My Pumas Smell Funky

It was an unseasonably warm spring day in 1983 and I was celebrating my 14th birthday. Now, while most kids my age would have been eating cake and shit, I, on the other hand, was trying to avoid having my head removed from my shoulders by a chainsaw wielding Colombian hitman. I wholly blamed my father Herman, and even possibly Tony Montana, for this revolting predicament.

Herman and I were handcuffed to the shower curtain rod, side by side, enjoying a little father and son time while Uncle Johnny was trying to get the chainsaw operational.

Uncle Sanchez was oblivious to the technical difficulties, so engrossed was he in raping my stepmother, BettyJo, in her fat ass. BettyJo was screaming, but I think it was mostly a charade for Herman's benefit. BettyJo put the heidy-heidy in ho, and if Herman was in denial of that obvious fact it was no skin off my back. However, decapitation? Yeah, that was a whole other enchilada...

How did it come to this you ask? Well, let me tell you...

Herman and BettyJo were a couple of ex-hippies who had made the transition from weed and acid to coke, along with the rest of America, in the early '80s. Herman had always been a wanna-be drug kingpin but three things kept his success firmly at arm's length.

He definitely got high on his own supply. He let his degenerate customers run tabs. And he could never remember who owed him money let alone how much.

Herman was forever getting overcharged by his suppliers or fronting shit to his customers who never failed to welsh. Herman's head, which had never been a technological wonder to begin with, was, by 1977; fucking toast. By 1983 it was burnt toast. He was always three months behind on the rent. He hid all his money in a box of Eggos in the freezer. He hid all his drugs where he was convinced nobody would ever find them; under his mattress. Yeah, Herman was some other kind of genius...

But, in all fairness, Herman did try to instill in me what you might call the entrepreneurial spirit. When I was 13 and asked for a new boom box for Christmas he told me, "if you want shit kiddo you should start dealing weed."

Herman even magnanimously offered to supply me at cost. BettyJo, who never worked a day in her life (unless you count sucking shvantz) was all for this. She never failed to remind me that Ronald Reagan was never handed anything by his parents.

I ended up getting a job in a pet food store but that ended when Herman came to visit me at work one day and offered my boss an eight-ball of some, "really primo shit."

"Herman, you dumb fuck," I said. "What even made you think he was a dirty coke head like you?!?"

"Yeah, I know kiddo, but it's some priiiiimo shit, sniff. Y'wanna try some?"

I was fired that day but was nevertheless grateful my ex-boss didn't call the cops. I asked my mother if I could live with her but she informed me her new boyfriend wasn't really a, "kids kinda guy." She suggested I get a job and rent an apartment. I suggested I was thirteen and she should seek psychiatric help. She suggested it was all for the best and I would thank her when I was older for the, "tough love," whatever the fuck that meant.

Herman suggested I start to contribute to the household by weighing shit out, folding bindles and making deliveries.

"You're thirteen. It's about time you started pulling your own weight kiddo. Gas, grass or ass; nobody rides for free."

"Yeah," BettyJo said. "What he said goes double for me. You think Ronald Reagan would've freeloaded?"

"I dunno know BettyJo. Why don't you ask him next time you're bobbin' on his knobbin'?"

"Herman," she gasped. "Did you hear what he just said to me?!?!?!"

"Kiddo. You gotta respect BettyJo!"

"Well Herman.... How bout you and BettyHo go fuck yourselves and the horse you rode in on?"

Well, it seemed I had gone too far, because..., when I had come home from school the next day my key no longer fit the lock. I rang the bell. Footsteps approached. From the other side BettyJo said, "We've changed the locks. You are no longer welcome, kiddo."

"Lemme speak to Herman, BettyHo."

"Herman is 100% with me on this one, you little disrespectful shit. So beat it. Maybe the army'll take you. Ronald Reagan lied about his age to fight Nazis when he was thirteen..."

Rather than debate The Gipper's war record I simply squatted down on the welcome mat and pinched a rather impressive loaf.

It seemed I was persona non grata.

With nowhere to go and nobody who wanted me I knocked on my best friend Monty's door.

"Monty, I'm out on the street," I explained.

"Yeah, dude.... My moms is like all strung out and shit so I don't think she's gonna be really down with house guests. But, y'know I got the key to the boiler room..."

Monty's dad was the super of my building and a frequent customer of Herman's. Rather than attend to building maintenance he mostly just snorted blow and drank Old English 800. When that got boring he'd beat Monty, his mother and Monty's eleven brothers and sisters just to change it up. Monty's dad was a busy man...

"I'll take 'em," I told Monty.

So, for exactly three and a half weeks, I lived next to the boiler in the recesses of the basement of my apartment building. Mostly I read comic books, listened to the radio and hurked my gurkins. When that got boring I thought of ways to off Herman and BettyJo. Monty was a real pal throughout my entire ordeal. He'd bring me food he stole from his fridge; mostly Wonder Bread, american cheese and on a good day Twinkies. Then, near the end of my fourth week in exile, two things of note happened.

My school finally got in touch with Herman and told him that if my truancy continued he could expect a visit from social services. And the boiler broke and I got busted.

So, it was on my 14th birthday that Monty, his dad and Herman paid me a visit in the basement. Monty's dad was understandably upset. Not that I'd been living in the boiler room but rather that I'd been using the corner of the basement as my personal toilet and it was admittedly getting somewhat rank.

"C'mon kiddo, we're going. BettyJo says you can come back to the apartment till you can find a job and move out."

Now normally I would have told Herman to go fuck himself but the truth was baby wipes could only cut so much mustard and I was smelling purrrrrty ripe.

"Yer a regular prince among men, Herman," I said gathering up my comics, radio and pillow.

Monty's dad however wanted me to clean up all the shit and piss before I went anywhere.

"Hey. Don't you owe Herman a couple of thousand smackers coke boy? Why don't you just hire somebody to clean that shit up and take it off your bill?"

Monty's dad looked at Monty and said, "Joo go getta fucking mop and bucket Monty..."

Monty gave me a very dirty look and I immediately felt guilty. That didn't mean I was gonna clean that shit up but I was going to feel bad about it.

So it was five minutes later Herman's key was unlocking the front door. I was dreaming of a shower, clean BVDs and a square meal. I intended to throw my clothes right down the incinerator they were so rank. As Herman and I stepped into the apartment I felt cold steel press into my neck.

"Joo fuckin' walk to the shower mang or I gon' fill your fuckin' head with mucho lead motherfucker!"

It was Uncle Johnny and Uncle Sanchez. Of course, they weren't really my Uncles. But that's what Herman told me to call them ever since they started supplying him with coke a few years ago.

"Johnny maaan. You know I'm good for it....," Herman pleaded.

Sanchez punched Herman in the face and Herman went down like a blind roofer. Sanchez pulled him to his feet by the hair. Herman's beard was covered in blood. Herman sputtered and spat out a few teeth on the hall runner. Sanchez braced him. Sanchez punched him in the beezer. More blood spurted.

I silently thanked Sanchez but I knew none of Herman's comeuppances were on my behalf. Sanchez would rip your balls off with a pair of pliers and then solder your ass shut with a blow torch just as soon as he would fuck your wife in the ass while he made you and the family dog watch.

Uncles Johnny and Sanchez marched me and Herman into the bathroom and promptly handcuffed us side by side to the shower curtain rod. BettyJo was already handcuffed to the toilet sans panties, and, now that Uncle Johnny had Herman and I bound to his satisfaction, he gave Uncle Sanchez the green light to resume his work on BettyJo's, Ronald Reagan loving, ass.

Uncle Johnny dumped out a big pile of coke on the rim of the sink. He put his big oily nose to it. He then vacuumed up half of it in one noisy pass. BettyJo screamed a little louder and Uncle Sanchez said, "Jo mang. I think she fuckin' like it."

"Yeah. Joo like dat shit BettyJo," Uncle Sanchez asked rhetorically while yanking her head around by the hair.

BettyJo and I made eye contact and she said, "Ronald Reagan would at least have had the decency to turn his head, you little freeloading bastard...."

"Well god bless America, BettyHo."

Uncle Sanchez put his gun in BettyJo's mouth and simply said, "Suck it BJ! Suck dat sheet!"

BettyJo obliged, a little too enthusiastically if you ask me.

Herman's black eyes took it all in. Herman clucked his tongue against the roof of his bloody mouth.

"C'mon Johhnn-"

Uncle Johnny punched Herman in the face.

"Sanchez, gimme da fuckin' chainsaw," he ordered. Uncle Sanchez extricated himself from BettyJo's posterior and returned with a Black & Decker chainsaw. He handed it to Uncle Johnny and resumed ingressing BettyJo.

"No mang. Don'tchoo, 'c'mawwwn Johnnnneeeee me', Herman. Joo fuckin' make me come lookin' for joo?!?!?! You owe me money mang. I tole joo Herman..... Joo don't wan fucking owe Uncle Johnny money mang..."

"Yeahhh maaaan.... but-"

Uncle Johnny kept trying to get the chainsaw going but his expertise in the field of home improvement seemed somewhat lacking. Finally, disgusted with the dysfunctional chainsaw, he launched it over his shoulder. It thudded squarely into Uncle Sanchez' cabeza.

"Johnny mang. Joo jes fucking hit me!"

"Joo jes keep doing what joo doin', Sanchez..."

Uncle Johnny put his gun in Herman's mouth. He looked at me with ojos loco and said, "Jooo got something joo wanna say to me keeed?"

"Nope," said I in a tour de force of word-wizardry.

Uncle Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "Well, say goodbye to your Daddddy keed....," Johnny said cocking the hammer back.

I took the ball of my left puma and wedged it against the heel of my right puma. It wasn't going to be easy but time was not on my side.

I had been keeping the laces of my pumas tied EXXXXXXXTRA TIGHT for the past two weeks. The aroma that could level Tacoma had gotten so unbelievable that I had to beg Monty to scrounge me up a can of Lysol. I had been religously spraying my pumas and ankles with Lysol every hour on the hour for two entire weeks....

Just in case you have no idea what I'm going on about, consider this; teenage feet that haven't left the same pair of pumas nor socks in almost a month. We are talking about Guinness book worthy foot odor. Yes, the Bromodrosis Nebulae had been discovered and it was in my pumas.

So, as Uncle Johnny threatened to ventilate Herman's head, and while Uncle Sanchez rode BettyJo like nobody's business, I made a birthday wish and pushed as hard as I could on the heel of my right puma. It slowly started to give even as I felt the skin breaking.

It might have been easier to get out of the cuffs around my wrists but that wouldn't have proven nearly as effective as the cold war payload I was about to unleash from within the silo that were my pumas.

Yes, I like to think Ronald Reagan would have approved of me doing my bit in the never-ending war on drugs.

With a final desperate push my right puma went flying right into BettyJo's stupid face. What happened next was a blur.

Herman, Uncles Johnny and Sanchez and BettyJo all turned distinctly green around the gills. They collectively screamed and gagged. BettyJo projectile vomited right into Herman and Uncle Johnny's face. Herman puked so hard he head butted Uncle Johnny accidentally. Uncle Johnny's nose spurted blood.

Uncle Sanchez tried to shoot Herman but shot Uncle Johnny in the shoulder by accident. Uncle Johnny turned around and shot Uncle Sanchez in the head five times. As Uncle Sanchez' head exploded he dropped his gun. It went off and shot Uncle Johnny in the stomach.

Uncle Johnny's gun clattered to the bathroom tiles while he clutched his gut; inspecting his new belly button with apparent incredulity. I put his head in a scissor hold like I'd seen Mr. Fuji do on Channel 9 wrasslin'.

Uncle Johnny clutched at my legs in vain. After a long minute he collapsed to the bathroom floor and didn't move again while Herman and BettyJo continued to puke and moan.

I got the shower rod loose and slid my cuffs out. I found the keys to the handcuffs in dead Uncle Sanchez' back pocket and extricated myself promptly.

BettyJo who was still handcuffed to the toilet said, "Kiddo, get me loose..."

"Ronald Reagan would get himself loose," I said.

Herman sat on the bathroom floor crying and dry heaving.

I managed to get my other puma off which set off yet another round of gagging. Herman tried to get the keys to the handcuffs from me but I opened the bathroom window and launched them into deep space.

I picked up one of my pumas and tied it around BettyJo's neck. She screamed, hissed and then sobbed.

I rubbed it in her face.

You mess with the puma you get the stankfoot.

I then turned on the shower and grabbed a bottle of Mr. Bubble and proceeded to cover myself from head to toe in a deep luxuriant lather.

"Herman! Get me loose!"

"You fucked Sanchez!"

"I had no choice!"

"You were liking it!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

When I had rinsed and repeated no less than three times I turned off the water and left the bloody bathroom. Ten minutes later I was fresh dressed like a million bucks. I put on my favorite Kangol and fly red socks. I took Herman's new sneakers, still in the box and tried them on for size. A perfect fit.

Goodbye funky pumas...

I went into the freezer and got what I quickly counted as $17,000.00 out of the Eggo box.

Happy birthday to me.

I put the cold cash in my knapsack along with some comic books. I then took Herman's stash out from under his mattress. I walked back into the bathroom to find Herman passed out and BettyJo still struggling to free herself.

"Kiddo. Get it off! Get it off! The horrrrrrorrrrrrr......"

"Don't worry BettyJo. Help will trickle down one of these days, I just know it will!"

I picked up Uncle Johnny's gun and put it in Herman's hand. I aimed it at BettyJo.

"Kiddo! You know I love y-"

BLAM!

BettyJo's third eye winked at me as if to say, "Even Ronald Reagan couldn't have done it better kiddo." I then helped Herman put the gun in his mouth. "Sorry Herman, BettyJo wouldn't wanna ride off into the sunset by her lonesome," and squeezed the trigger.

I tore open a bag of coke and poured it all over BettyJo's head.

"Nothin' to gain 'cept killin' your brain," I said.

I then bade farewell to the not so dearly departed along with my funky smelling pumas and started the first day of the rest of my life.

Cocaine. It's a helluva drug.

Originally posted on r/nosleep under the pen name mypumassmellfunky.