I've had enough

this is continued from the previous post.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. Last night was the last straw. I was wearing my new suite of armour, clanking down the sidewalk, feeling snug and smug, protected from those vicious nippers, when---the brilliance of it, the sheer unadulterated deviousness---it was a trap! Somehow they had absconded with a bottle of single malt and knowing my routine, cleverly baited the ambush, there it was---brown bag clad (nice touch) the red top recognizable to connoissuers, devilishly hidden and yet not---I fell for it. I was bending over, not an easy task, even without the armour, when from behind---well, I went down in a heap of jarring and banging and metalic scraping. I was helpless. Protected, none the less, seemingly safe yet as I was to realize, horribly vulnerable, like a new-born turkey chick. There they were, in the light of a full moon, bug-eyed and frothing, frenzied, nearly frolicking, victorious in the fray, joined as one in the melee. Through the visor I could see them, their needle-sharp teeth and sub-vocal growls; it seemed like there were hundreds of them. Then the indignities started. It was, well, when urine a suit of armour, on the ground, you need a crane to get you back on your feet. That's right, urine a heap of doodoo. Not just metaphorically either. Well, dear gentle reader, I don't want to soil this true tale with graphic descriptions, so a wink is as good as a nod, if you get my drift.
I went on for a long time, seemed like ages. The Smell, oh the Smell.