"You, put down the raccoon NOW!" The cop's

"You, put down the raccoon NOW!" The cop's pointed pistol made the point. So he turned to the raccoon and said, "You smell like garbage."

It stared with its beady black eyes and waggled its stiff whiskers. The cop wrinkled his nose. Then suddenly the raccoon replied, "You should talk! You smell like donuts!"

"Yo-wha? It's...YOU!" the police officer stuttered in disbelief. "You're Ricky Raccoon! OMG! My kids won't believe this! Can I have your autograph? Can we do a selfie?"

"NO!" screamed Ricky Raccoon, "NO PHOTOS!" The cop pulled him close, "c'mon, just one!" Ricky didn't want to do it, but he had to chew off the cops arm. "AH! Get him off me! Help!"

Ricky Racoon, retreated from his rapid rampage to a Treehouse on the grounds of Mason manor & changed into a tuxedo to appear at the manor reception as Sir Roger Racoon III Esq.

"Sorry, Sir," drawled the receptionist, "no masks allowed at the party." "It aint a mask," growled the tuxed Ricky Racoon, "it's a prison tat. I'm with the Crips." "This way, Sir."

People stared at Risky Raccoon confused. They couldn't understand how a raccoon had joined a gang and been tattooed prison. They also disliked the chef's surprise.

Risky Raccoon, however, loved the chef's surprise, and stole everyone else's when it was served. They didn't care, because it tasted like butts, so they struck a deal with Risky.

His cousin Rocky Raccoon was to stay out of the saloon as was the doctor who treated him, stinking of gin. It was more than just a scratch. This was serious business, he was told.