Skunk Ass

I don't know if this is Irony?
I have another Blog, several that I write for in no particular order.
I have had some really popular blogs, some really bad ones.
One of them that consistently gets the most "hits" and I have no idea why.
Its just an experience my family had with a skunk.
Thousands of families have dogs that get skunked every year, they must.
Thousands of blogs and articles and stories on-line and elsewhere about the noxious fumes produced by the black and white member of the weasel family.
I wondered and wondered why so many people, most of them from the UK and Russia, Germany and other European places click on that particular blog every day.
So I used this cool little ap thing, to show me what words were being searched for.
Guess what I found?
Skunk-ass.
The Blog is mostly about trying to clean up the smell, to kill or not to kill the dog and or the MIL. I actually only mention Skunk-ass only once. Its not a focal point of the blog, its an afterthought. Yet, for some reason, Skunk-ass draws in readers by the thousands. Really, 8441 as of right now.
Not really Irony, more of just a really odd coincidence.
However, I cant help thinking of what would make it Ironic.
Possibly if they were searching for a famous European Par-fume called SKUNKAZZ, or maybe if the word Skunkass, in German, or Russian, or some odd Latin based language that I have never heard off, means "Delicate Scent" or some other such nonsense.
Its not really Irony.
Just a curious happening.

Life in Stereo

So I am sitting in a fast food restaurant with a buddy of mine, basically making fun of anything that walks in, around or near our field of vision - now, he and I have a thing, not for each other mind you, god this is not that kind of story .. anyway, we have a thing, 'do not make eye contact with unsavory types and unsavory types won't mess with you' ...

It kinda works.

Really -

Except for this instance.

A couple of gang banging bros walk into the place, all hard and shit. A bandana is pulled down over the top hadlf of ones eyes, baggy pants, denim jackets ... you know the drill - well, they POP the double doors open with authority and start checking the place out - sizing it up I guess.

So enters our 'thing'.

Unfortunately, I panic.  Not quite sure what to do I look directly at them. What can I say? I fucking panicked - not just a look though, enough to draw attention to myself - oh god, I think - this is where I die.

Well homie number one and homie number two lock eyes with me and abruptly start walking towards me - on a mission .... I swallow, and take what may be my last breath.

Homie number one, hand in pocket, with the other on his belt with his thumb in his pants, starts talking while quickly pulling his hand out of his pocket to point at me like a handgun held sideways.

"Do you drive a white PT Cruiser?" he says with menacing body language.

"Uh, no?" Says I reluctantly.

"Oh man," he says, truly bummed he continues, "That's okay I guess, there is just one in the parking lot with its lights on, I mean ... I would hate it if someone were to get back to their car and the battery is dead - I know people don't stay in here for long but you never know."

And they walked on to the next table.

What the fuck?

I guess we don't die today.

Explained

I really should not have to.
Explain Irony, that is.
It should be obvious.
On a large group motorcycle ride. Its a charity event so it attracts the gamut.
Irony is endemic in large groups.
The boy/man/adult wearing a German SS helmet.
I should not have to explain, the irony of this.
Especially not to this little fucking hipster on his de-branded Harley.
They were the cooks at the worlds largest human BBcue. They herded people into cars and camps and killed them.
They were the master Race.
I am descended from them.
That's not the ironic part.
Wait for it.
He is gay.
Also, he is Jewish.
Wearing the helmet of the race that did its absolute best to eradicate his.
At least his lipstick was color coordinated with his gloves.