A Skunk Story

EEKshow Episode 7 - A Skunk Story (which I believe will be told for centuries to come) and also does include a prelude family skunk jingle.

Dear EEKshow Society,

There are bad smells on planet earth and skunk is indeed one of them.  It's also not the one that most of you just thought of as soon as you read the word, Skunk.  It's worse and so much deeper than the smell of a passing skunk that nearly everyone has experienced in their lifetime.  Worst of all, if you're in direct contact with it, it will linger, and it will affect your entire life...

Regretfully Yours,

Stinky (1992)

It's EEKshow Time

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:04

How did you forget to close the door? Every time you alter your core. Oh, water. Oh, water. Hello, it's a lot in here. Here. Water. I don't remember what you said yet, yeah. All I had gotta do was hurry up and back. Oh water. Why does that come? Good to the story. This is a story. It's the eat show.

SPEAKER_01 1:25

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. A beautiful day in the neighborhood. Won't you be my? Could you be my?

SPEAKER_02 1:35

Won't you be my fucking eek show listener? Oh, Mr. Rogers! Like how you take off his shoes and talk to you so calm. Mr. Rogers! Roy Rogers! Give me a double fucking cheeseburger with bacon! Some fucking fries! Extra salt! Oh, watch the dog. Almost made a fucking free sausage patty. Jeez, guy's fucking walking his dog right on the road. No sidewalk. Just letting him on the goddamn fucking road. The sun's blasting through the trees. Can't fucking see him. No, he's fucking on my wheel. I'm teasing. Love dogs, would never hit him. My reflex isn't too amazing. Come on, man. Wasn't even close. If I saw a ladybug in the road, I'd avoid it! Paul and his fallen! That's a fucking bad name. Yo, yo, you going to see Paul and his fallen this weekend? I heard they're gonna be part of the fucking Woodstock. Uh fucking big festival. Yeah. Shout out to fucking uh Daniel Hall. It's gonna be fucking sick. Paul and his fallen? Never even heard of that band, dude. Yeah, dude. Yeah, check them out. Making all kinds of fucking jams. You'll dig them. One of the best stories of my entire life happened when I was a junior in high school. For those of you that, again, know the show, know of me, people think weird's a bad word. I don't. I don't I oh yeah, he's nice, he's fucking plain, he's fucking he's decent. I know I'm not a bad person. I know that. I know I'm not a fucking shithead or a fucking rich prick. I know I'm not fucking mean. I sound mean, but it's all for laughs, my friend. It is all for laughs. Inside I'm a big fucking teddy bear bag of fucking green jello. Me and fucking ectoplas. Or fucking Slimer. Ectoplas is the shit he fucking sprayed on people in fucking Ghostbusters. But his name, okay, his official legal name on his license was Slimer. Slimer gets pulled over and the cop's like, yeah, can I get your uh license and registration, please? Fucking give us a fucking license, and he's like, is your name really fucking Slimer? And he's just like and fucking puts the green shit all over his face. Fuck you, cop. Ha ha ha! You just got fucking slimed. I'd love to fucking bring that back. Just start fucking sliming people, especially fucking C O P S's, kid. Spock! If you're out there, fucking law, law-abiding fucking officers, thanks for sometimes when you help. I'll give you 75-25. 75% of the time you're probably helping. Maybe 60-40. You're probably helping out. I know it's a dangerous job, but this 40% you're being a fucking hard o because you got a badge and you carry a gun. 40% of the time, kinda wanna fucking slime you. Kinda wanna drive close to that fucking puddle as you're on the side of the road and blast that fucking muddy water all over your fucking outfit and your face, and just fucking cackle as I drive off, beeping the horn, throwing up the fucking deuces. Deuces, cat. One of the craziest stories of my entire life. Truthful, right down to the letter of the fucking law. I always say that because I want you to know I fucking am very good at being fucking sarcastic, telling stories, dropping in funny little quips. Sometimes I add in things to make you laugh. How I'm a fucking well-known podcast, okay? I still know it's fucking tiny. I mean everybody should know this, but they don't. I know that. I'm realistic. I don't give a fucking shit. I don't give a rat's ass if fucking people like me or not. I'm still gonna do it. You gotta believe in what you're doing or don't do it. If others believe in you, even better. Again, this isn't about me. It's about making people laugh, making people think, making people fucking enjoy their rides. Maybe they're headed out fucking to get some special fucking gifts for the kids, and they throw the eek show on. They're like, man, that guy just makes me giggle. I know that's fucking stupid, but hey, giggle, good word. Positive. Craziest story of my life. When I was a junior in high school, my dad am asleep on the I slept on a futon, a futon bed, which is a pull-out fucking small. It's like a $30 fucking piece of padding. And I folded it out, ripped out the bunk bed that was in my fucking room from when I was really young. Again, I don't have a door, it's just a curtain. I've got a couple shelves, a fucking desk, and I've got a floor. Literally, it's the size of an outhouse. There's a heat vent. I used to fucking sit on that vent and put the fucking blanket over me and just try to stay warm in the cold nights. That is a true story. I would fucking sit on the heater, throw a blanket over me. Luckily I'd never fall asleep. I would have been burnt like a piece of crispy fucking bacon. Double BLT, throw on some fucking slivers of bacon. Not a mayo guy. I don't like mayo. I don't want that fucking white glop on my sandwich. I ripped out the fucking bunk bed, okay? Heading into my fucking. I think it was heading into eighth grade, freshman year or high school. Rip that shit out of there. And I slept perpendicular in my room. I literally was too tall to fit in the room. Okay, so if I just laid down, stretched myself like a fucking pencil. I've used that analogy before. The pencil's the all-time diving board move, by the way. Everybody's doing backflips, reverse flips, gainers, splashes, cannonballs, can openers. I do the old school fucking Ticonderoga number two. Fucking straight into the fucking pool, zero splash, right to the bottom. Like a goddamn fucking arrow. That's the move. The girls in fucking Pennsylvania when I used to go to the community pool with my fucking grandmother and get pierogies. Officially they're called Titahi.

SPEAKER_01 8:28

Girls are just fucking.

SPEAKER_02 8:30

Look at Ink Show to his pencils. Oh, he's so fucking gorgeous. The form, the fucking, the brilliance of those fucking moves. I just wanna fucking lick him. Oh man. It's back when fucking one piece bathing suits was still hot. Bikinis, I don't even remember recognizing bikinis till I was like past fucking 12 or 13. Maybe I saw some adults with them, but I remember that community pool and all the fucking girls there. The guys jumping off the high dive, doing all their big splashes. Any fucking community pool with a high dive has gotta be awesome. I was going with my grandmother trying to fucking stay underwater, she'd time me. I fucking drilled two minutes every time, of course. It was a goddamn fucking blowfish. I don't know if blowfish is a good one, right? That's the one that's poisonous. Oh, maybe that is a good one. Craziest story of my entire life, junior year. I can't fit in my room. I wanted to make sure you could get the setting. You could see the room. Shitty little fucking trailer. On the futon, I wake up to the most toxic smell I've ever smelled in my life. I'm talking like tough to breathe in, physically coughing, as if we're being chemically attacked by Russia.

unknown 9:48

Okay?

SPEAKER_02 9:49

And the reason I say Russia is if you're fucking Russian, I don't dislike you. If you're fucking from that area of the world, I'm not accusing you. I'm just saying it fits. It fits. If someone was gonna drop a chemical bomb on us, it probably could be them. Okay? Or it could be them. I wake up to a fucking smell of just toxic sulfur, the most deep fucking toxic smell that I have trouble breathing. And I'm like, what the fuck? It getting stronger as I walk towards the curtain, which is only two steps. I go out into the tiny little hallway, okay? The hallway that fucking carries you down to the bathroom with no door, to my brother's room before he moved out, where my dad ended up living with no door. Curtains. The new room's to the left with the door closed, but nobody's there. My mother's away. She's visiting her parents. It's just my dad and I, my brother's off in the Air Force. I look to my left. I can see the kitchen from the hallway through the fucking cluttered living room. Every pan that we own that's under the sink is all over the floor. And at the back of the wall, underneath the cabinets, which are wide open, I can see pinned against the back wall a fucking skunk. My dad has his fucking standard blue slacks on, no shoes or socks, his bare feet. He looks like he's a judo instructor that's very overweight, balding head, he's sweating bullets, he's spitting, he's like fucking fucking you fucking little bitch. He's got the skunk pinned against the back of the wall under the sink with a fucking goddamn stake skewer fork and one of my classic yellow arrows from when I was young, nine or ten years old, when my parents bought me a bow and arrow, a cheap little fucking bow and arrow with yellow fucking arrows. He's got the skunk pinned against the back wall with an arrow and a stake skewer. And he's like, hey, it's fucking you fucking you fucking black and white fuck! You fucking you wrecking my trailer. I can see the skunk still spraying. I can see its mists like fucking flonase when you do a test run. You squirt it into the air to make sure it's working. His fucking little tiny stinky fucking black and white fucking skunk starfish squirting shit all over the fucking kitchen and my dad. And my dad like squinting his eyes and fucking and I'm like, dad, what the fuck? He said the little fucker got it in the house. I went to take the trash down. And the little fucker got it in the house. I love the fucking guy out of my fucking little fucking red fucking bitch. Like, dad, I can't breathe. I'm glad I can't breathe my fucking cat. The toxic smell. Everybody's like, oh, I smell skunk. Oh god, I smell skunk. No, you don't. No, you don't. Okay, you don't. That skunk could be miles away. It could be in the street when you're running over. When you run over a skunk? Sure, yeah, it might pop. A skunk has that defense system in him. All that liquid, whatever that spray is, it's a mixture of fucking toxic fucking sulfur and fucking shit rot. They spray that as a fucking defense mechanism. And they can just spray until they're out of it. Okay? It may be like humans how we can create snot and tears and mucus. That's a defense mechanism inside our bodies to ward off fucking disease or virus. This skunk uses it to defend itself. The shit backs you off. My dad's got this sucker to the back of the fucking sink. He's making it jacket the fucking door. Open the fucking door. I can't breathe. I'm like, okay, I you know, I'm thinking like, okay, you know, I'm I'm delirious. I literally don't get a lot of good sleep, as I've mentioned before, so I'm in and out of sleep, and I don't even know how I somehow woke up for this, but it's, you know, middle of the night. Whatever time it is. I opened the door for him. The one door that we use overall in the house besides the new room. The cluttered ramp. My dad's able to get to his feet. His fucking big giant bulging gut is fucking filled with sweat and fucking skunk spray. He's fucking fucking dope, black and white bitch, just screaming at him. You wrecked my fucking trailer, you little shit. Shit, you not. He's fucking in a full-out fucking brawl, yelling at the skunk like he yelled at my mom and the family. He gets to the door, he walks down, he fucking stumbles because he can't get down. You gotta walk sideways on my ramp because of all his fucking shit, his clutter, his hoarding, he gets to the bottom, he walks towards the outdoors, he's like a little fucker, and he's just trying to take the fucking, get the mail, and the sucker got out the ramp. I'm like, Dad, how did you? I'm still talking to him, like even though he's fucking holding a skunk. And the skunk's squiggling, still straying his shit. He gets down past the car, out into the fucking main street of the parking where you park. The fucking trailer park has this circle, okay? You come down this hill and you go around it. It's not a big place, but just imagine a small baseball field filled with a bunch of trailers. That's probably what the trailer park is like. And imagine that the infield, a little bit bigger, is a circle you have to run around. So you drive around the circle with trailers all around the fucking. It's like a giant rotary. He's out in the middle of the road with skunk, he's got it down now, and he's stepping on the tail to keep it there. He's like, fucking Ted, get the axe. Get the fucking axe. I'll never forget it. That's exactly what he said. And I'm like, I didn't even think twice. I'm like, I know this is fucking bad. He's gotta get this sucker. He can't just let it go. He's got a ventana against this sucker. I get the axe, give it to him, and I hear him, fucking you got it, you know, fucking. He goes into fucking Jason mode. Jason Voorhees, my fucking dad, Jason Voorhees, he's chopping up a fucking skunk in the middle of the road. Now, is that fucking insane? Yeah. What would you do? I'm not defending my dad, but what would you do? You know what I mean? Maybe you'd let it go. I guess as I think about it. But we're talking about fucking the classic fucking crazies of all crazies, okay? Up there with fucking the elite crazy. You fucking shit! You're gonna fucking wreck my trailer. I'm gonna put you back when you belong. I don't look. The story sorta doesn't end there. Skunk's dead. I don't remember what he did with it. I don't know if he put it in a bag. I don't really remember, but I remember this. The entire house was fucking toxic. Everything in the house was toxic. Over that next month plus of time, we couldn't live there. We had to throw out tons of pots and pans. Of course we didn't throw any of the fucking collectible shit that my dad has. I don't even know how all that stuff survived, but it did. Okay, this is years later, and I can even remember later on that summer. You know, this was probably right around, it was like a month to go for school year and junior year, you know. Um, that fucking next morning, my dad never let me miss school. My parents never let me miss school. I mean, I literally had to be, I I lost a fucking limb and was bleeding out. And they'd be like, okay, yeah, you don't gotta go to school today, okay? I know you don't have an arm. Otherwise, I was fucking going. Probably a good thing. It allowed me to know to not be a fucking wussbag and call in sick and bang in. I like the word bang in. Everybody from Boston says, yeah, you banging in. I wonder if everybody in the country uses that when they skip work. Yeah, you banging in? I think it's banging in, right? Or is it bang it out? I haven't used it in a while. I don't fucking skip work unless I'm sick. And even if I'm sick, huh? I battle through it, eek show style. The remainder of the story is rather quick, but it's rather humorous. I had to go to school that next day. My dad wasn't gonna let me fucking not go. We didn't have money to stay in a hotel. We ended up fucking staying that same night. We couldn't go to our house. Okay, there's a ton of aftermath. I can't tell the whole story to be too long. We live with a family friend that we go to church with in another city, next door city. I'll even fucking tell you the city. No, I won't. But it's the fucking town next door to us. We ended up living with that family for a fucking month. My mom didn't come home for a month because she's with her parents out in fucking Pennsylvania. She's in a wheelchair, so that part worked out. My brother's in the Air Force. Not only am I stuck in a goddamn nother home for a month while I'm a junior in high school, and I I've gotta tell you, I was normal. I played sports. I was a baseball player, I had a good group of friends. I didn't have my own car, of course. I was a fucking shithead in that sense. But I always got rides. Or late rides if my dad was picking me up or driving me anywhere. But I had to go to school the next day, and I fucking took lemon ammonia and washed my clothes, okay? And I did it countless times. If I'm being honest, the stuff that I was able to save, it's not like I had a lot of good shit, but the stuff that I was able to save, because I mean, realistically, my dad didn't work, he didn't do anything, he didn't have any fucking friends. The guy had nothing going on in his life except collecting fucking Medicaid, food stamps, and fucking whatever shit he got from my mom being in a wheelchair. I mean, that's how we made any money at all. She wasn't working, he wasn't working. So he had nothing to do. If he gets sprayed by a skunk, you don't really realize how bad you fucking stink. The shit seeps into your pores, it seeps into your skin, but you don't know it. You smell so toxic, you don't know it. Do you wash in tomato fucking soup or tomato juice? Yes, you do. I did that. I washed with tomato fucking soup. Tomato juice, I mean. V8! Yeah, have you had a V8? Fucking some slanted. No, give me a fucking V8. One of my buddies out there loves V8, loves tomato juice. I went to school, man! I went to school. Walking down, I'm running late because my dad fucking drove me. You gotta go to fucking school. I didn't give a shit what happened. Dad, the entire thing you caused, and now our life is gonna be upside down for the next six, seven weeks. Oh ho! I didn't mean to say it. It's weird how much you say that fucking shit. Maybe I should just start saying five to eight weeks. Is five eight fucking popular with the fucking kids? Yo, five-eight! I'm walking through the fucking school. Okay, I get up to the third floor where my homeroom is. It's it's close. I'm already late. Thank God I didn't walk into my own homeroom. Okay. They have open homerooms. I walk by one of those, I hear someone in the back row say, oh Jesus, I smell skunk. I'm thinking, like, that's gotta be me. It's gotta be me. I can't believe it. How the fuck can I smell like skunk? I stayed up all night, I washed my clothes three or four times in lemon ammonia. Yes, the toxic stuff that if you got it in your eyes or your fucking throat, you might die. Washed my clothes with that and fucking detergent four times, couldn't smell it, smell the lemon ammonia, but I still smell like skunk. I do. I didn't know it until then. I get to my locker, one of my buddies from way back in the day, a kid, I'll tell you, his first name was Justin. He looked like an eraser. For the people that know me, they'll know who that is. He comes out, I'm at my locker, I hear the bell, I miss the fucking homeroom, could care less. I'm scared to death because I already know I smell like a skunk. And I should have left right then. I don't. I didn't leave. For some reason, I didn't leave. In God's fucking name, I still don't know why to this day. He comes out, he's like, dude. I smell skunk. I'm like, yeah, me too, man. It's like all in the hallways. I'm fucking dying inside. Dying. Not laughing. Dying. First period, okay, is Chem Study. I always used to meet my brother's girlfriend. Now his wife, all these years later. He's gone in the Air Force. She's still in school. She's a year older than me. I used to meet her on the second floor before I went to Chem Study. I met her and a couple friends. I knew all of them. She's someone who knew me like a fucking little brother, right? She dates my fucking brother. I go up to her, I'm like, listen, a skunk got in my trailer last night, sprayed the fucking. She starts laughing. I'm like, I know it's funny, but do you have perfume? I just had this idea in my head. Maybe I'll be able to cover it. She's got perfume on her in her handbag. She sprays it all over me. Her other friend who I know sprays her shit all over me. I'm like, smell me. They're like, wow, you smell like a you smell like fucking perfume. I'm like, that's that's brilliant. I walk into Kent's study. There's one kid already there. I'm the I'm early. I get in there, I number the kid. Ironically, his name is also Justin. What the fuck? How random. Two different Justins on the same skunk story day. He looks at me, his nose is clenching. I can see his eyes looking at him. He's like, oh man. I'm like, what? What do you smell? He's like, you smell like a girl, dude. I'm like, in my head, I'm like, I know, I know. My brother's girlfriend just attacked me with perfume. I'm like, yes! Victory! Victory! Victory! I get through chem study. Ended up being one of the hardest classes I've ever taken. Of course I fucking aced it. Bam! It was a challenge though. Didn't come easy for me. I always worked at everything I did. Next period's gym, to keep it short, I go back to my locker, I'm headed towards gym to this day. To this day! Other than me telling the story in college, after college, to my friends, to my work friends, to my college friends for years, and I don't tell the story a lot, but I've told it five times over 25 years. And every time, it's been a goddamn Golden Globe winner. Golden Globes! Golden Globe worthy! And the winner for the fucking best script again! For the fifth year in a row! The Skunk Story by Eke Show! Crowd fucking stands up. Standing ovation. I think it lasted 17 minutes. Golden Globe. I've got five of them for this story. Second period is Jim. I'm on my way to gym. And one of my buddies. Okay, I played baseball with him. Never were best friends. Good kid. His name's Jonathan. If he's out there, he'll fucking remember this. He'll probably never hear this. I see him, I walk over to him like, brother, smell me. He goes, Dude, you fucking stink. You smell like a skunk. I'm like, I know, man. I'm no longer ashamed. I've sort of understood now that I'm in a fucking toxic situation. I can't even explain the lack of what's happened over the last 12 hours. I did it as fast as I could. This is already 25 minutes in. I'm like, dude, I know it. My fucking dad let a skunk in the house last night get in the mail, and he fucking killed it with an axe. Okay. And I tried to fucking shower it off. He's like, did you use tomato juice? And I'm like, yes. He's like, dude, stinky, you gotta get out of here. I walked to the gym, the big giant fucking field house. We had a huge gym with a track, bleachers, basketball courts, you know, the rubber fucking, just a massive field house. For a gym at a fucking shit public school, we had a damn good fucking gym field house. I walk right through the fucking field house, right out the side door, and fucking walk home back to the skunk trailer, okay? And I'm able to use one of my neighbor's phones. Yes! That neighbor also said, You smell like a skunk. I'm not gonna expose that neighbor, even though they're probably fucking dead at this point. That neighbor used to give me fucking candy, though, just randomly. Love trailer park. He didn't have to be Halloween, you could just kick candy anytime you wanted, walk around as a kid. Maybe that happens in other neighborhoods. I don't know. But in trailer park, fucking old people, they give you candy when you fucking stop by. Sometimes it's those butterscotch fucking candies, which are fucking gross. My dad used to crunch me the crack. Look at that, I don't even have to suck on it. Crunch it. Yeah. Yeah, dad. Your teeth are falling out of your fucking jaw all these years later, but yeah. Uh-huh. Good idea. Uh uh, yeah, I'm impressed that you can crunch your fucking butterscotch candies in one bite. I'm also impressed that you didn't know. Fucking shut the door when you went to get the mail, and now our life is upside down. That guy, Jonathan, who saw me that morning, the only one who knew, besides my brother's fucking girlfriend wife, all these years later, knew officially I got sprayed by a skunk until cause obviously years later when I told everybody. The story's so fucking classic, hilarious, putridly sick. Yeah, I didn't even get sprayed by the skunk. I just was in the fucking trailer where the skunk sprayed every last bit of itself and its fucking toxic defense mechanism all over our fucking trailer and my dad. He killed that little fucker. He ain't gonna wreck my trailer. There's people coming at me, but I'll get the fucking story finalized. To this day, that kid Jonathan called me Stinky. Now I don't know him anymore. It's been too long, it's been 30 plus years. But I'll tell you, after that moment, I'd see him during high school, I'd see him during baseball practice, I'd see him at parties. I ran into him a couple summers after college when I was home here and there. We were still boys, but he'd come over and fucking say, Oh, Stinky, what's up? Nobody ever knew. He never told anybody. He never told anybody that it got sprayed by a skunk, but he called me Stinky. We had that fucking agreement, I guess. Oh my god. We couldn't live in my trailer for almost six weeks. The fire department had to come and put the de lousing powder on the entire trailer, inside and out. They do it on homes sometimes if they're not gonna completely demolish them because the fire smell stays in the wood or the foundation, so they put this powder on that can take it away. Somehow, we lived in that trailer. My parents lived in that trailer until they both fucking my dad passed away, and my mom ended up passing away, but till they lived in that trailer for fucking another decade plus, which is insane. From that time, so much shit was ruined that we we didn't have any furniture. I mean, there was literally one seat. There was literally one seat in the whole house and then a folding chair. I remember when my fucking my mother-in-law came to meet my parents one time. We went to the trailer, she walked in. She wasn't horrified. I had set her up, but she was horrified still. And my hey, you need a seat? Sit down, sit down. He's on his fucking sitting on his bed. My mom's on the other bed. She's fucking handicapped. She can't move. This is in the new room, and he's he's like, yeah. And he gets up from the bed because he hasn't gotten up. It's like 11:30 in the morning. And he folds a chair and puts it right under the fucking this one light we had in the room. Shines down her like she's on a she's being uh um, you know, questioned for a murder. It's like a fucking police room where you have this one light beaming down on the suspect. The best part about her is she actually was polite and sat in the chair. And I laughed. You know what I mean? I was fucking laughing. We didn't live in that fucking trailer for six weeks, we couldn't live there. We lived in our fucking friends from church. I lived there for six weeks, my final six fucking weeks of junior year high school because of the fucking skunk story. I'll tell you, man, it's an all-timer. Shit like that builds character. I don't think you need shit like that in your life. I don't think you need to go through shit like that in your life, but god damn it, if the Eek Show is gonna benefit from it, then I'm motherfucking damn glad it happened. The one thing I noticed, I haven't noticed fucking shit. All week. Nothing. I haven't seen anything. I just know if you see a skunk, walk the other way. If you smell a skunk, it's probably not anywhere near you. It can be up to a mile away and still smell like skunk. And if you think you know what a skunk smells like, you don't. You gotta be sprayed directly. You gotta be in the midst of its toxic fucking liquid fucking death. Liquid death, by the way, that's a water drink. I used to think that was a fucking energy drink, but I'm glad it's not fucking skunk serum. Take a sip of that, it'd bring me back to memories of getting fucking sprayed in the fucking trailer that night. This is the Eekshow. Eekshow.show is where I am on Instagram. Follow me there. Follow my podcast, podcast.eekshow.show. You can find me on Apple and Amazon. Still fucking being played on Rotify. I hope you have an excellent week. And I'm gone.