I’m really proud of it. I think it has a lot of heart. Let me know what you think, 3.5 readers.
I’m really proud of it. I think it has a lot of heart. Let me know what you think, 3.5 readers.
Cole unwrapped his burger and winced as he saw two big pickle slices sticking out from underneath the bun.
“You know I hate pickles,” Cole said.
“Really?” Rusty asked with a fake lisp. “I thought you loved pickles, big boy.”
“Rusty,” Cole said. “Seriously, man. I need you to dial it back.”
“OK,” Rusty said.
“They’ve been weening me off the painkillers and I’m on edgy and moody as fuck,” Cole said.
Rusty chomped on an onion ring. “Well, a big ass dog did turn your leg into a Happy Meal so, I suppose those feelings are normal.”
Cole glared at Rusty.
“What?” Rusty asked. “That wasn’t even a joke! I’m just saying, it’s normal for you to feel like shit. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t feel that way in your situation. Just let it all out, man.”
“No,” Cole said. “Fuck that noise. Everyone wants to talk about their feelings. ‘Waah, waah, boo hoo hoo, I have so many feelings.’ Like that helps anything.”
Rusty picked the bun off of Cole’s burger and flicked off the two pickles. “Look here, this is a real easy fix. There. No more pickles.”
“Damn it!” Cole said.
“What?” Rusty asked.
“Well now your hand’s been on it…”
“I wash my hands, Cole,” Rusty said.
Cole picked up the burger.
“Although, come to think of it,” Rusty said. “I did take a big shit this morning and for the life of me I can’t remember if I washed my hands after.”
“Enough with the jokes!” Cole said.
“Not a joke,” Rusty said. “I truly can’t remember. That burger may very well be crawling with fecal coliform bacteria.”
Cole shrugged his shoulders. “Fuck it.” He bit into the burger, then moaned happily. “Oh God. Three months of jello.”
“I knew you’d like it,” Rusty said. “And I did tell that girl at the drive through to not put pickles on yours but you know those damn kids never listen.”
Cole and Rusty munched on their food for awhile as they watched Network News One on the TV in the lounge.
“In recent news Vice-President Cheney has announced that he will try really, really hard to not shoot any of his friends in the face ever again,” Kurt Manley said. “The VP added, ‘That was totally my bad, people. Totally my bad. In other news, Senator Barack Obama spoke to supporters on the campaign trail today…”
Senator Obama appeared on screen at a podium. “For when we have faced down impossible odds, when we’ve been told we’re not ready or that we shouldn’t try or that we can’t, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can!”
“Will you get a load of this guy?” Rusty said. “‘Barack Obama.’ Why don’t they just run a guy named Jihadi Al-I’ll-bomb-ya?”
Cole sipped his soda. “I don’t know. He’s a real slick talker. I’ll give him that.”
“What you like him?” Rusty asked.
“I don’t like any politicians,” Cole said. “Republican. Democrat. All the same. When they walk in the room, grab your wallet and hold on tight.”
“Shit,” Rusty said. “You got that right.”
Obama continued. “It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: Yes, we can. It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights: Yes, we can!”
“‘Yes, we can,’” Rusty said. “‘Hope and change.’ Bunch of bull.”
“He’s got it locked up,” Cole said.
“You think?” Rusty said.
“Yeah,” Cole said. “The man can talk the paint off a barn door.”
Rusty took a bite of his burger and swallowed. “I dunno. I heard McCain just picked this Sarah Palin lady to be his vice-president.”
“Sarah who?” Cole said.
“Palin,” Rusty said. “Governor of Alaska. Supposed to be a real smart cookie though I dunno, I haven’t heard her talk yet.”
Cole stole one of Rusty’s onion rings. “Really, who gives a shit?”
“Indeed, brother,” Rusty said. “Indeed.”
Rusty wiped the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin, then stood up.
“Got a hot date tonight, dude,” Rusty said. “How do I look?”
“Like you should be a supporting cast member on The Sopranos,” Cole said.
“Oh God,” Rusty said. “Don’t even get me started on that show, Cole. I whacked my TV set for a good thirty-five minutes after that finale because friggin’ HBO made me think it was on the fritz.”
“Where’d you meet this one?” Cole asked.
“Online,” Rusty said. “Internet dating, Cole. It’s amazing. You just log on and it’s like your own catalog of poon.”
Cole bit off a hunk off his burger and chewed. “She’s probably a man.”
“I will hear no insults about the lovely Layla,” Rusty said.
Cole washed down his bite with another sip of soda. “Layla’s dick is probably bigger than yours.”
“Blasphemy, sir!” Rusty said. “You have besmirched my honor!”
“You don’t have any honor,” Cole said.
“Oh, right,” Rusty replied. “Check this out.”
Rusty grabbed the sides of his pants, which were secured by dozens of snap-on buttons. The redhead yanked, the pants broke free and there he stood in the middle of the lounge in his polka-dot boxer shorts.
“What the hell?” Cole asked.
“Breakaway pants!” Rusty said. “You like ‘em?”
“No,” Cole said.
“Check it,” Rusty said. “I put these bad boys on. I take Layla out to the club. We’re drinking. We’re dancing. We’re grinding all over each other. We’re in the mood and…splatow! Off come my pants! No muss, no fuss!”
Dr. Kragen walked into the lounge with a parfait cup in her hand. She spotted a pants-less Rusty and instantly turned around and walked away. “Nope. Don’t even want to know.”
“You really need to put your pants back on,” Cole said.
“Oh,” Rusty said as he looked down at his hairy legs. “Right.”
After Rusty was fully clothed again, the duo continued their meal in silence for awhile. Finally, Cole speak.
“Where is she?” Cole asked.
“Where’s who?” Rusty replied.
Cole slapped the remaining half of his burger down on the paper. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Rusty asked.
“Play dumb,” Cole said. “Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Who’s playing?” Rusty asked. “I’m very dumb.”
“I don’t know, man,” Rusty said. “She didn’t call you?”
“No,” Cole said.
“That’s weird,” Rusty said.
“Stop it,” Cole said.
“Thought she said she was going to call you,” Rusty said. “She probably got busy with something.”
“Knock it off,” Cole said.
“You know how women are,” Rusty said. “They’d forget their heads if they weren’t attached.
Cole pounded his fist down on the table. “Where’s Sharon?!”
A few patients and their families turned around to stare. Rusty waved them off.
“OK,” Rusty said as he put down his burger. “I’ve been dreading this…”
“What?” Cole said. “Come on, man, out with already. Be straight with me!”
“I’ve been straight with you,” Rusty said.
“No you haven’t,” Cole said. “Every time I see you, you got some excuse for her. She’s really busy, she’s sick, she’s visiting her mother, her sister’s got the flu…I was too high to figure it out but now that the doctor cut my dosage I’m getting the distinct fucking feeling that you have been very far from straight with me.”
“Cole,” Rusty said. “I didn’t want to…”
“I lost my leg and my wife hasn’t come to see me once,” Cole said. “I’m not an idiot, Rusty.”
“I know,” Rusty said.
Rusty pulled a piece of paper out of his folder out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cole. As soon as Cole looked at it, he felt his entire world collapse. Two words were written on it in Sharon’s handwriting. “I’m sorry.”
Cole crumpled up the paper and threw it against the wall. He pounded his fist on the table over and over. “Fuck!”
The patients and families looked over again. Cole let them have it. “The fuck are you looking at?! Mind your business!”
“That night,” Rusty said. “When the doctors told me you were stable, I swung by your house to tell Sharon and she wasn’t there.”
Cole cocked his head back and stared up at the ceiling in a daze.
“I let myself in,” Cole said. “Found that on the kitchen table. All her stuff was gone.”
Cole remained silent.
“I’m sorry,” Rusty said. “You’ve been through so much. I didn’t want to upset you. I figured it might mess up your chances of getting better. Kept hoping maybe she’d come back or something and it’d all be fine but…that never happened.”
“You call her?” Cole asked.
“Yeah,” Rusty said. “Left a bunch of messages. Just went right to voicemail.”
A few silent minutes passed. Cole kept staring at the ceiling. Rusty kept eating dinner.
“Shit,” Rusty said. “Now I feel bad for telling you about my date.”
“She probably has a dick,” Cole said.
“She most definitely has a dick,” Rusty replied.
Two months later – July, 2007
Grover County Rehabilitation Hospital
Dr. Janice Kragen wore her hair pulled neatly back and watched her patient through a pair of glasses with shiny red frames.
“I think you’re getting the hang of it, Mr. Walker,” Dr. Kragen said.
Cole grimaced as he gripped his hands around two steel bars and slowly moved his body between them. He was feeling loopy, having just ingested some painkillers. He looked down at his brand new prosthetic leg.
“I think I should just hang myself,” Cole said.
“Now, now,” Dr. Kragen said. “Talk like that isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
Cole moved his left hand forward and grabbed the left bar. He moved his right hand forward and grabbed the right bar. He strained as he moved his left leg forward, then dragged his prosthetic forward.
“Your progress is amazing,” Dr. Kragen said. “You’re outperforming all of the other patients here.”
Cole moved himself forward through the bars. “Thanks, Doc. That’s been my lifelong dream: to be the best gimp in the gimp house.”
“That’s not really a term we like to use here,” Dr. Kragen said. “But I understand you’ve been through a lot.”
“That I have,” Cole said. “That I have.”
Cole turned his head to see Rusty walk into the room. He was out of uniform, wearing a flashy Hawaiian shirt and a pair of black track pants. He held up two greasy fast food bags marked, “Tasty Burger.”
“Avast!” Rusty shouted. “Tharr be Cap’n Peg Leg Pete! Permission to come aboard sir, yo ho, yo ho, and a bottle of rum!”
Cole and Dr. Kragen stared at Rusty as though they were trying to shoot daggers out of their eyes at him.
“What?” Rusty asked. “Too soon?”
“Yeah,” Cole said. “A little too fucking soon.”
“That’s very inappropriate, Mr. Yates,” Dr. Kragen said. “We prefer to give our patients positive reinforcement here.”
“Sorry,” Rusty said. “Hey, you mind if I steal Old Stubby away from you for a little dinner?”
Dr. Kragen looked at her watch. “Very well. But he needs to be back in one hour.”
“You got it, Doc,” Rusty said. “Leave it to me.”
“And go slow on that junk food, Mr. Walker,” Dr. Kragen said.
“I will,” Cole said.
Cole leaned on Rusty’s shoulder and allowed his buddy to ease him into a wheelchair. Rusty sat both bags onto Cole’s lap, then pushed the chair toward the hospital’s lounge.
“What’s she talking about?” Rusty asked. “Both these burgers are for me. I don’t know what you’re gonna eat.”
“Shove your jokes up your ass, Rusty,” Cole said. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Dr. Kimball you’re under arrest!” Rusty shouted. “No, no, it wasn’t me! It was the one legged man!”
“That was a one armed man, dumb ass,” Cole said.
“He was?” Rusty said.
“Yes,” Cole said.
“Huh,” Rusty said. “I’m going to have to watch that movie again.”
“God damn it!” the Chief shouted as he got off his radio. “Animal control is twenty minutes out!”
“Shit,” Cole said. “She doesn’t have that kind of time.”
Wade grabbed the Chief by his collar. “Chief! Man, you gotta save my little girl, man!”
“Get off me, scumbag!” Together, the Chief and Rusty slammed the perp on the hood of a patrol car and cuffed him.
“Jesus,” Rusty said. “You believe this guy, Cole? Cole?”
Cole was too busy cocking a shotgun he’d just pulled from the trunk of his cruiser. Steely-eyed and determined, he marched toward the shack’s front door.
“Cole!” the Chief shouted. “You can’t go after that dog all by yourself!”
Cole ignored the Chief.
“Get your ass back here!” the Chief shouted. “That’s an order!”
Cole paid no attention. Rusty grabbed his longtime friend by the shoulder. Cole shook him off.
“Cole!” Rusty said. “You seriously doing this?”
“No choice,” Cole said.
“Did you see that thing?” Rusty asked. “It looked like Godzilla fucked Cujo and had a baby.”
Cole kicked opened the door to the shack, then looked at Rusty. “Come or stay, but I’m going in.”
Rusty drew his weapon. “Alright! Fuck it! Damn it Cole, you got some big ass balls.”
The duo stepped into the kitchen. Old Mongo could be heard growling loudly in the other room. He started barking his head off.
“And I have some tiny balls,” Rusty said as he walked out of the shack. “You’re on your own, Cole-train.”
Cole shook his head. “Figures.”
Old Mongo moved. Cole could hear his big paws tromping all over. He entered the living room with his shotgun pointed out in front of him. Around twenty little plastic bags filled with cocaine sat next to a scale on the table. Neither dog nor girl were anywhere to be found.
“Hey pig!” Wade shouted from the outside. “You do your job yet and rescue my little girl? My tax dollars pay your salary, you know!”
Cole could hear the Chief’s voice too. “Like you pay any taxes. Shut up before I pistol whip the piss out of you, Wade.”
And Rusty’s voice entered the mix. He was on his radio. “Yeah. Gonna need an ambulance. Hell, you’re gonna wanna get the coroner over here. My dumb ass partner’s gonna get his ass ate.”
“Fuck you, Rusty,” Cole mumbled under his breath.
Cole turned a corner and found a stairway. Carefully, he put his foot on the first step. It creaked. The sound traveled, causing Old Mongo, who had already made it upstairs, to bark incessantly.
Cole tried it again. He moved slowly, gently, trying his best not to make a sound. He reached the top of the stairs and found Wade’s bedroom. Empty beer cans littered the floor. Hundreds of risqué photos ripped out of nudey magazines were taped up all over the walls.
“Classy,” Wade muttered.
Outside, the shouting match between Wade and the Chief continued.
“What the hell is wrong with your dog?” the Chief asked. “That doesn’t look like any kind of dog I’ve ever seen.”
“I dunno,” Wade answered. “He’s been real ornery and mean lately, ever since I started feeding him PCP.”
“PCP?” the Chief asked. “The hell would you do a fool thing like that for?”
“I dunno!” Wade shouted. “He’s a guard dog, aint he?! He needs to be alert to guard shit, don’t he?”
“You asshole,” the Chief said.
“Just another day in the life of Sitwell,” Rusty said.
“Shut up, Rusty,” he Chief said.
“Shutting up, sir,” Rusty replied.
Cole stepped into Molly’s room. Old Mongo was pacing about, staring at the bed and snarling. Molly’s little eyes peeked out from underneath the bed and looked up at Cole. Cole looked at the girl and put a finger up to his mouth as if to say, “Shh!”
Now was Cole’s chance. He aimed the shotgun at the dog, hoping to catch him from behind. Blam! The dog was down. Cole walked toward the dog’s body with his shotgun still drawn.
Old Mongo was up and angrier than ever. He charged at Cole, biting into his right leg. Reflexively, Cole put his second and last shot right into the ceiling, then dropped the shotgun.
Cole scrambled on his hands and knees toward the hallway as the dog continued to chomp into his right leg. With his left leg, Cole kicked the dog in the head, buying him enough time to stand up. Blood rushed out of his bite wounds and all over Wade’s pre-stained carpeting. The pain was unbearable, but Cole still managed to move.
Once Old Mongo was out of the room, Molly sprang out from under her bed and shut her door. Out in the hall, Cole drew his sidearm. He pointed it at the dog and got off one shot. Old Mongo flinched, like he’d just been bitten by a fly.
“Aw shit,” Cole said as the giant dog jumped on him, knocking him down the stairs. The pistol flew right out of Cole’s hands. Man and dog tumbled down the stairwell, attacking one another with all their might.
On the floor below, Cole screamed louder than he ever had before in his life as Old Mongo chowed down on his leg. Cole reached for the utility knife on his belt. He unfolded it, then stabbed the dog repeatedly…over and over again until…blam!
Rusty had entered the shack and put a bullet in the dog’s head. Blam! Blam! It took two more before Old Mongo was finally down.
The Chief entered. He looked down at Cole. His young officer had passed out.
“Jesus,” the Chief said. “His leg’s holding on by a thread.”
The Chief pulled off his shirt and held it over Cole’s leg, desperately trying to hold in the blood.
Rusty clicked the call button on his radio. “Maude! Need an ETA on that ambulance! Stat!
Ahh, the axe. That most important wood chopping tool. Good for cutting trees down to size.
Oh those pesky trees. They think they’re so smart.
Alas, every tool with a good use can be misused. People use forks to eat spaghetti…but they also use them to eat tuna noodle casserole. Bleh.
People use their remote controls to tune in to Game of Thrones...but in the earlier part of this decade, they also used them to tune in to Whitney. Double bleh.
The axe! Yes, when it comes to providing us with wood, it’s second only to Blake Lively in the buff. Punny!
But axes can also be abused. Why, for all we know, your girlfriend might be using to chop up people into itsy, bitsy, teeny, tiny pieces right now!
(NOTE: My lawyer advises me that statically speaking, it’s highly unlikely that she is. However, if you think she is, you shouldn’t confront her directly but rather, should take your concerns to the police.)
Yikes. Gotta cover your butt in this ridiculously litigious society.
Anyway, from BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are the Top Ten Warning Signs Your Girlfriend Might Be an Axe Murderer:
#10 – She Owns an Axe
That’s pretty suspicious. Unless she lives in Canada, where the trees grow tall and thick and people have to chop down twenty trees every day just to get to work, there’s really no reason for her to own one.
Is she a wood chopping enthusiast? Does she make a lot of fires in the fireplace? No? Hmm…not entirely conclusive but still, very curious.
#9 – You Wake Up Every Night to the Sound of Blood Curdling Screams Coming From Your Basement
Sure, those could be the last desperate cries for help from your axe murdering girlfriend’s many, many victims. However, it’s probably just her crying about what a terrible boyfriend you are. I mean, I don’t want to tell tales out of school, but I’ve heard that you really suck at boyfriendery. You should work on that.
#8 – There’s Blood on the Axe
Depends. Do you live on a farm? Maybe she just lopped off a chicken’s head so she can make you a delicious dinner. Oh, stop being so dramatic! Where do you think chicken nuggets come from? Do you think that Ronald McDonald magically pops those things into a cardboard box with some tasty dipping sauces with his magic clown wand?
No. We’re talking mass chicken murder here. Ronald McDonald and Colonel Sanders are like the Hitler and Stalin of chicken-dom.
But I can’t complain. They make tasty bird meat. Actually, KFC does. McDonalds, I’ll just eat those nuggets because they’re there and then I’ll wonder why I hate my body so much to do such a terrible thing to it.
At any rate, I wouldn’t just automatically assume that the blood on the axe is a human or has some kind of sinister origin. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me, but mostly you, because I’m not the one dating an axe murderer, chief.
#7 – Screams, “I’m Going to Kill You!” On a Regular Basis
Maybe she means that she’s literally going to kill you with an axe but then again, what woman has never screamed this sentence at her man before? Let she who has not threatened murder of her significant other in jest cast the first stone.
#6 – She Named the Axe
Did she give the axe a name? Mr. Choppy, perhaps? Hmm…a sentimental attachment to a possible murder weapon. Suspicious…though inconclusive. Maybe she’s just weird.
#5 – Takes Selfies with the Axe
This could be a problem though axe or not, if she makes that stupid duck bill smoochie face in said selfies, I’d dump her anyway just on principle.
#4 – Sleeps with the Axe
Maybe she does this because she’s planning on axing you while you sleep. I recommend the following line of questioning:
YOU: Honey, you wouldn’t happen to be planning on chopping me to pieces in a gruesome manner with that axe, would you?
GIRLFRIEND: No, silly! Tee hee!
Although, do keep in mind, people who are able to chop up other people with axes are usually not above lying.
Tread lightly, as maybe there is a legitimate reason why she sleeps with an axe. Maybe when she was young, an axe murderer tried to axe her and now she sleeps with an axe in case she has to spring to her feet in the middle of the night and take on an axe murderer in a furious round of axe on axe combat. Bet you never thought of that, did you, you paranoid, insensitive prick?
Still…either way, might be best for you to sleep somewhere else. One wrong move in a bed with an axe in it and you could end up singing soprano. Mi mi mi mi mi!!!
#3 – She Has Told You That She is An Axe Murderer
Hmm, a rare axe murderer who has decided to be honest with you and invite you into her world of axe murdery. Or, maybe she told you in a moment of weakness and later she will realize that she must axe you in order to cover her axe tracks.
Ultimately, every person has their moral failings and it will be up to you to decide whether or not you can handle all of the horrendous moral implications of dating an axe murderer.
I mean, think about all of the ethical dilemmas you will face. Should you turn her in? If you don’t, you’re as guilty as she is because you could have stopped her victims from being axed by calling the cops yet you did nothing. Could you really be with someone so evil? How could you ever sleep knowing she might axe you?
On the flip side…does she have big boobs?
No! No! Stop it! You CANNOT stay with a lady axe murderer for any reason and not even if she has gigantic sweater cannons.
But seriously, motor boat those puppies on the way out the door, then go tell the cops.
#2 – There’s a Head in the Freezer
What kind of bullshit is this? Why would you stay with a woman that would put an axe chopped human head in a perfectly good freezer, right on top of all your frozen deep dish pizzas and Lean Cuisines?
You should leave her for getting blood all over your popsicles…oh and also, because she chopped off a dude’s head and stuck in the freezer. That goes without saying.
#1 – She’s Standing Over You Right Now…As You Are Reading this Fine Blog!
Whatever you do, DO NOT PANIC. Stay right there. Be cool. Don’t make any sudden moves.
Just listen carefully and I’ll tell you what you need to do. Very slowly, very carefully….reach for your computer…and then click on my website a hundred times because I could really use more hits on this excellent blog. My genius is going unrecognized, here.
Oh, and then run or something. I don’t know. What do I look like? An anti-axe murderer combat expert?
DISCLAIMER: Sure, this post was meant as a joke but axe murderer is no laughing matter, people. According to the Fake Institute for Bogus Statistics, 11,000 people are gruesomely axe murdered every three seconds.
Don’t go around being some wacko vigilante, accusing your girlfriend of being an axe murderer. But, if you think your girlfriend might be an axe murderer, then contact the nearest anti-axe murderer law enforcement agency. Ask them to send their best axe murderer catchers right away.