A true hoodrat

Said one hoodrat to another, “oh yeah boi, I can’t wait to put you in a shoppin cart and smoke a cigarette and push you into a dumpster.  It’s gonna be fun.”  His companion was a measly boy of 12, dressed in oversized shirts and undersized shoes.  His greasy hair was so shiny.

“Hell to the yayuh!  Then we can go ride our bikes in circles around the dry cleaners and see if we can find a bag of weed or something.  And if we do, I swear to god, Imma smoke da whole fuckin thing and then jerk off in the Kroger’s restroom and then climb in a shopping cart and then youz guyz will push that shoppin cart into a dumpster… deal?”  The hoodrat looked at his retarded friend.


The hoodrats got into the shopping cart and took turns pushing eachother into the dumpster.  They would fall out and scrape their knees.

“This is so fuckin’ tight mane'”

“Do it again!”

“There’s dis chick on facebook and she sent me this message, she’s totally gonna suck my dick dude.”

“No way bro, that’d be hella tight.”

“Yeah, hoodrat surprise, knaw mean.  Hey yall wanna drink some robotussin?”

“Fuck yeah we do.”

The tallest of the hoodrats pulled three bottles out of his flannel jacket and they chugged them all.  One hoodrat went to go masturbate in the Krogers bathroom, one hoodrat started stomping on a broken tv, one hoodrat thought about getting his dick sucked.

They re-convened.  “What shall we do next?  We did some pretty hoodrat shit today.  I guess we could throw up some tags, let everybody know how gangsta we are.  Or we could throw some fuckin eggs at something, that would be dope style to the max man.”

“I guess, or we could…”

The hoodrat was interrupted by a deep rumbling from inside the dumpster.  Smoke billowed out of the dumpster and lightning struck, a specter appeared.  “Woah, this robotussin is off the fuckin chain, I’m trippin my fuckin nuts off dawg.”

“Silence!”  The specter loomed above them.  “Listen here you foolish children.  It is I, the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe.”

“Edgar ballen what?”  The hoodrats stratched their testicles.

“Edgar Allen Poe, the famous literary figure, you must have read about me in your English class.”

“Nah dawg, all I know if you look like fucking Jimmedy Cricket.”

“I, Edgar Allen Poe, wrote many great poems for one.”

“Poems are for fags.  I caught this dude writin a poem in class once, some roses are red shit, I fuckin broke my pencil across the back of his head and pushed his ugly ass face in his tuna salad, showed that homo loser duche turd.”

“Oh my, you boys are quite violent.  What is it that you do?”

“We fuckin hoodrats man.  We do hoodrat shit.”

“What does that entail exactly?”

“Fuckin shit up, throwin eggs, jerkin off, shopping carts, beating gay kids up, makin fun of retards, drinking robotussin, smoking dirty ass weed, spray paintin.  Its my fuckin life man.”

“I see, well, some might say I was a hoodwink…”

“Hoodrat bitch!”

“Excuse me, hoodrat.  A long time ago.”

“Oh yeah, all victrolian’ stylez?  What’d you do, take ya finger and stick it up those big ass ladies behind dresses?  That’s be hella tight…”

“It was, it was indeed.  Anyway, do you young gentlemen want to dissect a cat?  I heard one nearby, it’s about time you boys experience some true hoodrat life.”

“I dunno Mr. Poe… that sounds crazy, kinda gross.”

“You don’t have a choice boys, if you don’t dissect the cat, I will dissect you.  Each and every one of you, slowly, so that you can watch your abdomen being split and your entrails beating as your heart slowly dies.”

“Uhh…guys we should go… let’s get our bikes and get the fuck out of here.”

Edgar flew out of the dumpster and landed upon the boys.  “Im afraid play time is over.”  He grabbed the boys by their greasy collars.  “Here we go.”  He dragged the boys toward the alley and they heard meowing.

The boys had begun to whimper and they could hardly make out the words, “Please Mr. Poe, we’ll be good.  I promise.  We’re awfully sorry for whatever it is we did to you.  Just let us go home… Please.”

“Not an option my boys!  Aha, there is the cat we have been looking for.  Such a beautiful cat, I am sure its insides are just as lovely.  Let us get down to business!”  He handed the boys some surgical tools and they approached the cat.  “All right, short greasy boy, please apply the tranquilizer, be careful, it must trust you, approach slowly.”  The boy took two steps forward and looked back.  He looked his friend in the eye and made a run for it.  Edgar Allan Poe jumped on top of him and drove the syringe filled with tranquilizer deep into his sweaty neck.  The boy fell limp.  The other boys ran off in the other direction and Poe sighed.  “One is fun, two is always a party, and three gets me hard.  Oh well, not bad for a friday night.  I’ve still got it, you know?  True hoodrat.”  He dragged the boy to the dumpster.  He later had a dance party with the boy’s bones.  It was very fun.

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