Yo A$$ Is GRA$$: Tales From a Rednek Gangsta

by Jimmy M. F. Pudge

  She waved me over with a seductive finger, then slid it down her chest, between those big ass mountains of desire, down to that magical place.

  She was teasing me and knew it, stroking that pussy. Slightly panting, biting that bottom, luscious lip.

  I stripped out my detail clothes, that orange jump suit falling to the floor. Took off my shit stained under drawers and pulled off my orange prison socks. I bolted to that beautiful bitch like lightning to a tree.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck and I pressed my dick against her, holding on to that amazing woman with all my might. We were two sinning souls in a saintly place, making a beautiful love story for horrible people in the confines of the public library. Her breasts rubbing against me. Her soft hair floating in and out of my vision as her wet lips landed gentle kisses on my weathered face. It was a wonderful moment you only read about in magazines like Hustla or Forum. A wonderful memory for a shameful man with nothing pleasant going for him but chicken Wednesdays in the Chow Hall.

  And suddenly that warmth of human touch turned cold, and I released my golden treasure, my skin tingling with an iciness I’d only felt once before when I worked in frozen foods at a grocery store.

  She jumped on me then, wrapping those graceful legs around my waist, her small arms tightening around my neck. Her kisses were passionate, and I lowered her, feeling my rod slipping against that ripe flower of womanhood. She moaned, and I reached down, positioning myself inside her. I went in deep and felt a shiver convulse through her lithe body. But that warmth of being inside the pussy wasn’t there. It was cold and wet and made me shudder. It made me frightened as we moaned and grunted as one being, then she clawed at my back.

  The temperature kept dropping, and my choo choo train slipped out.

  She got back down on the ground, and I noticed again those dirty feet. My eyes lifted and met her eyes, and she was just a smiling a radiant smile, her cute little nose pinched as she ran a hand over my chest.

  “I know what you need,” she whispered, turning away. I followed that heart shaped ass as it led me further into the room, to a toilet I had not noticed before. There was a golden cup sitting on top of the toilet, and she picked it up, gently lifting the lid. She brought the cup down into the depths of the bowl, then brought it to me, filled to the brim with some crimson liquid.

  “Drink this wine,” she said.

  I drank deeply from the cup, and it was the best hooch I’d ever tasted, the liquid burning like Icy Hot down my throat into my belly. I lowered the cup, and she pushed me down against the hard concrete floor and jumped on me, her hands grabbing greedily at my dick, pushing it into her wet and cozy pussy. I felt safe in that cootchie as she rocked back and forth, thrusting her head, her raven hair tickling my chest.

  Her breasts flopped as she moved back and forth, and I quickly started pumping her, lifting my ass off the floor, ramming her hard and fast.

  She screamed with delight and slashed at me with those fingernails, drawing blood, releasing something animalistic.

  I was enjoying the way those tittays bounced when I noticed her face began to change. Her mouth opened wide and kept getting wider. She was like a snake, a serpent, with that mouth. Then her teeth began to lengthen, the edges growing jagged, and she looked down at me with eyes the color of an Oreo cookie. Obsidian eyes, vacant of anything like love or affection.

  I screamed and pushed that bitch off me. Jumped to my feet and ran. I could feel her breath against my neck as I kicked my legs, racing away from whatever dark force was at my heels. I ran into the blackness and mustiness of the broom closet, broom handles hitting me in the face, listening for any sign of the horror behind me. I kept bolting, though my breathing became labored and my heart smashed against my chest.

  A light suddenly appeared, and this reinvigorated me, brought life to my weary limbs. I bustled my way out into the break room, collapsing to my knees by the kitchen.

  I struggled to catch my breath, turned to look and see if the woman of my nightmares was standing over me. The broom closet had vanished. There was nothing but a wall with a bulletin board. Posted to the bulletin board were Garfield comics.

  I stood up, gasping for air and dragged myself to the front of the library.

  Offica Jones was at the circulation desk, his huge belly pressed against the wood, leaning over the counter and talking on the cell phone to one of his bitches. He looked at me and an expression of WTF appeared on his fat face.

  “Let me call you back, beautiful,” Offica Jones said, flipping the cell phone shut.

  “Where the fuck are your clothes, inmate?” he asked.

  “Offica . . . Offica Jones,” I sputtered. “That naked girl with the dirty feet. She tried. She tried to kill me offica.”

  He sniffed at the air. “What in the hell is that smell? You been drinking?”

  I stiffened up a little bit then. “Uh, no sir,” I said.

  “You smell like a goddamn brewery,” Offica Jones said. “Your eyes, they’re bloodshot.”

  “No sir,” I said. “The girl with the dirty feet. She’s the one who . . .”

  “Assume the position!” Offica Jones ordered.

  “Hey now, come on, man . . .

  “Inmate, assume the position. Put your hands up against the wall.”

  I turned and pressed my hands to the wall.

  “Spread those legs, goddamn it,” Offica Jones said.

  I could hear him pulling out the handcuffs. He clinked one hand, then brought my other one down and clinked that one too.

  “Walk your ass out this building right now,” Offica Jones said, pushing me butt ass naked through the lobby.

  We were just about to leave when a portrait on the wall caught my attention. A beautiful girl, young and vibrant, smiling at me. Her raven hair flowing over her shoulders. I saw the golden plaque underneath. Sally West, it read. Reference Librarian, 1956-1982.

  “Move it now!” Offica Jones shouted, shoving me toward the front doors.

  I swear, right before I walked past that portrait, damn if that bitch didn’t wink at me.

  THE END

  Good Omen

  I was walking with Jeff out of the Chinese Restaurant, and we were unwrapping fortune cookies. Mine was about as stale as they come.

  “Says I’m wise beyond my years,” Jeff said.

  “That’s some bullshit right there.”

  “What’s yours say, Lee-Lee?”

  “It was blank,” I said, trying to swallow the cookie.

  “That’s a goddamn omen!” Jeff said. “Man, let me see that slip, you lucky sonofabitch.”

  I handed him the sheet of paper. He held it real close to his eyes as we reached the State truck and got inside.

  “Man, we need to play those lotto numbers on the back. Bet we’d win millions.”

  “Hell yeah,” I said, lighting a Doral. I backed out of the parking spot and turned onto the highway. Jeff was breathing real heavy. His breath smelled like garlic and shit.

  “Stop at that gas station over yonder,” Jeff said.

  I pulled in.

  “Let me run inside and play these numbers.” He was outside the door before I could turn the truck off.

  I watched him run to the counter through the dirty store window that was partially blocked by cases of beer. He appeared to be excited, flinging his hands around like he was a high school band leader, conducting a motherfucking symphony for the PTA.

  The cashier looked stoned.

  Jeff pulled out his wallet.

  The boy behind the counter moved to the lottery section.

  Jeff turned around, a big smile fissured into his small head that sat atop a big body. He was short and fat and greasy. His eyes were too big for his head and too close together for people to ever take him seriously.

  I cranked the engine and felt the air flowing from the vents.

  “Lee, this is the winning ticket right here! I can feel it,” Jeff said, opening the door.

  We drove
in silence down the blacktop, the highway deserted in the early afternoon. Wasn’t no scenery but pine trees, corn fields and telephone poles. The Country station was coming in and out, fading more and more the further south we headed. I turned the station. Wasn’t nothing on but a Bible show.

  “Hey boy,” Jeff said, “I got a really good feeling about these numbers.”

  “That’s good,” I said, lighting another Doral.

  “Hmm,” he said. “You know this ticket’s half yours.”

  “That’s alright,” I said. “You bought it.”

  “Hell naw, them were your numbers I played. This is a split ticket,” he said, ripping the ticket in half. He handed me one end and pocketed the other.

  I put my own half in my breast pocket, underneath the name Lee, which had been sewed onto my work uniform. “Appreciate that,” I said.

  Despite the air blowing out on max, it was still hot as hell in that truck. I was mighty happy to see Jeff’s driveway. So happy, I mashed down on the accelerator as soon as we were on the dirt road. The tires lifted up a cloud of red dust damn near the size of a nuclear blast.

  “You gonna mess up my driveway!” Jeff hollered.

  I slowed down and pulled up to the front of the house.

  “I’ll call you tonight when we win!” Jeff said, running to the porch.

  By the time I got to my trailer it was nearing 5 p.m., and the cockroaches were all over the walls. I turned on the lights, made a lot of noise, and they slowly disappeared into the cracks they’d crawled out from.

  Nine beers later, I found myself still sober, still depressed and slapped the television set as ABC faded in and out. I got fed up and turned the damn set off, paced around the trashy living room, then decided on seeing what my neighbor was up to.

  I peeked out the window and could see her inside her doublewide, standing exactly where I imagined her kitchen sink would be. Doing those dishes. Her face was rough as leather, too many years of drinks, smokes and late nights. Her breasts were still firm though, and that was all that really mattered.

  I imagined her looking up and seeing me. Surprised at first, then slowly her crooked smile would part those cock sucking lips and she would motion for me to come forward. To come get some.

  I turned away from the window and fought my way through the trash that littered the floor of my house. I reached inside the fridge and pulled out beer number ten. It was cold and tasted fine with the Doral I was smoking on. I cut the TV back on and the news was coming in. I watched a story about some crazy motherfucker who’d taken several bites out of his girlfriend’s corpse because he wanted to see what she tasted like. The grossest part wasn’t that he’d eaten her. That was bad enough. What was even worse was the fact that she’d already been dead for two weeks before he decided to sample the meat.

  My head was hurting.

  The goddamn ceiling fan went round and round, making a soft thwack sound as the base rocked back and forth against the popcorn ceiling.

  I looked at the wall beside the TV and saw the crayon marks where the kids had once drawn, long before their mama ran away with them to live out her dream life as a princess in a mansion on a hill. I’d driven by that mansion several times, picturing her boss (now husband) in bed with her, fucking her like she had fucked me.

  A plastic bag rattled in the corner, then started moving. Like a fucking ghost. The bag kept moving.

  I jumped up out my chair and picked the bag up off the ground. A huge cockroach was in it. I sat it back down.

  My whole life was shit, and it was slowly consuming me into its bowels. I used to say to myself, “Man, you can change things around anytime you want to.” But now that statement seems stupid.

  I was on my way to the kitchen, to break out an old bottle of Scotch that tasted like strong piss, when the State phone rang.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled it out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Lee-Lee, we won!” Jeff shouted. “We won!”

  “Won what?”

  “The lotto! Forty million dollars, you sonofabitch!”

  My hand tightened on the phone. I suddenly felt drunk. My stomach knotted up. I felt as if I needed to take a shit. “Forty million dollars?”

  “Hell yeah!” Jeff screamed.

  I looked around the sardine can I lived in. The brown carpet that used to be yellow. The plaid couch I had stolen behind the back of Goodwill. I needed a smoke. I needed –

  “Listen,” I told Jeff. “Fuck work and everything else. You give me a little time, and I’ll come over and pick us about 4 a.m. We’ll head up to Atlanta and cash that motherfucker in ourselves.”

  “I told your broke ass we’d win,” Jeff said.

  I closed the cell phone.

  *

  It was a quarter to 4 a.m. when I pulled up to his house. Jeff was sitting on the porch, a small ball of fat, illuminated under an ugly yellow porch light. He was already jumping up before the Camaro came to a complete stop.

  “Those are some nice wheels!” he shouted as he opened the door. He jumped in the passenger seat, smelling of sweat and Old Spice.

  “You got your half of the ticket?” I asked.

  “Right here,” he said, patting his breast pocket.

  I nodded and the car sped off, slicing through the night, down the abandoned highway like a razor blade. I lit a Doral and in the cherry’s glow could see the excitement in Jeff’s face. He was unable to sit still, squirming uncomfortably with all those hopes. All those dreams. A better future. A real chance to live the American dream that truly only belonged to the rich and the connected. Maybe he’d get those fucked up teeth fixed.

  “This is one nice ride,” Jeff said. “How’d you come by this?”

  “Called my cousin and asked him if I could borrow it. When he found out why, he was more than willing to hand me them keys. Shit, I figure we bout to be millionaires, might as well drive like them.”

  “Man, this is a nice car,” Jeff said, his head turning right and left to study the darkness out the windows. He kept bouncing up off his seat, a bundle of energy and nerves.

  I was nervous too. Jeff was making me nervous.

  I turned off the highway onto a narrow dirt road.

  “Where you going?” Jeff asked.

  “This dirt road’s a shortcut to I-75,” I explained.

  He leaned back in his seat as the car bounced over holes.

  “Man, you’re gonna get our asses lost. Get back on the highway.”

  We drove deeper into the forest, pine trees engulfing us.

  “Where are you going?” Jeff asked.

  I hit the brakes.

  “What are you –"

  I grabbed the pistol from between my seat and the door then, a .357 revolver, thumbed back the hammer and pulled the trigger. The gun recoiled and the shot wasn’t dead on. My ears were ringing from the blast that filled the car. Jeff’s lower jaw was flew off his face, the glass shattering as the bullet and pieces of bone and flesh pushed their way out into the cool night air.

  I could still see his Adam’s apple bobbing, knew he was still alive as blood spurted out of the hole in his face. His head went back against the seat. His tongue hung loose from the gape in his mouth.

  I shot Jeff again and splattered another chunk of his face all over the car.

  I lit a Doral and put it in my mouth. Jeff’s blood was all over my clothes, my face, my hands. I wiped my hands off on the inside of my shirt and reached in his shirt pocket. It seemed funny as hell to me how much a half sheet of paper could be worth and how little a man’s life could be valued. Jeff with all his hopes and dreams, splattered all over the Camaro I had stolen from a gas station parking lot.

  I climbed out of the car and stripped all my clothes off. Then, I opened the trunk and grabbed two cans of gasoline. One for inside the car and one for outside. I threw my clothes in the car, splashed Jeff with gas and poured it on the dashboard and upholstery. When the first can was empty, I grabbed the other can and went t
o work on the body of the car. Then I poured a stream in the grass, leading away from the vehicle. I took a long drag on my Doral and threw it at the gas.

  Nothing happened.

  I leaned down and touched the gas with my Bic lighter. A flame shot forward, eating a path through the grass, devouring the trail that led it to my friend’s body. Fire hit the car and danced across the hood. Flames shot up from the inside. I could see his corpse in that car, the fire licking what remained of his face. Then I turned away.

  There was an old pond in a clearing about a mile into the woods. I ran as fast as I could, gagging at times from the exertion. My bare feet were getting cut up on the pine straw and briars and branches. Briars were pulling at my legs. My knees were no longer worth a shit and kept popping. I struggled to breath and fought my cigarette cough down until I reached that black, cold water.

  I let go of Jeff’s half of the lottery ticket and jumped in the pond, gasping as the cold water engulfed me, cleaning away the evidence.

  I crawled out of the slimy pit shivering, wiped my hands dry on the grass, and grabbed that lottery ticket half. I walked naked about another mile before I reached my car, a shit brown Kia, that I had parked on the side of the highway.

  I checked for lights before running to a rock I had hidden the keys under. I popped the trunk and took out my clothes. I dressed, then hopped in the car, a very wealthy man.

  It was a two hour drive to Atlanta. I sat in a Waffle house for several hours, drinking coffee and watching the traffic pass me by. So this is what it felt like to be a millionaire.

  Marlene, the waitress, walked up to me and refilled my cup. “You ain’t ready to leave yet?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Say baby, you ever met a millionaire?”

  “I met Jimmy Carter once in Plains.”