An excerpt from – Fuck These Pakikillians

Posted: October 16, 2010 in Short Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

“It’s the end of the world baby, so let’s have fun.” Camu Tao.

Fuck These Pakikillians!

When operating a clandestine lab, there are certain steps one must take to go unnoticed and out of prison. The first is; you never put anything in your name. The second is; you only rent from slum lords. The types you know are never going to show up to perhaps do some maintenance on the house, or mow the lawn.

I’d thought I’d done a primo job on both counts here. I had this tweaker chick talk to the landlord, and say she was renting the house. In turn, I’d just give her the rent every month, and she’d live there for free. Well, when dealing with these types and not monitoring their every move, odds are you’re going to get fucked in the ass with a red hot poker. What I should have been doing, rather than just handing this chick $700.00 every month, and thinking she was paying the rent, was I should have gone with her, to make sure the rent was getting paid. But being the paranoid bastard I was, and didn’t want this bastard to have a clue to my identity, or that I had any connection to this whore.  I neglected to take that step, this cunt never paid the rent for the past 3 months! She’d just been pocketing my money.   I was a little pissed, when I came home one afternoon to find an eviction notice on my door, and this cunt’s belongings moved out, and long gone.

Honestly, I should have known better to trust some whore, who sucked the cock of any asshole with a bag she came across, but being in a constant state of amphetamine psychosis, I neglected to use my brain for anything more than an amphetamine sponge. You never see the bigger picture, when the only thing that pumps your pistons is greed and want.

According to the notice I had 72 hours to vacate the premises. Well the first fucking thing I needed to do was move my lab and clean up any traces it ever existed. Catlin, Verbs, and I would set about this task. Somewhere along the line revenge became my main motivation. I needed to get even with this cunt, and the Landlord all at once. Why I needed to get even with the Landlord for evicting me, is beyond me. I mean he never got his rent, and technically he didn’t even know I existed, but I was going to make his life hell too for this mess! So what did I do? I emptied the contents of my refrigerator into the heating ducts. Milk, raw hamburger, juice, eggs, hotdogs, vegetables, lunch meat, if it was in there I dropped it or poured it down into the ducts. Catlin even decided taking a shit in the vent was a good measure. Verbs and I figured what the hell, and pissed down a few of the others as well. This bastard was going to have a hell of a time locating the source of the foul stench, that would soon consume this house, never mind getting rid of it and cleaning it up once it was finally located!  Then of course he’d hunt the whore down, who’d ripped both of us off, and tie her up in court for months to come. It seemed like the perfect plan at the moment.

Once the lab was safely moved and all traces were gone, I should have started packing up my belongings and moving them someplace, any place for that matter, but I figured hell I had three days to do this, and I also happen to be a master procrastinator, which is often the case with drug addicts. So I blew that part off and set about getting high. That’s always the best solution to any problem in the tweaker mind, just get high and surely the problem will just vanish.

48 hours later; I’d had my fill of getting high and decided to return to the house and pack up my belongings. Well, I was in for quite the surprise. Slimmy and I pulled up to the house only to find everything that was in the house was now strewn all over the neighborhood. It obviously didn’t take long for the entire ghetto to loot everything of value! You could basically follow their trails to their homes clothing, books, magazines, everything just strewn out in every direction all over the neighborhood from these bastards digging through it. Rage boiled up through my veins in rapid waves from deep in the pits of my very soul. I still had 24 hours! What the fuck is this mess?

I’d do some investigating and peered into a window or two and noticed somebody else had moved into the house. These cock suckers had thrown all my stuff out the door to move their stuff in. There was going to be hell to pay when I found out who these mother fuckers were. According to the eviction notice I still had 24 hours. So since I’m not one for, nor could I take care of this problem through the legal system, I was surely going to deal out some well deserved “just-us” to these fuckers for tossing my shit out the door. In the mean time I’d go get some sleep on Slimmy and Bern’s couch.

September 11, 2001; “Wake up! Everybody wake up the fucking world is coming to end! We’re under attack! World War III has begun!” It’s Sidro screaming at the top of his lungs and running around the living room. He has to be drunk and coked up in the throes of some paranoid delusion, I’m sure of this. But the fucker won’t shut up. So I sit up the couch I’ve been fast asleep on rub the sleep from my eyes and look at the television, he’s jumping up and down in front of. Is that what I think it is? My brain is not computing what my eyes are seeing. Surely, I’m still dreaming. There’s no way the top of the Twin Towers has exploded. Then the second jet hits the East tower. It is evidently clear what is transpiring before our eyes. We are definitely under attack by someone. Who that is? Nobody knows. What I do know is; I’ve kind of expected this to happen someday. Maybe not this exact event, but eventually somebody was going to pick a fight with Uncle Sam. You can only be the biggest bully on the block for so long, before the rest of the neighborhood finally says enough is enough, and somebody grows the balls to punch you straight in the nose.

By this time Slimmy, Verbs, and Bern have joined us in the living room. Sidro hasn’t stopped screaming about doom and the apocalypse for a second, Verbs finally tells him to shut the fuck up so we can hear what the hell is going on. We all sit and watch in horror as this monument to capitalism, greed, and the American way crumbles to dust and 5,000 souls ride down into Battery Park on a wave of terror-mayhem-and destruction into oblivion.

My mind is there in NYC. I had lived there and worked at the Trade Center at a restaurant in the base of the East tower as a bartender, just a few months ago. Shit, I would have been just getting to work to handle the morning liquor delivery, when the first plane hit the towers. My mind begins thinking back to how I cursed the Gods for allowing me to get arrested for tagging my name on a wall, and being extradited to Indiana on a warrant for a drug possession charge I’d skipped out on in 1999. I’d got arrested in NYC, and then was extradited back to Indiana, only for them to release me on a 2 year suspended sentence three days after they got me to Indiana. What a waste of tax payer’s dollars. All of that trouble, just to let me go. I lost everything I had in New York; my apartment, my job, my belongings. It was just easier to get to Columbus and get back on my feet than going back to NYC and picking up the pieces. So I stayed. Now, 5 months later I’m busy thanking the very same Gods for saving me from being buried alive in the rubble of ground zero. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. “Fate is a fickle beast.”

The next couple hours passed in a blur of media buzz about sleeper cells-terrorist states-impending doom-W’s promises-Osama Bin somebody-not the Pentagon too- Pennsylvania fields and the horror of a nation. Then the door burst in. Catlin pouring sweat and wide eyed screaming at the top of his voice “Fuck these Pakikillians!”

It was if everything stopped and all our eyes just snapped on him and in unison we all said “Huh?”

“The fucking; Pakikillians, goddamn it! You guys don’t know? Turn on the TV; the Pakikillians blew up the Twin Towers in New York!”

This was primo Catlin. He’s a great guy. Well, as great as deranged and delusional paranoia fueled methamphetamine cook can be anyways. But he’s very misinformed and just doesn’t really get the meaning of anything, and is always saying the most ridiculously ignorant shit. Like the time he was arguing with this kid out in front of Bernie’s. The kid happened to be black, and Catlin had got involved in some dispute the kid had. The kid didn’t take kindly to Catlin getting involved, and thought Catlin might be on some racist shit. So what does Catlin say to the kid? “Hey, buddy I’m no Uncle Tom!” Catlin just assumed old Uncle Tom was a racist. He had no clue what it really meant and obviously had never read the book. But he heard it used before and figured this would be a good way to win this kid over, by expressing his knowledge of the Afro-American culture.

I can’t help but bust his ball. So I ask. “A Paki, what?”

“A Pakikillian, they just flew planes into the Towers. Fuck these Pakikillians!”

“There is no such thing as a Pakikillian.”

“Yes there is, they’ve been saying it all morning on the news! They’re pretty sure its Pakikillians.”

“I’m pretty sure you mean Palestinians. You big dumb fuck!”

“Whatever the fuck they are fuck them!”

It doesn’t take long for Sidro to chime in with his thoughts on the situation. He’s worse than Catlin. Catlin is just kind of stupid, but will admit it. Sidro on the other hand he thinks he knows it all, especially when it comes to history and politics. When in reality he knows about as much about either, as a pigmy living in a grass hut in a rain forest, knows about the internet. I’ve honestly heard him say before. “Man, America’s history is so much older and richer than other countries.” Then argue for hours about there is no way other countries have a longer history than America does. I suppose if you think civilization only started 234 years ago you could have a point.

I can’t take a moment more of his ignorance, or the racist comments that are spilling from his lips in an ever deepening flood of bullshit. If the world really is coming to an end today, there’s no fucking way, I’m spending it listening to the rants of moron, time to rally the troops, and get the fuck out of dodge. In no time, Slimmy, Verbs, Catlin, and I walking down the steps to Catlin’s car.

The sun is blinding as I walk down the stairs. It feels as if some one’s stabbing me in the iris with an ice pick. Catlin explains he needs to go pick up JD and the rest of the Cook road boys. They’re Catlin’s strange posse of white trash wiggas, from Kent, and Akron. There’s about eight of them that live in JD’s parent’s house off of Cook road. Its total insanity there at all times. JD’s parents are some world champion crack smokers. So you can just imagine the shit that goes on when you start combining old school crackheads and tweakers. Nobody ever sleeps, until there’s no dope of any form to be had. Then once they crash, there’s bodies strewn all over the house like a murder scene, for days while they sleep it off, until somebody either scores, or somebody stops by with some dope.

I can only imagine how these strange fuckers are taking the impending doom that the entire world is alive with. Its decided we’ll follow Catlin over to JD’s in Slimmy’s hoopty. Somewhere along the way we end up picking up Ashley. I don’t know why, or how, but she’s sandwiched between Verbs and Bern in the back seat, her thick frizzy mop of hair silhouetted in the sunlight against the rear windshield. Ashley’s been hanging around all of as long as I can remember. I first met her when she was 15 years old. She’s a great friend, a bit of a sexual revolutionary, if you will, but a good friend just the same. She’d been living with me over at the house; I’d just been evicted from. Soon we’re pulling up in front of JD’s house.

It’s the usual scene JD’s dad is twisting wrenches under the hood of some shit box on the front lawn. His dad happens to be a pretty good mechanic, and runs a ghetto garage right on his front lawn, more times than not he accepts payments in dope. I think every crackhead who owned a car in the Cleveland Ave. area brought it to him when something needed fixed.  He may have been a crackhead, but he could fix anything. There’s the ghetto babies who live in the house next door running around the yard beating each other long wrapping paper tubes, the remnants of yesterday’s birthday party for the dirty faced little boy who’s smashing his sister over the head with the cardboard cylinder, screaming I hate you Pakikillian! I see Catlin had been discussing current events with him before coming to Sidro’s to scoop us up. I’m greeted at the door by a growling pitbull named Luciano, he’s sitting in the entry way shaking with his red rocket hanging out dripping pre cum onto the filthy linoleum. The air is alive with the strange scent of body odor, crack, meth, and marijuana, and the faint scent of beans cooking on the stove, along with chatter of 8 fiends passing a light bulb around the living room, as they watch the terror on the tube.

It turns out Opie is in town. He’s a red headed Ron Howard look alike. He’s fresh back from a year in Thailand, he spent building library, with some Mission organization, he discovered over here in the states. Not exactly the kind of activity you’d expect from a drug dealing piece of trailer trash. But old Opie was an adventurer. His life’s ambition was to buy a sailboat and sail around the world. He was even willing to teach the rest of the posse how to sail if they’d join him. Jesus, I couldn’t even imagine what the hell that would be like, tweakers on the high seas. It had disaster written all over it. Besides the topic of terror and doom, one of the main things going on is everybody is showing off these rings, Opie had brought home as gifts to everybody. They’re gold rings, with a large colored stone in them. They look like your typical class ring, except for one thing; they have this razor sharp pointed spike that screws into the center of the stone. None of them can wait to punch some poor soul in the face to test them out.

The bulb is soon passed to me, and I take such a monstrous hit, that when I exhale the cloud of smoke consumes my entire head. Hey, if the world’s coming to end today, I might as well get as high as I can, right? I mean that’s the rational thing to do. More meth, more Pakikillians, more meth, more terror, I’d love to punch a Pakikillian with this ring, along with a few rounds of kicking a humping pitbull, hell bent on busting a nut on my leg, off of me, and we decide we need to go out into the world. We should be out in the madness partaking in the end of days, not spending it cooped up in the house.

Our strange caravan of derelicts hits the open road, and heads towards campus. Surely there will be some anarchy down there. So why not spend the end of days with other members of our generation? If the shit goes down, you need to have allies. There’s nowhere near the type of commotion, one would think would be going on, during an event of this nature. It’s actually kind of eerie, it’s the beginning of the school year and High street is rather desolate, during this time of year the streets are usually overflowing with students.  It seems everybody’s stuck in front of the TV watching the terror reports live on CNN, and every other network known to mankind.

It’s by no means empty, but nowhere near the usual amount of foot traffic that normally travels the city’s main artery. We’re just passing Wendy’s on the corner of 9th and High, when Ashley exclaims “Eddie, those are the guys that moved into the house!”

“What, where?”

“Right there, the two guys with the fliers.”

It turns out Ashley did a little investigating and figured out who’d moved in the house. The kids name was, fuck, I can’t remember the name. We’ll call him, so and so. I tell Slimmy to pull into the parking lot. Catlin and company follow in tow. This was exactly what I needed to work some stress out.

I jump out of the car, and walk straight up to the pair of them.

“Is your name So and So?”

“Uh, ye….” Before he can even finish the yeah, I blast him straight in the mouth with a right, that knocks him on his ass, before his buddy can even react, I catch him with a left hook that causes his knees to buckle, and he hits the sidewalk too. I didn’t catch the kid with the left, as good as I did the one I hit with the right. He’s up on his feet sprinting for the door of Wendy’s. I catch him from behind and slam him against the window; young couples are eating lunch on the other side of it. Now, I see everybody exploding out of both cars, out the corner of my eye, as I start working this kid’s ribs. Within seconds Catlin and company are on him, punching his face and body full of holes with their new spike rings.

I make my over to So and So who’s now getting to his feet. He throws a wild hay maker, I step under it and behind him in one motion, now I have his back, and as I grab him around the waist, I throw my hips in and arch back, His feet are now up over his head, and his skull is heading straight for the pavement. Thank you, Coach B, for teaching me that perfect soufflé, back in my high school wrestling days. So and So is out cold, he could be dead for all I know, but frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Teach him to toss somebody’s stuff out onto the curb. Catlin and company have beat So and So’s buddy down into a crumpled heap and are stomping his ribs and kidneys into jelly. They’re like a pack of hyenas fighting over a fresh kill. As they push and shove each other out of the way, so they can get a clean shot on this asshole.

I can only imagine what his face looks like, after this group of goons just tenderized it with their new toys. Just as quick as it began, it ended, and were all piling back into the cars and pulling out of the parking lot. I look across the street and what do I see? A fucking police cruiser, it’s facing the opposite direction of where the mealy just took place. Officer fuck face must have been caught up in paperwork, taking a nap, or awaiting orders to be dispatched to a riot. Who knows, all I know is he was completely oblivious to the ass whooping, that just took place no more than 20 yards from where he was parked.

Now campus may not have had going much on, but other parts of the city certainly did. Especially the gas stations, cars were lined up around the block to get gas. Obviously everybody figured they’d never be able to get gas again, and should probably fill up in case a mass evacuation from cities was in order. The hoopty was sucking fumes, and we had no other option, but to pull into a line of angry motorists, trying to fuel up on precious petrol.

Catlin and company, want nothing to do with this situation, and are off to who knows where. Tempers are flaring, and it’s evident in the screaming blasts of horns, profanity, and middle finger salutes, filling the air. We slowly creep closer to the pumps, one painfully annoying inch at a time.  Verbs is anything but a patient person, and it’s not long before he’s bitching- moaning- and pounding on the dashboard about the entire situation. Every time he smashes the dashboard, the dry rotted foam of the all but disintegrated headliner, comes showering down in chunks onto our heads.

“What the fuck, is every asshole in the city getting gas right now?” Pound, pound, pound- drop, drop, drop.

“Oh, come on! What the fuck lady, move!” Pound, pound, pound- drop, drop, drop

This is the situation for the better part of an hour. Then just as we’re about to pull up to the pump, this women driving a giant white SUV tries to cut the entire line, and pull in front of us.

“Jesus fucking Christ! This fucking asshole is crazy, if they think this is happening.” Pound, pound, pound- Drop, drop, SLAM- Verbs is out of the car and stepping in front of the SUV.


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