avenged

I remember this one time when I was in Ohio, I asked someone what "Ohio" meant.

He said, "Damned if I know, son!" And then I asked if I could get my own "Ohio" somewhere, but he just looked at me and said, "Boy, you been sniffin' the glue?" I hadn't been. So I asked him what "the glue" was and if it was somehow related to "Ohio". And he said, "You gonna buy something or not, boy?" And I said yes, I would like to buy this twinkie. And I bought the twinkie. And it was good.

So sayeth Moses to the Israelites upon their flight from Egypt. "Go forth and spread throughout the world, for many many generations from now, a descendant of yours will buy a delicious snack cake in a land he knows nothing about and it will be good! He shall then get back into his metal cart and spill his drink on the floor of it and he shall speak words that are ungodly but he will get over it quickly because his drink did not spill on his favorite shiny music disk for that would have bummed him out greatly! So speaketh the Lord!"

Anyway, getting back to Ohio, my Pantera CD escaped the wrath of my spilled Dr. Pepper which was pretty cool because as much as I like both Pantera and Dr. Pepper on their own merits, I don't like them to touch each other. It's like having your chocolate cake touch your beef gravy, good apart, not so good together. Besides, sticky CDs suck.

While driving down the interstate headed God knows where, I thought about my Dr. Pepper. I missed that little guy, as much as I hoped he missed me. We were a match made in heaven like the elderly and Viagra. Like Juli and chocolate. Like sunshine and lollipops. As I passed yet another rest area inhabited primarily by truckers and locals in desperate need of work, I thought about the Dr. I felt like my world would crumble if I could not reunite with my sweet bubbly messiah soon. With reckless abandon, I drove across the center divide and went back toward the rest stop.

I stepped out of my car and inhaled the fresh springtime odor of cow shit and diesel gasoline. The release from the horrible pain I felt while apart from the Dr. seemed like it might soon end for my salvation was in sight. Not much more then 50 feet away sat the gas station's convenience store. Too weak to stand any longer, I fell to my knees and crawled through spit and gravel and anti-freeze toward the small windowed shack that I knew would hold the Dr. Dragging myself across the cold asphalt, I noticed that a large group of bearded men were headed toward me. I couldn't be bothered by their presence since I was in dire need. I had not realized that I was surrounded by men with an arithmetic mean weight of at least 350 pounds until the leader's shadow fell upon my face. As politely as I could muster, I asked what the problem was.

"You crawlin'." Yes, I was crawling. I could not possibly stand in my condition. "You look fine to us." and he spit. Of course I look fine, Dr. Pepper withdrawal only ravages the soul, not the body, unlike bacon, which I can see has ravaged yours. "Was that an insult?!" Oh no, a mere observation. By the way, do you know where I could get an Ohio?

And they pummeled me senseless. I came to lying in the very same spot nearly two hours later. The sun had set visibly in the spring sky and a light rain had started to fall. 30 feet to go, I thought and attempted to muster as much strength as possible in my worn down state to get to the convenience shack. Oh how I yearn for the Dr. OH HOW I YEARNED! Unfortunately, my trials were not over.

Less than 10 feet from my glass enclosed Mecca, I was happened upon by a family of Mormons eager to show their Christian ethic and help a man in need. There was the fat one, the fatter one and two little ones. They looked like cardboard cutouts of real people and wore "I {Heart} Ohio!" shirts and neon colored shorts. I nearly vomited blood at them.

"Oh look honey," said the fatter one, "it's a homeless man like the pastor told us about! Maybe we can help him!"

"Of course my dear," replied the fat one. "It's like the story of the Good Samaritan! Do you recall that story kids?"

"We sure do, daddy!" answered maggot 1 and maggot 2 in unison. Oh how their voices grated on my aching soul! Had I the strength and resolve to do away with them I would have destroyed that entire family at my first chance. Alas! I did not.

"Sir! Can we assist you in any way? Are you looking for food or lodging?"

"Honey, look how bloody he is!"

"Sir! Can we assist you medically?"

"Let me help!"

"No, let me help!"

And at that moment I prayed for a gun. "Dr. I need the Dr...." I squeaked out of my swollen, beaten mouth.

"Honey, he needs a doctor!"

"Hmmm, the story doesn't tell us what to do from this point. What should we do, dear?"

"I don't know! Kids?"

"We haven't learned about this in Sunday school."

"Nope!"

"Maybe you should give him some money?"

"Good idea, dear! Here! Take some money!" and the fat one thrust a handful of dollar bills at my face. I blinked the blood out of my eye long enough to make eye contact with the bloated behemoth occupying the entirety of my vision. He stepped back in disgust. "Oh sir, are you a dopehead? There is love for you in the Church! Honey, do you have an extra copy of the book of Mormon available?"

"In the car dear! I'll be right back!" and the fatter slob ran away, her fat rolling like waves threatening to crush an unwary surfer. I could feel the heavens shake as she ran. And I prayed for a gun.

With the grace of a dying cow, she trotted back towards us with a faux-leather bound book in her hand. "Here!" The fat one took the dollar bills he'd been holding, arranged them neatly and placed them inside the front cover of the book. He bent over, no small effort on his part, placed the book in my trembling hand and wrapped my fingers around it. He stood back up with a grunt and said, "Alright, let's go! I think there's a Dairy Queen just down the road!" A chorus of cheers was heard from the little maggots and the bastards left me to die on the ground. And I prayed for a gun.

I didn't get a gun, but what I got was pretty close. Focused on the dollar bills, which I knew would purchase the sweet Dr. Pepper I sought, sticking out of the book I did not see the robbers when the first gunshots rang out. I did manage to see the fat one falling to the ground, however, and I did feel justified in a way which I cannot describe. He covered his head with his hands and wept for mercy from the young looking, maybe 18 maybe 19, blonde girl with a pistol in her hand. She smoked uncomfortably to affect maturity and held the gun nervously pointed at the fat one. No more than ten inches away from the weeping pile of shit that the lard ass had become was a smoking hole in the asphalt where the bullet had connected.

Oh good, I thought, now I'm going to get shot. But I didn't. The blonde was pulled out of her shock by another young woman, slightly older, much more confident, who grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the glass walled temple of convenience. She said something to the blonde that I couldn't make out, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to get into the shack and buy my Dr. Pepper. I noticed that the blonde had dropped her pistol as she got dragged along, so I pulled the dollars out of the book, threw it at the fat man and picked up the gun.

Lurching toward the store, I drew the gun and half-heartedly said, "Stop!" at the more confident brunette who was busying robbing the Native American man who ran the shop. "Stop!" I tried again, but to no avail. Finally, I raised my half-dead arm in the air and fired the pistol. All three heads in the shop turned toward me as I leveled the gun at the the head of blonde and fired again. In my Dr. Pepper deprived daze, I missed and sent a bullet through two glass panes of the shop. I fired again, this time hitting the Native American man in the shoulder.

"Stop!" I yelled and they did. The two women put their hands up and walked toward the back of the shop. I entered the small building with the gun still trained on the women and motioned for them to kick the gun toward me and then for them to leave. They did. Once they were far enough away I put the gun down on the counter.

"Dr. Pepper."

"In the back!" he screamed, his right hand clenching his shoulder which was spurting out torrents of blood. I go to the back to get a Dr. Pepper but find none. I search for a moment and then head to the back room where there are stacks of them. I stumble back out to the counter and put a couple of the dollars the fat man had forced upon me into the register. I take a sip of the cool, delicious soda and feel me strength restored! How sweet are the waters of the Pepper!

I turn to the attendant and ask, "So, uh, do you know where I could get an Ohio?"

He said, "You fucking shot me!"

And I said, "Hmm, yeah. Sorry about that. Do you know where I could get an Ohio, or maybe what an Ohio is?"

"I'm an Ohio. Could you get a doctor!?"

"Oh no. You should talk to that man out there who shat his pants. He likes helping people," and I walked away. I pulled out of the station as the first police cars pulled up with their sirens blaring. I could only think, This Dr. Pepper is delicious!