What happened at momma's...

05/04/08

After church morning momma showed up at the Magic Shack (that's what we call the meth shed) to make sure Jr. was still mixing his shit. Turns out someone broke in and slit 'ol Jr.'s guts wide open. So momma calls me up and tells me Jr.'s dead and to clean it up. Well, me and Jr. were pretty close, being brothers and all, so I felt kinda bad for him. I grabbed up the 870 with some slugs to see if I couldn't find out who'd done it and what not. When I get there, Jr.'s sitting over in the corner just reaching in and pulling out strings of his smaller intestine, just holding them in his hands like a cat's cradle of yarn. Well, hell I was happier than a whore on payday that Jr. was ok. But unbeknownst to me at the time, Jr. wasn't alright at all. As I got a little closer to him, I could smell that he had shat himself. So I just backed up a bit and told him if he wanted any wiping papers. He just looked at me, with a real stupid look, stupider than normal even. It wasn't like Jr. not to answer. Actually, that dumb son-a-bitch never shuts up. So that was real strange. Anyway, there's Jr. digging in his belly like he's looking for something, when I hear the door swing open behind me. I spin around with the shotgun and this meth-head is trying to leap on me. Luckily the shotgun was between us, and luckier I had the safety off. I blasted that fucker point blank. He flew back and out the door and hit the ground like a sack of drowned kittens. I was just about to turn back to Jr. when I saw that meth-head start to get back up! Now I'm thinking there's something strange going on. They usually stay down. I mean, I imagine they would if they were to get shot like that on some other day by my a 870. So I did what any good Southern christian would do, I shot the meth-head in the head, was my method. I pumped another slug and waited for him to get back up. He didn't. I turn around and Jr. is standing right in front of me! I damn near shit my pants. I did jump back about four feet out of reflex, because I got good ones. Jr. just stood there with his guts trailing on the floor behind him and finally I was beknownst. Even meth ain't going to keep you up with a slice like that. I hated to do it, but I knew Jr. had become a living dead. Momma had said he was dead when she called me, but he was aliver than shit when I got there. I popped a slug in his open gut and that threw him down to the floor. It also covered me with the contents of his stomach, since it was hanging down in the center of his belly, no longer supported by his intestines. I wasn't mad about him getting stomach juice on me, but I still had to finish him off. Momma wouldn't have it if the whole neighborhood was gossiping about Jr. being a zombie and all. Long story short, I buried both the bodies behind the Sheriff's house, in case any shit happened, I could blame it on him.

I can't tell you exactly where this happened, for personal legal reason's, but if you're ever driving bewteen Tennessee and Alabama, you better give the folks at them truck stops a second look. Not all of them are just meth addicts. Shit, at least I hope not.