When it's Dry Outside

When It's Dry Outside

Has it ever been dry in your town? I mean, you really got it bad. You call your plug, he doesn't answer, so you hang up and call right back. You know, if you go a day without some smoke, your whole life is off track. You're stuck in the house; you don't want to have fun. All you want is some smoke, so you sit on the edge of your bed and looking like Usher. Finally, the plug hits you back, and he will be there in 15 minutes. An hour later, he arrives with some new shit. You liked the old shit, and you don't know anything about this new shit. But he swears up and down that it's better than the last shit and throws in an extra gram for any inconvenience. You roll up the whole gram. At first, you don't feel anything, but then you start to peek, and then you can't remember what you've been doing for the last hour.

It's starting to kick in now. He can feel his heart beating, and we all know it's supposed to do that. Damn!

"You claim this is your house; you own this land. But you and I both know you stole it. The rightful owners try to take it back, and you scare them away with your treats and weapons. And you, done, let it go to shit. Nothing works around here. All your damn rules got everybody terrified and paranoid. You want to see what everyone is doing and hear what everyone says. You don't let anybody come by anymore. Talking about putting up a wall around the property. You're mean, greedy, and fat. Calling the police on some kids selling water on a hot day and on the neighbors when they were having a cookout. Are you out of your mind? Ya, dumb bitch. Leave peoples the fuck alone."

With eyes red as Doubleo420 himself, Billy slides his worn flannel down his shoulders. The loose t-shirt underneath symbolized a violence Billy would not dare commit. Billy's 130-pound frame would not be enough for physical violence against Becky. Becky is stuck on the couch, obese, and she could smother Billy in her grasp. It's happened before, and Billy swore it would not happen again. Billy's redneck mind began to think. He paced back and forth while Becky cursed him and swore she would kill him. Billy believed her, but he wasn't scared. He just kept thinking, not about killing her, no. Billy's thoughts were clear on that, and his method came in an instant. Billy smiled at Becky.

"And you said I would never do anything with them."

Billy left the room, and Becky thought nothing of it. She polluted the air some more, kept up her greedy pace, and figuring; nothing really matters to me. Anywhere the wind blows. Billy pounded beers as he wandered about the garage, and for some reason listening to Bohemian Rhapsody. Billy walked to the darkest corner of the garage. There, Billy stood in front of the one thing the dumb junkies didn't steal.

Billy chugs another beer and throws the can behind him. He presses the release button to hoist up his Turbo-Thrift 250 six-cylinder engine. Billy was going to fix it up, buy an old Chevelle, and put it in. But Becky told him, "You never will."

Billy kneels down and grabs an old metal lockbox, and sets it on the table. He grabs a beer out of his back pocket, chugs the whole thing, and throws the can behind him. Electricity feels the air, and the lights flicker when Billy opens the box. He has the skin of a goose, so he smells the air and lifts one eyebrow. Billy reaches in his back pocket for a beer, chugs it, and throws the can behind him. Overwhelming happiness fills Billy, and he smiles like a cat in a tree from a hallucinogenic fantasy. The lights go out, Billy turns off the radio and walks right through the door. Billy thinks to himself.

"Dart Championship 1996."

There was no resemblance to her former beauty. The poor choices made throughout her lifetime have caught up with her, and her darkest secrets have been exposed. Her days of terrorizing have crippled her, so she sits her fat lazy ass on the sofa, waiting for the next attack.

She never saw it coming. She was so big; she couldn't feel the small punctures. Becky felt the warmth of her own blood on her cold, pale body. Every knife, including the bonus 20 - piece mini pocket knife set, "Just in time for stocking stuffers." In the 65 piece set, "with some rare ones in there." "For only 39.95," was stuck in the fat of his now-dead wife.

"I never know what is going on with you. The sides of your brain are working against each other. It's like they're fighting each other to see who gets control. Got the state of your united body confused, so you don't work properly. I know it isn't your fault. You were created without keeping the future in mind. Your Mom allowed every drug in the world to enter her system and then point the finger at anyone else caught with some pot. You're ruined, and now your more trouble than your worth. I wish there was something I could do about you."

I've never seen so much privilege bestowed on a couple of druggies in my life.

It's your momma's fault. She told you anybody who didn't look like you was less of a human being. Putting ya'll above everyone else, never receiving proper punishment for the crimes you commit. The government gives you everything you want. Anytime you're in trouble, the court system is there to help with open arms. Rehab, rehab, rehab, probation, Oh, I accidentally killed some people while drinking and driving. Affluenza.

I know why you cry. The air is polluted with intimidation, hate, and happiness. The lack of Love, Kindness, and sight, got it so you can't even breathe. Ya, teeth hurt badly, but we can't keep ice inside the freezer. It just keeps defrosting and making the house hotter every day. You don't need Faith. The entire Cyber Universe is yours. You will control the devices that own Humankind.

The police will be kicking in his door any moment now, and he only has two choices. Shoot it out with Boise's finest. Billy has got enough guns and enough ammo to make it through the night. Or he can walk out the front door and blow his brains out on the front lawn for the news helicopter to see. Really no turning back now. At least the nagging wife is dead, the junkie sons and their thieving girlfriend.

"Shut up!"

Billy thought about killing the baby first but figured he could use him for leverage and maybe a pizza. He should have taken the one nightstand with slutty Cindy Sue that night. Sure, Billy would have hated himself in the morning, perhaps an STD, but no junkie sons, no fat lazy wife with a mortgage Billy can't afford. Billy comes home, and his beer isn't cold, and he can't get any decent drugs. The whole town is laughing at him. Well, let them laugh at this.

"Billy, we have the place surrounded. There is no place for you to go. Please, let us end this peacefully. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

"Goddamn, here we go."

"I got a baby in here, and I'll kill him if you put one toe on my lawn. He won't stop crying, and I'm getting tired of it."

"Please let us have the baby. We'll send someone unarmed to your front door, and you can hand the baby over with no troubles."

"I told you, if one toe touches my lawn, I'm gone start shooting. You can test me if you want, and I'll show you what 50 rounds can do. On second thought, get me a pizza, and I'll hand the baby over to the delivery guy."

The sun is going down, the pizza is finished, and the swat team has him surrounded.

"I'll have one last beer, one last cigarette, and one last country song on the radio before its decision time."

Slowly and by any means necessary, Billy walked over to the window and peeked out. A helicopter shines a light, and the street was filled with cops and onlookers. Billy switches to semi-automatic and walks towards the door. Billy opens it and, after taking a couple of deep breaths.

"Fuck it, Homes. Watch me shoot this muthafucka."

The police are outside waiting on a white male with an AR-15 who has possibly, killed his whole family.

"Put the gun down, Billy. We can still work this out."

The Captain orders his officers to lower their weapons.

"Please, Billy, stop pointing the gun at us. You still have a chance. We can work this out."

"I hate work."

Everybody hates work. Especially when you're a rookie cop, just picking up an extra day to impress your boss and make extra money for your new family. Now you got a bullet in your head while your Captain negotiates with a gun-wielding male.

"Holy shit. Officer down, officer down, this is Sal Skyes in news chopper 8. I repeat, officer down, the suspect is down has been shot."