Fiction Fragment: Skateboard Punk

Digital camera in one hand and a half eaten protein bar in the other Joe Smith entered the apartment’s parking lot. He’d worked for years to build up that long, hard green bar beneath his online pen name and the last thing he wanted was to lose “reps” because of a post that was made in anger, without considering the needs of the Shredded and Jacked Up Off Topic community first. To wit, he had failed to adequately document his claims, which was almost the biggest sin a poster could commit. Being respectful to women and implying that lifting heavy objects was time poorly spent were arguably bigger violations of the societal norms, but only just. We live in an increasingly visual age and this means pictures tell the story, not words. Whether the subject was fornication, deadlift statistics or in this case a damaged vehicle the need for visual confirmation was always of paramount importance. To make such a rookie mistake was shameful and it certainly did nothing to improve an already bad mood.

A severe hangover and the possibility of being carpet-bombed with little red dots of disapproval were only the two most immediate problems. Then there was the damaged truck, the possible job loss and now they were talking about banning him from the his gym after he unpacked the contents of his stomach on the front desk, sexually harassed the lady of virtue controlling said desk, took a piss in the kiddie pool downstairs and probably a dozen other horrible acts that the black out had mercifully obscured. Worse, as far as Smith was concerned, no actual lifts had been performed and, thus, no gains were made. Why couldn’t he have done some insane, brown liquor auto-piloted deads in between kicking over a stability ball rack and trying unsuccessfully to masturbate to a breast cancer awareness poster? There was nothing for it.

The sun was high in the sky and the light and heat it was generating quickly became oppressive. The melting protein bar fell to the tar with a wet plop. Smith forced profanities through a dry throat as he threw the remaining portion of the diet supplement against the brick wall of the apartment house in an impotent act of defiance.

Essaying the full extent of the wounds suffered by his automotive penis stand-in did little to improve an already foul mood. In the harsh glare of the midday the full extent of the injuries were now visible through squinting eyes. One headlight was completely broken, its shape distorted like a boxer’s eye swelling shut in the late rounds. The dent directly adjacent resembled a rabbit punch from a titan and it was only good fortune that had allowed the wheel-well to maintain its integrity. If the unknown object had been struck at a slightly different trajectory no amount of having symbolic resemblance to scary animals or stones would have prevented the vehicle from being crippled, perhaps even totaled. As it was, the bulk of the damage to the working man’s sports car was superficial.

Unfortunately Smith was more a glass half-empty thinker. Add to that the strange fastidiousness of your typical truck owner that seems in deep contradiction to the message conveyed in the marketing and it was the spark for another blow-up.

“Aw fuck.” Snap. Picture taken. “I can’t believe this shit.” Snap. “Look at the paint job. Fucking ruined!” Snap. Snap.

“Whatcha doing, dude?” A skateboard carrying twelve-year-old interrupted the accident documentation. “Takin’ pictures for the in-surance?”

“Get out of here, poser. Do you even ride?” Joe puffed himself out like something out of the nature channel, his massive upper body threatening to tear his stained undershirt. If this little fuck wanted a symbolic dominance ritual he would get more than he could possibly handle.

“Yeah, I ride. Just watch, bitch.” The towheaded Future of America zipped past on the board, slowed down only slightly by the keys he was digging into the side of the truck.

“You’re fucking dead! You hear me?” The precious resource of youth was already zipping down a hill and well out of the range where that sort of threat could be made good. This inherent problem did little to prevent the explosion of the balls-to-the-walls lifting loose cannon. “Fuck! I’ll throw you like a kettle bell you little fuck!”

A few minutes and a near total emotional meltdown later the pictures had been merged onto the information superhighway and all was well, at least in that particular arena.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

DotTeeVee: 13 year old boy arrested for smiling

DotTeeVee is finally back and suffice it to say I picked a great video to return with that certainly wasn't the first mildly amusing under three minutes drivel I stumbled on. No, this is very, very special. It's all about the plague of Face Crime threatening whatever the hell it is that our country is supposed to represent. It's time to get that smile off your face for the greater good. Throw in some police state and the always amusing middle age beer bellies and you have to know this is going to be the most fun you can have while imprisoned in your cell of flesh and bone.

We start off with some youths skateboarding and I'm relieved to see that this activity hasn't changed at all since the fadish popularity it enjoyed when I was the correct age to be arrested for facial expressions. You know the drill: wheel around, attempt some basic stunt and fail miserably, pick up your board and hold it poseur style, repeat until you remember that video games and "R Rated" downloads are waiting back inside your house.

 I rolled around for six seconds without falling...a new record!

Our anti-heroes have constructed a crude "ramp" using a plastic garbage bin and a piece of wood. They're using this construction to preform hot tricks like skating up it...and then sliding back down. I mean, holy dog stuff, I thought I was watching the X Games there for a moment. All is not well in this pocket paradise however, as an adult with an aggressive case of male pregnancy is walking over to squash the righteous good times with the totally major bummer rule of law.

Our full-figured villain wants to know who owns the garbage can propping up the primitive one-eighth pipe, and one teen bravely speaks truth to power by claiming "It was there when we got here!" Sorry son, this isn't an evolution debate where "billions of years, mutations and environmental forces" can be played like an instant-win card. Clearly there are signs of intelligent, or let's be honest semi-intelligent, design. 

"It was formed by the forces of erosion and plate tectonics, honest!"

Suffice it to say the enemy of clean good times is not mollified by this answer, or even the flippant "It was!" that follows. Sure kids, just double down on your lies. We get a threat to call the sheriff and then there's a collision as one of the Precious Natural Resources tries to skate up the board while the evil elder is removing it. For a moment it looks like things are about to get ugly.

   A leaked image from the upcoming "Home Improvement" remake.

We get more common core debating as there's an argument over whether or not Grim Chronos hit one of the beings of pure light and innocence. Father Time insists that law enforcement wouldn't believe their story, even though this entire incident is being recorded, just like everything that now happens thanks to camera phones and beloved Big Brother. Instead of pointing this out the future doctors and lawyers fall back on "Seven on one!" "Seven punk kids!" is the witty rejoinder.

Now riled up by this baby first's rights and responsibilities lecture the embodiment of uncoolness makes the threatened call to the authorities while telling one of the skater's to "Stay here!" He points right at him, but the mind that one day might cure cancer or come up with a workable flat tax still doesn't understand. "Me?"

Yeah, you.

The message finally sinks in and he tries to run off, but apparently fails. Somehow. There's missing footage, footage that I'm sure paints the innocent cherubs and their skate boarding fun in an extremely positive light.

 "Please don't call the cops, boxing reptiles."

When we rejoin this little morality play the lost sheep of generation nothing have been rounded up and are receiving a civics lesson from The Man. Apparently there's a thing called "Private Property" that carries with it certain rights, such as the right not to have to host a special education version of Tony Hawk's pro skater. The impromptu class is all "We didn't do nothing!" which naturally sets off the fuzz even worse. The upshot is they'll have to go. Man, it's like that thing we learned about in our public school history class where the French were put into gas chambers by Russians or whatever. 

In a last bit of pathetic resistance the kids claim they were going to leave on their own. And yet, here you are. There is a logical problem with this.

Now it's time for the tyranny I promised. Channeling Dirty Harry the 30% BMI representative of the law asks "What's your problem punk!" and, of course, wants to see identification. Suffice it to say the Skate Board Kid is lacking ihnen papieren. Things quickly degenerate as the System Criminal delivers massive police brutality, up to and including touching an arm and promising to "take you home." 

When they came for the poseurs I said nothing, because I wasn't a poseur.

We get plenty of passive-aggressive whining from the victim of Orwellian-style oppression. He repeats the claim that he was going to leave and then practically begs to be let go. Is it wrong that I'm starting to hope we'll get into a massive conventional war that will last about ten years and feature the return of the draft? 

The cuffs come out and with that a nice pitiful "Ow, This hurts really bad" is produced followed by more begging. The whining continues, but Officer Evil simply responds with "Anyone else wanna join him!" Not surprisingly, there aren't any takers. Into the police car, drive off, fade to white.    

Komment Korner  

Leave the country please, no one is forcing you to stay

You`re happy I`m not because if I were Russian, you would have been hurt

Ow my arm what a little bitch pussy drop this kids ass in gaza and lets see how he likes it

Me and my friend got arrested for throwing bricks in the air. what the fuck I can't throw bricks?

imagine if it actually said, "Disrespectful 13 year old boy taken home for trespassing" and it explained how the cop put him in cuffs to teach him a lesson

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XmfviKr5HE

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read free excerpts here and here.

His first novel "The Foolchild Invention" is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.