Hock Spit Slurp

 

Community Service-William Bryan Herndon

 

 

Sodomy and cocaine rolled together like bread and butter for Sam and Wanda most mornings, and today his limp was slightly more pronounced than hers.  Being attorneys, they both liked to start their days off by promptly fucking someone in the ass and then having shade-grown Kona coffee and designer cigarettes afterward to cherish their respective victories.    Their goals in life were generally two-parted; first was making money at any and all costs, and second was inflicting as much insult as possible to anyone around them.  When they could meet both goals simultaneously, it truly produced a feeling of great happiness within them, and they lived for such moments of social advance and personal exploitation.  Silver spoons had been shoved so far up both their asses that their tongues were shiny, and neither one of them had ever completed an honest days work in their lives – today would be no different.  While Wanda fussed over caviar and the mornings Bloody Mary, Sam rejoiced at screwing yet another innocent bystander out of his social security check as he flicked his Nat Sherman MCD out the window of their downtown apartment.  

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Three stories below, a man that was known only as “Frank,” sprung awake  as the burning ash from the cigarette butt sprinkled his weathered face.  Without a moment of hesitation, Frank picked up the butt and placed it into his pipe with a smile.  “One mans trash is another mans treasure,” he thought as the smoke from the MCD rolled into his lungs.  Unlike Wanda and Sam, Frank never really thought very highly of himself, and constantly lived under the shame of the life he “could” or “should” have lived.  He spent his days collecting recycling and clearing garbage, and had a side business of selling acid to the local homeless population.  Frank incessantly rambled about “sharing an experience” with the less fortunate folks of the neighborhood, and genuinely believed he was doing his community a service of sorts.  Frank had one skill that could never be underestimated though – he could read people better than anyone else in Sacramento.  In fact when he first met Sam and Wanda, his stomach had already turned before they had a chance to offer him rotten leftovers.  He could see the smirk across Sam’s face and knew immediately that the food had been tainted, not to mention many other things lurking in the dark corners of his narrow face.  Frank could feel the pain these two had caused others, and had silently sworn to return their favors in kind one day.  Today he noticed that Sam had left the window of his Mercedes cracked, and Frank got a brilliant idea.

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Sam had driven halfway to Mango’s bar and grill when the fifty hits of liquid LSD from his steering-wheel began coursing through his bloodstream.  His heart raced to dangerous rates, shapes began to appear everywhere, and colors began trading places – he was officially frying his face off.  After rear-ending the SUV in front of him, Sam was subsequently rear-ended by another car following closely behind, and involved in a five car pileup.  By the time the police had arrived, Sam had stripped naked and was running laps around the stopped vehicles, while Wanda was rampantly stuffing cocaine up her nose in an attempt to make a three gram bag disappear.  Frank heard the sirens in the distance and let out chuckle from the bottom of his belly that sounded like the “ho ho ho’s” of old saint Nick.  Last I heard Sam was spending time in Tracy and wasn’t such a fan of the sodomy anymore, and Wanda was doing a new type of work entirely.  While it is not life, I have told you this to tell you this, at times a good man doing a bad thing to bad people, can be a great thing.  So thank you Frank, for your endless cheer, bizarre notions of right and wrong, and your undying commitment to our community service.