashbrowns and a few mugs of decaf. In a pensive mood, I prayed that the damage would be related to a recent road hazard (because then, insurance would cover it!) and reminiscing about all the good times we’d had.

Cruising down Interstate 40 comes a vision of Eternal Judgment. As the streak of tan passes, you can briefly see the figures inside, their eyes glowing red, their teeth steel, and their nostrils breathing fire. The captain holds the tiller in a white-knuckled grip. The scruffy bearded first mate stares bewildered out the passenger window. The navigator sits in the back…snoring.

Cursed to drive the through the countryside of Middle Tennessee until the Last Day (or until it acquires a navigator who can remain awake for longer than half an hour, whichever comes first), it is…

The Flying Dodgeman

After about an hour and the greatest bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit I’ve ever had, I returned to the shop to receive the bad news. With much trepidation, I sat in the waiting room, waiting on the mechanic.

The diagnosis: a burned out coil. Part: $70 Labor: $40. Not having to figure out how to get to work next week: priceless.

Now, I find myself praying for a severe-yet-not-incapacitating wreck, preferably with someone else at fault. I’d like a quick—if violent—death for the old girl. I just can’t bear to think about her sitting out in a junkyard, rotting away.

Maybe next time, Mr. Blue Pass-on-Right Nissan won’t make it around.

Twinkies

Not like 25% of the bloggers out there haven't quoted this movie, but I've never embedded a YouTube video before, and what better reason than to mourn the passing of a true piece of Americana.

R.I.P.  Twinkies

Sproach!!!

It's Halloween again, which means 2 things:  my first ever attempt at pumpkin carving

I should have gotten bigger bolts

and the release of the much-anticipated sequel to last Halloween's classic horror/scifi movie Spants.

So, without further ado:

Spants II:  Sproach

Country road. Old truck drives along, driven by Farmer B. Suddenly, his eyes go wide. He jerks the wheel. Zoom out as the truck rolls in air and lands, then bursts into flames.

Sheriff’s office

Door opens, ringing quaint bell above door. Sheriff (formerly Deputy) sits morosely. Dispatcher walks in, carrying donuts.

Dispatcher: “Mornin’, Sheriff”

Sheriff: “Hey, Dispatcher”

Dispatcher sets down box.

Dispatcher: “Okay, we need to have a talk.”

Sheriff: “About what?”

Dispatcher: “You. You may have been appointed after the former Sheriff resigned in disgrace over ignoring the Spants outbreak, but you’re up for re-election this year. You’re going to have to pull it together. You may be wildly popular for your heroics last year, but Old Sheriff has his friends.”

Sheriff: “Maybe I don’t want the job. I should have just gone with her.”

Dispatcher: “Enough of that. You belong here. Sister belonged in the big city where she won’t be typecast. Get over it. Besides, the hot teacher in our small-town school has been eyeing you for years.”

Sheriff: “You mean my high school sweetheart?”

Door opens and Farmer A rushes in.

Farmer A: “Sheriff, come quick!”

Sheriff: “What’s wrong?”

Farmer A: “There’s been a wreck! It’s Farmer B.”

ICU

Machines: “Beep. Beep.”

Sheriff: “How’s he doing, Doc?”

ICU Doc: “Not good. He’s fading in and out of consciousness. He’s got massive internal bleeding and burns over 40% of his body. He probably won’t last the night.”

Farmer B: “Sheriff.”

Sheriff (rushing to bedside): “I’m here.”

Farmer B: “Sheriff, they’re ba—“

Machines: “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPP”

Farmer B’s rebellious teenage son enters room.

Kid: “NOOO!!!!!!”

Outside hospital

Kid: “He was never proud of me. That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”

Sheriff: “Yes he was. He talked about you all the time.”

Kid: “Well, he never told me.”

Sheriff: “He was just hard on you because he knew you had so much potential.”

Kid: “When did he say that?”

Sheriff: “Typically right before having me run you down for joyriding again. Your habitual joyriding in hot-rods that display a handy skill with everything mechanical.”

Kid: “Handy?”

Sheriff: “Later. I have to go look at the crime scene.”

Wreck site

Farmer A: “You notice that there’s huge damage to the grill? It rolled over, but didn’t hit any trees.”

Sheriff: “I’ll take a closer look.”

Farmer A: “What do you see?”

Sheriff: “Something’s stuck in it. Hey this looks like a big bug leg. You don’t think…”

Farmer A: “Can’t be. We got them all last year!”

Sheriff (finds large shell and holds it up): “Apparently not. This look like a cockroach shell to you?”

Farmer A: “Aw, hell. Now they got armor. I think we oughta leave.”

Sheriff: “Me, too.”

Town meeting

Former Sheriff: “You said we were all safe after last year! You said you got all of them!”

Sheriff: “I never said anything of the kind. I said we couldn’t find anymore.”

ICU Doc: “No, but I assured them it was all over!”

Sheriff: “Well, that just makes you an idiot.”

Former Sheriff: “If I’m elected, I’ll clean up this town of sproaches!”

Teacher: “Like you did last time?”

Bar

Sheriff: “I appreciate your support at the meeting.”

Teacher: “Look, we all know you’re doing your best.”

Sheriff: “I guess that’s comforting. Incidentally, what can you tell me about Kid?”

Teacher: “He’s brilliant, yet has discipline issues, most likely due to his father’s aloofness. Why are you so concerned with him?”

Sheriff: “Well, he just lost his father. I can relate.”

Ms. Teacher: “Well, I think there may be more than that, too.”

Sheriff: “Really?”

Teacher: “Yes. He also seems to have a crush on the really hot but also totally sweet homecoming queen who’s been waiting for him to make a move for years.”

Sheriff: “And you know this how?”

Teacher: “She works with me volunteering down at the hospital. In fact, we’re going with some kids from the children’s ward to a charity thing.”

Sheriff: “With ICU doc?”

Teacher: “Yes, as a matter of fact. Why, jealous?”

Sheriff: “Of course not. Despite my absolute disdain for him, his hippiness, and the fact that he’s backing my opponent in the race due to the way I embarrassed him last year, it’s your life.”

Teacher: “That is precisely the wrong answer.”

Teacher stands up and storms off in huff. Sheriff looks at bartender. Bartender shakes head in amazement at Sheriff’s ineptness.

Sheriff’s office

Farmer A: “Well, if this map’s correct, they’re lining Highway Random Number.”

Sheriff: “But that’s the route Teacher’s bus is taking!”

Kid: “We have to stop them!”

Dispatcher: “Too late! I just got a call. The bus has disappeared!”

Sheriff: “Farmer A, go do some flyovers! We have to find it!”

Bus

ICU Doc: “Don’t worry. They’ve taken us hostage. That shows intelligence. I think I can reason with them. I’m going out there to open a dialogue.”

Teacher: “Don’t go!”

ICU Doc steps outside and is immediately cut in half by large sproach.

Teacher: “Well, that was thoroughly gratuitous.”

Homecoming Queen: “Too bad, too. He was awfully cute.”

Chunk of torso slams into windshield then slides down streaking blood.

Homecoming Queen: “Not so much anymore.”

Teacher: “I’m rather surprised he survived the last time.”

Sheriff’s office

Farmer A: “I found them!”

Sheriff: “Where?”

Farmer A: “They’re at the old quarry.”

Kid: “How are you going to get them?”

Sheriff: “Grab your tools and meet me at the absurdly well-stocked armory.”

Armory

Sheriff: “So, do you think you can make her work?”

Camera pulls out to show old Bell 47.

Kid: “Of course. But who are you going to get to fly it?”

Sheriff: “It’s old and simple. I figure Farmer A can figure it out.”

Kid: “I may have a better idea.”

Helicopter

Sheriff: “Remind me how you learned to fly one of these?”

Kid: “Ten years of Microsoft Flight Simulator!”

Sheriff: “That seems a bit far-fetched.”

Kid: “As far fetched as a high school full of students, none of whom have acne? Dude, just go with it. By the way, what’s the stereo for?”

Sheriff: “Ever see Apocalypse Now?”

Kid: “I’m not that old.”

Sheriff: “If you weren’t my pilot, I’d throw you out here and now.”

Sheriff hits switch and “Flight of the Valkyries” starts to play.

Quarry

Kindergartner A: “Ms. Teacher! What do we do?”

Teacher: “Just stay calm. I’m sure help is on the way.”

Kindergartner B: “Do you hear music?”

Teacher: “I think it’s help!”

Lights appear overhead. Helicopter flares into hover above bus. Sheriff leans out and takes handle of M2 mounted to side. Helicopter slowly rotates and bullets rip lines across dirt. Giant carapaced arachnids explode, splattering insectoid gore everywhere.

Teacher: “We’re saved!”

As helicopter slowly lands, bus gives sideways lurch. Massive boss sproach comes from under ground. Shaking free of the dirt, it turns and launches massive strand of web towards helicopter. Web wraps around tail rotor.

Sheriff: “We’re going down! Jump!”

Sheriff and Kid hit dirt as helicopter rolls over, dramatically spinning off blades that tear through dirt next to their heads. Several slightly less gigantic sproaches come from ground and begin scurrying towards them.

Sheriff climbs onto side of burning helicopter Audey Murphy-style and starts gunning them down with M2, on bracket conveniently bent to be perpendicular with ground. M2 runs out of ammo as last one dies.

Boss sproach lumbers towards them. Sheriff reaches into wreckage, trying to dislodge large case.

Sheriff: “I can’t reach it!”

Kid: “I can fit!”

Sheriff: “No, it’s about to explode!”

Kid jumps into wreckage anyway and digs out case, passing it to Sheriff, before crawling out and jumping away just as fuel tanks explode.

Sheriff opens case and retrieves bazooka, hoists it to shoulder and fires at Rhino. Rhino takes it down the throat and explodes. Sheriff drops launcher and stumbles to Kid, who is lying in crumpled heap.

Homecoming Queen (stumbling from bus): “NOOO!!!!!!” Drops to knees by Kid. “Are you alright? Please be alright!”

Kid (coming to, then staring glimpse down Homecoming Queen’s shirt: “Oh, I’m great.”

Teacher walks slowly to Sheriff: “Aw, young love. Remember when we were like that?”

Sheriff (taking Teacher’s hand): “Think we could be like that again?”

Ms. Teacher: “I think so.” Looks around at bug corpses. “Do you think we’re finally rid of them?”

Sheriff: “Maybe, but I’ll be watching for them this time.  You know roaches, once you get them, you’re never truly rid of them.”

Sheriff and Teacher walk into sunrise as emergency vehicles pull up. Zoom to lone, small sproach crawling out of quarry. Camera rises to show field on other side of hill.

Coming soon: Spants 3: Spanthopper.

Graveyard Tunes

While I am thankful for the well-wishes of those who have heard of my recent re-scheduling, I have to insist that condolences are actually not in order. Yes, 2100-0730 is not considered prime real estate when it comes to employment in hospitals, it really isn’t all that bad.

When I graduated college, I took an oath never again swing a hammer for money. Since then, I’ve done a few church projects, but I’ve never taken money for it. I didn’t really like construction all that much, with the exception of electrical work.

And the music. My brother’s music collection is a thing to behold. At one point, there were 84 discs in his work collection. We could listen to different songs for 10-12 hour days for weeks without repeats. If there is one thing I miss about my days as a contractor, that’d be it.

Since coming to my current place of employment, I have listened to the same classic hits station for three years. 102.5, I think it is. “Classic hits from the 70’s and 80’s,” supposedly. While I cannot really speak from experience, I am fairly certain that there were more hits in those two decades than the same 50 songs I have had to listen to every day. Some South American drug lords have slunk out of their sanctuary in churches when subjected to this treatment.

It could be worse. Supposedly they torture Guatanamo Bay detainees with the Barney song and the Meow Mix theme.

While there is a plethora of other music stations in this area, the ones available in the lab is reduced by the fact that Radiology, a big lead box, is between us and most of them. As a result, the only station everyone can agree on is this abomination. Like Communism, it’s not that it makes everybody equally happy, but rather, it makes everybody equally miserable.

Since accepting 3rd shift as my official position, I now can rock out to whatever there is on my Walkman. As the sole occupant of the lab for 4 or 6 hours a night, I have no one to offend or annoy, allowing me to play anything I wish, as long as I turn it down when answering phones. From Rob Zombie to Rich Mullins, Papa Roach to Bob Dylan, or Skillet to Johnny Cash, anything goes.

Now, if I can only convince them to replace the hold music with Johnny Cash.

Flu shot: Myth vs. Fact

The myth that you can get the flu is just that. Like all myths, however, it does have some basis in fact.

The majority of symptoms associated with the flu virus are, in fact, caused by the body’s immune response to the insult. For instance, the fever is caused by the body upping its core temperature because most viruses and bacteria do not function well at temperatures exceeding 37° C. The drainage is the sloughing off of cells killed by the immune system attacking the lining of the throat to destroy cells hijacked by the virus for reproduction.

So, while you cannot get the flu from the vaccine, one can find himself with all the signs and symptoms, albeit for a far shorter time than if one actually had the flu. If, due to your field of employment, your immune system  regularly attacks small animals in your backyard, the immune response to the vaccine can be particularly violent.

It makes for a long weekend.

0444

While I would like people to think that I am up right now because of the following incident, the fact is, I'd be up anyway due to my weekly transition to graveyard schedule.  That does not change what happened.

The beloved is desperately trying to get some sleep, so I - being already slated for an all nighter - have been left in care.  There is milk in the fridge, so I'm good to go as soon as she stirs.

The lump wakes, having kicked off the blanket she was formerly taco-wrapped in.  How she pulled that off, I have no clue.  It doesn't matter:  I'm prepared.  I run to the fridge to get milk.

Here's an interesting observation:  breast milk is un-homogenized.  Didn't think about that, because it normally gets used about as fast as it's made.

Me:  "Umm, I hate to wake you up."

The beloved:  "Hmm?"

Me:  "Has breast milk gone bad when it separates?"

T.B.  "No."

Me:  "Ah, good.  'Night."

I shake up the milk and throw it in the bottle warmer.  I go change the lump's diaper and throw a sleeper on her that she can't kick off.  I hold her, bouncing a little as I wait for the beep.  It comes.

At this moment, I would like to point out that I set the bottle warmer properly.  For the second time running, I come in to find the bottle too cold.  I hit the button again, and continue bouncing and pacing to pacify my daughter as she cries.

Thanks to the last time this happens, I know not to let the bottle go through another full cycle lest it get too hot.  Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing how early to pull it.  The answer is not however long I waited tonight.  Upon finding the milk close to scalding, I may have made some disparaging remarks about the bottle warmer.

Me:  "Why you piece of poop.  And not even cute baby poop, at that.  No, you're a piece of nasty poop."

These are the kinds of expletives young fathers use.  They are pathetic, so to make up for it, I also stated wishes for it to spend its inanimate afterlife in Small Household Appliance Hell.

Fortunately, I know the way to fix this.  I quickly lay her back down and look for her soothie pacifier to keep her calm while I do so.  Then, I realize I have lost the soothie.  For you non-parents, that is what we call a "bad thing" in the parenting biz.  After a frantic search, I find it and stick it in her mouth, then fly to the kitchen to cut the hot milk with some cold milk.  Once I get it just right, I return to the living room.

To find her asleep.

One may wonder why this has been posted at 0742 instead of close to, say 0452 when it was composed.  The answer is simple.

She woke up again.  Hungry.

Presidential Contest

Last night was the first presidential debate of the season.  I did not watch it, nor will I likely see highlights of it beyond what skewering is done in next week's South Park.  I have come to the conclusion that the presidential contest system in America is totally out of touch with the realistic values needed in a leader as well as what Americans want to watch.  As such, here is my personal model for a proper contest.

1)  Debate

A president should be able to reason.  Today's debating is mostly rhetoric.  In the ancient days, the great ideological war was fought between logicians and rhetoricians.  The former believed in pursuing the ability to think, the latter the ability to win arguments.

My model for a presidential debate is to have a team of logicians running the debate on a 1 minute delay during which time they dissect the argument by propositional logic and use a buzzer and red flashing lights to denote when the speaker makes no sense.

2)  Strategy

A president must have the capacity for strategic thought.  In the Far East, strategic thought among leaders was exercised through playing Go.  There is a legend that chess was invented as a way for kings to do battle without anyone getting killed.

Since we are Americans, I suggest the quintessential American game:  Checkers.  Best two out of three.  Alternatively, bunkhouse chess with the vice-presidential candidates would be acceptable, since a president and vice president should be able to agree on strategy.

3)  Flyting

In the Norse tradition, violent altercations were known to end in flyting, where the two parties hurled insults at each other in front of an audience.  Ironically, violent altercations were also known to begin in this way.

While some might qualify today's debates as flyting, there is a conspicuous difference between veiled barbs about ethics, intelligence, or pastimes, and the ancient tradition of blatant insults regarding parentage, physical prowess, or sexual proclivities.  Nor are there hand gestures, these days, which were an integral part of Viking tradition.

I propose a three three minute rap battles.  A judge should be in place in order to call candidates out when they rehash material already used.  I would choose Eminem, since I loved 8 mile.  Candidates to be required to insult their opponents mother, wife, ride, and bling at least once, each.

4)  Physical fitness

Since a president represents our country in personal appearance - and since he determines the Presidential Physical Fitness standards - it behooves a presidential candidate to be fit.  We wonder why Russia is so much better regarded these days than they were previously and why our image is slipping, but if you take Mr. Putin and put him up against the last three or four of our presidents, there's no contest.  He hunts tigers and rides in fighters.  We have golfers.

I propose that we send each candidate to Camp Pendleton and let the R. Lee Ermey put them through the paces.  I mean, the winner is going to be commander-in-chief, so he should at least be able to make the age-adjusted physical fitness requirements of a US soldier.  Shoot, I'd let them off with the requirements of a US airman.

And, yes, I know Pendleton is Marines.  I just like the idea of turning the Gunny loose on politicians, and I don't think he'd slum it at Lackland.

The physical contest would culminate in an MMA cage brawl.  Alternatively, a WWE-hosted tag-team match with the vice-presidential candidates would be acceptable.  In the case of the latter, there must be at least one guy hit with folding chair and one guy thrown through folding table.

While some may question my criteria for determining fitness of a presidential candidate, I would also like to point out the pragmatic purpose.  The majority of Americans are bored with the current structured of campaigning.  If nothing else, my way is flippin' great TV.

She's here!

Last Monday at 1658, the beloved underwent surgery to finally rid herself of her abdominal parasite.

The beloved and, by extension, I have been exposed to much advice—solicited and otherwise—over the past 2 years. Many of the advisors—often the unsolicited ones—have said that the problem with modern childbirth is that the doctors take a pathological view of the process.

Pathology—for the non-scholar—comes from two root words, pathos (suffering/pain/harm) and logia (science/study). Loosely translated it means the study of pain. From the past 2 years, I can attest that pregnancy is a pathological state, not only for the woman bearing the child, but for everyone around her, as well.

When the Dot has no nap for an entire day, even if she bears up under her burden quite admirably it is safe to assume that she is a bit out of sorts.

When three times in one week the husband is dragged out of bed after working 1500-0730 to head off to the Family Childbirth Center (formerly known as the maternity ward) for false alarms, it’s a safe assumption he isn’t having the greatest of times.

When the dogs spend more hours in their crates during one day of false alarm than in the previous three weeks, it is a safe assumption they are miserable.

When the interior incision is made and the fluid is so pressurized that it sprays approximately 20 inches into the air, it is a safe assumption that the Lump is feeling a bit uncomfortable.

So, even if the beloved is having incision pain and the lump is a bit jaundiced, it could be worse. They could still be attached.

Lady 4

After a false alarm this morning, it occurs to me that I really haven't posted anything in regards to the lump.  I'm sure it's a combination of factors, but I think my elder brother is right about middle children getting the short end of the stick.  This statement does, of course, presume that there will be a third child, however that seems to be a safe assumption.

Perhaps the biggest contributing factor to my unfortunate lack of prenatal attention is that the beloved has been doing so much better this time around.  With the lack of gestational diabetes comes a lack of biweekly ultrasounds.  Due to that, we have no idea at all what the newest addition to our family will look like.

Well, we do know she has hair, and will therefore be abnormally cute.  Although after today, there isn't a guarantee that there will not be a labor-squished head, which would cut down on the cuteness.

I guess fatherhood is one of those many experiences in life that one just gets used to.  Sad, but true.  It brings to mind the first time I got to use "Stat!"  My fellow student and I agreed it was kind of neat...until day three or so.

On the other hand, there are still times when I see the lump scoot around or hiccup or kick at her elder sibling and find myself amazed that in a couple weeks, I will get to see the 4th lady of my life for the first time.

Skunk Hunt: Part 4

All good things must come to an end.  Including what may very well be the best mutant skunk screenplay ever written.

Field. Estranged Father and Deputy sit in elevated varminting blind.

Estranged Father: “I’m glad you gave me a chance put things right.”

Deputy: “Let’s not make this more than it is. You have a long way to go.”

Estranged Father: “I know. But thanks for at least giving me a start.”

Deputy: “Let’s just kill this thing.”

Deputy peers through infared binoculars.

Estranged Father: “Night vision?”

Deputy: “Infrared. Picks up heat even behind the trees.”

Estranged Father: “Long way from jack-lighting.”

Deputy: “Shhh. I see something.”

PETA chick 1 runs out of tree line.

Deputy: “PETA chick 1, what the hell are you doing here?”

PETA chick 1: “I can’t let you kill it! It’s a one of a kind creature. It needs to be protected.”

Deputy: “Look, as long as it’s around here, we’re the endangered species.”

Estranged Father (muttering): “’Cause that line’s never been used.” (Out loud) “Will you shut her up?”

Deputy: “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to arrest you if you don’t calm down and be quiet.”

PETA chick 1: “I will not be quiet! I will not stand for this eradication of what could be called an entirely new species! I’ve even already named it! Skunkus maximus.”

Deputy (muttering to Estranged Father): “And you think I’m unoriginal.”

Estranged Father: “Would you just bitch-slap her? It always worked on your momma!”

Deputy: “And you wonder why the whole town thinks you’re a dick. I can’t hit a woman!”

Veterinarian: “I can!”

Veterinarian hits PETA chick 1 in back of head with rifle butt.

Veterinarian: “Damn, that felt good!”

Deputy: “Where’d you come from…again?”

Veterinarian: “That thing killed my father. I want a chance at it, too. I brought Daddy’s old deer gun.”

Skunk runs out of woods.

Skunk: “AAAARRRR!!!!”

Estranged Father: “Hit the jack-lights!”

Deputy flicks switches. Spotlights shine on skunk, stunning it. Estranged father lines up for shot. Spotlights go out just as Estranged Father fires, causing him to miss.

Deputy: “What the—“

Deputy looks down to see PETA chick 1 holding battery cables.

PETA chick 1: “I can’t let you kill it!”

PETA chick 1 runs toward skunk.

PETA chick 1: “Run, fluffy skunk, RUN!

Deputy: “Veterinarian! Get those cables plugged back in.”

Veterinarian plugs cables back in. Spotlights come on just in time to see Skunk rip PETA chick 1 in half in claws.

Veterinarian: “Thing finally did something useful, at least.”

Deputy: “Take the shot, Estranged Father!”

Before Estranged Father can fire, Skunk whips around and fires acid blast at blind. Estranged father jumps in front of Deputy, taking majority of spray. Some spray hits base of blind, and blind falls to ground.

Deputy: “Dad!”

Estranged Father: “**Cough** You called me ‘Dad’. I never thought I’d hear that.”

Deputy: “Hang on, Dad, we’ll get you to the hospital.”

Estranged Father: “Given that everything below my waist is already dissolved, I’m not sure that’ll do much good.”

Veterinarian: “You killed my father, prepare to die!”

Veterinarian fires at skunk. Skunk turns and grabs Veterinarian in mouth.

Deputy (muttering): “Did she really just say that?”

Estranged Father: “**Gasp** Kill it for me.”

Deputy: “I can’t shoot as good as you!”

Skunk turns and starts to trot away.

Veterinarian: “Help!!!”

Estranged Father: “The hell you can’t! I taught you everything I know! GO!!!!”

Deputy grabs rifle and runs after skunk. Skunk pulls away, but comes up against road. Skunk rears up. Deputy shoots skunk in head, but bullet ricochets off. Skunk drops Veterinarian in surprise. Veterinarian runs back toward Deputy. Skunk turns to fire.

Deputy: “Smile, you son of a bitch!”

Deputy fires, camera goes to bullet view as bullet flies into Skunk’s eye. Zoom out as Skunk sprays one last blast wildly into trees, starting them ablaze. Veterinarian stumbles to Deputy as he drops the rifle to catch her. Zoom close to couple. After a few moments, they rise to walk away.

Deputy: “This is going to be a butt-load of paperwork.

Veterinarian: “Can’t we just go comfort each other of our fathers’ untimely and horrific deaths?”

Deputy: “I suppose paperwork can wait.”

Deputy and Veterinarian continue to walk silently as camera pans out behind them.

Deputy: “One thing I don’t get, though.”

Veterinarian: “Hmm?”

Deputy: “At the end. It didn’t just eat you or kill you. It started to carry you off. Where do you think it was going to take you? Come to think of it, we never found PETA guy 2.”

Veterinarian: “I don’t care. I’m just interested in where you’re going to take me.”

Fade out to abandoned barn. Baby skunks whine and cuddle. Camera zooms out to show that babies are already 40 pounds. From under the pile, a single leg with a Birkenstock on it sticks out.

Skunk Hunt: Part 3

You know you have no life when it takes you a week and a half to post something you've already written.  But, better late than never:

Field. Deputy and Veterinarian in back of pickup. Veterinarian is shining floodlight across field as Deputy scans with bolt action rifle.

Veterinarian: “There's a lot of fields in this area. What are the chances it'll show up in this one?”

Deputy: “Well, we can't cover them all. This is the closest to Chicken Farmer's place and past that is Dairy Farmer's. If the skunk doubles back, we'll be right in line.”

Veterinarian: “You said your dad left. What happened to him?”

Deputy: “Well, you remember how he worked at Kilowatts Bar?”

Veterinarian: “I think I remember something about that.”

Deputy: “Well, right after we graduated, there was an investigation. There had been a small spill, and he had just flushed it into the river and then paid off an inspector to look the other way. They found out about it, and one day he just hopped into his lifted and loud yellow pickup and drove off.”

Veterinarian: “You mean...”

Deputy: “Yes. I think my dad caused all of this!”

Veterinarian: “And you said your mom died of cancer?”

Deputy: “Yes. He killed her, too!”

Veterinarian: “Oh, Deputy, why didn't you tell me?”

Deputy: “Because I knew you'd come back, and I couldn't take you away from a chance at success!”

Veterinarian: “Oh, I'm so sorry! I've been a horrible childhood flame!”

Deputy holds Veterinarian.

Deputy: “It's okay. We're going to fix this whole mess. Starting with killing this nocturnal freak. I just hope Sheriff and Dairy Farmer don't get it first.”

Other field.

Sheriff: “See anything?”

Dairy Farmer: “Nope.”

Sheriff: “I still can't believe I agreed to let you in on this. Or that I let my girl go to a dark deserted field with Deputy.”

Dairy Farmer: “I deserve to have a shot at this. Chicken Farmer was my brother! And face it, those two are in love.”

Sheriff: “Do you hear that?”

Dairy Farmer: “Hear what?”

PETA People runs from tree-line.

PETA chick A: “HEEELLLLPPPP!!!!”

Sheriff: “Hey! That's Ditsy Intern!”

PETA chick A jumps into bed of pickup. Dairy Farmer spins to aim rifle into woods. PETA chick B and PETA guy 1 burst out of tree-line with Skunk hard on their heels.

Skunk: “AAARRRR!!!!”

PETA guy 1: “AAAHHHH!!!!!”

PETA chick B: “AAAHHHH!!!!!”

Skunk lunges and swipes PETA chick B in the back, impaling her with claws. PETA guy 1 makes it to the truck. Dairy Farmer jumps out of truck bed and charges toward Skunk, shooting.

Sheriff: “Dairy Farmer, ya damned fool! Get back here!”

Skunk bites PETA chick B’s head off, then flings corpse into woods. As Dairy Farmer charges, Skunk decapitates him with a backhand. Sheriff jumps out of truck and grabs PETA guy 1.

Sheriff: “Get her out of here! I’ll hold it off!”

PETA chick A: “Don't kill it! Giant mutant carnivorous mammals are people, too!”

PETA guy 1: “Now you're just screwin' with me.”

Sheriff shoves PETA guy 1 into cab and grabs pump shotgun. PETA guy tries to get truck into gear while Sheriff makes dramatic stand behind truck.

Sheriff: “Take that, you stinking bastard!”

Skunk turns tail toward Sheriff and truck.

Sheriff: “I said get out of here!”

PETA guy 1: “I don’t know how to drive stick! My Prius is an automatic!”

PETA chick A: “Seriously? Move over!”

PETA chick A gets truck into gear and tears off as Skunk sprays Sheriff, melting his face off. Overspray hits tailgate of truck and starts burning holes in it.

PETA pair drive through field, Skunk in hot pursuit. They reach the road and Skunk abruptly stops. As they drive off, acid eats through tires and the skid off road into field on other side.

PETA guy 1: “BAIL!!!”

PETA pair jump from moving truck. Truck drives into tree and promptly explodes.

Other field. Deputy and Veterinarian’s watch has devolved into making out. Mushroom cloud from truck flashes over tree-line.

Deputy: “Holy crap!”

Veterinarian: “What was that?”

Deputy: “Some kind of explosion. We’d better go check it out.”

Deputy jumps out of bed and climbs into cab. Veterinarian starts redressing.

Veterinarian (muttering): “I’m never getting screwed again at this rate.”

Deputy and Veterinarian drive to other field. They spot PETA pair and drive over.

Veterinarian: “Ditzy Intern! You bitch! You destroyed my shelter!”

PETA guy 1: “Ditzy Intern? Who's that?”

Deputy: “That's not her real name?”

PETA guy 1: “No, her name's PETA chick A.”

Deputy: “Alright, what happened out there?”

PETA guy 1: “Giant skunk. Killed our friends. Chased us into the field. The sheriff and some farmer were there in a truck. The farmer went after it. The sheriff stayed behind and told us to run. They're dead!”

Veterinarian: “Daddy? Dead? NOOOOOO!!!!!!”

Veterinarian clings to Deputy as he tried to comfort her.

Deputy: “That's it. I'm gonna get this thing or die trying.”

Veterinarian: “No! I don't want to lose you, too.”

Deputy: “I'm sorry, but there's a wild carnivorous mutant running around my town, and I'm the only law left. Incidentally, PETA pair, how'd you two escape?”

PETA chick 1: “It stopped at the road. It looked scared. According to my animal psych class, it may be due to a traumatic experience in its past. Perhaps the poor creature's mother was squished.”

PETA guy A: “Look, sir, I don't know much about weapons, but I think you're going to need a bigger gun.”

Deputy: “Nah, just need better placement. And I know just the guy.”

Deputy approaches cabin in woods.

Deputy: “Estranged Father!”

Estranged Father charges out onto porch with shotgun, obviously drunk.

Estranged Father: “How'd you find me? I came out here to be alone.”

Deputy: “It wasn't easy.”

Estranged Father: “Well, what'd'ya want?”

Deputy: “Your negligence at Kilowatts Bar killed Mom and shamed our family.”

Estranged Father: “I know that. Why do you think I spend my days getting hammered?”

Deputy: “It's killed another 5 in the last week.”

Estranged Father: “Five? In the last week? What'd'ya mean?”

Deputy: “A baby skunk got into the waste. It's grown about 20 feet long and sprays acid.”

Estranged Father: “I don't believe you.”

Veterinarian steps out of truck.

Veterinarian: “I don't care if you believe it. It's true. And one of the people you got killed was my father!”

Estranged Father: “Sheriff's dead?”

Deputy: “Yes. And you need to make it right!”

Estranged Father: “How am I supposed to do that?”

Deputy: “You were the best poacher our county ever saw. I remember the old men at the barber shop calling you 'Deer-eye'.”

Estranged Father: “That was before. I don't do that anymore. I live off moonshining when I don't drink it all.”

Deputy: “Well, you can give it a shot, or I can turn you over to the feds that've been looking for you for the last decade.”

Estranged Father: “Well, when you put it that way...”

Deputy: “Look, I brought you something.”

Deputy reaches into back seat and withdraws an obviously old bolt action rifle.

Estranged Father: “You kept Matilda?”

Deputy: “Of course I did. It was the only thing you left us.”

Estranged Father: “Are you sure? I could have sworn I left you an old guitar. And possibly a bottle of booze.”

Deputy: “It was empty.”

Insert montage of Estranged Father sobering/cleaning up and practicing shooting.

Skunk Hunt: Part 2

We rejoin our stalwart defenders of a quiet Tennessee Valley farmtown, as they examine the evidence of the villainous mutant's latest kill.

County coroner's office.

Coroner: “I ain't never seen anything like this.”

Deputy: “What happened?”

Coroner: “It looks like Chicken Farmer was sprayed with some sort of concentrated acid.”

Deputy: “What kind of acid?”

Coroner: “Well, I tried to take a sample, but it ate through my tubes.”

Deputy: “Wow, that's pretty strong.”

Coroner: “I'm going to try to neutralize it enough to get a sample that can be analyzed. Also, you might want to take a step or two away from the slab. Your shoes are melting.”

Deputy: “Good idea. Hey, does this corpse smell like skunk to you?”

Coroner: “Little critters probably scavenged last night.”

Local bar. Veterinarian and Deputy are sitting, alternately reminiscing about days gone by and discussing the rash of killings.

Veterinarian: “Sometimes I wish I'd stayed in this town.”

Deputy: “Trust me, you were always too adventurous for this small-town boredom.”

Veterinarian: “What about you? You were the one that always were up to crazy hijinks and shenanigans.”

Deputy: “Well, I had to stay behind to try to protect my mother from my abusive father. Then after he left, I felt the need to stay behind and take care of her after she got cancer. She died last year.”

Veterinarian: “That's so sweet in a depressing fashion.”

Deputy: “Y'know what? I think I'll take advantage of your drunken state and pitying attitude and score tonight.”

Veterinarian: “I like that idea.”

Veterinarian and Deputy go off to his house where they start to make passionate love. Just before things move past PG-13 to R, Deputy's phone rings.

Veterinarian: “Just ignore it.”

Deputy: “I can't, that's my work ringtone, and I'm on call.”

Veterinarian: “Make something up.”

Deputy: “I'm sorry. I have an overly developed sense of duty.”

Veterinarian: “I hate that this is so inconvenient, however, I respect and admire your commitment to your public.”

Deputy answers phone while Veterinarian puts clothes back on.

Deputy: “Yeah Sheriff?”

Deputy's Phone: “Vaguely speech sounding noise.”

Deputy: “Another one?”

Deputy's Phone: “Vaguely speech sounding noise.”

Deputy: “Where?”

Deputy's Phone: “Vaguely speech sounding noise.”

Deputy: “On my way.”

Deputy joins Sheriff at forest scene. PETA guy 2's remains—half a leg with tattered jeans and a Birkenstock on it—are scattered across ground.

Deputy: “That sludgy stuff looks like what happened to Chicken Farmer.”

Sheriff: “I think he was one of the burglars from Veterinarian's place.”

Deputy: “What makes you say that?”

Sheriff points with flashlight.

Sheriff: “The 'Animals are people to!' shirt over there.”

Deputy: “Look at the size of those teeth marks! I really don't think we're dealing with a pack of dogs.”

Sheriff: “You're right. There had to be more of the hippies, and only 10 dogs. Surely a bunch of hippies could keep three chihuahuas, two beagles, four dachshunds, and a poodle in line.”

Deputy points light toward edge of clearing where the remnants of Cuddles lie.

Deputy: “And I don't think they had the poodle to worry about. Hey, do you smell skunk?”

Sheriff: “Little critters probably scavenged last night.”

Deputy's phone: “Beep!”

Deputy: “Hey, coroner! What've you got for us?”

Deputy's Phone: “Vaguely speech sounding noise.”

Deputy: “Skunk?”

Sheriff: “What?”

Deputy: “Coroner says the lab got back to him. They say that acid stuff is some sort of concentrated skunk musk! But I don’t see how a skunk musk could melt a person.”

Veterinarian: “Oh, yes, skunk musk is extremely caustic.”

Deputy: “Where'd you come from?”

Veterinarian: “I'm still feeling all hot and bothered, so I followed you to see how long you were going to be.” Looks around and sees Sheriff. “Oh, crap. Umm, Hi Daddy.”

Sheriff: “Were you putting the moves on my daughter?!?!?!”

Deputy: “Ummm…Back to skunks?”

Veterinarian: “Yes, back to skunks, the musk they produce is extremely caustic and if it were sufficiently concentrated and in sufficient quantity, I suppose it would be possible for it to be corrosive to human tissue.”

Sheriff: “Sufficient concentration? How would a skunk have overly concentrated musk? Also, if I catch you near my girl again, Deputy, you’ll be looking for a new job.”

Deputy: “Actually, I think the more worrisome part is 'sufficient quantity'. How big would a skunk have to be to pack that much musk? Also, I’m sorry.”

Veterinarian: “Well, we can tell by the teeth marks that the incisors and canines were approximately 3 to 4 inches wide each. That puts the mouth at about 3 feet wide. Also, leave him alone, Daddy, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Sheriff: “You know, perhaps we should finish this discussion in the relative safety of my office. Princess, you’re riding with me.”

Veterinarian: “Aww, Daddy!”

Sheriff's office.

Coroner: “Since the neutralization I did was with a known quantity of base, the lab was able to calculate the original pH. With that, they were able to extrapolate how much liquid was discharged to do the damage noted.”

Sheriff: “Which was?”

Coroner: “About 2 gallons.”

Deputy spews coffee.

Deputy: “Two gallons!!!!”

Veterinarian: “That, coupled with the 3 foot bite circumference, makes me estimate a skunk at least 15 feet long and possibly as big as 25.”

Coroner: “That's a big freaking skunk. How could that happen?”

Veterinarian: “Well, we do live next to that nuclear power plant. Perhaps they bribed someone to keep sub-standard waste procedures quiet, then contaminated the river where a baby skunk might drink it and mutate into a giant freak of nature.”

Coroner: “Yeah. That makes sense. Hey, Deputy, wasn't there a scandal like that a few years back?”

Deputy: “I don't want to rehash my painful past.”

Sheriff walks to long gun rack and starts handing out rifles.

Sheriff: “Well, that settles it folks. Time for a little varminting.”

First, let me say I have nothing against the Kingsport Police Department.

Yes, that is always a fun way to start a story.

The KPD officers I have dealt with have been courteous and professional.  They've even been somewhat friendly, and I suspect the "professional" part is what keeps them from being more so.

Their office staffers, on the other hand...

Sunday night--or, rather Monday morning--at about 0035, I drove through an intersection and saw the police cruiser coming the other direction turn around and follow me.  I immediately looked down at my speedometer, having on occasion traveled at speeds above the speed limit.  I was going about 43 mph in a 45 mph zone.

My initial thought was that I had been going suspiciously slow for midnight on an empty street.  Furthermore, I have trouble maintaining a consistent speed, especially when tired.  I am a firm believer that maintaining consistent speeds is what God created cruise control for.  Sadly, the Flying Dodgeman has not had functional cruise control in about two years and some change (a story for another time).

When the officer finally flipped on the blue lights, I was still baffled as to the cause of this interaction with local law enforcement.  I rolled down my window and the courteous, professional and somewhat friendly officer informs me that my diver's side headlight is nonfunctional.

If anyone is actually reading this, I should probably explain that Stone Drive/US-11 through Kingsport is lighted at night like high noon.  In fact the only thing more lit up at 0030 on a weekend is the patronage of Hog Wild Saloon about halfway down said roadway.  As a result, I had failed to notice that somewhere between the parking lot of my place of employment and this traffic stop, my headlight had stopped shining.

The officer handed me a little paper with a little date at the bottom.  By October 15th, I have to comply with the city's light ordinances and have the ticket cancelled, contest the ticket (and most probably lose and have to comply with the ordnance) or cough up $88.75 (and still have to comply with the ordnance).

The officer further informed me that they prefer to dismiss these citations by having the individual show proof of compliance.  Said proof consists of fixing the headlight, driving to the police station, having an officer check the lights, and have the clerk pull the ticket out of the system.

Monday, I drove to the local AutoZone (my favorite retail establishment, according to my receipts) and acquired a replacement bulb for my headlight.  When I removed the headlight housing from the front of the Dodgeman, however, the light miraculously healed itself.

Due to some unseen events, I was unable to drive to the station that day, so Tuesday, I drive to the Justice Center.  I enter the building and find myself in a queue with little bowls for everything in my pockets to pass through an X-ray and a metal detector for me at the end of the line.  I start to stick my wallet in the bowl, then have a thought.  I look at the officer.

Me:  "That sign behind me says 'no knives', doesn't it?"

Her:  "Yes."

Me:  "There's a pocket knife in my wallet.  I probably need to take that back out to my car, huh?"

Her:  "Yes."

Out to the car, drop my Tool Logic CC2SB and, as an after thought, my Swiss Tech Utili Key in my console, then back to the lobby.

Me (smiling):  "I think I'm ready this time."

Her:  **Less-than-amused look**

Me:  "Umm, I need to get my headlights looked at."

Her:  "Through those doors, all the way to the end, pick up the phone."

It is never encouraging to find two men already sitting there, apparently settled in for the long haul.  Forty-five minutes later, an officer appears and asks who is waiting for a police officer.  By now, there are four of us there, all of whom raise his (or in one case, her) hand.  The officer blinks, then asks who is first.  Grudgingly, I point to the man who had been waiting for over 2 hours.

About this time, I realize that waiting any longer may result in tardiness at my place of employment.  I approach the clerk's desk and let her know that I need to be going and will come back later.  She informs me that, while the clerks will not be here when I finish my shift at 0130, there will be officers here who can check my lights at that time.

At approximately 0040, I arrive at the Justice Center once more and inform the central dispatcher that I need a light check.  About 15 minutes later, an officer appears with a puzzled look on his face.

Me:  "I need to get my headlight checked."

Him:  "Well, I can, but I won't be able to do anything."

Me:  "Seriously?"

Him:  "Yes.  It's illegal for me to modify those records.  Only clerks are authorized.  It's so I can't get in there at night and fix all my buddies' tickets or anything like that."

Me:  "I can understand that.  However, the clerk said I could come by tonight and have it checked out."

Him:  "Well, we could, but I wouldn't be able to do anything."

Me:  "Argh.  There isn't a form you can fill out and sign or anything?"

Him:  "No.  Sorry.  She was probably one of our part-timers."

So, back again tomorrow.

Burgleflickle!!!

Skunk Hunt: Part 1

As my screenplays are getting longer and longer, I can no longer fit them in one post.  Well, I could, but it would be even more absurdly long than it already is.  So for the first installment:

Skunk hunt

A lifted and loud yellow pickup comes around a turn, taking out almost an entire family of skunks. The redneck inside yells out rednecky stuff.

The sole surviving skunk walks to its mother and begins sniffing at her and obviously trying to wake her up. When he fails, he crawls to a nearby stream to drink. The camera pans up to look across the river to a pair of nuclear cooling towers on the opposite bank.

Flash to credits

A field. “Eight years later” displayed. Camera pans to back of Farmhand standing looking down. Dairy Farmer arrives in beat-up pick-up and steps out, then turns to retrieve lever action rifle. Camera to face of Farmhand as Dairy Farmer walks up behind them.

Dairy Farmer: “What happened?”

Farmhand: “Looks like some animals got a slew of them.”

Dairy Farmer: “Got a count yet?”

Farmhand: “Looks like a dozen head at least.”

Camera to back of men.

Dairy Farmer: “I'm calling the Sheriff.”

Dairy Farmer hands Farmhand rifle. “See if there's any alive and put 'em down.”

Farmhand: “Sure thing, boss. Hey. Do you smell skunk?”

Dairy Farmer: “Little critters probably scavenged last night.”

Dairy Farmer walks back to truck as Farmhand walks forward, chambering a round. Camera pans away to show a dozen mutilated cows.

Sheriff's office.

Dairy Farmer: “I told you that shelter was a bad idea. You can't just pick up drop-off dogs after they've gone feral and hope to give them homes!”

Sheriff: “Now, Farmer, you and I both know Vet's got more sense than that. Dammit, she’s my daughter! She only collects strays from in town.”

Dairy Farmer: “But then she went off to that college. Daughter or not, city folk don't know crap about country life. And what kind of shape are her kennels in if ten dogs can escape in one night?”

Deputy enters.

Deputy: “I'm afraid they’re in pretty bad shape, actually. We found the breach.”

Deputy drops a sawn-through padlock on the desk.

Deputy: “It looks like someone let them out. That's from the main gate. She keeps the keys to the individual kennel locks in her desk drawer. The lock to it was busted.”

Sheriff: “Let me guess, the door wasn't broken.”

Deputy: “Nope.”

Sheriff: “Inside job?”

Deputy: “Her aide is missing.”

Dairy Farmer: “How many dogs?”

Sheriff: “Veterinarian is still working on a count, but it looks like around 10.”

Dairy Farmer: “Any leads on the perps?”

Deputy: “'Fraid not.”

Dairy Farmer turns to leave.

Dairy Farmer: “Sheriff, I lost almost $35,000 in stock last night. They better hope you find them first!”

Somewhere in the woods.

Ditsy Intern (a.k.a. PETA chick A): “We've got to keep moving.”

PETA guy 1: “It'd be easier if they all didn't have to mark every tree in the forest.”

PETA chick A: “Oh, shut up. Everything is still going as planned.”

PETA guy 2: “Where in the plan did it mention the van breaking down and having to herd a dozen dogs through twenty miles of woods?”

PETA chick B (in high pitched ditzy voice): “You know what? How 'bout we take the poor animals here back to the pound to be euthanized? Or better yet, maybe you'd like to hit them all over the heads with rocks right now? Hey, I hear a river. Maybe we could stick them all in a sack and toss them in that!”

PETA chick A: “Come on, we're wasting time.”

PETA chicks A & B turn with flounces of hair. PETA guys 1 & 2 fall back.

PETA guy 1: “I'd drown them in a heartbeat to get out of these woods.”

PETA guy 2: “Me, too. Why the crap did we ever sign up for this?”

PETA guy 1 (staring at PETA chick B's butt): “Same reason any frat guy signs up for these idiotic movements. 'Cause they're friggin' hot and fairly slutty.”

PETA guy 2 : “Oh, right. I suppose pounding the dogs' skulls in might reduce our chances of fun in the tents tonight.”

PETA guy 1: “Probably. But seriously, bro, next time, let's just see how far we can get with pink ribbons.”

PETA chick B turns and beckons.

PETA chick B: “Come on! We need to make the county line by sundown!”

PETA guy 2 (watching PETA chick B's pleasant bouncing): “Save the ta-tas.”

PETA guy 1: “Damn straight.”

Veterinarian's office

Veterinarian: “I can't believe I fell for the ditsy intern act!”

Deputy: “C'mon, now, Veterinarian, how could you have known she was a tree-hugging hippie?”

Veterinarian: “Well, she did have a Greenpeace bumper sticker on her hybrid.”

Deputy: “Well, yeah then, you probably should seen that coming.”

Veterinarian: “Sob! I'm so stupid!”

Deputy: “No, you're not! You went to vet school while I, your high school sweetheart, decided to forego college and go to the police academy! By the way, I'm so glad you returned to your home town.”

Veterinarian: “Don't get your hopes for a rekindling of our childhood romance up yet. Although I know the reason you went into law enforcement was to impress my father.”

Deputy: “Yes. For now, let's work on catching these scum-bags.”

Veterinarian: “The thing is, I pulled the files on the dogs. I'm trying to figure out how three chihuahuas, two beagles, four dachshunds, and a poodle could kill a dozen cows.”

Deputy: “Well, chihuahuas can be vicious.”

Chicken farm

Chicken Farmer: “I don't get it. I mean we've had raccoons before, but I ain't never seen one what could bite a chicken clean in half.”

Sheriff: “Well, we think there's some dogs loose in these parts.”

Chicken Farmer: “Well, I ain't never seen a dog what could bite a chicken clean in half, either.”

Sheriff: “Well, despite your misgivings, I will continue to chalk all livestock killings up to the dogs. By the way, do you smell skunk?”

Chicken Farmer: “Little critters probably scavenged last night.”

Forest

PETA guy 1: “Hey, weren't there 10 dogs?”

PETA chick A: “Yes.”

PETA guy 1: “I only count 9.”

PETA guy 2: “Yeah, where's the poodle?”

PETA chick B: “Her name is Cuddles!”

PETA chick A: “Well, someone needs to go look for her.”

PETA guy 1: “I'm sure PETA guy 2 can find her.”

PETA guy 2: “I friggin' hate you. You know that, right?”

PETA chick B: “Go find her or you're not sleeping in my tent!”

PETA guy 2: “Really, really hate you.”

PETA guy 2 goes off to search for Cuddles. After a couple minutes of stumbling around, he comes across the bloody corpse of the poodle.

PETA guy 2: “Hey guys!”

Skunk: “Ominous growl.”

PETA guy 2: “Um, guys?”

Skunk: “Ominous growl closer.”

PETA guy 2: “HEY! GUYS!!!”

Skunk: “AAAARRRRR!!!”

Skunk appears out of woods.

PETA guy 2: “AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

Cut to PETA People. People hears screams and runs back. Skunk is gone, as is poodle and PETA guy 2.

PETA guy 1: “Hey, where'd he go?”

PETA chick B: “PETA guy 2!!! PETA guy 22222222!!!!!”

PETA chick A: “Um, does that look like PETA guy 2’s Birkenstock to you?”

PETA guy 1: “Maybe.”

PETA chick B: “Hey, do you guys smell skunk?”

PETA guy 1: “Little critters probably scavenged last night.”

PETA chick A: “I'm scared. We need to get back to the rest of the pack. I'm sure PETA guy 2 is just screwing with us.”

PETA chick B: “He's so not sleeping with me tonight.”

PETA People returns to other dogs and sets up camp.

Chicken Farmer's farm. Chicken Farmer hears commotion.

Chicken Farmer: “I got that danged coon this time!”

Chicken farmer grabs double barrel shotgun and charges out door. Coming face to face with Skunk, he proceeds to fire both barrels before being sprayed in face. Spray is super-charged acid that mostly sludges him.

Chicken Farmer: “AAAAHHHH!!!!”