“SONUVABITCH!!!!” CRIED OUT FORTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD AUTO REPAIRMAN/TOWN DRUNKARD ‘Big John’ Robert Hale Senior after a spurt of oil shot in his face after he had ‘attempted’ to tinker with the insides of a bright, fiery orange 1969 Pontiac GTO Judge.

  Slamming the hood down in anger, the balding pale-skinned and mustached Co-Owner of ‘Hale’s Gas & Auto-Body Repair Shop’ shouted, “MOTHERFUCKER!”

  Walking over to his cluttered work desk, which was littered with numerous papers, files, cigarette butts, and crushed Splatz beer cans, Big John grabbed a greased-stained towel and started to wipe his face down with it.

  “Somethin’ wrong, Big J?” the long, craggily black-haired, yellow-toothed, and gangly forty-year-old younger brother to Big John, Luke Hale, asked after he had rolled out from the undercarriage of a JET BLACK 1972 Chevelle.

  “Urgh… I got fuckin’ oil in my face!” Big John raged as threw the extremely dirty towel back down on his cluttered desk top. “Piece of fuckin’ shit!”

  Seeing that his older brother was pretty irate, Luke just nodded before sliding back underneath the Chevelle.

  Walking over to an old, lead-lined refrigerator that sat towards the back corner of the repair shop, Big John opened up the door and pulled out a nice and chilled bottle of Splatz.

  Popping off the cap on the edge of his desk, Big John brought the bottle’s opening up to his mouth and started gulping the sweet tasting beer.

  While he gulped down his beer, Big John heard the Customer Bell go off.

  Knowing that his only son, Johnson (Little John) Robert Hale Junior, was working behind the Service Counter at the front of the store today, Big John chose to ignore it.

  The bell then went off a second time… And a third… A fourth… AND EVEN A FIFTH.

  “URGH… WHERE IN THE HELL IS THAT DAMNED IDIOT?!” Big John angrily cried out in reference to his son after the fifth bell had sounded off.

  Slamming his beer bottle down on the upper left hand side corner of his desk (which was the only ‘free spot’ on its top), Big John threw on his faded blue, button up/short-sleeved Uniform that had his and his brother’s business name stitched on the back and his ‘nickname’ stitched over the left side of his barrel chest.

  “Urgh… One of these I’m gonna STRANGLE that motherfucker,” Big John growled as he stomped towards the rusted metal door that led into the General Store portion of the station/shop.

  Once he was in the General Store, Big John looked over at the Service Counter to see his eighteen-year-old son sitting behind it.

  Leaning back with his feet up on the Service Counter’s top, ‘Little’ John (who was nowhere near little given the fact that he was six-foot-three and weighed nearly two hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle) was reading the classic science fiction novel ‘A Princess of Mars’ by Edgar Rice Burroughs whilst having ‘Heavy Metal blaring’ wired earbuds buried in his ears.

  Lowering his brow, Big John walked on over to the desk and pulled out his son’s ear buds violently, causing him to drop his book and nearly fall out of his chair.

  “HEY! What the hell, Dad?!” John angrily shouted at his enraged, ‘buzzed’ father.

  “WE GOT CUSTOMERS OUT THERE, YOU LAZY SACK OF SHIT!” Big John blared in his son’s face, causing slight fear to grow within him.

  Following his father’s right index finger, which was pointing towards the store’s front, double-windows, John looked outside to see that someone had pulled up and parked by one of the Gas Pumps in a BRIGHT, TIGER FUR ORANGE Hemi.

  “You would’a known that if you weren’t reading this DOGSHIT and listenin’ to whatever it is that you got on that stupid little piece of shit of yours!” Big John continued to spout as John covered up his fear with irritation.

  Narrowing his eyes up at his father after bringing his feet down off of the service counter’s top, John corrected, “It’s called a ‘UPod’, Dad.”

  “I DONT GIVE A FUCK WHAT IT’S CALLED!!! It’s a waste of money! MY FUCKING MONEY! Now put it away and go out there and serve our customers! NOW, YOU LITTLE SLIMEBALL!”

  “Ugh… Whatever.”

  “No! Don’t you ‘whatever’ me, dickface! GET UP! Get off yer ass and do somethin’ useful for a damn change!”

  Grabbing his son by the arm, Big John ripped him out of his seat.

  Shaking his father off, John protested, “Hey! Watch it!”

  “OR ELSE WHAT???” Big John asked as he now locked intense glares with his son.

  Seeing that ‘Little’ John was balling his hands into tightened fists, Big John smirked as he said, “Heh… Come on. COME THE FUCK ON, BITCH. You wanna do somethin’? Then come on… FUCKIN’ DO IT.”

  Wanting to knock his father’s lights out, but also not wanting to deal with the aftermath, John uncurled his knuckles, threw on his own work shirt and work hat (which he flipped backwards), and stormed out of the General Store.

  “HMPH! YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT, PUSSY!” Big John called out as he watched his son head towards the Hemi.

  Shaking his head, Big John grumbled, “Urgh… Lazy fucker.”

  Outside, the towering long, black-haired and dark-brown-eyed K.H.S. Senior made his way over towards the 1967 Hemi GTX convertible that was parked beside Gas Pump Number Two.

  Having an ill-expression on his dreary face, the ‘burnout’ high school student approached the driver’s side door of the really bitchin’ ride.

  The custom, heavily tinted window then rolled down to reveal high school bully, Brent Fuller, sitting behind the Hemi’s Steering Wheel.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Amber Swanson sat beside him in the passenger’s seat while Dirk Shaw and Sean Greenberg sat back in the ‘pocket sized’ backseat chowing down on a couple of Burger Hut’s ‘Egg and Cheese Burritos’ from off their Breakfast Menu.

  Wearing a too tight, orange polo shirt with an orange, black-billed snapback hat on his head along with a pair of dark jeans and his signature orange and black sneakers, the sinister looking Varsity QB sneered evilly at John.

  In return, John gave him a nasty scowl.

  “WELL, HEY THERE… GREASEBALL! HA-HA! Been a long time,” Brent snickered.

  John didn’t reply.

  Keeping his right hand interlocked with Amber’s left whilst his left hand rested on the top of his black and orange pleather covered steering wheel, Brent remarked sarcastically, “I see that you’ve been keeping ‘well’ since you were KICKED OFF the team last season. Heh, heh... Pumpin’ gas and changin’ oil now, I see? Tough fuckin’ breaks, my guy. Heh, heh, heh…”

  “What’ll it be, Brent?” John asked the bully whilst glaring intensely down at him still.

  Noting John’s glare, Brent smirked, “FILL HER UP.”

  “Please,” Amber followed, causing Brent to slightly squirm and John to briefly glance over at her.

  Seeing that John was ‘eyeing’ his girl, Brent barked, “HEY, FUCKFACE! Whatchu lookin’ at?!”

  “BRENTON,” Amber growled, causing the Varsity QB to grip the steer wheel’s top in an attempt to quell his anger.

  Glaring over at his girlfriend, who glared right back at him, Brent looked back at John and gritted, “UNLEADED.”

  “PLEASE,” Amber followed again, causing Brent to almost lash out he thankfully didn’t.

  Nodding without speaking a word, John walked over to the Hemi’s Gas Tank Cover, popped it open, and screwed off its cap.

  Resting the cap on the back on the Hemi, John proceeded to go to Gas Pump Number Two, select the ‘Unleaded Gas’ and pulled the pump off of its rack.

  As John went to fill up the Hemi’ Gas Tank, Brent suddenly slammed his left fist on the car’s horn.

  Slightly jumping, John gritted his teeth as Brent snapped back, “WIPE DOWN THE WINDSHIELD TOO!”

  “PLEASE!” Amber followed, causing John to close his eyes and curse under his breath before continuing with filling up the gas tank.

  About a minute later, John finished filling up Brent’s Hemi with gas and put the gas pump back on its rack.

  Grabbing a Wet Squeegee, whose head was soaked in Windshield Washing Fluid, from off a rack-bolted pole, John walked around the front of the Hemi and started wiping down its windshield.

  As he did this, John glanced down at Amber, who glanced up at him and gave him a slight warm and welcoming smirk.

  Smirking back, John gave her a brief eye wink… WHICH BRENT NOTICED IMMEDIATELY.

  “HEY, GREASEBALL! WHAT IN THE FUCK WAS THAT SHIT?!” Brent angrily demanded after erupting out of the Driver’s Seat of his Hemi.

  “Huh?” John huffed as Brent stormed over towards him and got in his face.

  Brent then stomped over to John and got right in his face.

  “Don’t ‘huh’ me, BITCH!” Brent blasted as he placed his hands on John and shoved him backwards… BUT HE DIDN’T MOVE AN INCH.

  Confused by this, Brent looked down at his inner palms and back at John, who gave him an unfazed look.

  “BRENT, STOP!” Amber cried out as she hopped out of the Passenger’s Seat of the Hemi and ran over to her boyfriend.

  “You been skippin’ the Weights, Brent?” John playfully toyed as Brent stared at him with hell in his eyes.

  “FUCK YOU, BITCH!” Brent snapped at John as Amber placed herself between the two titans. “I saw you winkin’ at MY GIRL, you fuckin’ freak!”

  Huffing at this, John just shook his head, reaffirmed that he had around the Squeegee’s Handle and went back to wiping down the Hemi’s Windshield.

  “Brent, stop it! Just stop!” Amber pleaded as she desperately tried to keep her boyfriend back from ambushing John from behind.

  “CAN IT, AMBER! This doesn’t concern you!” Brent ripped as he set his burning sights back on

  John. “Hey, fuckface! GREASEBALL! I’m talking to you! LOOK AT ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!”

  Shoving past Amber, Brent stormed back over towards John and grabbed him by his left forearm.

  As he felt Brent’s hand clasp around his forearm, John immediately DROVE the tip of his right elbow into Brent’s gut, knocking the wind out of him.

  With Brent now doubled-over in pain, John swiftly swept his legs out from underneath him and knocked him down on the ground FLAT on his back.

  John then IMMEDIATELY sat on Brent’s chest with his Squeegee still held firmly with his left hand and hauled back past his head.

  Seeing their ‘master’ in peril, both Greenberg and Shaw threw aside their little remaining burritos and rushed out of the back of Brent’s Car.

  “Urgh… Get off of me! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME, YOU BITCH!!!” Brent demanded through gritted teeth as John’s right kneecap kept him pinned down on the ground.

  “No,” John replied in a cold tone as he kept the Squeegee held up in the air over his head. “Not until I… OOMPH!!!”

  “KICK HIS FUCKING ASS!!!” Brent raged after both of his toadies blindsided John behind and tackled him off of his chest.

  With the two Varsity Linemen now dogpiling on top of John, who was doing pretty well defending on his own, but the combined strengths of both Greenberg and Shaw were just too much for him to break free from.

  “BRENT! Brent! Are you okay?!” Amber asked in an erratic tone as she rushed over to her now standing boyfriend.

  Burning HOT with rage, Brent saw that John had dropped the Squeegee so he bent over and picked it up with his right hand.

  “I’M GONNA BEAT THIS FUCKER TO DEATH,” Brent stated in a monstrous sounding voice as he started stomping down John, who Shaw and Greenberg still had pinned down on the ground.

  With her boyfriend imminently about to bludgeon John severely with the Squeegee, Amber finally had enough of Brent’s madness.

  “BRENTON RYAN FULLER, STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  Stopping just before he could the still ‘dogpiled’ John, Brent looked back at Amber to see that she had tears forming in her eyes.

  Realizing that he had gone too far (in Amber’s tear-filled eyes), Brent let out a disgruntled huff.

  Looking back down at John, Brent ordered, “SEAN! DIRK! GET OFF THIS FUCK!”

  Heeding their master’s call, both Greenberg and Shaw pulled themselves off of John, but not before the former hit him in the balls.

  As John now laid on the ground, clasping his hands around his incredibly sore groin region, Brent kept a firm grip around the Squeegee’s Handle whilst he threatened, “Touch me again and I’ll fuckin’ CRIPPLE you.”

  Brent then tossed the Squeegee down at John, hitting him in the chest.

  “C’mon. Let’s go,” Brent said to his crew as they turned away from John.

  “Heh, heh… THANKS FOR THE FREE GAS, HALE!” Greenberg cackled.

  “FUCKIN’ PUSSY!” Shaw followed as he, Greenberg, and Brent all walked back over to the latter’s car.

  The last to join the group was Amber, who looked back over at John. She wanted to help him, but Amber knew that if she stepped any further out of line then Brent would be even MORE angry than he already was.

  So, being the ‘good and loyal’ BRAINWASHED girlfriend that she was, Amber begrudgingly walked back over to the Hemi to join Brent and his mindless minions.

  As Brent and his crew sped out of the parking lot in his Hemi, John was just now beginning to feel the soreness in his balls fade away.

  Meanwhile, back inside of the General Store was Big John, who had watched everything play out from behind the front, double-windows.

  “Hmph… Fuckin’ bitch,” Big John scoffed in demented joy after witnessing his only son nearly get beaten unconscious by a band of psychotic jocks.

  Big John then turned away from the window and returned to the Repair Shop portion of the building, leaving ‘Little’ John behind to pick himself up from off of the ground all by himself.