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The Hogs of Entropy 0071
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| | ...Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present... | |
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| | "Biff Redneck Goes to the Big City" | |
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| | By: Sed | |
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Biff Redneck was your ordinary 15 year old in your ordinary small town.
The type of town where necks come in three varieties. Tanned, burnt, and
bloody. Mom and dad were both 400 lbs., there was a shrine to Jesus on one
side of the living room and a shrine to Bill Clinton on the other. Now Biff,
until the age of 13 or so was a good little inbred, he beat up the 'faggots,
kikes n niggers' like the other good ol' boys, gang-raped little boys and
girls (they were getting liberal just like dat big city) and all the other
creative, deeply profound fun you would expect in a town with a combined IQ
of 300. But now, strange things happened to Biff. He suddenly lost that
strange rash on his neck all other people in his state had. He lost interest
in his rapidly expanding collection of stripped cars on concrete blocks in
the frontyard. Dad was awfully disappointed that Biff wanted to go to
college, marry someone not related to him and worst of all, NOT live in a
trailer home! Dad kicked him out of the house. "Don't you ever peddle dem
darn freaky ideas in mah house! YOU THINK YOUR A FUCKING YANKEE? Back in mah
day we woulda beat ya good like we did to dem war protesters way back den!"
So Biff hung outside a barn and slept overnight.
When he woke up, something was different. His hair was suddenly spiked,
and suddenly stigmata in the shape of a Circle A appeared on his hands and
feet. It was a baptism of blood. HE WAS A PUNK WITH A GUN NOW! Sing along:
Biff is a punk rocker, Biff is a punk rocker, Biff is a punk rocker nooooow".
So anyhow, he was pretty fucking pissed. Dad was a dick to him! How dare
he kick him out of his trailer house chalet! But all dad was trying to do was
knock some good ol' confederate sense into the boy! So anyhow, Biff had a
shotgun on him. Not just any shotgun, but a big bad mega-special shotgun that
talks. Miguel the talking shotgun. A gun with a bad attitude. And a bilingual
one. So Miguel went "Senor Biff, how about we shot el hefe good?". So Biff
agreed. It was a good idea. They went out to the trailer home and walked in.
(Mom and Dad were too poor for them newfangled doors). Walked into the
bedroom. The approach reeked of blood. Every nick in the wall seemed to be
looking at the angry pair. Even the air seemed to be thick with the fog of
murder (Smells like A Clockwork Orange). So suddenly, the team stepped in.
CLICK-POP-ARGGK-GRRRK the gun went. Red human meat filled the whole room.
Biff was a bit hungry, but even he had better taste then to eat meat that was
all fat with no muscle or meat whatsoever.. So he did what every good young
murderer did. He ran to the city.
So anyhow, it was the morning and Miguel was rather bored. After all,
what does a shotgun have to do in the city? All the other guns were laughing
at him! It sucked. Biff felt like breaking something. He saw a church across
the street. "St. Hypocrisy Catholic Church," he read. He walked in. He
smashed those fucking pews good. Peed on the pews. Pounded the pulpit into
sawdust. Smashed up the crucifixes. Spit on their holy book. It felt good.
For Biff was a revolutionary! A soldier in the fight against the two crimes
from which all crimes spring: unoriginality and stupidity.
Suddenly, Biff needed to eat. He was very fucking hungry. Then he
realized he forgot to liberate some money from his parental oppressors. So he
sold Miguel into captive slavery to a dominatrix. He enjoyed it, especially
when he was spanked. Spanked by barnyard animals. Whipped by gerbils,
crucified by the woman. He wanted to but no, he was FUCKING HUNGRY. Everyone
was happy. Miguel got the bizarre S&M thing all shotguns lust for, Biff got
50 very good dollars. So he went to eat at a McDiharhhea (all similarities to
existing companies are unintentional). He ordered a Egg McMaggot. It was a
unedible piece of crap, with a rather scary similarity to turds. He ate it.
He barfed. He got kicked out of there. He barfed again. A kid laughed at him.
He barfed on the kid. He felt better.
Out of nowhere, the big bad rock star came walking down the street, with
a posse of extremely-ugly teenage girls following him. He started singing
"I wanna fuck you like a gerbil, you bring me closer to barf". The girls all
followed him. He was tackled to the ground and slowly dismembered by
teeny-boppers who make Janet Reno look like Tori Amos. Biff knew he would be
next unless he ran. So ran he did.
It was night. Biff was rather scared, as he had just seen for the first
time why city rhymes with shitty. A whole day of cake, cookies and muggings.
Show and tell and syringes. His formerly-punked look gave way to that of
general dismay, stubble and grungy hair, full of nihilism. Biff uttered "boy
this sucks", and he was suddenly run over by a tractor-trailer.
[The End? Ha, I Thought You Knew Better!]
Most of these deaths are stupid. However this one was a joke on a cosmic
scale. The truck originated from a ordinary small town. The type of town
where necks come in 3 varieties: Tanned, burnt and bloody. In fact, the very
same town Biff fled from. The driver was rather familiar to Biff. It was
Bubba Redneck. His brother. And uncle. And dad. The person who taught him how
to drink a beer, how to beat up foreigners, about the joys of fucking
cousins. And all Bubba could say was "boy dis dem dar sucks". And then he
drove on, familial roadkill attached to the tire.
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Copyright (c) 1995 HoE Publications and Sed. #71 --> 5/1/95
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