Sometimes I won’t go out at night for fear of the gang that controls my area. They’re the most vicious gang I’ve ever encountered, and it seems like every time I go outside after dark they are waiting for me; dressed in all black and white, stinking up the neighborhood. They make the Bloods and Crips look like the Hippies and the Dippies. They fear no one; respect even fewer. They are mean, angry, ugly little bastards. They are . . . Skunks. And they makin’ me paranoid.
I am not an anxious person. In fact, I might be too unanxious. Sometimes bad shit is coming and I don’t even move outta the way. But when that bad shit is a skunk, or even when the bad shit might conceivably be a skunk, I get anxious like its the first day of Junior High (at a School for Skunks).
There are a lot of bad things that can happy on city streets after dark. I’m not going to pretend that getting skunked compares to rape or murder. But beyond those two, skunking might be the paramount fear. Mugging? Fuck that. Getting skunked is much worse than getting mugged. If you disagree, think about it this way: How much money would you pay to not get skunked? A hundred dollars? Two hundred? If you’re walking in dimly-lit areas with more than a couple hundred dollars in your pocket, you deserve to get mugged. No one deserves to get skunked. Except other skunks. How about a light beating? Me, personally, I’d take a light beating over a skunking any day of the week and two light beatings on Sunday. Scrapes and bruises are certainly no fun, but at least they don’t require a bath in tomato juice. And at second least, you don’t smell like beating for the next two weeks.
Here’s how I break it down: Guns shoot you, knives stab you, and fists hits you. Skunks skunk you. They are their own weapons. Just by being itself a skunk is a terrible thing. To me, that makes them the scariest gang in LA. Except for the Trannies in West Hollywood. That beautiful gang is skilled in deception.
My name is Ben and if I had a gang we’d be called The Cool Whips.