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]