Dear Hoomans-
 
I am puzzled by your recent interest in my admission to the spirit world.
 
Mostly, I spend my time snuffling beneath moist, rotting logs for bugs to
eat.  Occasionally I venture into the suburbs to gnaw great, gaping holes
in the bulging sides of Hefty bags.
 
I am happy here, and have everything I could want.  I do not dwell on the
past.  Life is but a walking shadow.  A poor player that struts and frets
his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.  It is a tale told by
an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.  Worse, you could
get squashed by a mini van.
 
Please do not trouble yourselves on my account with these fruitless
metaphysical discussions on the FML.
 
The Skunk
[Posted in FML issue 4096]