Dreaming of how the world will be once it’s ours, ours, ours…

Salam went the door as it got kicked out of its hinges by the WPD-sanctioned boot belonging to a certain Lt. Hank “Scruffs” Harris, whose wife—incidentally—had just that same morning ‘fessed up about telling all her friends about his erectile dysfunction. The pigs flooded into the trailer in ordered cacophony, and Scruffs’s hands found the shortest possible path around the greasy collar of “Wheels”’s shirt. “You goddamn handicapped scoundrel…! Now me gets to show you how to fuck a schoolgirl, yes?” As Wheels got pushed off his wheelchair, his pants were masterfully pulled down his waist on his way to the hard floor. He cried out:

- No, this is a mistake! You got the wrong man! Wouldn’t lie to ya, boss!

Too late for diplomacy. Scruffs didn’t care who he was dealing with. As the lieutenant loudly unzipped his pants, Wheels wriggled on the floor like a soulless tadpole. “Shazam!” he yelled in… despair! “Shazam!”

No thunder. He could feel the gov’nor’s heat getting closer and closer to his ass.

- Let’s see how you feel sexy wit’ someone who ain’t no teenage girl!
- Shazam! Shazam! Sha…

A few months later, at the county penitentiary, the Power-man Gang had, on a daily basis, asserted their collective belief that it was their duty to make life a living hell for jolly Wheels, the “Tip.”

- Friends, you can’t do this to me! See?—he opened his jail shirt, revealing Captain America’s uniform tattooed on his hairy chest—Come on, bros, I’m Steve Rogers, I’m fucking Captain America, eh? I’m brother, word. Go’n’ask the Falcon. I’m only here to find out what the Batroc Tag-Team is up to, nothing you boys have to pay no mind to, is it? C’me on… No, don’t drop me into the lubricated cauldron of sweat of “Doc Proctopus” again, Nooooooo!

Top of the mountain dawn glare. Janine stretched her arms and threw her head back, letting go of the sour memories of a period of her life long gone now. God has forgiven you, because you’ve opened your heart to Him and His Goodness. A whinny little voice jumps in, reminding you that you cannot forgive yourself for having sent that poor old man to the slammer. What? 20 years musta goon bye, ‘aven’t they? And now that poor fucker that succumbed to the trailer temptation must just be getting out, if he ever survived… the showers.

- No, that wasn’t me!—she yelled—That was…—the Devil—…the Devil!

Screech, screech, screech. She did not intend to turn her head.

- Janine!—a cracked voice croaked, wheels turning and screaming—Janine! Is that you? I cannot see that well, anymore… but, anyhows… Don’t you remember me? Me’s Wheels from the ole Trailer Park! Don’t you know? Ha! Just outta the slammer and who but you should I meet first?!

Janine looked down the steep fall down the cliff. Surely nobody else would be around at this time of the year. She turned to “Wheels.”


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