Sheriff Joe Gets Screwed

Sheriff Joe leaned against his squad car, exhaled and coughed out a plume of cigarette smoke, and held his radar gun towards the highway waiting for anyone who had the balls to speed through his town.


Joe looked up at the sun and squinted his eyes.  He took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brown and the back of his neck.  Beads of sweat slid down the back of his shirt and down towards his ass.  The heat of the day seemed to penetrate deep into his hands and Joe was certain that if he stood outside in this hell shit box much longer, the handle of the radar gun would soon singe his right index finger to the trigger of the radar gun.


Joe looked back down the road where his radar gun pointed and saw no one coming.  He sighed and placed the gun in his left hand and pulled out his cell phone from his pants pocket.  He hated this part of the job because sometimes it was so fucking boring.  He couldn’t not do it, he thought, because no driving violations meant no money for the department.  And his little police department needed money in a bad way.


Joe clicked the home button from his phone and it came to life.  He opened up Twitter to see if anyone responded to his tweet from thirty minutes ago about assholes in his town who run stop signs.  No responses yet.  Fuck, he thought.


He scrolled down the feed and saw a girl he was certain was barely old enough to vote with a black thong and a pair of huge tits staring back at him.  The girl had one hand on her head and the other grabbing her left boob.  Come fuck me, Joe thought the girl might be saying to whoever was looking at the pic.  He clicked on the picture and saw that the picture had almost 5K likes and a long line of comments from both sexes who were telling the girl how hot she looked.


“Look at that,” Joe said out loud to no one, “that’s why we are all gonna be speaking a different fucking language besides English in the next fifty years.  No one gives a damn about public safety from a police officer just trying to do his job.”  Looking back at the picture, Joe muttered to himself, “Now if I was a female cop and had a pair of tits and were showing them off in my uniform like this little hottie here, people would at least respond to what I had to say, even if the response was tied in with lude and borderline criminal responses about what those people wanted to do to me.


Sheriff Joe turned off his phone and looked back at the road.  Seeing the picture, although he would admit to anyone who asked that the pic made him so horny that he now had to adjust his pants, had pissed him off more.  Fucking people, he thought.


Joe now wanted to give someone a ticket.  He didn’t care what they did.  He NEEDED to give someone a ticket.


Looking back down the highway, he thought that he saw through the radiation from the road, a car traveling towards him at high speed.  Joe smiled.


“Come on baby,” he said, “Come to poppa.”  The car seemed to be moving faster as it came closer and swerving a little.  He still couldn’t tell where it was from but Stevens knew he had a live one.


A Corvette flew past him and the radar gun beeped.  Joe looked at it and smiled.  The display read 95 mph.


Joe threw the radar gun in his car and jumped in.  He turned on his car and was about to shift it into gear when he heard the Corvette’s tires squeal.  The car then made a quick U-turn and now sped towards him.
Joe climbed out of his car, pulled out his gun, and aimed it at the Corvette.  The car’s engine roared as it came up next to him and slid to a stop next to him blowing up dust everywhere.  Joe glanced at the front license plate and smiled.  California, he thought.  Crazy fuckers.  Today must be my lucky day.


The car door flew open and a man fell out of his car.  Before the man could get up, Joe shouted at him.


“Hold it right there!  Put your fucking hands up or I’ll put so much lead in you, you’ll be able to use your dick as a pencil!”


“Officer, Officer,” the man said with his eyes panning left to right with excitement.  “I need to see the Sherriff Joe.  I gotta talk…..”


“Shut the fuck up speed racer,” Joe shouted as he kept the gun pointed at the stranger’s dick.


The stranger stood up and raised his hands over his head.  The stranger spoke excitedly and was shaking nervously.  Joe was certain the man was on drugs.  “Officer, you don’t understand, I need to…”


“Now calm down son,” Joe said, “Take a breath.”


Joe stared at the stranger with the gun still pointed at his dick just in case he tried something.  After a minute or so, the stranger stopped shaking so violently and his breathing had calmed a bit.


“Now,” Joe asked, “what is all the excitement about?”
“Sir, I have driven for the past five hours to find Sheriff Joe hoping I would get here before….”


Joe noticed that the stranger now looked past him and back up the road where he had just come from.  Keeping the gun pointing at the stranger, Joe side stepped until he could get a view of where the stranger kept looking.  Joe glanced down the highway and back at the stranger.  “Before what,” Joe asked.


The stranger began to get excited again and spoke in choppy phrases.  “It…I mean…I don’t know exactly what…I just was told….no, warned….no, threatened and then told….to give the sheriff a message.”  Joe thought the stranger was now stuttering.


Joe stepped closer to the stranger.  Joe thought his day was going to be nice and easy.  And now someone he didn’t know was here given him a warning.  This asshole stranger now was pissing him off more than how he felt after looking at the hottie with the big tits.


Joe raised his gun from pointing it at the stranger’s dick and now placed the gun against the stranger’s temple.


“What message son,” Joe asked angrily.  “I am Sheriff Joe.  So tell me, just exactly what the fuck are you talking about boy?”


The stranger turned his head and looked at Joe.  His eyes brightened.  Tears joined up with sweat as the stranger began to shake violently again.  The stranger gulped and spoke through tears as he stared into the barrel of Joe’s pistol.


“They are coming for you and your little town,” the stranger said as he wiped the sweat and tears from his eyes.  The stranger then collapsed backward and hit his head on the open door of his idling Corvette.  The stranger rubbed the back of his head and looked back up at Joe.  He took a deep breath and looked directly at Joe.  “Your fucked Sheriff.  You and your town and there ain’t shit you can do about it.  I just came here to warn you.”


Joe took his eyes off the stranger and looked back down the highway where the stranger had came from and saw what looked like something far off in the distance traveling at high speed.  He couldn’t tell if it was a car or something much bigger.  Joe then heard what sounded like the click of a gun.


“I’m gonna do you a favor Joe,” the stranger said now with a gun pointed at Joe.  “You’ll thank me later when we meet up in hell.”


Joe dove to his left as the stranger’s gun went off.  Joe then fired twice and saw as the stranger’s head almost parted in two.


Blood spurted in two directions from the stranger’s head.  Joe ran to his radio and before calling in he looked down the highway again.  Now, instead of one car, Joe thought he now saw through the intense heat radiation what looked like an army of soldiers on motorcycles coming for his town.


Fucking bitch with her big tits, Joe thought.  We are all fucked now.

Just One Day of TV, Please

This is my first attempt at a little flash fiction.  Enjoy.
I only have one day off.  All I wanna do is watch a little tv.  That’s all I wanted to do.

 I grabbed my remote to turn on the TV to relax for a little while only to find that it wasn’t working again. This was the third time in the last week that the remote had quit working and I had really had enough with it. I had enough things going on in my life at the moment to stop and deal with a defective piece of equipment yet again. The more I sat on the couch and thought about what I would have to do to get the remote to work again, the more frustrated I got. Calling the cable company and dealing with those people who made you feel foolish was not my idea of a relaxing afternoon. I was going to have to call whether I liked it or not.

 I pulled my cell phone out and dialed the cable company’s number which I now knew by heart. I looked at the remote in disgust as I put the phone up to my ear. After a few rings, the line picked up. It was not the cable company. My day was about to get a lot worse. The voice said, “Please hold for an operator to assist you with options to restore your temporarily interrupted cell phone service.” 
 I dropped my arms and did a half-chuckle. I lifted the phone back to my ear to the sounds of a man telling me how to fix my problem with my cell phone. I told him it was their mistake, not mine. “You people need to go through your records right now so that I CAN GET BACK ON WITH MY LIFE!!!” I yelled. He told me to hold on while he checked. “I see that the error was a computer glitch sir and I apologize. Your service will be back on within four hours.” “Four hours?” I just hung up the phone. I tried the remote again. The TV came on. This lasted for about two seconds before the remote short circuited and the TV went off again. I grabbed the remote, unplugged the cable box and threw it outside. I jumped in my car and left the house. I wanted to be as far away as I could from that piece of crap remote.

Shit Rolls with The Boss, An Intro



I once had  professor in college tell me that I had the talent to write.  My problem, this egghead said, was the same problem that most people nowadays have.  NO MATTER HOW MUCH TALENT YOU MAY HAVE, IF YOU AIN’T GOT THE DISCIPLINE TO DO IT EVERY DAY, YOU MIGHT AS WELL GIVE IT UP AND GET A MEANINGLESS JOB. I’ll admit that when the professor told me this, right after she gave me my paper back that said “A+ Great Job!” in the right hand corner of the paper, I felt a flush of anger come over me.  Who was this Bitch, I thought to myself.  Who was this bitch to tell me what I can and can’t do with my abilities as a writer.  She’s just jealous because she’s probably never wrote accomplished anything more with her writing career than having one of her haiku’s published on some obscure literary website.  Or better yet, having a poem she wrote in college about her first orgasm published on VQR online.


I think this is going to be hard for me.  My ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder), or as I like to call it, my sugar-coated diet, makes it hard for me to sit still and concentrate on one thing.  Honestly, as I sit here and write this fuckin’ sentence, I’m thinking to myself that I would rather go into my room, rub my girlfriend’s tits to see if I can get her to respond, and go to sleep afterwards.  If that didn’t work, I had a Plan B.  I would go in the room, rub my girlfriend’s tits, have her tell me to leave her alone, stare in pitch darkness for awhile thinking about how much money I don’t have, and then turn the TV on  and see how long it can take before Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer make me laugh at the same jokes that I’ve heard them say about a thousand times.


It’s not too often that a pizza guy gets a bright idea about sitting down and writing a story.  In fact, it’s a rare night indeed when a guy whose delivered pizza for almost twelve years can come home, look at himself in the mirror, and feel anything else but a pounding migraine headache because of a disappointing day at his office, okay not an office, but a day and often in my case, a day and a night of driving all over two different cities in his fucking car trying to avoid idiots who don’t know how to drive any better than he does.


Tonight though, something feels different.  I’m not quite sure what it is but, I don’t know.  It’s just different.


Let me get something straight with you people, those who are sitting here reading this garbage.  I’ve been at this pizza delivery gig for a few years and I’ve never thought about what it would be like to sit down and write about my experiences until recently.  It may have crossed my mind a time or two, but to sit down and write all this shit out, ugh really.  Besides, I’ve always told myself, who the FUCK would actually care about what the hell happens to a pizza guy.  Don’t most people think that pizza delivery drivers are nothing but a bunch of dumbass kids or potheads driving around in our VW Beetles looking to score some more dope?  Well, people can think what they want.  The truth is however, that I’m one of those pizza delivery jackwads whose done this because he needs to pay his bills and who thinks that this job has been one of the relatively few STABLE ways to earn a living for the last 10-15 years.  Anyway, I ramble.  I’m going to stop here and take a break (not a fucking pot break) for all you fuckers out there that think this is what I’m saying.  I’m gonna take a break and try to figure out how I’m going to start this story and how I’m gonna do it.  Be right back.


SO, this one time in band camp…..just kidding.


I guess I’m gonna call this: Shit Rolls With the Boss, An Intro


One day, the boss, while posting the schedule for the upcoming week, came right out in front of everybody and said, “Hey, let’s not all act like this fucker right here (pointing at me), and try to ask for every day off this week.”  At that exact moment, I knew my time at Big Texas Pizza was almost up.  I wanted to hit my boss in that smug face of his with one of our big Pizza Peels, you might call them spatulas.  Once his nose was bleeding, I wanted to then take our sharpest bubble popper and ram it straight into his neck.  That would shut that motherfucker up once and for all.  The company would be free from this fucking wannabe boss tyrant and those in the company would laud me a hero.  They would make me a hero and give me a big promotion, I thought.  Yea, they would.

And then, like all heroes to the masses, I would then be arrested and sentenced to life in prison for murder.  I would then become the newest bitch to a big fucker with a large “Mom” tattoo on his chest.  What a life I would have.  All because my asshole boss, Peter Holton, pissed me off for the last time.


Have you ever had your boss tell you to “Fuck Off” while your at work?  I did once, and I tell ya, that motherfucker almost got his head kicked in.


I worked for Big Texas Pizza for almost fifteen years.  It was never a career choice for me.  It was just a job for me while I made my way through school and out in the world trying to make my fortune.  About five years ago, I quit Big Texas because I got a job teaching at the University of Houston.  The times I had at Big Tex taught me a lot about myself, people, and the way people treat each other.  I had a good time, for the most part.  The last couple of years though, not so much fun.  Frankly, it was a lot of bullshit.  I’m glad that I was able to leave that company when I did.  I had to get out of there.


Peter Holton was one of the main reasons why.  My boss, Peter Holton, or as I liked to call him, “dumbass,” because that’s the best name I can give him right now, who liked to fuck with his employees.  He was a good worker and he knew his stuff, don’t get me wrong, he just liked to mess with people in a way that pissed people off.   Personally, I think it made him feel good about the fact that he wasn’t get laid at home.


Peter had a reputation throughout the company of being an asshole.  It was very well known throughout the company that soon after Peter was placed in charge of a new department or group in the company, people under him who had worked for the company for years, would soon ask to be transferred, quit for no reason, or in some cases, find themselves fired after a “run-in” with Peter the Dumbass.  The story was that Peter had literally pissed everyone off at the corporate headquarters and the “geniuses” that made the big decisions decided that the best way to use Peter’s talents was to send him out into the field to the different retail outlets to “clean out” the undesirables that questioned the decisions handed down by the corporate office.  That was the rumor that those of us, myself included, who had been with the company for a long time and who had friends all around the company, had heard.  Peter had arrived at our store about six months ago and within a week, he had shook up the management staff.  Two good managers, one who had been with the company for almost ten years, left suddenly for new jobs, usually with competitors, after confrontations with Peter.


Once the management at our local store had been ripped to shreds, Peter turned his attention to the regular staff.


I didn’t know what the big deal was with people hating Peter.  I did my best to get along with him and he seemed receptive to my attempts at mutual respect among manager and employee.  One day, about a month ago, things started to change.


I don’t know how or why it happened.  All I know is, that on a delivery, Peter insisted that I split the pizza delivery tip with him.  I said, we’ve never done that at the store, and that I wouldn’t do that.


He gave me a “what the hell did you just say” look and said in a raised voice, “In all the other stores that I’ve worked at, we do tip sharing all the time, especially on big orders.”


“Look man,” I said, “I’m sorry but that’s not cool.  I’ve never heard of that and I’ve been doing this for over a decade.  Tips received inside the store, that’s one thing.  But tips given to drivers, that’s something else entirely.”  I had been in the pizza delivery game for a while.  In all the years I had worked


Peter stood up and placed his arms to his side.  Since he was about two inches taller than me and about fifty pounds heavier, I stepped back a half a step and subconsciously my internal defense system suddenly sprang into action.  It was my military training taking over my body’s reflexes without me even having time to respond to what was happening.  I looked at Peter.  I could tell his face was starting to redden.  I quickly glanced at his hands.


Were they balled into fists?  Is this guy really going to punch me?


Peter glared at me.  I had a funny thought come to my mind as we stood there for that brief five seconds looking at each other.  Briefly, I pictured the whistling sound from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.  And then the camera going back and forth between his eyes and mine while our eyes raced from side to side trying to see if something was going to happen to either one of us from the side.  I smirked and whistled the tune at Peter.


Peter was in no mood to joke.  “Fuck off,” Peter said, “the tip will be shared.  You don’t like it.  Quit.”  He walked off.


I knew deep down, that it was now my time to be fucked with.  My stomach turned in knots as I thought about what the next couple of days, weeks, months, or even years had in store for me.  “Fuck,” I exhaled out.


So here we are.  A month later.

Peter posted the schedule for the upcoming week.  When he tacked it onto the board, he said in front of everybody, “Hey, let’s not all act like this fucker right here (pointing at me), and try to ask for every day off this week.”

After I fought off my initial reaction of punching my boss right in his skinny fucking nose for calling me out in front of the staff, I turned to look at my place on the schedule.

David Collins

Monday — Off

Tuesday — 10-5pm

Wednesday — 10-6pm

Thursday — 10-5pm

Friday — 10-5pm

Saturday — 10-8pm

Sunday — Off

Total — 39 Hours

Confused, I thought, that can’t be right.

I knew better because of what Dumbass just said to everyone right in front of me.  But still, I blinked, and looked at the schedule again.

I looked back at Peter.  That grin, that shit-eating grin, that everyone in the store knew well.  I’m the boss, and that’s the way it is.  That’s how I decided to schedule everyone this week.  There ain’t nothing you can fucking do about it.  You don’t like it?  Quit.  I don’t give a fuck.

That shit-eating grin that had given Peter his reputation as one of the biggest assholes in the company.  right at him, my face and neck throbbing with heat and newly-formed as I tried to maintain my composure, looked the boss square in the face and said, “What are you talking about man?  You and I talked about this a month ago.  I have to go and see my kid graduate.  You said yes.  What’s the problem?”

Peter looked at me as if I just called his mother a bitch.  “You and I didn’t talk about shit, Mr. Man,” he said.


This time, my fists were the ones that started to clench.


I will keep this up tomorrow………………..Thanks for the read everyone


The Emperor of Ice Cream and My Favorite Stephen King’s Books 

Favorite Stephen King book?

A friend mine asked me to rank my top 5 about a month ago.

Here’s my list:

In my expert opinion……haha

10. Hearts in Atlantis

9. Needful Things

8. Cujo

7. The Long Walk

6. Carrie

5. Joyland

4. 11/22/63

3. Dark Tower: The Gunslinger

2. The Stand

1. Salem’s Lot

I personally think Salem’s Lot is the greatest vampire novel since Bram Stoker’s Classic reintroduced the genre to the reading public.   

In Salem’s Lot though, Stephen King haunts us and reminds us that evil bloodsuckers may be roaming around our backyards.

Perhaps one of my favorite parts of the book is the poem by Wallace Stevens, The Emperor of Ice Cream. To this day, I don’t know what the fuck that poem means or why he included it but, I appreciate what he did. The poem forces me, believe it or not, to go back through the story time after time looking for clues on why the hell he included it.

 I’m sure I’ll get it one day, probably when I’m old and rolling around the house in my mobile recliner yelling at my grandkids because they drank all my orange soda.

What I do know about the poem is that it’s about death and ice cream. That’s all I can figure out so far.

The Emperor of Ice-Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,

The muscular one, and bid him whip

In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.

Let the wenches dawdle in such dress

As they are used to wear, and let the boys

Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers.

Let be be finale of seem.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,

Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet

On which she embroidered fantails once

And spread it so as to cover her face.

If her horny feet protrude, they come

To show how cold she is, and dumb.

Let the lamp affix its beam.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Two Words, ‘F&$K It!’

Jimmy and Kevin left their ATVs at Jimmy’s house, crossed the dirt road and ducked in between the barbed wire fence onto Jimmy’s Grandpa’s land. They each walked briskly in order to keep warm as the cold January wind bit at their faces causing them to wipe their noses and blink their eyes a little more than usual. Kevin carried with him a BB gun that he had gotten for Christmas that year and Jimmy had a pellet gun, a gift from his grandpa. He held it over his shoulder like one of those marching Marines he had seen on television. The only experience they had had with their guns up to that point was the shooting of cans that Jimmy’s dad put in a row for them against a fallen tree on the back of their property. They had decided that their days of shooting cans were done and they wanted to take their guns out and try and kill real. After being granted their parent’s permission to take their guns out in to the wild, they set out on a mission to hunt and kill any small animals that came their way. Being ten year old boys, their parents figured that they weren’t going to be stupid enough to have wars with each other and shoot one another’s eyes out. 

 As they made their way through the tall grass they came upon a group of trees bunched together which they thought would shelter them from the cold wind. A strong wind blew tingling Jimmy’s ears. He grabbed the bill of his Astros baseball cap, and pulled it down almost covering his eyes trying to protect himself from the wind. They got to the bunch of trees and sat down leaning their backs against the tree in the middle. Kevin unzipped his coat, and from the inside of his coat pocket pulled out the container of BB’s and started to load them in his gun. Seeing this, Jimmy loaded a pellet into his gun and placed it on the ground.

“You sure your grandpa is cool with us shooting shit on his land,” Kevin asked.

Jimmy looked towards his grandpa’s little trailer which was about two hundred yards in front of them looking for any sign of movement inside. “My grandpa is a cool guy. He isn’t going to have any problem with it. I just hope he is not drinking in their today and mistake us for a couple of deer.”

They both laughed at this as they looked out amongst the high grass seeing if they could see any signs of movement.

“I don’t think your grandpa is going to mistake that Astros cap for any deer. Why did he buy you an orange cap anyway? Wasn’t that their colors back in the 1970’s?”

Jimmy took the cap off and examined the white H on top of a blue star. “Hey dillhole, this thing is like retro. I think its cooler looking than the design they have now.”

Kevin stood up and pointed his BB gun out amongst the grass like it had a scope on it. He looked back to the hat after a moment and laughed. “Whatever dude. To me it looks like your wearing a big orange Popsicle on the top of your head.”

Jimmy picked his pellet gun up and walked over to where Kevin was and looked back at his grandpa’s trailer.

“I wonder where he is today,” Jimmy said, “His truck is in the driveway, and the lights are on but I haven’t seen him move around. It’s a little too early for him to go to sleep. It’s only like three o’clock. I wonder if he is at my house.”

Kevin looked at the trailer with Jimmy as if he would be able to see something Jimmy couldn’t and then they both scanned the land left and right looking for him. Jimmy looked back across the street to see if he could see him at his house.

“You sure he is cool with us over here,” Kevin asked, “I don’t wanna get in no trouble. Your grandpa is cool and everything but he kinda creeps me out. All he does is smoke, drink beer, and cuss.”

Jimmy turned back towards him and looked at Kevin as if he had just cursed him out himself. “What? Creepy? You think my grandpa is creepy? What the hell does that mean?”

 “I don’t know. He was like in World War II right? That was a long ass time ago. He just has that “Don’t mess with me look.” I didn’t mean your grandpa is like a freak or anything, he just is so old.”

 Jimmy looked at Kevin and was tempted to lift his pellet gun and shoot him in the balls for calling his grandpa creepy. Jimmy loved his grandpa. His grandpa spoke his mind and he didn’t care if you agreed with him or not. That’s just the way he was. He even cussed in front of him which Jimmy thought was really cool because his mom couldn’t do anything about it. When he started to talk about his days as a sailor in World War II, the curse words would just start flowing. He would say shit and damn a lot and sometimes even threw in a fuck for good measure. Whenever he got this way and Jimmy’s mother heard him, she would yell out, “Pop!!!” and his grandpa would just turn to her and say that he needed to hear these words from family first. When Jimmy laughed at this, his mom gave him a look that would’ve froze hell itself. If he learned those words from the kids at school his grandpa had said, he would just be using them the wrong way. His grandpa was one of those guys who felt that kids didn’t know how to use language the right way. His mom thought he cursed a lot because he drank and smoked a lot. Jimmy remembered asking his grandpa a while back to tell him the story of how he lied about his age to get into the Navy so he could go fight during the war.

 “Back then,” his grandpa had said after finishing off a beer and chucking it into the trash, “you could lie about your age if you wanted to join. No one was going to stop you. And if it came out that you were too young, chances were you were already dead or had been in long enough to not be too young anymore. People didn’t have all these computers and shit they have today so no one was scanning your driver’s license or any fucking thing like that. I tell you Jimmy, things are getting really fucked up. You ever get a chance kid, read George Orwell’s, 1984. This country is quickly going down that path.”

 They both sat back down because the wind was picking up again. Jimmy pulled a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup from his coat pocket and opened up the package. “You want one of these,” Jimmy asked.

 “What you think? You know I love those things. It’s not melted or anything like that is it?”

 Jimmy examined it and took the wrapper off of the back of the cup. He snapped it in half and it broke almost into two even pieces. “Nope,” he said, “I guess it’s to cold to melt. Thank God. I hate the melted ones. They get all over my hands.”

 “I know what you mean.”

 Jimmy shifted himself around the tree chewing on his peanut butter cup. Still sitting he looked out amongst the blowing high grass towards the back of his grandpa’s property away from his trailer. While scanning through the grass, he thought he saw something moving about fifty yards in front of him. He stopped chewing, narrowed his eyes and looked again. He took his glasses off, cleaned them on his shirt and put them back on. He moved his neck a little forward and focused on the spot where he was sure something was in the grass.

 Kevin noticed what he was doing and came up next to him. “Whatcha see?”

 “Shhh,” Jimmy said, “give me my gun.”

        Kevin turned away from him, grabbed Jimmy’s pellet gun and gave it to him.

 Jimmy took the gun and aimed it at the thing in the grass. He steadied himself, took the safety off and peered through the small front site in order to get a better aim. He took his time, relaxed and pulled the trigger. He noticed the thing moved its head away from him at the last minute but he was sure he had hit it. He had seen the puff of smoke on the spot he had hit and so he was sure when the thing had moved it was because it was falling to the ground. Kevin saw it to.

 “You hit it man!!! You got the little bastard!! Let’s go get it!!”

 Jimmy didn’t know how his parents were going to react to him bringing home a dead rabbit, but he would carry it proudly. He was sure his mom would faint or tell him to get it out of her house but his Dad and Grandpa would smile at him and say “Atta Boy!!” when his mother wasn’t watching. He had a little swagger in his step as he walked toward his prize. Making his way through the grass, they each talked about the kill. They were about ten yards from where he thought the rabbit was when they saw the rabbit out of the corner of their eyes take off into the woods to their right, apparently spooked by two oncoming humans. Puzzled, Jimmy walked forward a bit and then froze. He lost his breath and began to tremble. There laying in the grass on his back not moving with his eyes looking up towards the sky and a small hint of smoke lifting from his side in the direction of where Jimmy had shot the gun, was his grandpa.

 “Grandpa!!” Jimmy shouted. “Grandpa!!” Jimmy dropped his gun and fell to his knees. His hands were trembling as he tried to shake his grandpa awake from what he hoped was his sleep.

 Kevin looked around a bit as if looking to see if anyone had seen Jimmy shoot his own grandpa. His mouth quivered a bit as he was at a lost of words. He didn’t know what to say. He said the first thing that came to his mind. “Your grandpa is going to kick your ass when he finds out you shot him with the gun he got you for Christmas!! He is going to kick my ass for being here with you!!”

 Jimmy shouted at Kevin. “Go get my parents!!! Oh man! Grandpa, wake up!!!”

 Kevin took off towards Jimmy’s house running faster than he probably ever had in his life.

 Five minutes later, his parents came running up to him. Jimmy’s Dad picked up his crying son and gave him to his mother. He then went about checking grandpa out and put his fingers against his neck. He felt in a couple of different places and then touched his arm. His head drooped and he turned to look at his wife and shook his head no. Jimmy’s mom put her hand to her mouth and cried while holding her son. “Daddy!!”

 At that moment, Kevin along with Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher ran up. She hugged Jimmy’s mom as she cried. In the distance, Jimmy heard the ambulance. He hugged his Dad tightly not ever wanting to let go.

 Jimmy and Kevin watched as the paramedics checked out his dead grandpa. After awhile they put the body in the back of the ambulance and took off. Before they left, Jimmy noticed one of the paramedics picking up his pellet gun and giving it to his dad. They talked for a minute and both looked his way. Jimmy was certain they were trying to figure out how the cops were going to handle this. Jimmy’s dad walked up to him with his pellet gun in his hand.

 “You want this back,” he asked.

 Jimmy looked at him like he had asked him the stupidest question on Earth. “Want it back? Don’t they need it for evidence or something like that? I killed my grandpa dad with the gun he bought me.”

 Jimmy’s dad shook his head and put his arm around his shoulder and started to walk him back towards their house. “We will see you later Kevin,” he said.

 “Ok, Mr. Stevens.”

 They walked for a bit and then stopped. “Listen son, I don’t know how to tell you this but, your pellet gun didn’t kill grandpa.”

 Jimmy stepped back. “What?”

 “Your grandpa died from a heart attack. It was probably all the cigarettes and alcohol over the years that finally did him in. The paramedics told me that your grandpa had been dead for a couple of hours. So no matter what you think, you did not have anything to do with your grandpa’s death.”

 Jimmy turned around and looked back towards the spot where he had found his grandpa laying in the grass. “I shot my own grandpa, Dad!! Whether he was dead or not, I still shot him!! I just don’t want anything to do with that gun anymore.” Jimmy grabbed the gun out of his dad’s hand and threw it as far as he could. He ran across the street and went into his room and closed the door and cried himself to sleep.

 A week later, Jimmy and Kevin sat on their bikes outside of his house. They were still wearing their funeral suits and watching all of the people go in and out of the house. They could see their breaths rising in front of them. It seemed too had gotten colder as the day went on. Jimmy had heard that there was a possibility of snow that night. He and Kevin had told their parents that they were going to Kevin’s house to grab one of his Playstation games so that they could play it tonight when Kevin was over. They had told them both to hurry back and so they took off as quick as they could to get away from all the people. The real reason Jimmy wanted to leave was that he was sick and tired of everyone coming up to him asking him if he was okay. Jimmy knew that his parent’s had told everyone the whole story of what had happened and he was just tired of going over the same thing with different people. They pedaled around the block for a bit. Kevin noticed that whenever they came close to his grandpa’s house, Jimmy looked in a different direction as if the house wasn’t there.

 Kevin didn’t want to ask him what he wanted to ask him so he thought of something else. He looked at his Astros cap which hadn’t come off since that day when they were supposed to be rabbit hunting and found Jimmy’s grandpa’s body when inspiration struck. “So, you ever gonna wash your hair again? I can smell it from over here.”

 Jimmy wasn’t amused. “I don’t know.”

 “Well that orange Popsicle on top of your head is starting to look like it’s got a lot of dirt in it. You might wanna clean the thing.”

 Jimmy slammed on his bike brakes in the middle of the street. He took his hat off and examined it. He ran his hand through his hair and found that it was extremely oily. He smelled his hand and could pick up a scent of oily sweat smell almost like his dirty socks would get when he would throw them behind his bed and find them a month later when his parents forced him to clean his room. Instead of the white H on top of the blue star on the orange cap, the H almost looked brown and the orange seemed not quite so bright. He also noticed the sweatband around the inside of his cap looked almost like a yellow piss color. His grandpa would have been livid if he would’ve seen him wearing the hat in that condition. He might have even cursed at him so bad he might have even thrown a couple of F words at him. He could almost hear his voice.

 “Clean that fucking thing up! I didn’t buy that thing for you so that you could get it all dirty and grungy. Have a little Fucking respect for your baseball team!!! Damn kids nowadays, don’t respect nothing!! Shit!!”

A hint of a smile formed around Jimmy’s mouth as he brushed his hair back and put the cap back on his head.

Later that night, Jimmy came into the kitchen to grab some chips to take back into his room so that he and Kevin could have something to eat while they played video games. He grabbed the bag of Doritos from the counter and saw his mom doing the dishes. She hadn’t even acknowledged him when he walked in. His mom had changed a bit and he really didn’t like it. He understood why she was a little distant right now but he wished he could do something to help her. He could hear her crying every night from his room. His Dad and Mrs. Thatcher did all they could to console her but nothing seemed to work. He could hear her sniffling as if she was crying now. He put the chips down on the table and walked up to her.

“Mom,” he said.

She turned around and what Jimmy had suspected was right. He could see the red rawness of her eyes. His mother looked really old right now. “What do you need honey,” she said in between sniffles.

“You okay?”

She wiped her nose and shook her head yes.

“I love you.”

A brief smile came to her face. “I love you to honey. You guys doing alright in there? You need some dip or something? How about a couple of Dr. Peppers?”

“No mom, were cool. I just came in here to get some chips.”

“Oh,” she said feeling a little disappointed that she couldn’t get her son anything. She turned back towards the dishes and started to sniffle again. “Let me know if you guys need anything.”

“Oh, mom,” he said.

She turned back around wiping her nose again.

Jimmy walked up to her and looked in the sink. It was full of dirty dishes still. He waved his hands above the water and looked at her. He raised his voice like he had heard his grandpa do one time when he had told him a story. “Your taking to damn long to do these dishes. Clean this shit up. Let’s go. Chop. Chop.”

His mother more in shock than probably humor burst out laughing. She laughed for about five minutes. She laughed so hard, she started to cry again. His dad came in and smiled like someone who was trying to get the joke that was already told. “What?” he asked.

She wiped her eyes and hugged Jimmy.

The next morning it snowed. It snowed like it hadn’t snowed in Texas in twenty-five years. The weather reports had said that in Houston a record seven inches had fallen since about four o’clock that morning. Up in northern Montgomery County, around the Oak Timber area where Jimmy lived, the reports were that ten inches of snow had fallen. Jimmy and Kevin walked out of his house to a land they had never experienced. Jimmy even had the funny feeling come over him that he should start singing Bing Crosby’s, “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas” even though they were in January. The schools had said that they were going to be closed for at least the next two days because it was expected to remain cold and none of the snow was expected to melt. Everywhere they looked they saw nothing but white. Jimmy looked at his parent’s cars. They were covered in snow. He took a deep breath and exhaled. His breath rose up and dissipated with each succeeding breath.

“It smells so clean,” Jimmy said.

“I had heard this is what snow does,” Kevin said.

They went about building the biggest snowman they could. An hour later, a snowman nine feet high rose up from the ground. Everyone had their picture taken with the snowman. Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher came down and all the men went about the process of building a snow woman to go with the big snowman. Jimmy’s dad and Mr. Thatcher gave the snow woman boobs. Just before Jimmy took the picture of the dad’s holding a boob each on the just completed snow woman, a barrage of snowballs hit the dads from out of nowhere. His mom and Mrs. Thatcher had been the ones who threw the snowballs out of a sort of protest for their juvenile acts. Jimmy took the picture just as snowballs were hitting their faces. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

An hour later while everyone was drinking coffee and hot chocolate, Jimmy walked past the laundry room and saw his Astros hat on top of the dryer. He remembered he had taken it off to take a shower the previous night but he didn’t think about it afterwards. He and Kevin had been too wrapped up in their video game for that. The hat looked brand new. Jimmy grabbed the hat and smelled it. It smelled really clean, like the day he had gotten it. He walked out into the living room with the hat on and everyone stopped talking.

“Thanks for cleaning my hat mom,” Jimmy said, “it was kinda dirty.”

“No problem,” she said giving him a little wink.

Jimmy and Kevin walked outside and went across the street. They walked over to what was probably the spot where they had found Jimmy’s grandpa’s body and shared a peanut butter cup that Jimmy had taken from the refrigerator that morning.

“Well, we know it’s not going to melt today,” Kevin said.

“It’s almost like freaking ice cream,” Jimmy said chewing on the almost rock hard chocolate.

They sat there for awhile and Jimmy thought of his grandpa. He thought of what life must have been like for his grandpa as a sixteen year old in World War II. He was only six years away from that age and he didn’t know if he could have the guts his grandpa must have had to join the service.

“Hey look,” a voice from behind them said. It was Mr. Thatcher’s voice. They turned around and saw Jimmy and Kevin’s dad holding guns. Mr. Thatcher gave Kevin his BB gun and Jimmy’s dad gave him his pellet gun. “Look at them rabbit,” Mr. Thatcher went on, “You can pick them out easy here with the snow. They got nowhere to hide with the snow being so deep.”

Jimmy looked at his dad with wonderment as he held his pellet gun in his hand. “I thought this was gone.”

“Well,” his dad said, “I figured you would’ve wanted it back eventually.”

“Yea,” Jimmy said, “I guess. Fuck it.”

The Moment


        The sound of the highway traffic as it goes past me reminds me just how big this area has become. I think that I liked it better when it was smaller. Things were slower and less hectic. I remember when I was a kid my parents would take my brother and I into town and it would take us damn near an hour to get there because it would be nothing but a one lane highway in both directions. Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have left town to join the military. I had left back then without my best friend Barry, who was thinking of joining the service with me but at the last moment, his parents paid for him to go to college. He had gone to school locally and had never left. When he graduated, he took a job with one of those computer companies. He was making pretty good money until they had let him go two years ago. 

 When my service time was up, I decided to come home. Coming back here was like a shot in the arm. I couldn’t believe how much had changed in the time I had been away. Instead of a one lane highway in both directions now there was a two lane freeway with construction signs up with those blinking lights letting everyone know that the freeway would be closed certain times of the night so that construction can start on an even bigger lane expansion. I hate that the town I grew up in and felt at home at now seemed to be getting too big to quickly. I guess what they say is right: the only thing certain in life is change. I read somewhere once that you must somehow embrace change or in the end you can find yourself constantly trying to catch up to those who have left you behind. I don’t know if that is exactly how it goes but, it sounds right. I also heard that they are going to be putting up a hotel and a new fast food place in town. This should make things interesting around here. I can only imagine what the next ten years is going to be like. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and opened it to see if I had any missed calls. As soon as I opened it and saw there was nothing that I had missed, I closed it back up again and put it away. A funny thought came to my head while I was putting it back in my pocket. I don’t know why I would be thinking this now, not with everything else going on, but don’t we get the funniest thoughts in our heads at the craziest times? I took out my cell phone again and opened it.

I purchased my first cell phone about five years ago. I don’t think that since that time I have owned a watch. Going back to when I was a kid, I used to love getting watches. I had a calculator watch, a Mickey Mouse watch, three or four old Casios, and one that had an alarm, a stop watch and could tell you what time it was in Rome, Italy. I think that had been my favorite one of all. Ironically though, that had been the last watch I had owned. Ever since I had owned a cell phone, I never thought about buying another watch. It’s weird I guess. There had been plenty of watches that I would like to have but I would have to say that I just didn’t see spending the money when all I had to do was look at my cell phone for the time.
 I looked at the clock on the cell phone and saw that I was thirty minutes early. I knew that I probably had the full thirty minutes to kill before I actually had to go in and talk to this Detective who had called me yesterday. Government officials no matter where they were never did anything on time. I put my phone on the seat next to me and grabbed my coffee I had picked up on the way here. Now that I thought of it, I’m glad I had stopped at McDonalds and picked up some breakfast. Not that McDonald’s food was real food anyway but I was hungry for the first time in awhile. I really didn’t want to be here and I hope this wouldn’t take long. I had a lot of stuff to do today and I didn’t feel like spending most of the day talking to this guy. I turned the radio on and plugged in my Ipod and listened to a little Coldplay while I ate my breakfast. I hope this McGriddle doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later. I’m sure mixing it with the coffee is going to be really good for my stomach. My stomach growled as if agreeing with me. I think it was the stress of the last couple of days which really caused my stomach to growl and the fact that this was the first day in a while that I actually felt as if I could eat something without feeling physically ill.        

Ten minutes later after the breakfast was done, I decided to go ahead and take my chances and go in. Maybe I would get lucky for the first time in all of my experiences with government officials and get in early and get out. I opened my folder and looked at the stuff that I was told to bring. Detective Wilson called me yesterday and said that anything I could remember about the night in which my best friend had died would be a big help. I decided that I would have a cigarette before I would go in though. This day was really getting to me already. I opened my door and slid my leg up against the bottom of it and a piece of paper flew out of the side compartment and onto the ground. I’m sure it was only just a piece of trash but being in a police station parking lot, I probably should pick it up and not let it fly all over the place. My luck is that some cop is watching me right now and wondering if I am going to pick up the piece of paper. If I don’t I am sure he is going to come out here and give me a ticket for littering. 
 These small town cops no matter what happened or how big this town was becoming would never change. They had been God Damn pricks for as long as I can remember and I am sure they were still pricks now. Even though I had been gone and the town had grown almost exponentially around them, I am sure they still sat in there, drinking their coffee, eating their kolaches or donuts, still thinking up ways to harass the kids in this town and give all the strangers who came through this town, especially those that ignored the speed limit signs, a little piece of paper to remember their visit to their town. I remember one time in particular that Barry had dropped me off about a block away from my girlfriend’s house. I went to her house and then left and I was about to meet back up with Barry when one of these cops were all over me giving me the third degree about what was a kid my age doing out this late at night on a school night. I told him I had been with my girlfriend and was going to meet my friend now who was going to take me home. The cop didn’t believe me, or he did and he just wanted to be a prick, and he put me in the back of his car and took me home. I had to spend the next hour and a half trying to convince my parents that I hadn’t done anything wrong without telling them that I was over at my girlfriend’s house while her parents were away trying to get into her pants. I’m just glad the cop hadn’t told them that I had said I was over there.  
For that night, my parents believed me. A couple of days later though, it was as if the world had been set on fire because word travels fast in a small town even out of the police station. I was never allowed to go out with my girlfriend again because her parents had found out I had been there with her alone. They thought the worst of course. I had loved that girl and I guess that this once small town had ruined any chance I might have ever had with her. But, it goes back to my point. 

These small town cops have and will always be pricks. I thought about being a prick back to them today and letting the piece of paper blow away but logic told me to quit acting like a jackass and just go over and pick it up. So, I walked over to the piece of paper that was no more than thirty feet away from my car and picked it up. I opened it up and almost lost my breakfast. 
 It was my electronic receipt for the airplane tickets Barry and I had made for the trip we had been planning. We had bought the tickets online and I had given him a copy of the receipt and this piece of paper was my copy. I fell back against my car and choked back some tears. It had all come full circle. It was hard enough as it was dealing with the fact that I lost my best friend to some jackass who thought it would be nice to come into our town and carve up my best buddy while he was delivering newspapers. 
 Barry had only been delivering papers for about a week and he thought it would be easy money. We were going to take this extra money that he had made and combine it with the money we had won at the casinos last month and finally take that trip to the Caribbean we had been planning since we were in high school. It was going to be the greatest vacation either one of us had ever had. It was going to be a week on the island of Antigua, with a house right on the beach, and we were going to sit there, chill out, drink, scuba and anything else we could think of as long as it was relaxing. We also were going to talk about life and plan that business venture we had always talked about. I guess that won’t happen now. I don’t know if I want to go on without my best friend. He was like a brother to me. And now that he is gone, I just don’t know what I am going to do. I guess this is why I came here today. I guess this is why even though I don’t want to deal with this anymore, I must. I have to do it for me. I have to do it for Barry and his memory. I have decided to go ahead and go to Antigua. 
 I met a girl and decided to take her in Barry’s place. That is the way either one of us would have wanted it. I want to bury this son of a bitch asshole who took my buddies life from me. I grabbed my folder and took the last drink of my coffee. I straightened myself up and did an about face and walked into the building. 

 This guy whoever he is, will not get away with this like he might. 

Not in my town. 
 The town may be getting bigger and “growing up” but it is still the small town I grew up in. 

 And in small towns, we clean up the trash and don’t let it blow all over our streets.     

To all those I’ve Screwed Over Before….

A Poem that could’ve been a number 1 hit song but it’s probably too politically incorrect and vulgar to make it on the radio. 
I dedicate this piece of poetry gold to all those I have f#%*ed over before.


(Sing it like Willie and Julio)


To all those I’ve screwed over before,

I treated each of you like a ten dollar whore,

I threw you off to the side,

When you gave me what I desired, 

I dedicate this poem to all those I’ve fucked over before.

(Like Willie)
For all the bosses I’ve wronged before,

You kinda deserved it because of who you are,

Treating me like a number,

I hope you choke on my piece of lumber,

So eat shit and die you corporate whores…..(This doesn’t rhyme but they piss me off so much when I think about how they act.)
(Sing it like Julio)

To all my relationships that failed before, 
I begged for you not to walk out the door,

But now that your gone,

I realize who exactly was wrong,

And it’s not me you fucking piece of…..
(Sing it like you mean it)

To all those who believed me when I promised to be true,

You got mad when I later told you,

That you were such a tool,

For trusting in a fool,

So I write this poem for all you idiots who trusted me before.  

(Everybody Sing)

Maybe next time you’ll think a little more, 

Before you trust someone who doesn’t care about you anymore,

And then I won’t have to write a poem, 

That shows the world your such a moron,

And I won’t have to release that video that shows you doing things with that guy and girl that you would never do with me so I hope you catch a venereal disease that rots out your reproductive organs…….  


Review: Night Shift

Night Shift
Night Shift by Stephen King

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

How can you not like King at his best? I’ve read over this at least 50 times in my life and I keep coming back to it. If I do not have a lot of time and I want a good story to read, I pick this collection up and read “The Lawnmower Man” or “Jerusalem’s Lot” or whatever else my thumb leads me as I flip through the pages.

View all my reviews

Who said you can eat my bacon?

Funny thing happened today.

I can smell bacon cooking in the kitchen.  I hear the family The thickest piece of bacon.  The piece that when you pick it up, the grease just drips off.  It is that piece of bacon that I can’t wait for.  I can almost taste it now.  I am being told that breakfast will be available only when I finish writing a paragraph.  Why am I supposed to sit here and type out a paragraph while my family sits at the table eating all the bacon?

Five minutes ago, I wrote that paragraph above.  Here I sit, mad as fuck in front of this computer, still with no bacon.  M  .  I sit here at my computer watching the cursor blink.  I write a few words and then delete them.  I can’t concentrate because all I can think about is breakfast.

Very short review of “Blockade Billy” by Stephen King


In honor of the new baseball season this year, I picked up my copy of Blockade Billy by Stephen King and gave it another read through.  It is one of King’s few baseball books and I thought it would be a good idea to give you guys my thoughts on this short book by one of America’s favorite writers.

Stephen King and baseball go together like, well, Stephen King and horror books.  Fans of King have known for years how much the writer loves baseball and in this short book about an unknown catcher with a troubled past, we get a lot of baseball and a little vintage King creepiness as well.  Baseball players are a wild bunch and can at times be reckless (Ala gambling, drinking, womanizing, and more recently drug taking).  The good thing about this story is that King gives Blockade Billy, a good catcher deserted by the sharp cogs of a “me-first society,” a soft side that all of us can relate to.  It is no wonder to me why Americans tend to relate more with baseball players than other sports figures.  Baseball, no matter what people may believe, remains our National Pastime because of its relate-ability to most of America. Unlike other sports, ballplayers remind us of well, us.  Most Americans are not overly huge, and like ballplayers, Americans grind away at our jobs all year with very little breaks.

I will not play spoiler to those of you who have not read this yet by giving you most of the good details of the book but what I will say is that Blockade Billy is a good book to read on those lonely afternoons when its raining outside and your team is in last place.  The book is worth the few hours it takes to get through.

One final thought about Blockade Billy.  My home team, the Houston Astros, could use a Blockade Billy, desperately, no matter his troubled past.  I would take him over anything we have now.   

See all of you later friends.

Michael J. King