“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…
