A Delayed Reaction

The skunk just lets you leave, and you gladly take the opportunity to finish your walk. After all, you just faced something wholly unnatural and came out unscathed, so you feel like you could take on anything. That wolf from before wants to come at you? Bring it on! Someone might mug you? You laugh at the poor soul who tries it! The heavyweight champion of the world wants to fight you? He wouldn't last a single round! Your now-massive ego carries you for several minutes before your exhaustion finally catches up, forcing you to sit for a while to regain your energy.

While you relax, you look pensively at your feet. Why would the skunk **** you with that awful stench just to feel them up, and why did it let you go afterwards? You aren't the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this just doesn't make sense. Leaning back, you gaze at the stars. Maybe this just isn't meant to be understood.

RRRRRRRIP! SPROING! The noises yank you from your thoughts through their weirdness alone. Rip sproing? What the hell makes a sound like a rip sproing? Looking down, you soon find out. Your shoes lie in tatters on the ground, destroyed by the massive cartoonish (almost balloon-like, thanks to their latex sheen) black skunk feet that seem to have replaced your own. Suddenly you know what that skunk had been doing, though you really wish you didn't.