small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: <strong>nothing stays the same</strong>

Friday, April 16

nothing stays the same

Inside the man sits propped up against the bar smokin down a butt. He blows on his scorched fingers as he tells himself out loud that he has to stop smokin or it’s gonna kill em. He chuckles quietly as he figures that his fingers and smokin are the least of his worries. The “most” of his worries are sitting just out of sight behind some burnt out cars across the street. It’s been almost ten minutes since the last rush. He counts the bodies on his side of Broadway and comes to the conclusion that he’ll get a medal for sure. “I wonder where she’ll hang it? Probably with that nice picture they took together before all the shit came down, she always seemed to like that one the best”. “ Damn I’m glad my family and friends were able to get to safety”.
He checks his watch again and notices that almost twenty minutes have passed. Shit, time for another drink, the rest of his team should be clear by now. Damn the luck that he had to take one through the spine, but at least it gave him a reason to stick around, plus he always did like bars. Besides somebody had to stay to lay down cover fire so the guys could get away. The squad had propped him up against the bar close to the windows and left him with water and a couple of bottles of Jim Beam they found plus their only working machine gun, and oh yeah, a shit load of ammo. Suddenly a shot rang out and he saw the puff of dust jump from his leg. Good thing my spine’s gone he thought, that would’a hurt like a bitch. Other shots start peppering the bar. He checks his watch and realizes the date.
Son of a bitch, it’s July the fourth and happy hour to boot. He smiles as he shoots back the bolt and squeezes the trigger. They gotta give me a medal now, I’ve saved the squad and I’m dying for my country, and on the fourth of July. Not bad for an old fatass. No shit, hmmm, Independence Day, can’t think of a better day to die killin muthafuckers. As he drank from the bottle he wondered who’ll they’ll get to play him in the made for TV movie. “The Rock, naw, muthafucker’s too thin, what about that big muthafucker who played in the same movie he did? Duncan? Yeah, that’s the cocksuckers’ name. He’ll do”. He squeezes off a few more rounds and thinks back to how his world got all fucked up.
Back to when Bush pussied out and decided Iraq was a lost cause and after pulling all the troops out panicked and dropped a low grade nuke into the middle of everything. Goddammit, I wish somebody had figured out the fact that he was an insaneo cocksucker earlier. Because after that the whole world turned against the United States and every terrorists with a bad attitude stopped by to visit. It became so bad in the big cities like New York and LA, that martial law was declared and Bush ordered all the streets cleared 24/7. And unseen by the United States, the terrorists had stockpiled a huge force on the island of Cuba and started slipping into the US coast by the hundreds. With the main armies committed to clearing the more populated areas, it was left up to the National Guard and local police and a few old school badass muthafuckers to clear the smaller cities.
The big crapper came from China; they pulled a Trojan Horse and under the guise of offering assistance they come over to help us fight. Fuckin Bush allowed their armies to make camp here in the Midwest, and sure as shit, as soon as they arrived they started occupying cities, first Detroit, then others. It’s been street to street fighting for two years now to get shit back to anywhere close to normal. Thank god Colin Powel ended up shooting Bush in the back and taking over command, or else Bush would’a sure as fuck dropped a nuke on his own country.
I can’t believe that corn-eating retard got elected for a second term. The man pulled off a few more rounds just to let em know that he hadn’t gone anywhere. “Damn, I always did like this place back when it used to be the fuckin Hurricane before it became all pussiefied and shit, huh, I guess it’s rocking out now. As he fed his last clip into the weapon and began firing and drinking, he began to regret the lack of ice to go with his whiskey. Hours later as the enemy rushes into the blown out bar they stare down at the man’s dead body with a mixture of respect and curiosity, and after counting all his wounds wonder what kept him going when he should have been dead hours ago. says, "and the monkey flipped the switch"


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