CRIMEWAVE
One clam fucking crime wave, she starts at sunset.
One woman, worth ten of you bitchbags.
She holds completely still, she won't even move her chest to breathe,
squatting prettily on the edge of the street, watching the sun's fire fade from the sky,
seeing the sky cool, feeling the heat rise in her mind.
She picks up her backpack and walks down the middle of the street, jogs on the center line until the first car approaches, from behind this time, she doesn't flinch, HIT ME FUCKER snarl purrs in her mind but no words from her bare dainty wet mouth. The car behind her inches forward, wavers aggressively, but she stays right on the center line. Revs it's engine, who cares? Eventually passes her, dipshit driver screaming something but who the fuck speaks slug? It speeds around her and away and forgotten. She swaggers and walks slower, swinging her hips with exaggerated aggressive fuck funk sway, her mind sickly swollen over full of music. Waiting. Come on sac-munchers, I'm waiting. Walking and waiting and walking and waiting.
Another car approaches from the front, slows a bit then finally honks it's asshole horn. She immediately darts, fast as a mad fox into the yard of the nearest house, through the yard and up the driveway, ducking below the window where she think she noticed movement. Hoping to fuck they are home. Leaps up the three concrete steps of the back porch in one stride and crashes through the screen door. The inner door is locked. She wails on it for a moment but when it doesn't give on the third
shoulder-bash she grabs a potted plant and breaks window.
Glass and soil and white beads of that pearly potting shit splash into the sink and litter the linoleum equivalent. She clears the hanging shards with a swipe of the backpack and vaults through, well vaults in and comes to light with her fine hips perched against the jagged glass frame. She breathes and curls her body, lifting her legs high, loading her weight onto that delinquent glass, then relaxing to let her hot frame slide through the window and into the ugly ass kitchen. Two significant shards make a big damn deal of gouging long gashes into her belly below her hiked up t shirt. Blood splatters her loose work pants like it maters, plenty lands in the sink for the cops to find, but they won't, because they're dumb as shit and freebase donuts.
A cat runs hurriedly across the bullshit kitchen and jets under some stupid furniture in the corn-hole living room. There'd better be more than a damn cat here or this place is getting burned to the ground. And YES at just that moment “What the hell?” a weak reedy voice pollutes the air as the cocksukety homeowner comes staggering off the couch, jangley staggering like a faggoty retired painter version of Frankenstein's monster, eyes wide and trying to show anger but so obviously just rummy O's of fear and stupidity. “You are in a world of hurt lady, if you don't leave right this...”
She lifts his girlfriend out of the bag to show him her glossy wood-grained glory but he's too stuck in failing to threaten her to focus on his true love. It doesn't matter though, two smooth steps forward with the legs one big arc around with the two-hand grip and Sheila Shillelagh swings beautiful and nude to smash through the grizzled grey face of her prom date. So fucking romantic. Blood and teeth speckle tacky new wave flair marks on the it-was-never-tasteful striped wall paneling. Due to the previous judicious application of stain guard the homeowner can enjoy his pain and injury induced cardiac arrest in peace knowing his destroyed dental work looks messy but won't stain the wall. She steps to, raises the bat and brings it down twice as many times as is necessary to stop his shopping permanently.
When she knows the deed is well done she instinctively slips into a slo-mo-moment and stands watching his breathing hitch and hitch and wheeze and hitch and stop.
For fucking ever and good riddance amen.
A man, only one man here? Really? What kind of a frigid little prick lives in a two bedroom all alone? Isn't it lonely, dying without even a roommate?
She pouts a second and then charges around the room looking for the lucky shitting cat. Not under the couch, not under the table, she kicks it over but the cat still isn't there. She grabs a lamp, the cord rips from the wall and she carries it though the first floor, humming hornily, taking a moment of me time to freestyle. It doesn't help her find the bastard cat but it makes her feel better about the whole
stupid ass room so let's call it a win.
She opens a door, it's a staircase leading down into the darkness.
She throws the lamp but it's not plugged in, so not lit, so basically anticlimactic, but at least she's breaking things while you do all of nothing but sit here reading, you lazy pervs.
She flips the light switch on as she passes in on the stairs but she hates the look of the dick-ass basement so she she walks backwards back up 3 steps to flip it back off.
In the dark she almost misses the last stair and a spark of pain jags through her ankle but she doesn't fall or break anything so let's forget it.
Then she DOES trip and almost falls over a pile of boxes,
scattering them and listing into a side table, almost dislodging and breaking a radio, then hauls back a leg to kick another lamp off the table and into the darkness, where it probably breaks, and the bulb definitely breaks into a tiny symphony of tinkling shards, so, hooray.
Without light she can't see much down here, which is a challenge the becomes boring immediately.
But wait... dappled, silver, chunky, cubey with a lock...is that now a lock box?
Not quite a safe but still a thing of important papers that shouldn't be peed on.
Yikes, she'd probably better piss all over those.
So she stands on her left leg, lifts her right leg up high over the table, pivots and sweep kicks the cock sucking cube to the floor. She walks to the side-sprawled box and moves in front of it,
facing the far wall, undoes her pants and drops them smoothly as she squats.
When the pants get below her knees and her yummy ass is almost on top of the lockbox and as she's relaxing to release her adorable stream of wee, her un-focusing eye beams land on the glass table.
It's not just dirty but crusted with an uneven gray film of minerals,
as if it had spent a few rainy seasons outside, maybe under the edge of a roof.
Dead bugs and everything, a whole ass environmental sciences project right there, Kind of tacky storage solution there Mr McDudelinger. Couldn't you at least put a table cloth over the crap ass table?
Scowling at the inelegant tableau she notices a gracefully snaking crack in the glass table top.
Maybe it's down here in the grunge buns basement so he can repair it. Shit.
Well... he's dead, so, that's not happening. She retrieves the kicked lockbox and sets it back on the frosted glass table. hikes her pants and half zips as she steps up into the sun-faded patio chair and frisky springs up with an angelic flutter onto the already broken table.
She swivels her silken hips, flexes to squat over the lock-box,
but before she can descend her delicious demonic ass over the precious paperwork the tabletop gives up and breaks everywhere. She falls through the steel hoop of the table frame missing most of the glass, and weirdly isn't really even hurt, which is what it is and you can't win 'em all.
She wavers over the broken glass like it's ice, unsteady but wobbily-ly delighted. Positions herself third times a charmingly before the box, and finally squats and gives whizz.
She splashy yellow wets the entire top of the cash hoard and hardly any of her pants, stops, semi-shakes the pubic drips, ass wiggles her dishy dumper back into the friendly confines of pant-land.
On her way back to the stairs though. she notices,
lit by the unlucky red light of a smoke detector, or is it a radon detector? Shit, radon! That's bad stuff, maybe she's better burn the place down to be on the safe side. Ooorrr, she guesses she could just take this rifle.
She lifts it from the unlocked rack and hefts it to her shoulder, adjusts her bra strap, and shifts the piece to the other side. Feels OK, let's scram.
She takes the stairs back up two at a time, and as she comes into the living room or whatever hears stupid human moos coming through the beautifully broken window. Neighbors.
She shoulders the rifle and sights it through the window searching for wanna-be carcasses. Yes! They spot each other at exactly the same moment, them trying to to coax a beam from the shit ass flashlight they carry. Should have changed the batteries while we had some life span left for that, eh?
She points the gun, flips off the safety and – oh fuckersticks, is the dickhole even loaded?!?!
Unsure but with gentle good faith she squeezes the trigger. KAPOW!!! Loaded indeed!
The figure on the darkening driveway crumples out of view, she leaps on the counter and her knees fall into the sink but she sticks her head out the window in time to see a never-will-be-more -than-middle-aged cockface consumer slow, and slow, and ssslllooowwwww,
and stop twitching and get fully corpsed up.
Mrroowww. Yez.
Realizing her bloody slashed abdomen is kind of fucking massively throbbing,
she stops to breathe and squeeze the hip bone for a moment.
It works a little, and the pain, she realizes is bearable.
She suddenly understands that she could have just gone out through the door,
- since the lock was on that side, ha!
Backing up to a patio chair wide-legged she rubs her crotch on the arm rest for good measure,
and that helps a little too. Well, maybe it does, maybe it doesn't.
We don't need to worry about that right now.
She pauses walking away into the backyard to check out the mayhem. Meh. Meh-hem.
The backyard is ringed by a sturdy chain link fence that separates it from the next backyard,
which is good because sharing backyards is probably a kind of sodomy,
and sodomy angers the gods.
That's almost certainly not true, but she doesn't need any angry dildo ass gods
elbowing in on the prom, is the point.
She leaps the fence easily, but stupidly as it turns out,
because she drops the ballsack-ety gun
into the previous shitting backyard.
Ugh, another vault back over, she catches her foot this time and almost eats shit into the grass,
but gets a sneaker under her plunge at the last possible fucking second
and just feels a stretchy squealy twinge in her prettiest knee.
In her very prettiest knee.
It would suck balls to get stuck limping in this cool breeze suburban hellscape.
But whatever,
she grabs the gun and forgets the pissity past.
Instead of going back over the fence, she just veers left, and into the next yard.
This one doesn't have a dividing fence because of decadence.
She just can just walk into the adjoining yard but she raises her arms, joggles her titties,
and dances instead because you might as well seizure the day, dick-lips.
The new yard is cute as shit with a mini koi pond, which she stomps the shit out of,
soaking her sneaker but trodding no carp to crap because, where are the taint-fogging carp?
Not sure if it's actually a koi pond if there are no carp,
is a dead end thought that threatens to rodger her buzz if she thinks about it,
so she put the thought all the way out of her mind by shouldering the rifle and aiming at...
she drifts it around looking for something to aim at. Birdfeeder? Lame, what will the birds eat?
Shed? Oh fucking yawn. She worries for a micro second that she's loosing it.
Shooters block, soooo many things to shoot but what do I shoot?
Oh noooo!
She shoots a backetball backstop idly while she thinks about what to shoot.
Her ears are ringing and her hearing is becoming stuffy muffled from the gun blasts ,
but she does for a second definitely hear a siren.
She drops the muzzle and listens, her jaw drops open a bit,
the wail rises, the air buzzed by the whirring speakers jams into her ear
like an eager but unfamiliar tongue.
She squeezes the trigger to fire a shot aimlessly into the ground,
at the last moment drifting it up to blast a hole in a cooler.
It doesn't turn to confetti,
and she sniffs the air trying to intuit the direction of the closest and most intimate shotgun, sensing... sensing... SENSE-INGGGGG... Ok WTF?
Where is the shotguns????
A moment of ennui as she she listens listlessly listing,
to the rising volume of the sirens,
which mean the shortening of the uninterrupted lazy forplay of:
Just Before The Death-Begging Rush Hour Drones Come Home.
Still time enough to feel a bit bad about the micro-chunks of plastic crap destined to choke,
at some point, any remaining available dolphins.
So much wahhh.
Yea. Bad Stuff, butt at least not as bad as glitter!
Gotta look on the bright side when you can, cunt-biscuits.
She draws a dainty shuddering breath for a long, long moment,
lets it hang as the sirens are louder and LOUDER.
Then in her own sweet pretty ass time she saunters to the garage and ducks daintily into the darkness. (Meaning she slightly crouches, There aren't any ducks in there;
she just goes in smooth and low, grinning like a princess and psying out shit to shoot.)
The garage is kind enough to be permeated with the delicious odor of gasoline,
she looks deeply into it's eyes,
and her heart sailing on wings of love in the land of the free inhalants.
She accidentally discharges into the roof,
yanks a quick 3 finger wank through her work pants,
draws in one more deep kiss of petrol aeration,
leaps gazelle-ly onto the hood of the sequestered Jetta,
flexes all of her stuff and leaps for the rafters.
A bit of scrambling later she's popping out the window in the roof gable
and onto the sky-cooled tin up top patio,
slick and shiny with a high chance of skidding off the damn roof.
Stretch and then hide as the sirens really arrive.
She crouches on her heels, hugging her whole self in close as the growing cold of the blessed evening cuddles her in a dear sincere and earnest embrace made of a taste of the grave
that waits for us all so so so so so so soon.
For a moment she wishes she had a smoke,
but wishing is stupid so instead she shoots a cop,
and no, not that but kisssmmmack, blow. A kiss.
Because the dead man's rod is done from ammo and has blasted it's last.
Not yet has her mouth run out of it's ammo, so a kiss it is...
MmmmMmmmmMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....
Red and Blue brighten up the darkening night, and darn if it isn't time to go.
She poses her so gracious self at the edge of the roof, watching, waits for the cars to draw close,
and when it's all eyes and weapons swinging up to gaze upon her gorgeous outline,
she fucking explodes.
10:57 am Sunday, April 15th
