The Return Of The Unwelcome Visitor

     I'm sorry to have to issue an updated report on the deteriorating quality of life here in our little Kingdom Of The Animals, particularly here in my own disrupted neighborhood.  For over two years now, the angry bickering among the various species, has been growing louder with each passing day and night.
     As I said previously, the problems have all been created by the arrival of that annoying and repulsive newcomer, Donald John Skunk.  He burrowed himself into the neighborhood a couple of years ago, and he is still hear, spreading his stench wherever he goes.
     I haven't said much lately, about Donald John, ( or as he likes to say, "Don Juan", because he still considers himself to be irresistible to the opposite sex ).  I have been greatly preoccupied with trying to avoid seeing him, or smelling him, or thinking about him, as much as I possibly can.
     Unfortunately, avoiding him completely is impossible, because he is still the same, ever-present and constant plague of self-aggrandizement and pompous disdain for anyone who disagrees with his opinions, even though he himself is hopelessly dim-witted and inept.  Furthermore, he also still continues to go around in the nights, chirping out his favorite bird-calls, but of course even the birds still don't believe his calls, because his chirps are never correct.
     Those of you who are familiar with this blog, may recall that my little thespian friend    (and occasional model ), Horatio Hamster, came by a couple of times, to warn us all, of the consequences of allowing a skunk to become an entrenched resident here.  The first warning, ( which he delivered in his theatrical role as a western sheriff, Horatio Hopalong Hampster ), fell on our deaf ears, whether long or short, or furry or smooth.  Then he gave us the second warning, when he stopped by in costume for his role in Dickens' Christmas Carol, the annual holiday production at the local Quadruped Playhouse.  Donald John Skunk had been chosen to play the lead role of Ebeneezer Scrooge,  because the other members of the cast had naturally assumed that such a self-centered, mean-spirited and greedy individual as Donald, would fit the role perfectly. But of course, Donald had failed miserably, because of his complete lack of experience, and his unwillingness to accept any wise advice.
     I have continued to try and avoid Donald, at all costs.  I never go near his den, which is located in a very tall, hollow tree, and which he proudly calls Skunk Tower, as if he had been personally responsible for planting the seed which grew into the great oak.  The only associates he has there are the equally greedy Vladimir Pig, and a poor, retarded fox, who follows him around like a lap dog, endlessly praising the skunk, while tripping over his own feet and bumping into trees and walls.
     In my attempts to minimize my exposure to the omnipresent, skunk stench, I have continued to keep my doors locked, and I don't respond when Donald rings my bell.  But it is difficult to keep the studio sealed up completely, on such beautiful, autumn days, when the maple trees are all aglow in fiery red and gold brilliance.  So, wouldn't you know it, when I had one window open, along came Donald J. Skunk, poking his head inside, like some grotesque, Halloween pumpkin, to deliver some more of his obnoxious rants and raves.  Fortunately, the window is high enough off of the ground, that he couldn't crawl in, so he just hung on to the window-sill with his tiny claws.
     At first I assumed that he intended to ask me again to paint his portrait.  That is one commission which I have previously declined because I know that I couldn't stand to spend that much time in the same room with him.  But he still persists in in his request, because he likes to be portrayed in a flattering light; he considers himself to be quite the dapper skunk-about-town, with his strawberry-blond beret, and his extra-long, red neck-ties.
     But, this time, he said that he didn't come to request a portrait that day, and that he was having a bad-hair day, anyway.  ( I suppose that was why he was wearing his stupid base-ball cap. )  He said that he was just stopping by to warn everyone to be well armed against the imminent threats of invading, criminal forces,  and to assure everyone that none of the "lying rumors" about his private life and personal hygiene were true.

     And then, without pausing for any questions or rebuttal,  he launched into another endless tirade, about what he sees as the hazards and problems of life here, in our little Kingdom Of The Animals.


              "I am sounding the alarm again, about all of these thieving, foreign animals, who are sneaking into     our neighborhood.......They are coming over our walls and through our fences......They are committing all kinds of crimes......... Those chipmunks down the road, for example, coming into our yards and stealing our acorns........You can tell that they are bad hombres, because their stripes are the wrong colors......Who knows what they're doing at night........And what about those road-runners?.....We need to get them back across the road, where they belong........Along with those ducks, flying into the neighborhood from who-knows-where....... and using our ponds, and stinking up everything.......We need to get them out of here, and make the neighborhood smell great again.......And I'm reminding everyone that all of those rumors going around, that I stink, are fake news.......They're all lies started by some of those shady-lady skunks, over on the  wrong side of the woods...They're all lies, told by some crooked, lying lie-tellers.......None of them are true..........I am the only one who tells the truth........You can believe me.....They should all be caged up, for spreading those fake stories........I'm still going to sue them , someday when I get the time, and get them locked up.....for telling all those lying lies .............."


     Once again, his stench had become so overpoweringly unbearable, that I had heard all that I could stand.  I shut the window while he was still talking, but again I could see that he continued to rant on and on, even after I could no longer hear what he was saying.  Don Juan Skunk still remains so infatuated with the sound of his own voice, that he often fails to notice that no one else is listening.