Black Tar Kiss, Chapter 2

“Hey yo, Scar Tissue, I’ve got a question for you, buddy. What exactly does Me Encanta Femicidio mean?”

 

“I love killing women.”

 

“I know, but what does that sentence mean?”

 

This was pretty much a normal conversation that someone could have with White Snake. Normal by his standards, not normal by decent human being standards. Most people have at least some of their marbles rolling around in their heads. He doesn’t have a goddamn thing in there, not even a pebble. He laughed at his own joke while Scar Tissue gave a satisfied little smirk. Me? I was probably staring holes through our beloved gang leader, but ain’t nobody called me out on it.

 

The three of us got out of the car and surveyed the situation before us. Battleground Park used to be this beautiful forest full of life and greenness. Squirrels running around with nuts in their mouths, sometimes bulging their cheeks out. Birds chirping away and singing better than most auto-tuned pop stars could ever dream of. Hell, you might see a deer pitter-pattering up to a creek to get himself a little somethin’-somethin’ to cool his throat and quench his thirst. Nature photographers would never long for employment in a place like that. But like I said, it USED to be this way.

 

Instead of oak trees that looked like nature’s hard-ons, it was just dirt, grass, some picnic tables with vulgar nonsense spraypainted on them, and some port-a-potties that smelled like they were bursting at the seams with dead bodies, which was probably why they called it Battleground Park, ‘cause that’s where all the corpses typically were.

 

And speaking of people who hadn’t seen a shower since the Nixon Administration, there they were in numbers that grossly outmatched the three of us: Me Encanta Femicidio. Not one Latino among them, or at least anyone with half an appreciation of the culture. Just a bunch of out-of-shape white dudes with whole-ass forests under their chins, like what Battleground Park used to be. Heavy metal T-shirts with the sleeves cut off so that the rest of us could get a good whiff of their goopy armpits. Black jorts, blue jorts, tan cargos, anything at all as long as we could see their tarantula-like legs, even though there were only two of them on their bodies. There they were hooting and hollering like idiots, pouring beers down their throats, sucking down cigars that somehow stank worse than they did, and bending a little cheerleader chick over one of the picnic tables before pulling her skirt up and spanking her red with their meaty paws. SPANK, SPANK! “Naughty girl!” SPANK, SPANK, SPANK! “Bad, bad girl!”

 

The more I listened to that baby girl cry her guts out hoping some invisible dude in the sky would hear her, the more I wondered why White Snake and Scar Tissue were just standing in front of the corvette with their arms folded. Discussing strategy, maybe? Yeah, I was kind of curious about the strategy myself. My fists and jaw were clamping down tight as I watched those hayseeds spank that cheerleader. If I ever needed a blood test done, I now know where my arm vein is, to hell with the tourniquet. Maybe I could have used some dental work, too, if I clenched my teeth any longer than I did.

 

I stomped up to the trunk and popped the sucker open, hoping for some weapons. Some CD’s, some T-shirts and jeans, some candy bars, an old vinyl record of Dark Side of the Moon, but not a weapon in sight, although I’ve thought about shoving candy down Me Encanta Femicidio’s throats and triggering a mass diabetic coma. I shook my head in disbelief and slammed the trunk down. “White Snake! We got a situation over here!”

 

He barely turned his head to look at me, forgetting that eye contact was supposed to be a thing. “What kind of a situation?”

 

“Well, I was just checking out this here trunk and, uh…no weapons. No guns, no knives, no brass knucks, not even a little sewing needle. How the hell are we supposed to fight that many douche-canoes if we ain’t packing heat?”

 

“Ah, don’t you fret, little Doggie Meat. I got all the heat you could ever want right here. Come on over. Get a piece.” He pulled something out of a little tin and started chewing on it. He sprinkled some in Scar Tissue’s hands and he was munching like no tomorrow, smacking his lips, too.

 

I strolled up there to see what it was. “Chewing tobacco? This is your secret weapon? We’re gonna get our asses handed to us! Besides, aren’t you worried about jaw cancer?”

 

“Cancer?” White Snake blew some air out of his nose. “Feminism is the only cancer you’ve got to worry about.” Classy. “This ain’t chewing tobacco. We just need the cops to think it’s chewing tobacco. Ever wonder why we call ourselves Black Tar Kiss?”

 

“Because the initials are BTK and you’re an edge-lord?” Scar Tissue chuckled at my joke and then quickly shut up once White Snake gave him a little glare.

 

White Snake turned his attention back to me. “Well, that’s certainly one explanation. Of course, the other one would be, this here black tar ain’t just any old chew. It’s Black Pills.”

 

“I’m sorry, Black Pills?”

 

“Yeah, man, Black Pills. They ain’t just an analogy from a stupid movie written by transgender-sexuals. These suckers are real. I told y’all that we’re the ugliest sons of bitches to walk the earth. Now these Black Pills are gonna prove my point. Chicks ain’t gonna resist us now, because…well…they ain’t got a say in the matter!” My stomach bubbled listening to that. “Come on, Dogmeat, have some.”

 

“Nah, man, I’m good.”

 

“Dude…you said it yourself. We ain’t packing heat in the trunk. No guns, no knives, nothin’ like that. You want to beat these guys or what? Why should they get all the cheerleader chicks? Three of us and god knows how many of them. These Black Pills will even the odds in our favor. Or you can get your ass stomped into the ground, that’s always an option, if not by those chuds, then by me. What’s it gonna be, kid?”

 

I stood there furrowing my brows at White Snake. He probably could have kicked my ass on any given day, but I had a mind of at least trying to kick his, even if I would have gotten ambulanced away.

 

I can’t freakin’ believe I’m saying this, but…Scar Tissue was the voice of reason. “Come on, essa, have some! You think I’m gonna let these putos run around here speakin’ my language? They don’t know a damn word. They’re just tryin’ to be cool. Yeah, they cool, alright. They’re so cool we should call them…Los Kulos!”

 

I did know what Los Kulos meant and that put a smile on my face. “Okay, let me have some.” Who knew positive reinforcement could be so convincing? Scar Tissue gave me a pinch of chew and I started chomping up and down on it. “Tastes like beef jerky!”

 

“I know, right? Now let’s settle this beef, essa! Viva la Raza!” Scar Tissue rapidly drummed his palms on the hood of the car to get psyched up. Even when he was fooling around, he looked like a goddamn rock star pounding those drums. Again, why was he hanging out with us instead of opening for Mudvayne?

 

Any euphoria I had watching Scar Tissue be a little bit like his old self was blown away by the shrill sound of White Snake whistling at the rival gang. He got all their attentions. The cheerleader got her bright red ass out of dodge, running and sobbing like she was a victim of domestic violence at the hands of a creepy uncle. She lost one of her white sneakers, but there were more pressing matters, obviously.

 

“Greetings, ladies and Germans! Just kidding, none of you have any balls tonight! I got one question for your chronically online Reddit chuds! This place used to be a forest, so I figured I’d ask a little philosophical question. Would y’all rather be stuck in the woods with a man…or a ssssssssssssssnake?!”

 

On a normal day, that would be the cheesiest thing to ever come out of White Snake’s mouth. But considering that a forked tongue was actually what came out of it, we all had the right to be a little worried. Them meatheads on the other side of the battlefield started dripping from their pits and foreheads something fierce, even though we weren’t packing any heat. After all, why would we need heat…when White Snake started to transform…into a big-ass white snake?! His skin turned all scaly and stuff. He grew some fangs that would give any dentist PTSD. He grew this long-ass body that would give snake-haters instant schizophrenia. His fingers shot out these pointy-ass claws that looked more frightening than his ugly-ass fangs. And wouldn’t you know it, this guy was freakin’ huge! He must have gained a whole foot just to look like this big ol’ monster snake with his tail coiled around him.

 

Scar Tissue, bless his soul, he didn’t do any favors in the racing hearts department. He too gained about a whole foot. His whole body turned into this big ol’ river of blood with these slimy, gross, scaly tentacles shooting out of every which way. He grew some razor-sharp claws too, but I would hazard a guess that the little fanged mouths on the end of his tentacles were even more heart attack-inducing. At this point, I’d be surprised if that was the only river of blood I saw that night. I swear to god, my incel homies were transforming into their namesakes right in front of me.

 

…Which made me wonder what the hell I looked like, being that my name was Dogmeat and all. I grew some field of hair all over my legs and arms. I had a Gandalf beard that looked like it hadn’t been cut since the date that story took place. My nose and mouth shot out a few inches and I was afraid to bite my own tongue and draw some serious blood. I had to take a quick peek in one of the side mirrors to see what I looked like. Well, it started out as a quick peek. It ended up lasting a hell of a lot longer than that. I looked into the mirror and saw an absolute goddamn monster from the depths of hell. Werewolf body, clown face with pale white and all, and even a blood-red wolf nose to complete the motif.

 

If my momma saw this side of me, she’d go right back to the needles and cocaine. If my dad saw me like this, he’d go from screaming to crying his eyes out in short order, probably muttering something about disappointing him and him not recognizing his own son anymore. I didn’t recognize me anymore. The Black Pill philosophy was true all along. I WAS the ugliest freak walking the earth. No girl would be caught dead with her hand in mine…unless of course she actually was dead. Forget make-out sessions, because that’s one of the ways in which she could die. My bloodshot eyes bulged like I was ready for battle, but I was just waiting forever for some salty discharge to drop. Manly men didn’t do that mess, but I didn’t want to be a manly man anymore. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be a baby suckling my momma’s tits. I wanted my dad to be proud of the boy he raised. How could anybody be proud of me outside of my gang circle?

 

There was a whole-ass battle going on over yonder, but I stared into the mirror waiting to cry my eyes out. The tears never came. There was some screaming and smashing noises going on in the background, but I didn’t watch what was going on. I assumed my guys were winning. How could they lose when they looked like that? Sure, they wouldn’t lose their virginities, but at least they wouldn’t lose a gang fight against a bunch of mediocre nobodies. What was this all for?! Why were we doing this to each other?! The answer smacked me right in the temple.

 

Nah, man, I’m serious! One of them chuds tossed a brick at me and opened up a gash real’ bad. My eyes weren’t leaking, but that wound sure was. I took another look in the mirror after I picked my head up…and I was bleeding like a goddamn fire hydrant. Them chuds started laughing their wobbly asses off…so I laughed along with them. And the more I laughed, the more cartoonishly insane I sounded. I rubbed the blood all over my face and laughed like a damn lunatic. I didn’t have to worry about no consequences, because who would put a straightjacket on my hideous body?

 

I got this sick serial killer smile on my face as I turned to look at the weirdoes who did this to me. They weren’t shaking like an electric massager they wished they could have used on that cheerleader, but they were damn close. I showed all my bloody teeth at them, I gave them this big ol’ murder grin, and I laughed like I was a shoe-in for a 51/50 order. Those porkers started sweatin’ like the pigs they were. They started shaking in their little Nikes. And then they got some serious goddamn exercise by running in the other direction. I ran after them and made some booga-booga noises just for extra effect. These pukes had never ran a marathon a day in their lives, until they met Dogmeat. I let them go after a while. And once they were out of sight, I gazed up at the moon and howled. “AWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

After that little war cry, I took a look back on the battlefield where the remnants of Me Encanta Femicidio were trying their damnedest to fight the good fight. Punches, kicks, even the occasional headbutt. White Snake snatched up one of them with his tail and asked another one of his philosophical questions. “Would your rather tell your feelings to a woman…or a TREE?!” Once White Snake was within range of one of the last remaining oaks, he slammed that kid against the tree and he went down clutching his spine and screaming in pain. Not gonna lie, that looked pretty badass.

 

“Scar Tissue, look out!” That’d be me warning him about some sneaky prick wielding a bass guitar. The kid had designs of smashing it over Scar Tissue’s head, but thanks to my warning, he turned around and snatched that thing out of the chud’s hands. That dude knew he was screwed, yet he could just stand there and tremble while Scar Tissue…played a tune? Was he actually playing the bass intro to “Disciple” by The Warning? Did he really kneel down like he was channeling that Alejandra chick? Was this guy seriously having a little fun on the battlefield? Well, he did until White Snake condescendingly cleared his throat. Scar Tissue sighed before smashing that bass right over the kid’s head. He plopped over on the ground, his cheeks bouncing on the grass. He was out cold as White Snake’s ugly heart.

 

And wouldn’t you know it, that battlefield was littered with big dudes groaning and moaning in pain. They weren’t dead by a longshot, but they probably wished they were, judging from how they writhed around clutching their wounds. The torture was still going on long after the fight was over and the three of us were standing tall. And just like that, the effects of the Black Pills wore off and we shrank down to our human selves. I had no idea the effects were temporary. I had no idea any of this was happening tonight. I got a little jolt of energy from that fight, even though I didn’t throw a single punch or kick. I was grinning from ear to ear. Scar Tissue and White Snake were high-fiving the hell out of each other. Scar Tissue went on a fire-spewing Espanol rant like only he could and literally not anyone from Me Encanta Femicidio, those absolute men of culture.

 

Scar Tissue bounced around excited, whooped, cheered, cursed in Spanish…and then there was White Snake, staring at me like I just made a yo momma joke about him. Scar Tissue realized what the hell was going on and went silent in no time at all. I had to ask White Snake. “What’s up?”

 

“What’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up. See all these bitches groaning in agony? They’re all over the place. They’re crawling around our feet like a bunch of bums. And now look at your feet. Ain’t nobody crawling around you. What the hell were you doing this whole time?”

 

I let out a nervous laugh. “White Snake, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. These morons got scared in their boots and ran for the hills the minute they saw me. You’re right! We’re ugly as hell! Ain’t nobody gonna dispute that!”

 

“You hear that, boss man? He scared them off!”

 

“Shut up, Scar Tissue.” Poor dude went quiet again. White Snake started marching up to me like he had another battle on his mind. I backed up little by little as he got closer. “Dogmeat, there ain’t nothing I hate more than a liar. I expect that mess out of a feminazi on X, but not you, bud. You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you? You ain’t down with us no more? Spit it out!”

 

“I swear, dude, it ain’t like that! I’m down for life!” I backed up a little faster this time, but I took one step too many and completely forgot that there was a hill right behind me. I made like Limp Bizkit and kept rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ rollin’. Thank god there weren’t any hard rocks in the way, but them sharp twigs poking in my skin weren’t much fun. I could have done without the dizziness swirling around my head like toilet water, probably the same water that them port-a-potties used. I could have puked up a bigger mess than what Scar Tissue’s body turned into when he chewed them Black Pills.

 

I hit the bottom of that grassy hill and the world spun like a damn carousel. I thought I was gonna float off into outer space. I thought the ground was the ceiling for a minute there. Took a while to get my bearings straight. When I did, I crawled on my scraped-up hands and knees, little stabs of pain along the way. And then I see a pair of leather high heeled ankle boots…accompanied by the flipping open of a police badge and a woman’s voice, probably a woman who didn’t take too kindly to the Black Pilled folk.

 

“Detective Jeri Lodge, Bull Rope PD. You and I are going to have a little chat, my boy.”

 

She’s right. We did have a chat. And what better way to start a conversation than by dropping my face to the ground and cursing under my breath? Saved by the goddamn cops…lord, help me…

Black Tar Kiss, Chapter 1

Well…now that I’ve got y’all’s attention and I ain’t letting it go anytime soon, you’re probably asking to nobody in particular, “What the hell is an incel?” You spend more time touching grass than most of us do, so kudos to you, cowboy. Bonus points if that grass is a slang term for something else. Speaking of slang, an incel is a portmanteau of “involuntary celibate”. Most of the dudes who call themselves this are a bunch of pissed off nerds who couldn’t get laid with a blow-up doll.

 

But if you join a street gang that calls themselves incels, you’re a different kind of dangerous. That’s what the three of us were. White Snake was our main man, Scar Tissue was his first pupil, and then there was me, Dogmeat, who got in the Corvette and pissed off from Sweetwater. Goodbye, Elijah Canterbury, welcome aboard, Dogmeat. Young, pissed off, and horny as hell. Can you think of a more dangerous combination than that? I guess Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms would be a close second place. Do those three things really belong together?

 

Yeah, it all sounded pretty good on paper during that three-month grace period. A bunch of horndogs looking for love in all the wrong places, who hoped to one day stick our Johnsons in the wrong places too. We weren’t about to let a bunch of neckbeards get in the way of those plans. We were the Alphas. The badasses. The trigger fingers that would make them all obey. Again, it sounded good in theory. But once you listen to White Snake run his mouth for three whole months, ranting and raving about women like a psychopath? It makes you wonder why this guy hasn’t gotten the 51/50 treatment. He was long overdue for a straitjacket, but maybe an orange jumpsuit was more of his style.

 

This is the part of the story I was least looking forward to telling, but in the interest of show, don’t tell, I guess I’ll have to suck it up and power through it. White Snake loved talking about what he’d do to a woman if he got a hold of her, all alone somewhere in a dark lobby. It’s simple, really: duct tape her mouth shut, pinch her nose until she was out of breath, wait for her to hit the ground unconscious, and once she was in dreamland, pull his jockey shorts down and…well, you do the math from here. Math isn’t a very popular subject among the student body these days, but even an “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader” contestant can get this one right. And then you’d ask yourself, how would a fifth grader know this?

 

Speaking of people who aren’t old enough to join the army yet, another thing White Snake couldn’t stop running his motormouth about was “pranking” little elementary school girls by chasing them down the street and laughing like a lunatic. Eventually, the little ones would fall and scrape their knees, but it wouldn’t be nearly as painful as listening to White Snake repeat something he heard on a Tik Tok video once: “I CAN’T MOVE ON! I CAN’T MOVE ON! I WON’T ALLOW MYSELF TO MOVE ON FROM YOU, BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL I WANT! I DON’T WANT NOBODY ELSE!” And just like that, the little girl would do something not even my old man could do: break the sound barrier with her screams of horror. You’re damn right she was scared! What’s she supposed to do, put a ring on it? White Snake might give you a different answer to that question than what a rational human being might give.

 

And then we segue from pranking to spanking. Remember, incels couldn’t get laid if they held a pimp for ransom. So what do they do to relieve their horniness? You know, when they’re not too busy harassing women and beating up other Reddit chuds? Pull it out and crank it up. I’ve done that a few times in my life and I’m pretty sure that was the reason for the fracas with my daddy. More on that later. But at least I had the sense to do it to women who had more qualifications than being legally able to smoke a cigarette and drink beer. White Snake had no shame. He dove to the bottom of the barrel like he was in the pervert Olympics. How low could he go? Low enough to where they can’t wear anything but a diaper and say little more than “goo-goo-ga-ga”. I actually said to him one time, “You know those are kids, right?” And he was like, “No shit, Scooby-Doo!” I don’t know what was more offensive: his hard-on for kids or the fact that he butchered the easiest comeback in the world.

 

Yep. This was our guy. This was the guy that would lead us to the promised land. The land of milk and honey, though his ideal girlfriend couldn’t produce milk yet. This was the guy who drove the Corvette down a freeway blasting bro-metal while Scar Tissue and I were sitting in the back chillin’ like villains. Every time I was trapped in a car with White Snake, I could have sworn some creepy crawlies were running up my arms and legs.

 

But Scar Tissue at the very least had something resembling potential. While White Snake was blasting that bro-metal from the stereo, Scar Tissue air-drummed along like he was loving life again. And this wasn’t just casual air-drumming. Scar Tissue actually looked like he knew how to play the drums. He did the tom fills. He pumped those bass and high-hat pedals. He drum-rolled on that imaginary snare. He crashed them cymbals at the right time. Made me wonder what he was doing hanging out with a couple of losers like us instead of playing in a heavy metal band.

 

I asked him on the spot, “Where the hell’d you learn to play like that, bud?”

 

He gave me the world’s cheesiest grin as he waxed poetic. “Three chicas, homie: The Warning! I got a hold of their CD’s, took ‘em for a spin, and let Pau-Pau beat them drums like they owed her dinero. They don’t teach that kind of drumming at my school, homes. You listen long enough, you figure it out.”

 

“Self-taught, huh? I respect that! You still got any of them CD’s?”

 

Scar Tissue shook his head. “Nah, man. Started to get the feels for them chicas, so I had to ditch them. I don’t simp for nobody, essa. They don’t give me the time of day. Too busy or something like that. So now I’ve got some old school Drowning Pool in my collection. Tear Away is a classic! Goddamn, I love me!”

 

Of course he says, “I love me”, because nobody else would. It was true for the songwriter and it was true for Scar Tissue unfortunately. That’s rule number one in incel ideology: when it comes to a woman’s love, you’re in the back of the line. You think we picked out these names Dogmeat and Scar Tissue? Hell no. White Snake gave them to us to keep us “black pilled” and keep us in line. You get too confident, you might actually get caught by one of these black widows. What’s more heartbreaking than a demeaning nickname like Dogmeat or Scar Tissue? Those are the kind of names that make you feel ugly. Maybe we WERE ugly, I don’t know.

 

And in case we forgot about that, White Snake turned his head towards us and said, “Hey! You guys making gay porn back there or what?”

 

“Sorry, essa. Won’t happen again.” Scar Tissue shrugged his shoulders at me while I just rolled my eyes. Gay porn? Really? The guy who pounds his pud to diaper-wearing kids is judging other people for making “gay porn”? I didn’t tell him that. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Remember, Black Tar Kiss was a gang. You mess with the leader or try to run away, they’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Once you’re locked in, you’re locked in for life. It can’t be the same as before.

 

And speaking of things not going back to the way they were before, you’ll never believe who tried to send me a text message on my phone: Ben Canterbury a.k.a. my old man from Sweetwater. I pulled the phone out of my garbage bag of this and that just to see if it really was him. No question about it. He had been trying to contact me for a long time now and every time he did, I just let the call go to voicemail or delete the text entirely. Yeah, life with White Snake wasn’t so great, but going back home wasn’t an option, because that would suck even more. At least with Black Tar Kiss, I could make a little money and get a little honey. Can’t say that with a mechanic’s salary in little old Sweetwater.

 

“Who was that, Dogmeat?” White Snake asked.

 

“Nobody. Just someone I used to know,” I told him I the most pathetic tone imaginable. I guess we all had someone like that in our lives. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be joining street gangs. We’d be at home playing videogames or building Legos, at least that’s what I’d be doing. Kind of hard to play videogames when your old man says they’re rotting your brain. And it’s kind of hard to build Legos when your old man keeps calling you out to the living room to do some mind-numbing chores. I can’t even put on a heavy metal CD without my dad’s voice drowning out the guitar work.

 

Black Tar Kiss wasn’t a great option. It was the only option. That was made abundantly clear to me when White Snake got off the exit ramp and started driving towards Battleground Park, where our first real test as a gang would take place. Me Encanta Femicidio was waiting for us there. I had no idea how many of them there were or what they were going to bring to the fight. I didn’t even know how many of us there were. Were there other Black Tar Kiss members that were going to meet us or was it just us three? Do we at least have some guns or something? I don’t need an AK-47 or a Styr Aug or anything like that. A nine-millimeter would have been just fine.

 

Pardon me for having a million questions running through my mind before this battle took place, but…if I’m keeping it a buck with you guys…my heart was pumping, my blood was colder than a fishing creek, and the rumbling my stomach was worse than if I ate some bad fish from that same creek. Want some plain English? I was scared to death and I wasn’t about to tell Whtie Snake or Scar Tissue about it. Me Encanta Femicidio didn’t scare me nearly as much as White Snake did. And if I lost my rapport with Scar Tissue, that was it, man. If there was a god up there in heaven, I know I wasn’t well-behaved worth a damn in them pews at church…but I hoped he was looking out for me.

Rainbow Ranch, Epilogue

If this had been a feast on any other day, Lucy would have wolfed her entire plate down in record time. Every meal after that would have seen that record broken tenfold with even more food on her plate. But ever since the events of the past few days, pork sausages and gravy-smothered turkey weren’t at the forefront of her thoughts. She started those few days as a skinny little weakling who would shake and shiver at the thought of being obliterated by a sorcerer’s fireball. The destruction of her once beloved tennis ball nearly sent her spiraling off the deep end. But ever since finding the latent courage she always knew she had, there was a major decision she had to make. Would she continue to channel that courage into her newfound role as a soldier in the Shut Up, Stupid Dog squadron or would she return to a life of comfort and belly rubs?

 

The Chiweenie warrior scanned her bulging paranoid-looking eyes across the dining hall and saw that most of her brethren had chosen to return to the comfortable lives they once had. Gone were their humanoid features. In their place were the animal bodies that made them charming and vulnerable in the first place. Cats and dogs sitting at the long dinner table and slurping up chunks of meat with their tongues instead of forks and knives. If they had lips, the sounds of wet smacking would echo throughout the castle. King James Gaines sat at the head of the table with his own plate of mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and ham slices. To his left was Razor Ripley, an ironic choice for a dinner guest considering skeletons literally didn’t have the guts to eat a gigantic meal. Ripley’s magic was responsible for changing the animal guests back to their original forms, so it was only right that he joined this celebration of victory.

 

Lucy couldn’t find it in her heart to blame these animals for choosing comfort over duty. Ozzie and Callie were well past their prime years and deserved to enjoy a bowl of broth together as the couple they once were. Loki had no business being involved in Harrison’s war at all, so to see him munching down on juicy steak was a long time coming. Every last member of the Shut Up, Stupid Dogs squadron never wanted to be a part of the war either; they were victims of circumstance. Rainbow Ranch was never meant to be a warring nation. It was built to be an animal’s paradise, a second chance for animals who never knew what love was. In Lucy’s mind, that all changed the minute King Harrison decided to bastardize what he and his brother worked so hard to create together. In Lucy’s mind…never again would this be allowed to happen…

 

“Something troubling you, Lucy?” asked King James. “Your plate has gone untouched throughout this entire event. This is your celebration. What ails you?”

 

And just like that, Lucy’s mind was made up. She hopped out of her golden chair and scampered over to where James and Ripley were sitting. She cleared her throat in her usual skittish manner, bowed to her masters, and stood up straight with her paws behind her back. “Your majesty, I have something to say. I want to continue fighting for the Shut Up, Stupid Dogs!”

 

James and Ripley’s eyes widened at the revelation, while the dogs and cats continued to munch on their meals like dogs and cats were always meant to do, no involvement in human affairs whatsoever. Ripley asked, “Are you sure this is what you want? You looked so terrified out on the battlefield, like you couldn’t wait to curl up next to the fireplace once it was all over. Why put yourself through such misery again?”

 

“it’s not miserable!” said Lucy defensively. “I believe in my homeland! I believe in everything we stand for! If another jumbo jerk like Harrison wants to take it from us, he’ll have to go through me!” She punctuated that sentence by jumping high in the air and raising her clenched paw. “I’ll teach the next generation of puppers everything I know about courage and strength! Together we can beat anything that comes our way! We’ll give them the old one, two, buckle your shoe!” The spinning motion was easier to do without her hammer, therefore she landed perfectly on her metal-booted feet.

 

“Your enthusiasm is a breath of fresh air, Lucy the Hammer,” complimented King James. “You do realize that training a new generation of animal warriors is a big responsibility, do you not? It takes a lot of patience, much more wisdom, and the heart of a champion. You’re putting an entire squadron’s lives on your shoulders, which means you’ll have so many expectations to not only meet, but exceed. Are you prepared to take on that role?”

 

“Yes, sir!” The overly-excited Lucy spun around in the air once again and landed like a graceful dancer. “Give me everything you’ve got, your majesty! Let me at ‘em! We’ll be the best squadron ever and nobody will beat us! All hail the Shut Up, Stupid Dogs!” James and Ripley’s shoulders sagged as though Lucy had said something wrong. “Huh?”

 

“About that name…” said Ripley. “It’s officially retired. It was a rather cruel way of keeping you and your brethren in line. You and your new recruits deserve so much better than to be yelled at by an old codger like me. We need something that represents the spunky spirit of our animal soldiers. Something uplifting. Something worthy of their new leader’s excitement and zest for life. Something like…The Tennis Ball Gang!”

 

Lucy and James looked at Ripley as though he had worms crawling out of his mouth, which were probably stuck in his brain somewhere to come up with an idea like that. “Hear me out, you two.” Ripley cleared his throat. “Lucy…that tennis ball was more than a toy for you. It represented something deep within your childlike soul. It represented all the positivity you had despite being placed in a terrible situation that was not of your own making. There were many sad times during your journey, but all they did was lock the positive spirit away until it was needed the most. And when that beloved tennis ball was destroyed in combat, you knew your enemy had made a grave mistake. That tennis ball wasn’t just a toy. It represented passion.”

 

King James patted Ripley’s bony hand. “The sentiment is not lost on me, but outside of our royal circle, no one would know what that meant. Suppose another enemy comes along and threatens our homeland. What if he hears the name Tennis Ball Gang and finds nothing but amusement?”

 

“Let them laugh, your majesty!” Lucy’s excitement took over once again. “Those buttheads can have all the comedy they want, but we’ll see if they’re still laughing after losing to a scared little Chiweenie! Nobody will live down taking a loss at the hands of The Tennis Ball Gang! We’ll be remembered forever! History teachers will love us! Our enemies will learn to fear us! And nobody will mess with our precious fur babies ever again!” Lucy spun around in the air even higher this time, once again sticking the landing like an athlete.

 

James and Ripley stared contemplatively at each other for a while before nodding in agreement. James stood up with a goblet of wine in hand, a proud declaration on the horizon. “Very well! If that’s what you desire the most, it shall be done! Lucy the Hammer, you are now the official captain of The Tennis Ball Gang! You and your charges will work with other squadrons to ensure the safety of our precious homeland! When we say never again, we mean never again! Congratulations, Lucy! An honor well-deserved! Cheers!”

 

As King James took a drink of his wine, Lucy ran circles around his ankles thanking him over and over again like she consumed a handful of pixie sticks. Excitement came naturally for Lucy no matter what the situation, but it all came rushing out at once at the prospect of this new role she had been given. It was indeed an exciting time to be alive. Rainbow Ranch really did give second chances and Lucy took full advantage of those opportunities. Even Razor Ripley couldn’t help but crack a proud grin knowing that his once weakest link was now his strongest ally.

 

What did the cats and dogs think of all this? Were they every bit as excited about this new era for Rainbow Ranch? Were they looking forward to a bright future where happiness was the norm and love ruled over all? Nah. They were more interested in chomping on their plates of meat and licking their own buttholes, not necessarily in that order. What a bunch of divas.