Adam’s momma was still shopping at the getting place, as he sat on it's steps he smelled apple pie cooling in the pig farmer’s window one house down. The boy couldn’t help himself and before he knew it, his ten year old feet was moving to steal it. While the farmer’s(more) yard hens clucked and nagged, Adam trotted away delighted with his plunder when a blast from the farmer’s shotgun spread his bread pan all over the yard and by the time the pig farmer’s wife got to Adam, the chickens & hogs was already eating his brains off the ground. We couldn’t do nothing but stand there and watch, it was on private property and that was that. You don’t steal round these parts, not from them!!!! (less)
The penguin’s shit stank to high heaven as usual, but it was worth it, she was worth it. Groups of tourists oohed and aawed their way through the small adobe building in Sea World, home of the imprisoned little birds and good ol’ anonymity. Her fool of a husband(more) would never suspect our meet up in the biggest tourist trap in San Diego. Tonight was it, she would be mine, just a little bit of business on ol’ Euclid St. and he is nothing but a dusty old memory. Some folks call it murder but I digress, my distinct up bringing taught me that satisfaction and honor, some call it a duel, are worth killing over. Is love not the most honored of all institutions? I myself do agree, but I was also taught that all is fair in love and war. I felt the ends justified the means, just a little pressure on the neck with an old guitar string and some strong arms, nothing more nothing less. (less)
A message from the author is what they always want and when I say “they” I mean the “machine”, the actual folks that make things happen. What occurs when the author doesn’t have a message? What bullshit words of wisdom do they want, (to quote Hulk Hogan) “Eat you(more)r vegetables, & say your prayers,….That ain’t how shit really happens in the jungle that is this world.
“I’m a rolling stone all alone and lost” Hank Williams admitted through the beatup Chevy’s radio as Killer Clyde drove towards the most notorious Street in New Orleans. Money was on his mind til’ he saw her standing on the side of the road. Her fluorescent sunglasses and short(more) shorts jerked him out of his thoughts.
He didn’t know why but he pulled over and asked her “Where you headed, Darlin’?”
With a sweet southern drawl she answered “Shealy May Bayou”.
“Well. Sheally May Buyou I can get you there but I have to handle some business before then, care to tag along?”
She thought for a second then answered “Sure Mister I can wait” with the look of desperation in her eyes.
Clyde told her to get in and buckle up and when she protested he explained that he didn’t abide with carelessness.
Basin St. was cleaning up from the night before as they came into the French quarter.
Shealy May Bayou said “I just left this place, why you comin’ back.
“I have to” the Killer named Clyde stated.
He pulled his shotgun from under his seat as he turned the corner and parked.
“How high can you count, Shealy May Bayou?”
“I can count to a million… asshole” she replied.
“Well count to 500, if I ain’t back, go on home and never say nuthin, …deal?”
“Deal”, she said.
So Slow Jones was the “Last in Line” and was responsible for enacting the “Final Rule”. He hated the fact that it was up to him but he swore an oath and duty is duty. As the last safe city on the West Coast started to be overran by the(more) zombie horde the town fathers summoned him to the defensive bunker and gave Jones his dreaded orders. He was to gather the last few living residents and force them into the gas chamber. All cities in “New America” had the law of the “Final Rule”, the law states that “In the event of a perimeter breach no living citizen shall be left to be turned and join the zombie horde thus increasing the enemy’s numbers to attack the other last remaining safe cities”. It was up to the “Last in Line” to kill all living souls in the cyanide gas chamber then himself. The residents of the safe cities knew the law and were forced to abide by it. The one privilege of Jones’s job was that his family where to be the last in the chamber.
The perimeter alarms sounded as he held his wife’s face in his hands and looked into her eyes. All that he could say is “I love you.” She shook her head and looked down at their daughter.
Jones wrapped the little blonde girl in his arms and said, “Daddy loves you Pumkin, take care of mommy and I will be with you real soon.”
A lifeless voice sounded over the intercom “30 seconds until “Final Rule” is activated.”
Jones s heart sank as he turned his family and gently pushed them into the deadly enclosure. He bolted the door, pressed his hands to his wife and daughter (less)
She crushed his throat with a quick chop to the neck. Married now for 14 years couldn’t stand one more criticism about her noodle soup. As he lay dying on the living room floor she sat in his favorite chair, held the warm bowl of comfort to her nose(more) and enjoyed its scent. His mouth drooled blood as she took a bite of pork, laughing out loud she thought, “Finally some peace and quiet from that fat bastard!” (less)
Even though he was working undercover for the Louisiana State Special Crimes Unit (L.S.S.C.U.) Clyde Thibodeaux still pulled both triggers the on the sawed off double barreled 12 gauge instantly turning the three wannabe gangsters into a red and grey pulp. Thinking to himself a phrase from somewhere “If(more) you got to kill every motherfucker in the room 3 inch magnum 00 12-gauge will get it done, accept no substitute!” Smoking these three fuckers didn’t even phase Clyde it was just another day at work. No matter if it was for the State Police or the old gangster Mr. Tueur he didn’t care he just wanted to get his father “Blacky” out of debt with both sides. Contemplating on how family obligation weighed him down “Killer Clyde”, as they call him on the streets of New Orleans started to look for the stolen money. (less)
Black rosary beads reflected in the eye sockets of the giant white owl’s blood soaked head as Detective Jenkins shined his flashlight onto the most bizarre crime scene he had ever witnessed. Red and Blue lights flashed, reflecting off of the rain soaked trampoline and playhouse. Wishing he remembere(more)d to bring his over coat the grizzled old homicide cop cursed the rain. Addicted to the rush of the job he volunteered for every bullshit call the police force could hand out. Dreading the day that he had to retire Detective Jenkins knew it was coming and he was going to celebrate by buying a fifth of Jack Daniels, drinking it then blowing his brains out with his .357 Magnum. (less)
One eyed Moon's face blushed in embarrassment as the extravagance of his birthday party washed over him. Surprised that his mother actually realized what day it was, he truly felt like the heir to the Boss Tanaka's fortune.
Moon never trusted his “so called uncles”, he didn’t lik(more)e the smell of them. The old men reeked of corruption and mutiny!!!!
His father's voice ringing in his head, "It's a dog eat dog motherfucker out there boy!" Jackie Green Bones agreed as he stabbed the bald headed man in the eye. Thinking to himself, "Yeah Papa, business is business and the boss has to take care of it" he drove(more) the twelve inch screw driver through the man's skull. Feeling the last breath of life leaving the condemned gangster's body Jackie felt the first rush of true power. (less)
Clyde Thibodeaux turned the truck’s radio up as the bridge of the song played..., “I been to the edge, and there I stood and looked down, You know I lost a lot of friends there baby, I got no time to mess around”.
(more) “Man o’ man”, he thought to himself, “Van Halen nailed it with those lyrics.” Back when he was forced to serve his 18 months in Afghanistan, he’d been to that edge many times. Clyde didn’t mind the combat or the killing that was just the way of the world, but he didn’t like losing buddies. When the judge told him, “Either go to the Marines or go to jail boy” he enlisted and as the shit got deep thoughts of wrong decisions flashed in his mind. Oddly enough that same feeling was eating at him as he ran the last errand for Mr. Tueur.
“Funny how things end up”, He pondered while pulling into the dark alley, “Forced to go to that shithole on the other side of the world just to come home and be forced to serve the old gangster.” Reaching under the seat for the sawed off shotgun, Clyde sure hoped he could get his father “Blacky” out of this mess. (less)