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The youngest of the Marcus children was a round moist boy who did not say much and smelled of wet leaves. He had a large head and a large stomach. If you dressed him all in white and put a carrot in the middle of his face, you’d think he was a snowman.


Nothing seemed to faze him. He was unflappable. He was beatific. He was fat, stinky and appallingly content with his situation. Life was good.
Skunky adored his older brothers and sisters. He thought they were funny. He thought they were cool. He thought that nothing was as great as the opportunity to be hangin’ with them and chillin’ with them. Nothing was as great as having the chance to participate in their banter and practical jokes.   Nothing was as great as being in the Marcus family, as being a Marcus. 


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