Night Ride

Put a fucking muffler on your ’57 Chevy

It ain’t that deep and it ain’t that heavy

The rest of the block is trying to sleep

And you’re raping our ears like a bus stop creep

Mediocre white guy going for a night ride

You’re a perfect candidate for a gangland drive-by

You peaked in high school and it never got better

Yet you throw shade at those who ain’t swimming in cheddar

Your noisy engine is your personality

It’s all that’s remembered after road fatalities

Adrenaline junky looking for your next high

So you speed towards the ramp, get ready to fly

Motocross, but with a piece of shit car

You might have had a few Miller Lites at the bar

Mix it with your Monster and a case of Red Bull

MAGA flag on one side, the other side is rebel

Hoot and holler so they can hear you in China

And if they complain, say they have a vagina

That’s full of sand and pieces of Mae Young’s hand

Congratulations, you’re an Aaron Lewis cover band

Speed right off into the dark of the night

And if you get pulled over, put your dukes up and fight

Blue Lives Matter until you throw the first punch

Now a fully loaded pistol is eating you for lunch

Should we call you patriotic or have a good laugh?

I’d call you a comedian, but you suck at the craft

Your whole life is comedy, it’ll end in tragedy

Even worse if you’re a student at the Rape Academy

Murder Nuts the Clown

 

S.K.I.P.

VERSE 1

Jeffrey Dahmer, mmm-mmm, good!

He ain’t got a damn thing on a Klansman in a hood

Henry Lucas, equal opportunity

He never met a cop who didn’t give himself immunity

John Wayne Gacy, crawlspace hotel

The IDF’s Abrahamic, but they slithered out of hell

Richard Ramirez, stick it in and out

You can count on brainwashing to keep you in doubt

 

CHORUS

Serial Killers In Power!

SKIP, SKIP, SKIP, SKIP!

Mr. White Power gets all of his flowers

Mr. Red Pill gave them on his free will

Mr. Capitalist keeps pumping black mist

Serial Killers In Power!

 

VERSE 2

Alex De Large, let’s have a nozh scrap

Still got a lower body count than an ICE trap

Jerome Johns, Master of the Spinneroony

But the stories on the news are the real horror movies

Lucy Butler, touching and teasing

Couldn’t kill more people than unvaccinated sneezing

All they need to do is cut off federal funding

And congratulations, they’re the next Ted Bundy

 

CHORUS

Serial Killers In Power!

SKIP, SKIP, SKIP, SKIP!

Mr. White Power gets all of his flowers

Mr. Red Pill gave them on his free will

Mr. Capitalist keeps pumping black mist

Serial Killers In Power!

 

VERSE 3

You wouldn’t give launch codes to Phil Garrido

He’d bomb everyone and anyone who has a pink burrito

You wouldn’t let Ariel Castro in the treasury

He’d spend the money on girls, tell them, “Pleasure me!”

You wouldn’t let Kyle Rittenhouse have a bazooka

But an AR-15 is good for Senor La Puta

The orange monster told you all who he was

You surrendered your souls, ‘cause in murder you trust

 

CHORUS

Serial Killers In Power!

SKIP, SKIP, SKIP, SKIP!

Mr. White Power gets all of his flowers

Mr. Red Pill gave them on his free will

Mr. Capitalist keeps pumping black mist

Serial Killers In Power!

 

OUTRO X2

True Crime never goes out of business

We got a monopoly, we all bear witness

The solution is right there in front of your face

Yet you stick it out there, give the leopards a taste

Black Tar Kiss, Chapter 3

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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…

Suck It Up

VERSE 1

When you drop bombs on your least favorite race

The whole world watches with tears on their face

When you cry Cancel Culture after the fact

It should be you in a coffin lying on your back

You never had to suffer like the ones you’ve killed

Just ask your billionaire daddies to pay all the bills

Sugar baby, crybaby, whatever you are

Take your insults on the chin like a boxing superstar

 

PRE-CHORUS

When we call you out on your disgusting violence

The Wahmbulance gets you, let’s flash the sirens

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

 

VERSE 2

When you fire your gun at the poor and innocent

You better expect an international incident

A golden badge is not a shield from callouts

A precinct won’t save you from nuclear fallout

Your critics don’t have missiles to level the land

They’ve got two middle fingers, one in either hand

Maybe a brick if they’re feeling kind of froggy

A bloody concussion to make you feel groggy

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

 

BRIDGE

A bruised ego or a rotting corpse?

Which one’s worse? The latter, of course

You play the victim and reverse criticism

Easy as pie, ‘cause you control the system

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

Suck it up!

Suck it up!

Do the world a favor and shut the fuck up!

Manliest of Mansplainers

Alexis Harper power-walked down the hallway towards the interrogation room, pants suit on, dreadlocked hair up, and a mean face that could turn any alpha male to stone like the eyes of Medusa. She paid no mind to the other officers giving her funny looks like she didn’t belong in this game. Manliest of mansplainers. That’s all they are, she thought. She looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear and entered the interrogation room, where Ryland Hamm sat on the opposite end of the table looking like testosterone on a stick.

Mr. Hamm had a smug look complementing his square jaw, slicked back blond hair to give off that alt-right vibe, and a red flannel shirt that he probably wrestled a lumberjack for if Alexis didn’t know any better. Despite being grossly outmatched in the size department, Alexis never lost her angry swagger and slowly took a seat across from her suspect, as if to draw out any anxiety Ryland might have had. She gave the potential anxiety an adrenaline boost when she laid her gun on the table and turned the safety off.

Alexis took several deep breaths through her nose to bring some more angry tension into this already prison-like room, white walls and barred window be damned. But the anxiety she hoped Ryland was having didn’t exist at all as shown by his equally cold and callous face. Breaking him down was going to be a chore, for sure. But it was a chore worth doing in her mind.

Her speech was slow and deliberate as she dressed down her suspect. “Listen to me, you little bitch…if at any point in this interrogation you try to reach across the table to hit me or grope me…I’m going to empty my gun all over your fucking face. You won’t be warned…You won’t get a chance to explain yourself…You won’t even get a chance to apologize…You touch me…you die…I know you don’t have a great deal of respect for women, so I thought I’d put that out to the universe beforehand…”

Ryland folded his arms. “Where I’m from, respect is earned.”

Alexis gave a sadistic smile. “I got bad news for you: we’re a LONG ways away from where you’re from. This ain’t jabip, my friend. This…this is my dungeon…and you are going to be my bitch today…” Ryland almost reached across the table, but thought better of it. “Good boy.

“Now…let me see if I’ve got this right…You left the bar at 10:30 last night…And that was when you shot the victim in the face…She’ll be buried in due time…but the thing is…we don’t even know this woman’s name…I don’t think you do either…All we know about her…is that you tried to give her a quote-unquote compliment…and it didn’t go as well as you wanted…What was that compliment, Ryland?”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Yeah…and you know what I want? I want Jamie Fraser from Outlander shackled naked to my bed…with a dildo in his mouth…and an electrified diaper on his crotch…Wait a minute…hold on a second…Did I just make a man feel worthless?” She poked her own chin in mock contemplation. “I could have sworn that I turned a three-dimensional human being…into nothing more than a sex object…It’s almost like…I did the exact same thing you did to that woman…”

Ryland shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “You feminazis are all the same. Can’t even take a compliment, so you Me Too our asses out of existence. I told her she looked sexy in those running shorts and you know what she said back? She said…’If you want to get laid so badly, there’s a perfectly good middle school down the road. They’re more your type.’ She slanders the shit out of me and it’s ME who’s in this room? How is that fair?”

“The reason you’re in this room, Ryland, is because you shot her in the face shortly afterwards. That’s why we have no idea who she is: her most unique features…were blown right off her body…”

“I did not shoot her, you slanderous bitch!”

“Then why did we find her…lying on the ground…with no face…and no brains…and not much of a skull left either? Why…did this woman have to die over a clever comeback? She didn’t owe you a damn thing, Ryland…No woman…owes you a damn thing…”

Ryland’s tone grew more intense the longer this interrogation drew out. “That’s what women are for, you dumb bitch. They have vaginas for a reason. What good is a vagina if you’re not going to use it?! Why don’t you crack open a bible every once and a while instead of reading SJW comic books where Wonder Woman has a pecker and Superman has a pussy.”

“Hmm…” Alexis leaned back in her chair and continued to touch her face like she actually gave a shit about Ryland’s incel rhetoric. “That sounds like a good idea…I used to have a bible around the house…But then…my husband had a really disgusting meal at Taco Bell…and…there was no toilet paper in the bathroom…and…long story short…we don’t have a bible anymore…”

Ryland raised his trembling fist like he was going to strike Alexis, but then she reached for her gun and said, “Ah-ah-ah! I don’t think so, buddy...Don’t even try it…Don’t…fucking…test me!”

There was a knock at the door and a couple of uniformed police officers entered despite not having confirmation from Alexis to come in. She didn’t even look them in the eye. She just gave the jittering Ryland an arrogant smirk like she achieved what she set out to do. “He’s all yours, boys…Ryland Hamm…is our murderer. You’re welcome…”

One of the officers shook his head. “Lady? You don’t even work here.”

“WHAT?!” screamed Ryland. He clutched his own face with both hands and squeezed in anger. His breathing was labored and deep, his muscles vibrated, and his eyes bulged. “All this time, I’ve been interrogated by this feminazi and you guys did nothing to stop her?! She wouldn’t even let me have a lawyer!”

“Mr. Hamm, there’s no need to shout,” said one of the officers while raising his hand defensively.

“It’s a free country! I’ll shout if I damn well want to! I’m a real American and I say that shit proudly!”

“Of course you’re a proud American!” Alexis retorted. “Everybody knows that! You’re white…you’re a man…and you’re a republican, no doubt…Those three things alone would have ensured you a short stay in a county jail…as opposed to a lifetime in prison for murdering a woman who didn’t want to fuck you…tell me I’m wrong, boys. Go ahead. Tell me this privileged white male republican would have spent the rest of his life in prison. Go on…lie to me…”

No response from the cops.

“You all should be thanking me instead of chastising me,” said Alexis. “I’m like those undocumented immigrants you fear so much…I’m doing the job…that nobody else wants to do!”

Ryland had enough. He reached across the table like he wanted to clobber Alexis and she shot him in the head for it. The exploding brains and skull wasn’t nearly as impressive as what he did to the unknown woman in running shorts, but she laughed nonetheless as officers restrained and cuffed her.

“You all saw that, didn’t you?” chuckled Alexis. “He tried to hit me, so I killed him in self-defense. I bet he would have used the self-defense excuse to keep his ass out of prison because his fragile little ego was broken. Then again…he wouldn’t have gone to prison anyways…”

The cops hauled her out of the interrogation room and down the hall. “You’re under arrest for impersonating an officer.”

“What about murder?” she asked. “Are you going to add murder to my rap sheet or are you basically admitting defeat on that one?”

“You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you take advantage of that.”

“Kind of like how Ryland took advantage of that woman, right? You’re still going to give her a proper burial, aren’t you?”

“SHUT…THE FUCK…UP!”

Alexis grinned as she was being taken to a holding cell. “Yep, you’re definitely not impersonating an officer now. Y’all are the real deal.”

Objectified

The only chicks you like are working at strip bars

The only dudes you like are driving all the fast cars

The only kids you like are trapped inside the cages

The only grandmas you like are all so fucking ageist

The only fat guys like you like are six feet underground

The only fit chicks you like weigh less than sixty pounds

The only crazies you like are Manic Pixie Dream Girls

The only sickos you like are the ones who don’t hurl

The only celebrities you like are ones you masturbate to

The only politicians you like are ones who shit on Me Too

The only workers you like are the ones who lick your boots

The only laborers you like are the ones who pick your fruit

The only athletes you like are the ones who’re undefeated

The only students you like are the ones who have succeeded

The only teachers you like are picking quotes from the bible

The only cops you like are so good at committing libel

The only judges you like are the ones who say the N-word

The only gunners you like are the ones who collect dead birds

The only soldiers you like are the ones in Arnold movies

The only SJW’s you like are the ones who are worth suing

Objectified, electrified, open your asshole wide

As long as they tickle your fancy, you’re always on their side

But one day when you need your very best friends the most

They’ll leave you to die and haunt this world as a wayward ghost

Social Justice Warrior

The November breeze stung Pete Winger’s face while neon signs were burning his eyeballs. The sound of boots marching on concrete streets was the coup de grace in slowly waking him up from his head-pounding slumber. His first instinct was to roll out of bed and get in his trench coat and hat. Except where he laid was significantly less comfortable than a coil spring mattress. He couldn’t roll off of it either since his wrists and ankles were held in place with steel cables. Struggling for freedom didn’t get him an inch off of the steel surface that made his spine ache.

Pete finally opened his eyes, but not enough to take in the glow of the neon motel signs. Rundown buildings with American flags barely hanging on the doors (if the buildings even had doors). Concrete streets with potholes the size of dinner plates. Windows shattered. Graffiti smeared all over the brick walls. Minorities in ragged clothing out on their porches wondering just what the hell was going on.

Pete had the answer they were looking for. White hooded minions carried him on a steel crucifix while a cowgirl with an AK-47 strapped to her back led the charge. Her annoying voice seemed all too familiar to Pete when she ordered her hooded cohorts to stop. It was her alright. Long brown hair in a ponytail. Curvy hips. A leather biker gang jacket. A cowgirl hat with a feather in it. She was unmistakable. She was none other than Tifa Cody, America’s loudest voice.

Pete struggled some more in his bindings while Miss Cody goose-stepped into the middle of the street to address the impoverished citizens of this ghetto. “Alright, now listen up, y’all!” she belted in her signature southern accent. “It’s November and you know what that means for America: new politicians, same old crap. And in the interest of fairness, I’m here to make sure none of y’all are going to vote illegally in our fine democracy. Voter fraud is as real as it gets. If I catch one of y’all stuffing the ballot boxes this Tuesday, you’re getting an assload of lead!”

As Tifa unhooked her AK-47, Pete groggily said, “Hey there! You think you can get me off of this cross? I mean…Blue Lives Matter, right? Isn’t that what you’re always saying on the radio?”

Tifa pointed her gun at Pete. “Listen, Detective, and I use that word loosely, the operative phrase there is Blue Lives Matter, not Blue States Matter. I respect the authority of real cops who do their damn jobs, not Dick Tracy knockoffs like you who protect snowflakes like these!”

“Miss Cody…do you not see the irony of what you just said?”

Tifa cocked her gun. “What irony, Mr. Pete ‘Left’ Winger?”

“Well…um…You’re getting mad over the fact that poor black people are allowed to vote and yet they’re the snowflakes. Tell me how that adds up.”

Tifa fired a series of warning shots past Pete’s ear and had the minorities ducking for cover, their children screaming and crying. “This ain’t about skin color, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! This is about protecting our democracy from cheaters and thieves! You libtards don’t have a leg to stand on in the facts department, so you try to vote multiple times. And for the record, my stepfather is black, so don’t even try to play the race card with me!”

Pete chuckled nervously. “Okay, so we know you have a stepfather. But do you have any nieces and nephews? And when you visit them on their birthdays in Bumfuck, Alabama, do they refer to you as…Aunt Tifa?” That zinger got a chorus of “oo’s” from the ghetto dwellers.

“Lay him down, guys,” she ordered her robed minions. After they complied, she butt-stroked Pete in the stomach and earned a series of smoker-like coughs. He also spit up a wad of blood-laced saliva. “Your jokes are about as funny as the so-called woke comedians on late night TV. All that PC propaganda is turning your brain into mush. You don’t know how to tell a decent joke anymore because you’re too scared of getting thrown in Twitter jail.”

“Come on, you had to admit that was punderful.”

“I don’t have to admit a goddamn thing. As a matter of fact, boys, stand him up. I’m about to go all Auschwitz on his funny ass!”

As the hooded minions stood up the steel cross, Pete let out a string of, “No’s!” as if they would actually reconsider burning him alive. While he struggled once more to get free, Tifa pulled out a book of matches and struck them all on the collapsing pavement.

Her back turned to the residents, she said, “Are y’all seeing this? This is what happens when you try to fuck with my country! Ain’t no cops coming out to save him because he’s a damn traitor to real Americans, not the handout takers and ballot stuffers! Cops don’t like that shit! That’s why y’all keep getting shot all the damn time!” Tifa turned around momentarily. “Are you shitting me right now?! Are you filming this on your damn phone?!”

Tifa aimed her AK-47 at a shivering black teenager with his smart phone recording her. “This ain’t no comedy bit for your Tik Tok app or whatever the hell you young fuckers love to do! You drop that damn phone or I’m shooting it out of your damn hands!”

The teen refused to obey but continued to shiver. Pete knew it was now or never if he was going to save more lives than his own. He wiggled around on the cross some more. He struggled even harder. And harder. The steel bindings cut into his flesh and formed purple scars on his wrists and ankles. But the cross moved just a little bit at a time, so much so that the hooded minions had a hard time keeping it erect. They tried to call Tifa’s name, but she was in the middle of a tirade and had none of it.

Pete wiggled again. And again. His muscles ached and his limbs seemed as though they would fall off. And then…the steel cross lurched forward. “Look out!” shouted one of the minions as the cross landed on top of Tifa, bringing her and Pete into chest-to-chest contact. Her gun was knocked out of her hand, but the book of matches still burned and that tiny spark was enough to weaken the straps on Pete’s right wrist.

“Get off of me, goddamn it! Who do you think you are, Bill Clinton?” Tifa struggled while her hooded thugs ran away from not only the fallen cross, but also the minority residents who began throwing bottles and bricks at them. Some of them got away with no bruises other than their egos. Some of their heads splattered on the pavement. One hooded punk got his back cut up by pieces of glass.

As Tifa squirmed and wiggled to slowly pull herself out from under Pete and the cross, the detective tugged harder on the burning straps. His wrist singed with red hot pain. His skin grew crispy and black. The purple bruises opened up to leak pus and blood. But get his hand free he did. While Tifa crawled towards her AK-47, Pete began to unlatch his other wrist before hunching down and undoing his ankles.

Both Tifa and Pete slithered like snails across the ground while the hooded thugs were still being chased away by the impoverished residents. Tifa was fingertips away from her gun when Pete grabbed hold of her ankles and bear-hugged them. She rained knuckles on Pete’s scalp until she was able to crawl close enough to the AK-47 to grab it. But Pete ignored his head, wrist, and stomach trauma long enough to squirm over to her and get in a tug of war over the weapon.

Tifa elbowed and kneed Pete in the ribs and stomach, but he refused to let go of the automatic rifle. He spit a wad of blood in her eyes and snatched the rifle out of her hands, sharp pain in his chest aside. Despite being temporarily blinded, she slowly pulled herself to her feet and staggered towards one of the abandoned buildings. Which one, Pete couldn’t see because he was too busy curling up in a ball on the ground. Some neighborhood kids pulled him to his feet and supported him. When he asked where Tifa was, they didn’t know.

“Damn it, I can’t believe I’m letting that bitch get away!” Pete’s rib and chest pain sharpened like he was being closed in an iron maiden. He doubled over and spit up more blood, dazed at his surroundings. “Do me a favor, kid. Get me that American flag over there. I got an idea. Just do it!”

The teen retrieved the ratty-looking American flag off of a neighbor’s front porch and handed it to Pete. The detective waved his helpers away for a moment and he was able to stand up on his own two feet, beaten, but not dead.

“Tifa Cody! Get your ass out here and face me, you militia nitwit!” Screaming that caused even more sharp pain to bend him over. Still he waved off the neighborhood kids, who all gathered around with their smart phones to record the action now that Tifa and her stooges were a non-threat.

“So Tifa…you like to call people who don’t agree with you snowflakes, right? You like to call them SJW’s whenever they rightfully complain about being disenfranchised? Well…now it’s your turn to cry, sweetheart! I’m going to raise this flag…and everyone around me…will take a knee. Go on, do it!” The neighborhood residents did just that: get on one knee.

“Oh, that’s not enough to piss you off, Tifa? Sure pissed off the rest of your political flunkies. Wait a minute…I’ve got a better idea. Tifa Cody…if you don’t get your ass out here and surrender…I’m going to do something to this flag that’ll make your precious eyeballs leak like faucets. But what will I do to it? Will I wipe my ass with it? Will I blow my nose on it? Will I cough up blood on it? No…I think I’ll just fill it full of holes with your own assault rifle! And yes, it is an assault rifle no matter how much you say otherwise! I’m counting to three and this flag is going up in smoke! One…two…three!”

On cue, Tifa bolted out of a nearby building and shrieked, “NO!” before tossing a brick at Pete. It didn’t have the chance to smash his face in. It disintegrated into dust the minute Pete pulled the trigger and filled Tifa full of holes. Her bloody carcass dripped and splattered all over the building steps before rolling into the gutter. Everyone in the neighborhood, Pete included, took a moment to breathe heavily, either out of relief or heart-pounding adrenaline.

Pete slowly turned around and faced the cell phone cameras. “You see that?” He spit out blood and kneeled down in pain. “Crime doesn’t pay…no matter…who you vote for…For all of you…who say…All Lives Matter…clearly Tifa Cody’s didn’t…Don’t believe me?...Just ask her…She…drew…first…blood…” Pete’s vision blackened as he stumbled over face-first onto the ground, bleeding out of the mouth and any other wound her had. The neighbors gathered around to try and help him, but he was a lost cause.

The last thing Pete Winger heard before passing into the afterlife was police sirens off in the distance. This left him with an anxious feeling in his gut. Would these cops do the right thing? Whose side would they take: his or Tifa’s? Would these impoverished voters surrounding Pete become easy casualties? Pete Winger never got an answer to any of these questions. But hopefully whoever was watching the live videos being taken would question everything all at once, including their government. That’s all Detective Pete Winger could ask of them in his weakened state. His duty as a blue life that mattered was complete.

Sexy Lunch

“One…two…three!” SMASH! “Go, go, go! Move, move, move!”

These were the orders Detective Joey Roberts barked to five other police officers after kicking down the door to what used to be the Dam Hill Apartment Building. In one hand was her trusty cold magnum. In the other was the breast pocket of her black trench coat as she held it over her face to keep the foul odor from assaulting her senses. To her it was no different from performing a raid on a bus station bathroom. Filthy diapers, empty liquor bottles, rotten food, and buzzing flies covered every square inch of this dilapidated nightmare.

“Clear!” one officer after another hollered from distant corners of the abandoned trash heap of a building. The more Joey heard that word, the more her rage bubbled to the surface. To think that three years of mind games and false hope would lead to a big waste of time killed her inside worse than a dagger to the heart.

“Come on, Sanchez, where are you?! Show yourself!” barked Joey as she continued bolting down the various corridors with her eyes bloodshot and her pistol packing heat. “That smell better be your dead corpse!” Her wishful thinking led to even more spilled trash covered in every human fluid imaginable. She almost tripped over a dead cat being eaten by maggots. One dead cat led to another. And another. And another. The trail of blood brought her to apartment 12A, the door barely hanging on its hinges. One elbow strike was all it took to knock the motherfucker down.

There he was laying on a mattress with his baggy pants around his ankles and his striped shirt pulled up to his chest. Wearing a nearly toothless grin with an unkempt Mohawk was the man of the hour, Matt Sanchez, who smiled at Joey coldly and with psychotic intentions.

This should have been an open and shut case for the detective. However, she lowered her gun slowly and gazed at the wall behind Mr. Sanchez with wide, horrified eyes and quivering lips. Photographs were pinned to the wall, not just of ordinary people, but of Joey and her two elementary school-aged daughters. All three of them were at the beach enjoying a sunny day and…wearing bikinis. Joey’s saucer eyes morphed into angry slits when she saw the words “Sexy Lunch” scrawled across these photos with what appeared to be and smelled like old, crusty feces.

“Were you masturbating to me and my family?!” Joey growled.

“Yep,” said Matt Sanchez matter-of-factly, his lips smacking and tongue clicking as he chuckled insanely.

This would have been the perfect time to put a bullet in her stalker’s brain and get it over with. Joey’s finger edged oh-so-close to the trigger while sweat poured from her palms like a fine mist. That obnoxious laugh of Matt’s echoed through her mind much like the smell of this apartment complex burned her nostrils. Ultimately, she decided to sheath her weapon…but not out of a sudden change of heart.

Joey ripped a hardcover bible away from the bookend on the nightstand and started pounding it relentlessly over Matt’s head, arms, and back. As stiff as each blow sounded, not even the savage beating could drown out the serial killer’s girlish screams as he attempted badly to cover up. Detective Roberts wouldn’t stop. Her eyes flared up like burning gasoline. Drool splashed all over the already filthy carpeted floor. Every strike became more brutal and faster-paced the longer she went.

It took three police officers to clutch her around the arms and waist and yank her away from the beating while two more officers yanked a bloodied and bruised Matt to his feet to cuff him. Even when pulled away, Joey wouldn’t stop thrashing around, growling loudly, and swinging the bible. “Detective, that’s enough!” she heard one officer say, but it was the understatement of the year. She had to be restrained against the piss-stained wall in order to calm down just a little bit.

“What the hell are you doing, Detective?!” asked one of the cops. “You’re not supposed to be doing shit like that!” Holding his body cam, he said, “You’re going to get us all in a whole fuck load of trouble if you keep that up!”

Joey’s thrashing slowly diminished into heavily-breathing calmness at the realization of what she did. Her eyes and thoughts still burned at the sight of Matt Sanchez’s shit-eating grin superimposed on the unwanted photos on the wall. “You’d better listen to your friends, Detective. Your sexy daughters won’t have mommy to come home to otherwise.”

“You son of a bitch!” shouted Joey as she broke free from the officers’ grasps and spear tackled Matt in the ribs, knocking the rotten wall behind him over. Scandalous photos splattered over the two of them as Joey rained down the heaviest fists she could muster, slashing the serial killer over and over again. This time all five officers had to restrain her to the floor and shout orders for her to calm down. Out of the corner of her eye, Detective Roberts could see Matt Sanchez spitting out some teeth (not that his ugliness changed with them in his mouth). Still was that sadistic grin.

“What the hell are you holding me down for?! Get him before he gets away! That’s an order!” belted the Detective. Sure enough, Matt tried to get back on his knees (cuffed hands be damned), but two officers held him down once again and ordered him to shut his “filthy hole”.

Dripping with blood from his mouth, nose, and fresh cuts, Matt was hauled to his feet and carried from the door, still smiling arrogantly at his “sexy lunch”.

“Now, Miss Roberts…can I trust you to not go berserk this time? Is it okay to let you up or are you going to go ballistic some more?” asked an officer. Just as the glassy-eyed, saliva-mouthed detective was about to answer, a resounding thud echoed throughout the building. The three cops and detective headed out to the lobby and found Matt lying on the ground in a pool of blood and vomit. How much of it was his was up for debate. The two cops attending to the serial killer called for a medic while looking disgustedly at Joey.

“Do you not give a shit if our jobs are on the line?” asked one of the cops. It was hard to tell them apart due to Joey’s blurry tunnel vision and traumatic ghosts haunting her mind. “Hey, are you listening to me?! Our suspect just collapsed and it’s all because of you! The captain is going to have our balls for this! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Attempting to form a sentence through her jittery stutter, Joey said, “Did you…see those…pictures? Did you…see what…he called me and my girls?”

“Detective? And I use that term loosely,” said another faceless officer. “You should know by now that this job isn’t supposed to be personal. We need your head in the game and here you are beating the shit out of our suspect. You know how many times my family has been threatened by this asshole? What about the rest of us? Do we get to pound the hell out of him too? No, we don’t! This is a job! Take it seriously!”

Taking longer breaths and lowering her guard, Joey said with quiet anger, “It’s too late now. He’s already dead. What’s done is done. The world isn’t going to miss him and neither are any of you. Those body cams can record whatever they want for all I care. Hopefully, they recorded all of those…pictures…those pictures…those goddamn pictures!”

An officer leaned Matt up in a seated position, the killer’s body fading in and out of consciousness. But still there was that smile, like he had eaten the world’s sexiest lunch and had a comfortable BM afterwards. “What are you smiling at?!” burst Joey. “What the hell are you smiling at, you little rat turd?!”

Spitting blood on the floor, Matt said, “Looks like I’ve got one more kill under my belt. Well…much more than that if the whole police department gets taken down. My life…is complete…my work…is done!”

With a mile-long stare into Matt’s soulless eyes, Joey said, “You heard him, boys. His life is complete. His work is done. There’s nothing left for him to do. We’re all screwed one way or another. Hell, he probably put those pictures up just so we’d find them and commit career suicide. Mission accomplished. Now that we’re dead, let’s go have a few beers.”

Seeing the writing on the wall, the cop that was attending to Matt Sanchez pulled out his gun and blew the killer’s brains out, doing no more damage to the apartment complex than already stated. The legal shitstorm would come quickly and destructively. But the joke was on the DA because the cops and detective didn’t have any money to give to the plaintiffs. They spent it all on hot wings and beer!

Keyboard Cops

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 1

When you were eighteen

And you were edgy

You joke on Twitter

Now you’re in the shitter

Joke on Face Book

Like an internet crook

If you get flamed

Then you are to blame

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 2

You joke about this guy

You joke about that guy

You joke about the shit

Everybody throws a fit

You joke about death

About the final breath

You joke about things

That make people sting

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 3

Nobody’s going to give you a break

They’ll just call you a snowflake

They’ll just call you a mistake

To see how much you can take

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 4

Why did they have to act so mean

Behind the glow of a computer screen?

Born to roast like the chick from Wendy’s

You’ve got nothing left worth defending

I know sometimes you want to give up

I know sometimes you’ve gone and fucked up

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

NARRATOR

Keyboard Cops is filmed on location with the boys and girls of the internet. All suspects are guilty until they apologize profusely and even then it won’t be enough.

All Dog Punchers Go to Hell

Mary McCray glossed over her roll call sheet one more time and shook her pudgy head at some of the names on her list. At least two or three of them were cops. Four of them were multi-level sex offenders. Others were attending sensitivity classes for the very first time. But one name on this list made her chuckle in disgust: Darren Stars, a rock icon with more privilege than any of his cop classmates. “Who in the hell calls himself Darren Stars?” Mary asked herself.

Steeling her nerves for the worst, she sighed and reached high to twist the doorknob to the classroom. Some of the “students” snickered at their obvious height advantage over Mary. They also had a sizable youth advantage since Miss McCray’s wrinkly skin and wavy gray hair gave away her age. She wore a green dress with a white apron over it, like she was about to bake cookies instead of teach a sensitivity class. In order to meet her students’ gazes, she had to crawl up on the teacher’s desk and sit on the edge, swinging her oversized feet as she did so.

These degenerates smiled with the kind of juvenility one would expect from a high school classroom, which was where this special training session took place. Mary checked the roll call sheet to make sure everyone was accounted for, but used it as an excuse to hide her face from these humiliating stares. Some of these men looked like they just did time in the pokey, all muscled, tattooed, and dressed in T-shirts, jeans, and sometimes tank tops.

It was Darren Stars who caught her eye (and her ire) the most. “Feet off the desk, Mr. Stars,” ordered Mary, to which the long-haired, leather jacket wearing rock star reluctantly complied.

Crossing her arms upon her lap, she was finally ready to greet these students with a stern gaze and a gruff voice. “My name is Mary McCray. I am a sensitivity counselor. You are all hardened criminals, which is why you’re here today. My job is to provide you all with the tools to do better deeds in this world. How you handle those tools is completely up to you. Some of you will succeed, most of you will end up back in prison.”

Mary pulled her thick rimmed glasses off and cleaned the lenses with her apron. “But for a small minority of you, prison was never a clear and present danger. Whether it’s because of your wealth, your celebrity status, or just the fact that you wield any kind of authority at all, your massive privilege has kept you out of trouble. But if you think your money is any good here, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m here to straighten you all out and nobody gets a free pass. Any questions?”

Darren Stars stood up and said, “Yeah, I’ve got one. How come your parents aren’t supervising you?” That earned a collective horse laugh from the rest of the classmates.

“Well, clearly your parents are even more irresponsible if they give you a goofy ass name like Darren Stars!” That earned an “ooohhh” from the crowd and the arrogant rock star sat down slowly in shame. “Actually, I’m glad you made yourself obvious, Mr. Stars, because our lesson for the day has a lot to do with why you’re here specifically. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you get busted at one of your shows for punching a traumatized fan’s guide dog?”

“Guide dog, my ass! That motherfucker was howling his head off while I was trying to sing a song. He was ruining a fun night of music for everyone.”

“Yes, because punching a defenseless animal is the only number one hit you can produce these days,” said Mary with a cross-armed glare. Another collective “ooo” reverberated off the classroom walls, not unlike Darren’s guitar during a show. “Personally, I would have locked you up right then and there. But since you’re such a big celebrity who needs coddling and swaddling, you ended up here instead. Well, I have just the curriculum for you and your socially elite friends.”

Mary leapt off the desk and pulled a TV remote that looked like a magic wand from her apron. With one click, a white projector screen lowered in front of the chalkboard. With another click, the lights went out. “Gentlemen…and Mr. Stars, I want you to have a look at something.”

Another click of the button projected a montage of animal cruelty onto the screen. Elephants in India were being punched repeatedly in order to get them to paint. Monkeys laid in wooden crates with shackles around their necks and ankles. A cat was being thrown into oncoming traffic down below from a highway pass. Teenagers were shooting BB guns at helpless ducks, injuring their wings and snapping their legs in half.

Mary grinned mischievously at her students as most of them shed tears over the graphic footage, but wouldn’t go into a full-on crying spell. “So…a lot of you ARE capable of having empathy for others. That’s a good sign. Channel that sadness into our lesson for the day. But first…here’s a little something for the edgy man-children in the back.”

Another click of her wand and this time footage of pit bull abuse flashed across the screen. Upper snouts were being dislodged with crowbars. Dogs fought each other and spread their guts all over a dirt floor. One precious pup was being strung up on a rope and made to exercise on a treadmill while pulling a ten pound dumbbell. Even more tears poured from the students’ eyes while some of them tried to look away from the footage.

Upon catching Darren yawning with an uncovered mouth, Mary paused the video, illuminated the room, and asked, “Am I boring you, Mr. Stars? Is this not extreme enough for your tastes?”

“Now that I think about it, Nickelback is more metal than this garbage. Fuck it, I’m out of here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stars, but leaving is not an option!” barked Mary as her eyes and the eyes of her glaring students shined bright red. Every fiery eyeball locked upon Darren in an attempt to make the egomaniac feel somewhat smaller.

Instead he smirked and waved it all off. “I’ve had mushroom highs that were trippier than this. You ain’t fooling anybody, old lady.”

“I assure you, Mr. Stars, this is not a drug hallucination. Everything you see before you is as real as it gets. I repeat…everything you see before you!” Mary flashed an evil smile as she clicked her wand and neon-eyed warrior pit bulls leapt from the screen and growled at Darren. “Go ahead. Punch them. I dare you. If you do have the balls to do it, they’ll be quickly ripped from your pencil legs along with your thumb tack penis!”

No matter how violently the dogs barked, Darren wouldn’t budge. He laughed at them and said, “I really should get off the heroin.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Stars. Get him, my pretties. Have lunch!” bellowed Mary as the pit bulls rushed towards Darren and chewed on his flesh.

What happened to the rock star was not a trippy dream, but a waking nightmare. Mary folded her arms and grinned while the monstrous dogs chewed and clawed pieces of flesh and blood from Darren’s body. He screamed while gagging on his own life juices. He tried to throw punches and kicks to the rabid animals, but they just chewed harder and harder, as if it was their last meal before being starved to death in the dog fighting circuit. “If they send me more losers like this guy, I won’t have to ever go to PetSmart again,” Mary joked while being splashed with blood.

“Hey! What’s going on here?!” snapped an authoritative voice, prompting the magic to come to a grinding halt. The dogs disappeared in a puff of smoke, the brainwashed students had normal eyes again, but Darren was still bleeding from asshole to appetite. The voice belonged to a cop bursting into the room, a cop flanked by his uniformed partner and a chubby music executive in a fancy suit.

While the two cops held Mary at bay with their weapons, the executive rushed up to the bloody and battered Darren and said, “Oh my god…this is…I’m just…this is beautiful!”

“What?!” screeched Darren. “How is this beautiful? I’m bleeding to death because of that fucking bitch and her stupid dogs!”

“Hear me out, hear me out,” said the executive. “Rock music these days is all about blood and guts, right? Well, you’ve got the perfect imagery going on here. We can print promotional material for days, months, maybe even years. You are the quintessential badass of rock and roll with this bloody look. Let’s go back to the studio and get pictures of you. You’ll look like a million bucks on any CD cover!”

“Hold on a goddamn minute!” shouted Mary. “He’s not going anywhere until he finishes sensitivity training! He ain’t anywhere near a passing grade. I told him that celebrity privilege bullshit wasn’t going to fly here! Mr. Stars, sit back down and don’t leave the classroom until I say you can! Officers, back me up here! Tell him he’s no different from the rest!”

“…Yeah…about that…” The lead officer opened fire on the sorceress teacher and put several slugs in her head, bringing her sensitivity class and her life to a brutal end. If anybody asked, the cop could just lie his ass off and delete the contradictions in his story from his file. Mary McCray had all the magic in the world, but none of it could summon the power she needed to take on a corrupt system. Everybody had a price and everything was paid for, including a new tombstone for the dwarven teacher.

No Pain, No Reign

“I’ve procrastinated for so long. I’ve wrestled with my conscience. Should I do this tonight? Should I bring this lazy bastard into my home? Should I make him feel my pain? The answer was not just a resounding yes, but a hell fucking yeah!” The grating, raspy voice of the purple-skinned witch Dollhouse awakened Ivan Keith from the shadows of sleep. His head throbbed and pounded like rapid fire boxing blows. The water in his stinging eyes ebbed and flowed. His body weighed down on him like an elephant sitting on his slowly rising chest.

When the Sheriff of Savage Duck County tried to move, the steel bindings in his ankles and wrists cut into him like an executioner’s axe. He laid on an uncomfortable metal table in a T position and struggled some more, but to no avail and only more pain. “Don’t fight it,” warned Dollhouse as she scratched her long, wart-infested nose. The wrinkles in her visage coupled with the shadows brought on by her pointed hat gave her a constant resting bitch face, which only made Ivan’s heart race even further.

“You can’t keep me here forever, old lady,” said Ivan in his southern drawl. “I’m taking you into custody once I get off this here contraption.”

Dollhouse cackled and coughed while slapping her bony knees for extra effect. Quickly reverting back to her resting bitch face, she pointed her elongated finger and sneered, “Nobody’s looking for you, Sheriff Keith. You’ve fucked over so many people that they don’t give two shits if you live or die by my hands. Always drowning your sorrows in beer rather than facing the harsh realities of your line of work. I could have used a savior when my daughter was taken from this world. You did nothing about it but drink…and drink…and drink…and drink!”

The last of Ivan’s stinging tears rolled down his face and his vision became clear enough to see that he was in a laboratory of some kind. Tables full of bubbling potions, tools and devices covered in blood lying about, shackles holding rotted black skeletons, and even a randomly loose eyeball turned this seemingly ordinary hideout into Ivan’s personal hell. He wanted to scream, but his throat felt as though he swallowed a bone saw, so why bother with even more pain?

“Listen, lady…I don’t know who your daughter is…I get lots of cases…I’m overworked…maybe if you jogged my memory…”

Dollhouse flipped an oversized witch on the rocky wall and sent a lightning storm of pain throughout Ivan’s body. His nerves lit up like nuclear heat. Schizophrenic laughter rang throughout his head. Visions of blood-soaked monsters stained his eyes. Ivan finally did scream out and his sore throat felt as though he was being decapitated with a hot blade. Every part of his body, physical and psychological, was corrosively melting before his very eyes. And then Dollhouse pulled the switch back to its original position.

Ivan took a few heavy breaths as sweat trickled down his skin like a heavy rainstorm. “What…the hell…was that?!”

“I’ve been working on this device for years. The worst kind of pain imaginable and I brought it to life. Water-boarding? Boring! Musical torture? Better, but still boring! Iron maidens? Brutal as hell, but boring as shit! If I’m going to get some answers from a filthy liar like you, I might as well get a little bit of enjoyment out of it. What can I say? I feel like I’m a hundred years old. Got to have some fun while I can!” Dollhouse gave another wheezing cackle, which sent ice cold anxiety through Ivan’s body.

“You’re insane!” cried Sheriff Keith. “You really think this is going to work? I told you, I don’t know a damn thing about your daughter! And even if I did, I wouldn’t think twice about turning her over to CPS if she’s got a sick mother like you!”

With a thumbs down gesture, Dollhouse made a game show buzzer sound and hacked, “Wrong answer, dip shit!” before flipping the switch again. The feeling of bathing in hell’s lava while demons and skeletons laughed at his misery invaded Ivan’s body and mind again. His heart thumped so quickly that he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. His brain felt like it was bleeding badly enough to give him an atom bomb of a stroke. Dollhouse flipped the switch back to normal and Ivan once again breathed heavily enough to give him a Buddha belly. Oceans of sweat did nothing to cool him off.

“You still feel overworked or should I flip the switch again?”

“No! Please don’t!” begged Ivan with cascading eyeballs. “Oh my god…that was just…” His heart refused to slow down and his stomach refused to deflate, making putting together a sentence virtually impossible. “If you…tell me who…your daughter is…I’ll help…you find…justice…”

“No, you won’t. You’re just going to cast her aside like you did everybody else. Being tortured is your only motivator. And I’m sure if I just let you go and do your job, you’ll find Isabel’s husband and string him up for the public to see. I don’t want you to just find her husband. I want you to want to find him!”

Ivan’s breathing lessened somewhat and his sentences became more coherent. “Ma’am…I didn’t get into law enforcement so that I could laze about. Nobody does. But sometimes, cases come pouring in and we’re stretched too thin. If you were to kill me now, that would mean less personnel to help you find your daughter’s murderer. I probably should stop drinking so much, I agree with you on that.”

Dollhouse folded her stick-like arms across her dark-robed chest. “I want to believe you, Mr. Keith. I really do. But the fact is…you’ll stick up for your own kind even when they’re wrong. Law enforcement always does. Your coworkers could commit genocide and you’d still kiss their grimy cowboy boots.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Isabel’s husband was a cop under your jurisdiction.”

Ivan’s eyes widened at the revelation. “Wait a minute…you mean…one of my own guys killed your daughter? That’s a little slanderous, don’t you think?”

“You see?!” Dollhouse croaked, causing Sheriff Keith to nearly jump out of his skin. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! Paid vacations! Severance packages! House arrest in a lovely seaside hotel! Cops never get the punishment they deserve because shit heads like you keep covering for them!”

“You think it’s as easy as tossing them in a cell?!” shouted Ivan. “There’s a whole power structure at work here, lady! You’re damn right we protect each other! Ratting out one of our own could mean the end of our careers, or even our fucking lives! I’m not taking that risk just because of a conspiracy theory you’re peddling out!”

“So in other words…you won’t help me…because you’re scared? You look so tough in that cowboy hat. You look so cool in that trench coat and those blue jeans. You look like a real cowboy. But in reality…you’re smuggling BB pellets underneath that zipper. Look at it this way, slick: if there really is a power structure at work here, you’re fucked either way. It’s all a matter of which way of dying you’d rather face. You could get shot by your own kind…or you could go through a lifetime of agony on my table!”

Ivan gulped so hard that one would swear he was chugging another bottle.

“Truth is, Sheriff Keith, I could keep that switch flipped until time itself is standing still. Sure, I’ll run up my electricity bill, but when nobody knows where the fuck you are, you don’t pay bills. Like I said before, nobody’s looking for you, Ivan. Nobody’s looking for me either. Even if you did report me to your buddies, they’d never believe that a hundred year old witch tortured you all this time. Come to think of it, they’d die of laughter before you died of ratting out your fellow cops.”

Ivan sighed deeply and tried to relax on the table, but obviously to no avail. He hated to admit it, but everything she said was right. No holes in her logic, but there would be a bigger hole where Ivan’s heart used to be if he endured another round of torture table madness. Then again…

“Let’s say I do help you find your daughter’s killer and bring him to justice. If my fellow cop is a killer…what does that make you, Dollface, or whatever the hell your name is? You built this table because you wanted justice. But in reality, you’re every bit as bad as your daughter’s murderer. Maybe you’re worse. At least when Isabel was shot, it was over with a quickness!”

“Ah-ha! So you admit it! I knew it! I bloody knew it!” boasted Dollhouse as she pumped her arm up and down in victory.

“Okay, fine, so you know who your daughter’s killer is! Why don’t you put HIM on the table instead of me?! Sure, he’s long gone by now, but I’m sure if you spent as much time finding him as you did me, you’d get your justice a hell of a lot faster! I’m just a middleman, for god’s sake! Torturing me isn’t going to do shit!”

Dollhouse sighed and held her face in her hands. “You know what? You’re right. You’ve been right all along. You’re about as useful as an asshole on my elbow. I should have never drugged you and brought you here. Yes, you’re a sheriff, but you probably got that job by putting the right body parts in your mouth. I should just let you go.”

Ivan breathed a sigh of relief, confident his debating skills have saved his life.

“Then again…if you just admitted to being useless…then that makes you an accomplice!” snickered Dollhouse before flipping the switch and making Ivan scream loudly enough to loosen dust from the walls and ceiling. The pain of a thousand gallons of acid and a million knives being poured on his body was back again, but for a much more eternal period of time. His jaw stretched beyond its means as he screamed. His tongue fell out of his head. His heart, brain, and eyeballs were time bombs ready to detonate. His bowels flooded badly enough to sag his jeans around his ankles. His underwear stunk like a junkyard after his bladder exploded.

In the end, Ivan Keith didn’t stand for something, so he laid down for everything.