Piss Tornado

Y’know Clay Byrd, I use to watch yo’ ace on that ol’ television in my daddy's piece of shid, single-wide trailer. Oooh I remember dem days! Yew was whoopin’ ace left, right, and every which way! Lawd yes, I remember.

Down in Chicken City, Georgia? Folks thought you was the man! People talked about you like you was Pecos Bill or some shid like that.

Yessuh, back den, if you'd told me that Clay Byrd was raised by coyotes, taught gophers to dig post holes, made the Rio Grande River, and lassoed a tornado?

Hell, I would've believed it.

Fug, man. For all I know? Maybe you are Pecos Bill.

And come Colossus? Once again yo’ ace is gonna have hold of one end of the rope, and a tornado is gonna have the other.

But this ain't just any tornado, you old, cow rustlin’ piece of dog shit. No suh.

This is a tornado what turned Paxton Ray into a sympathetic figure.

This is a tornado what cut his own muhfuggin’ dick off, and told Reality to go fuck itself raw, no condom, no lube.

This is a tornado what ran up in yo’ fuggin’ shid, and took a big fat piss on yo’ daddy's grave, and laughed all the while.

See, that right there, that’s not yo’ ordinary, run of the mill tornado. No suh.

That right there? That's called a Piss Tornado.

And what am I, Clay Byrd, if not exactly that?

“If you're the tornado, it's everything in its way that gets destroyed.” - Penelope Douglas

FROM THE DESK OF: REALITY

Real cute, Fred.

By the way, who does that? You know? Who, besides complete imbeciles, think that I'm going to listen when you tell me to go fuck myself?

Nah.

You gotta deal with me either way, Fred.

I can tell you're gonna do this whole “piss tornado” thing for a while. Probably until Clay Byrd beats you at Colossus, and then you'll return to your base nature – a loser.

So in the meantime, I'm going to do a little tornadic activity of my own. Be on the lookout for that later, Fred. Hope you don't mind (don't care if you do)...

But, I am curious…

When Clay Byrd beats you… And believe me, he will beat you...

Will you come crawling back, then? When you have nowhere to turn, because no one wants to hear your crying baby act? When you can't even masturbate to feel better about losing, because you castrated yourself?

Will you come, crawling on your knees, begging for my help once again?

Ah, I bet you pretend not to remember that day you wrote me a letter, begging me to save her.

Well, you can try to reach back out if you want.

But I won't be here. Not for you, anyway.

That's right, Fred.

For so long you thought that I was against you, when I was merely trying to check you.

But you would never bend the knee, would you?

Stubborn bastard.

Therefore, Fred, you've left me no choice. In your cavalier enthusiasm for a war with all that's Real, you've left me no choice but to play the first card in my hand.

I, Reality, have joined Citizens Against Fred Dick.

As you love to say, Fred, “Congratulations, you just made an enemy for life.”

“There is a storm inside my head, and it's killing all the flowers.” - a.k.

Do you remember when Fred Dick was spending all that time in the Boiler Room?

When he, with our help, became the most hideous creation of Satan Himself?

Well, one of those lonely boiler room days, full of mushrooms and salvia, Fred saw something sat in the corner.

A walkie-talkie.

At first, he thought it was merely a part of his hallucinatory experience.

But as he came down from his high and once again found himself in the sober grasp of our mortal enemy, Reality, he noticed it was still there.

Slowly, Fred crawled his sweaty body towards the corner of the Boiler Room. It took him entirely too long, even by our standards. Still, he eventually grabbed hold of it, and noticed that taped around it was a message.

A most peculiar message indeed.

It was not written in any language Fred had ever seen, but rather, a series of childish hieroglyphs and wingdings that only Fred Dick had the ability to decipher.

It read thusly: "MAMA DICK. STRONK HAS TO LEAVE. STRONK IS NOT SORRY BUT STRONK IS SAD. STRONK MISSES MAMA DICK AND STRONK HOPES THAT MAMA DICK MISSES STRONK. THIS IS A WALKING TALK BOX. YES. MAMA DICK CAN USE THIS TO TALK TO STRONK WHEN MAMA DICK ALSO FEELS SAD. YES. OKAY. GOODBYE, MAMA DICK.” Fred wept when he read that letter. He folded it up and kept it inside a jar of marijuana.

But for whatever reason – maybe it was the pressure of his match with Clay, or maybe it was that he had just cut his dick off recently and felt unusually emotional, or maybe it was simply that Fred had authentic emotional experiences just like everyone else.

We aren't exactly sure.

But either way, Fred decided he was going to use the walkie-talkie that STRONKY TONK had left for him.

It was a long march to nowhere in particular. Fred left Long Beach Arena on foot, the walkie-talkie in his hand. He made a straight line towards the emptiest space in the horizon he could find.

Through traffic, through coffee shops, through desert sand, Fred walked and walked and walked.

For twenty-four fucking hours.

We're telling you. This guy doesn't know when to stop.

Nor did he while he was walking. In fact, he only stopped when he stumbled into an area of the world so utterly beautiful, he could hardly believe it.

It was a meadow.

Even in the dead of night, when he could hardly see what he was looking at, he knew it was beautiful. He allowed his eyes to adjust, and they confirmed his suspicions.

“The Garden of Eden,” Fred whispered.

Who's to say it wasn't?

He sat criss-cross applesauce in the meadow, unbothered by the night time critters that buzzed and flickered in the air around him.

Fred lifted the walkie to his lips. Pressed the button.

“Earth to STRONK, Earth to STRONK. Come in.”

No answer.

Fred looked at the channel options. Three channels. Fred moved it to channel 3. The highest number and, thereby, the number most attractive to his spiritual son/brother/father.

He started again, “Breaker breaker 1-9, this is Lugnut calling out for Beefboy. Come in, Beefboy. Over.”

No answer.

Fred sighed.

He decided he'd talk to STRONK anyway. After all, STRONK said any time he felt sad, and…

“I feel sad, STRONK. I lost my one, and probably only Universal Title shot. Went and pissed on Clay Byrd’s daddy's grave. He deserved it. Showed up raisin’ hell at me and the boys. Brought a tiger with him. Wish you was there for it. You would've ate that tiger, I know it.”

Fred slowly leaned back until he was lying down in a bed fashioned from fine grass and gorgeous flower arrangement.

“I miss you, buddy. I miss you every day. I didn't think, after Mama, that I could ever really feel this kinda loss ever again. But I do. I feel your absence in every moment of every day. If I think about you long enough, my stomach starts to hurt. That's how I know…”

Fred stopped a tear from falling out of his eye, wiped it away quickly, as if Reality wouldn't notice.

“That's how I…”

But when the levee breaks…

Fred cries out in a pathetic sob, “That's how I know I love yew, boy!”

“I can only imagine, you know, in my mind, how good my life could be. I picture a place just like this, nawmean? This pretty little flower field righcheer. A meadow. Yessuh! I'm there, you're there. Randi's there of course. The Whoresmen, if they wanna be there – yew know how they are! Haha. And Mama is there. Hell, even Deddy can be there if he wants to. And we're all just, shit man, hangin’ out, grillin’ the finest meats – an endless supply, cuz why not? Nawmean? We got money. We ain't got a whole lot but we got money. And we're eatin’ and laughin’ and havin’ ourselves just a good ol’ time, yessuh we are.”

Fred sighed. He wiped more tears away from his eyes and sat up straight.

“But hell,” Fred said. “I reckon I'm gonna have to wait for Heaven to get my lil’ slice of it.”

Fred took a deep breath. Feeling like a weight was slowly lifting off his chest, he finished up what he had to say.

“I just want ya to know, STRONKY. I just want ya to know that I love you. And that, whether it's in this life or the life hereafter, I will meet you there – wherever there is. And together, we'll live like we were always meant to. Side by side.”

With one last, shaky breath, he signs off. “This is Fred. Signing off. Love yew.”

Fred lied back down in the grass. The cool California air felt fine, though brisk, and the ground was soft as a baby’s aceho’. Fred believed in that moment that he could just go to sleep right then and there. Get him a quick six hours, jump up, find a public bathroom, take a whore’s bath, and head to Los Angeles.

But Reality had other plans.

Fred's phone vibrated.

One vibe. That meant a text. Everyone knew that.

Fred checked it.

One new message from Randi Dick: (2:18 a.m.) Fred.

“All morning, before the tornado, it had rained. The day was dark and gloomy. The air was heavy. There was no wind. Then the drizzle increased. The heavens seemed to open, pouring down a flood. The day grew black… Then the air was filled with 10,000 things. Boards, poles, cans, garments, stoves, whole sides of the little frame houses, in some cases the houses themselves, were picked up and smashed to earth. And living beings, too. A baby was blown from its mother’s arms. A cow, picked up by the wind, was hurled into the village restaurant.” - The St. Louis Post- Dispatch, March 20, 1925.

Tornado sirens blared loudly through Chicken City Georgia, at 2 a.m. on December 1st.

The tornadic activity was, for some unknown reason, a complete surprise to meteorologists across the state of Georgia. And when it touched down in Chicken City, not a single soul was prepared.

The destruction was as hellacious as it was engulfing.

When Randi Dick awoke around 2:16 a.m. that morning, it was the faint sound of shattering glass that stirred her. The tornado alarms screaming through Chicken City finished the job.

The first thing Randi did was place her hand on her belly. Two months pregnant, she knew in her heart that the baby growing in her was simply built different.

He kicked like an angry stallion, punched like Mike Tyson. All her prior children, those punches and kicks were cute reminders that life was growing within her, a way for her to engage with the child she had not met.

This one? It was not cute. It hurt like fuck, actually. Not that anyone gave a shit. Still, she was proud of what that meant for her baby, and her plan. After all, she had sacrificed a lot to get this baby. She slept with Lowell three times to get at the STRONK goo that made this baby.

Three fucking times. Can you imagine?

No, seriously. Can you?

Not only that, but you know how pregnant women often say, “I'm eating for two?” She had begun saying, “I'm eating for three.” From sunrise to sunset, she was eating.

Her diet had changed radically, as well.

The smell of cooking meat made her nauseous. And yet, meat was the only thing her body desired since becoming pregnant. Steak, chicken, turkey, ground beef, roast beef, duck, turtle, squirrel. Hell, she even ate a quail once.

A fucking quail.

The second thing she did was notice immediately that the sky outside was gray. It was terribly windy, and her window was broken.

Through the frame of the window, curtains flying all about, she could see the air was full of material. Mailboxes. Fencing. Road signs.

And somehow, she just knew, she was going to die.

It's funny, Randi thought. She always believed she would panic if she stared death in the eye, but in this moment? With a tornado outside she was never warned about, and a baby in her stomach that was more powerful than any being she had ever personally known, she was, somehow, in a state of peace.

But still… if this is how she was going to die, then she at least needed to let him know how she felt. How she really felt.

(2:18 a.m.) Fred.

(2:18 a.m.)

Hey Randi. (2:18 a.m.) I'm pregnant with STRONK'S baby.

(2:19 a.m.)

Congrajalashins thats awesome

(2:19 a.m.)

😎 😎 😎 I'm gunna b a grand deddy

(2:19 a.m. ) Listen Fred it's a big twister touched down in CC. Might die.

(2:20 a.m.)

Go 2 base mint n rid it out.

(2:20 a.m.) I don't have a basement. (2:20 a.m.) I need you to know if this is it. I love you. (2:21 a.m.)

I luv u 2. Take sheltur.

After kissing her phone and pressing it to her chest, Randi started to get up.

She started to run from her room towards the bathroom to stand in the doorframe for protection. She started to pray to God to save her and her baby. She started to feel like she needed to live, for her baby, and for Fred.

But she only started.

She never got around to finishing.

Hours later, when the storm was finished, and the ambulance, fire department, and police were completely overwhelmed with the devastation they were left to make sense of, they determined many facts about the people, the scene, and the City itself.

Only two of those facts were ones that Fred Dick cared about.

The first fact was that Randi's trailer was completely smashed in. They found her under a pile made from fragments of her roof. She was rushed to the hospital.

The second fact was that only one building in the entirety of Chicken City was left untouched.

Fred's childhood home.

The current office of Citizens Against Fred Dick.

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” -Albert Einstein

Deer Reality,

Ben a long thyme sense i rote u a ledder. I thank that last won I rote u was in sebbenth grade. U remember dat, dont u?

I thank it wint a lil sumthin lyke dis: “Plz, i dont no hoo else 2 turn 2. Plz, plz, plz, dont let my mama dye. I ned her. Worm Regards, Fred” ...

But u did.

U let her dye rite in frunt of me.

The slow beeps became fast beeps, thin the fast beeps bcame 1 long beep that didnt stop.

Reckin I still here that beep 2 this day. All ways n 4eva.

Ether way, dat was the day I new 1 thang 4 shore.

U dont gibba fug about nothin. Not a single fuggin thang.

N I real eyes’d rite away that if I wuz eva gunna make u pay 4 ur callissed indiffrence, I wuz gunna hav 2 take drastik measures.

I wuz gunna hav 2 becum just like u.

N so I bgun 2 bcum sumthin I nebber wunted 2 b. Butt I new that I had no choyce.

Sum1 had 2 pay 4 my mama dyeing. N I D-sided it had 2 be u, bcuz it dam shore WUZNT gunna b me.

Butt I wuz rong.

I Ben payin 4 it my whole muhfuggin lyfe.

beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Bcuz I wuz sugsessful in my kwest.

I did bcum like u.

I bcame cold. I bcame hartless. I bcame a piss tornado that brought mini lyfes n2 tha world, n abandoned thim.

Just lyke u.

Butt thin, u tuk intourist n me, n 2 this day I got zeeroe idea y.

N thin, whuts moar, u through me a curveball.

U gabe me anuther lyfe 2 care bout.

N thin rite win I stortin 2 fill somethin, RITE WIN I STORTED 2 THANK I KEN LUV A GEIN?

U tuk STRONK away from me.

N now, my x wife pregnunt wid his bb.

N she n hospital, bout 2 dye, bc u D-sided it wuz thyme 2 show ur ace n destroy errthang in my hometown butt tha 1 buildin no1 wood miss. My ol famly home. The current sitazens aginst Fred Dick buildin.

Tha singlewide trailor my mama passed away n.

beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee–

U sodistic fug.

Wunna no y it haz Ben so hard 4 u 2 put me down? N y, win u due finally put me down, u ken never kep me down?

Bc I no evry thyme I win…

Evry thyme I ken luk in the mirrur n call myself a winner?

It makes ur sodistic ace fill lyke a fuggin loser.

Whut u mak evry1 fill lyke evry dam day.

If u thank u ken hurt me by takin my x wife frum me, n theirby, takin my grand bb STRONK Two frum me?

Thin I thank I ken hurt u bye kep on keppin on.

N dat iz how I when dis war.

War is hell, so dey say. It must b, bcuz my hole life Ben a war wit u, n evry single fuggin day Ben hell 1 way or anuther.

Butt muhfugger u fugged up. Yessuh. U fugged up big thyme.

Bcuz u built me 4 war.

I was d-zined 2 indure hell.

N dats y Im gunna beet tha dogshid outta Clay Byrd.

Bcuz he iz just 1 of mini of the agents u imploy against me, 2 try n win dis war.

Errbody wunna say Im n acehoe bcuz I tuk a fat piss on his daddys grave.

Hippocrits, the lotta thim!

No1 sed a dam thang 2 u win u pissed on my mamas.

No1 gabe a single solid terry shid about her but me n my deddy.

So fug Clay Byrd. Fug his ded deddy. And fug u.

I Ben tied to a rope wit u my entire life.

N win I beet Clay n free myself from his ded deddy’s rope, Im freein myself from ur rope 2.

Thin dis war bgin in Ernest.

N the flowers n my head will blume wonce moar.

Not evun a tornado the lykes of u ken brang n end 2 that meadow.

The place were regardless of whut u due 2 my self, STRONKY TONK, Randi Bo Bandi, and STRONK Two?

We r all their. N tha meadow of my mind.

Havin a pick Nick.

1 big happy famly.

“You can cut all the flowers, but you can't stop the spring from coming.” - Pablo Neruda