Yo A$$ Is GRA$$: Tales From a Rednek Gangsta

by Jimmy M. F. Pudge

  I took a sip of coffee. “You ever talked to a millionaire?”

  Marlene shook her head, tried to walk off.

  I grabbed her wrist. Pulled her back.

  “I’m a millionaire, baby.”

  “Get your hands off me before I call the cops,” Marlene warned.

  I released her, asked her how to get to the Georgia Lottery Corporation.

  She rolled her eyes, gave me directions, then vanished somewhere beyond the counter.

  I stood up, threw several dollars on the table and left the Waffle House. Atlanta was smoggy and smelled like shit. The whole fucking city was congested with assholes in loud cars that made angry noises. It took forever to get to the lottery place.

  I walked up the steps and opened the door. It was cool inside and smelled of hopes and dreams.

  “Can I help you?” a man asked. He had a pleasant voice and a friendly face. This was how people treated the rich. I needed to get used to it.

  “I’ve got a winning ticket,” I said, depositing the winning shit of paper on the counter.

  He looked from the ticket to me, frowning.

  “I can’t accept this. This ticket’s ripped in half. We can’t take this.”

  “That’s the winning ticket!” I said, sliding the crumpled paper to him.

  “Look, how do we know you didn’t just tape two separate ticket halves together, huh?”

  “I’m not that kind of a person.”

  “No, I’m sorry. We can’t accept this ticket. Is that … is that blood on the ticket?”

  I stared at the lottery man.

  He stared back.

  THE END

  Pissing the Night Away

  Billy Jack Daniels slicked back his hair and stepped into his new tennis shoes. He straightened his denim collar in the mirror and tightened his bollo tie.

  “You one sexy motherfucker,” he whispered.

  He lit up a Pall Mall and moon walked to the front door, his little Shitzu Twitty yapping at his ankles.

  “Stop it Twitty!” he said.

  The dog jerked its head up. “Well, damn, I didn’t mean anything by it, boss.”

  Billy Jack didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the Shitzu.

  “I’m sorry, man,” the dog said. “We cool?”

  Billy Jack ran a hand through his head. “We real cool.” He stepped out of the trailer, locked the door and hopped off the porch.

  Thomas French was leaning on his bright yellow F-150, guzzling Wild Turkey.

  Billy nodded.

  “So, tonight’s the night?” Thomas French said.

  “Yes sir,” Billy Jack said. “She gonna ride us all night long.”

  “You for real?”

  “No way I’d lie to you, bro. My cousin will put out for a cigarette and a handshake.”

  “Well that sounds damn nice,” Thomas said. “You want somethin to drink?”

  Billy grabbed the bottle. “You like my new shoes?”

  “Them some damn nice shoes.”

  “I thought so.” Billy took a swallow. “I like that new truck.”

  Thomas grinned. “Yeah boy, I got a new lease on this one. It’s a fire cracker. It can pull about fifty or sixty tons from the rear. That’s what the salesman said.”

  Billy whistled. “Man that sure is a lot of weight. You ready to get some?”

  “You know it.”

  They hopped in the bright yellow truck, Black Eyed Peas blasting, and shot down the road like a streak of butter.

  When they pulled up to Barbara’s trailer, Billy Jack Daniels hopped out; his tennis shoes just a bouncing off that red clay driveway. He knocked on the trailer door.

  Barb opened it.

  Her hair was thin, bald patches showing along the scalp. Her skin was the color of skim milk; blue veins stretched out along her face. Thin lips. Her tongue kept running over them lips like she was trying to keep them wet or something. Her beady eyes shifted to the right and the left, never still, always watching her surroundings.

  “Hey, Barb,” Billy Jack said, snapping his fingers. He leaned in for a kiss, and Barbara stuck her hand out.

  “Nah uh,” she said. “It ain’t gonna be that easy. Not after last time.”

  “Say what?” Billy Jack said. “What you talking bout?”

  “That angry dragon bullshit.”

  “Hey now! Ain’t no need for a woman to talk like that.”

  “Fuck you,” Barbara said.

  “Look now, baby girl. I got a friend with me. He ain’t never experienced the pleasures of a real woman before.” Billy Jack waved to Thomas French who was leaning on his yellow Ford F-150, drinking on a new bottle of Wild Turkey.

  “Here’s the deal,” Barb said. “You and your friend ain’t gonna be doing no freaky shit like what you done last time. And I ain’t going twice, either. Y’all want to get with this, it’s gotta be at the same time. So you motherfuckers better decide right now who get the BJ and who get the pussy.”

  “Wait,” Billy said. “Ain’t no asshole option?”

  “No!” Barb said, crossing her arms over her large breasts. “I’m not that kind of lady.”

  “Well shit,” Billy Jack said. “I’ll take what I can get.” He leaned over for a kiss.

  “Nah uh. There’s another thing,” Barbara said, dodging his puckered lips. “You got to get me some meth.”

  “What?” Billy Jack said.

  “You shouldn’t have chopped me in the back of the neck, motherfucker,” Barbara said. “Now go get me some shit or you and your friend go beat each other off!”

  “Let me just get a feel first,” Billy Jack said, running his hand over her breasts. He could feel the nipples through the thin shirt fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He slid a finger down between her cleavage and pulled the shirt back. He could just make out a hard brown nipple surrounded by an angry red areola. He lightly caressed it.

  “Get going, goddamnit,” Barb said. “I ain’t got all night. I got work at the donut shop tomorrow.”

  Billy Jack grinned. “We’ll be right back. Go ahead and warm it up for us.”

  With that he turned and ran down the porch steps, his new tennis shoes slapping the red dirt.

  “She gonna do it?” Thomas French asked.

  “Not if we don’t score some meth.”

  “Damn,” Thomas French said. “I’m broker than a joker. You got any money?”

  “Naw,” Billy Jack said. “And my cousin’s as fine as the all-you-can-eat buffet at Ryan’s! We got to score some shit, for realz.”

  Thomas looked thoughtfully at his half finished bottle. “I know where we can get some meth.”

  “Where’s that?” Billy Jack asked.

  “On the side of the highway, right where the interstate exit is. Truckers always throwing out trucker bombs over there.”

  “Trucker bomb?”

  “Yeah, my daddy done told me all about them trucker bombs. Them truck drivers get all hopped up on meth to stay awake. And when they got to piss, they piss in bottles and toss them out on the highway. The leftover meth’s in that piss. All we got to do is search the highway for some piss bottles.”

  Billy Jack’s eyes went wide. “You a goddamn genius.”

  Thomas French pulled his butter truck out the driveway and burned on down the country roads, weaving to the left and the right like he was some kind of a damn pinball or something. The truck finally reached the highway, coming to a stop beside a strip club billboard.

  “Man, we got to get laid!” Thomas said, eyeing the girls in the tight leather costumes on the billboard.

  “Ain’t no ain’ts about it. We gonna get laid. Barbara’s too fine a fuck to pass up.”

  “She does look damn nice,” Thomas French said. “She got any STDs?”

  “None that’ll kill you,” Billy Jack said, searching the ditch for piss bottles.

  The boys walked down the side of the highway for a spell, searching for bottles.

  “Lord God, these fucking pr
isoners always picking up trash on the side of the road,” Billy Jack muttered. “Man, this is some bullshit.”

  Thomas held up his hand, calling for silence.

  “I found something,” he said, bending down, his hand lifting a gallon bottle of Clorox.

  “That’s bleach, stupid,” Billy Jack said.

  Thomas shook the container, listening carefully, then unscrewed the lid, deeply inhaling its contents. “Naw it ain’t. This is genuine trucker’s piss, and lord almighty it’s been in here awhile.”

  “Let me see that,” Billy Jack said, snatching the bottle. He held it up to his nose and pushed it away. “Man, that smells like pure hell.”

  “Like a truck stop restroom,” Thomas French added. “It’s good the piss has been in there for awhile. That meth sits in there and marinates. Gets stronger and stronger.”

  Billy Jack Daniels nodded his head. “Yo mama didn’t raise no fool.”

  Thomas smiled. He was missing his front teeth. He’d lost them in a poker game.

  The duo jumped in the truck and sped through time, crossing country roads fueled on Wild Turkey and dreams of fucking Billy Jack’s cousin Barb. She wasn’t exactly a beauty queen, but she was breathing and had a pussy.

  “I’m gonna make her scream,” Thomas said.

  “How you gonna do that with my dick shoved down her throat?” Billy Jack asked.

  “You’ll see,” Thomas said.

  Billy beat on Barb’s trailer door for almost a solid minute before she opened up, still wearing her night shirt.

  “Hey, beautiful!”

  “You got it?” Barb asked.

  “Hell yeah,” Billy said, holding up the bottle of Clorox.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “Trucker bomb, baby. It’s meth . . . made by truckers.”

  Barbara took the bottle, unscrewed the lid. “Smells like piss.”

  Billy Jack laughed. “You ain’t never been near a meth lab, have you? Now drink up, love stuff.”

  “Yeah, drink that stuff,” Thomas French said. Billy Jack noticed Thomas’ hand was in his pants.

  Barb let loose a crooked ass smile. “Y’all motherfuckers dare me to chug it?”

  “Do that shit, Mama,” Billy Jack Daniels said.

  “Chug that pleasure cruise on down,” Thomas French added.

  Barbara lifted the Clorox jug to her lips and drank deeply, tilting her head back. Piss leaked out the corners of her mouth, rolling down her cheeks, flirting with her greasy ass hair.

  “That’s damn nice,” Thomas French said, moaning slightly as he watched her drink.

  “Get your hand out your pants,” Billy Jack muttered.

  Barbara finished the jug off, shouted “Woo hoo!” and tossed the motherfucker to the ground.

  She wiped her mouth off with a hand and ripped her shirt off. “Who wants this?”

  Billy Jack snapped his fingers and slow danced over to her, planting a passionate kiss on her thin piss lips.

  Barb reached into his pants. “I’m gonna rock your world to” — She suddenly gasped. “Shit. Can’t breathe,” she choked out, her face turning crimson.

  “Damn,” said Thomas French as Barbara fell to the floor and started turning shades of blue, “Damn, I think she might be dying. Damn.”

  “Quit playin, Barb,” Billy Jack Daniels said. “Get your country ass up.”

  Barbara was convulsing on the floor, her fingers twitching, legs kicking. Then she stopped moving.

  “Damn,” Thomas French said. “Shit! I think she’s dead.”

  Billy Jack stared at his cousin for a moment, kicked at her just a little bit to see if she’d move, then casually stepped over the body. “She dead,” he said.

  “Oh shit. Damn. Damn, man. I done kilt a slut with a trucker bomb.” Thomas French looked around the trailer. Beads of sweat rolled down his flushed face. “Damn! What we gonna do now?”

  Billy Jack said nothing and headed down the hallway.

  “Billy! We got to go, man. What you doing?”

  Billy opened Barbara’s bedroom door and strolled inside. He sniffed a pair of panties on the floor, then slipped them in his pocket. He went to the jewelry box on the dresser and rummaged through its contents. She didn’t have too much shit. A mood ring, two silver dollars, some string bracelets and a Timex watch. He slipped the Timex and silver dollars in his pants pockets and left the bedroom.

  Thomas had his jeans to his knees and was trying to slide Barb’s drawers down when Billy Jack walked back in the Kitchen.

  “What the hell you doing to my cousin?” Billy Jack asked.

  “Just want to slip it in for a few, hoss,” Thomas French said.

  “Boy, that girl’s dead.”

  “She’s still warm.”

  Billy Jack shook his head from side to side. “Sometimes I don’t know why I hang out with a lowlife like you.”

  “Alright, I’m getting up,” he said, knees popping as he stood. Thomas French stared at the dead ho on the ground. His chin trembled. He suddenly couldn’t see cause his eyes went hazy. “Oh damn. Oh shit. I don’t want to go to prison.”

  “It really ain’t that bad. Worst thing is the first time you get raped, but afterwords, that really ain’t that bad either.”

  “Don’t tell me that!”

  “Ain’t no thang but a chicken wang,” Billy Jack said with a shrug. “Pull your fucking pants up.”

  Thomas French bent down, grabbed his boxers and jeans.

  Slid them up his shins

  Up his knees

  Up his thighs –

  Barb’s hand shot up from the floor and latched on to Thomas French’s testicles.

  He screamed and Billy Jack screamed as he watched his cousin rip his friend’s balls off.

  Thomas French fell to the ground as Barb popped his nuts in her mouth.

  Billy Jack Daniels just about plumb damn lost it. He told himself to be a man, not to scream, when he suddenly realized he hadn’t stopped screaming yet. He closed his mouth.

  Thomas French was moaning, clutching himself, blood pumping out through his fingers, spilling out over the vinyl floor. “She a zombie,” he whispered. “A zombie.” He looked at Billy Jack and stretched out a bloody hand. “Help me, man. Help me!”

  Billy Jack took a step back. Barb swallowed her appetizer and slid across the floor to the main course, the ribs in her thin body showing through the taught skin. She crawled up Thomas French’s back, and he let out a scream of pure terror.

  Barb’s mouth opened, bloody saliva falling in rivulets from her jaw. Her head shot down like a hawk going for a field rat, and her teeth clamped down on Thomas French’s face.

  Billy Jack heard the skull cracking and watched part of his friend’s face come loose in Barbara’s mouth.

  “Help…” Thomas moaned, his hand extended to Billy Jack.

  “I . . . I can’t help you, player,” Billy Jack said. “Oh Jesus, Thomas, you ain’t got a face.”

  The faceless boy’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as Barb plunged down, attacking the throat, blood spurting out all over the place.

  Billy Jack remembered in art class learning about some motherfucking artist who dripped paint on his canvas. That’s what the walls looked like.

  Barb lifted her head up and her crazy ass looking eyes caught his.

  Billy Jack bolted to the back door. He tripped on his shoelaces, the new tennis shoes sending him to the floor.

  He felt a sudden weight on his back.

  Heard grunts and moans

  Tried to stand the fuck up and throw that crazy dead bitch off.

  She was chewing on the back of his head. He was on his knees now, trying to rise to his feet, trying to shake Barb off.

  He reached behind him, felt the stringy hair and yanked with all his might. Clumps of it came loose in his hands.

  The pain at the back of his head was unbearable.

  “Get the hell off me, cocksucker,” he shouted. A sudden burst of energy sent him
rocketing up to his feet. He backed into the wall.

  Barb let loose, and he spun around, punched her in the face.

  Teeth exploded out her gaping mouth. He threw another punch.

  She grabbed him then and his fist went wild, connecting nothing but the air.

  She grabbed his face with her bloody hands and went in for a kiss, ripping his lips off.

  Thomas screamed, and she got a hold of his tongue and bit down.

  He could see the blood running from his mouth, hitting that ominous beige, vinyl floor.

  Barb chopped him on the back of the neck.

  Blood spurted out of his nose.

  THE END

  Bob’s Country Store

  I was drinking at the VFW one Friday night, telling everyone to kiss my ass.

  “Can’t nothing get me drunk, motherfuckers! I’ll drink all y’all sonbitches under the table.” So we drank and smoked cigarettes and shot the shit and drank some more. I’d had around twelve beers and several shots of vodka when the bartender told me to get the fuck out.

  “We’re closing down, Sonny.”

  “Why y’all closing?” I asked, trying to light a cigarette.

  “Go the hell on.”

  “Alright,” I said, turning to leave. I grabbed an 8-ball off the pool table on my way out and tossed it across the highway. It was dark as hell outside. Wasn’t but a couple of cars in the entire parking lot. I started walking down the highway to my apartment, wondering if I was drunk. Was I walking straight? Shit, I couldn’t tell no more. I looked around, seeing two of everything. My eyes were trying to relax. I blinked. I rubbed them. I blinked again. Then I slipped and rolled down the embankment.

  “Shit fire!” I shouted, tumbling over and over, no doubt getting grass stains on my only pair of pants. My ass hit the muddy bottom of the ditch and I lay on my back, enjoying the coolness of the earth. The ditch was littered with plastic wrappings, broken beer bottles and cigarette butts. It felt like home. I could see the stars up above, through tree branches stretched out like the blue veins on my legs.

  The stars were shining, the birds chirping. A breeze was slightly blowing through my comb over. Yeah, this is alright, I thought to myself, my eyelids growing heavy.

  *

  When I came to, it felt as if the ground was moving, my head bumping something hard. I saw blue sky, power lines passing by, trees and clouds whizzing past. I tried sitting up but couldn’t move. It felt as if my arms and legs were chained down. There was an awful smell. I twisted my head to the left, saw that I was in a truck bed with a deer carcass grinning at me, maggots dripping from its face. There was a storm in my stomach. I could hear the sound of thunder as it rumbled with hangover sickness. I vomited on the deer and it tasted acidic and sweet like licorice.