i am the real crime hagar

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Sammy and The Skyscaper of Love

High above the city in a real classy penthouse Sammy sipped a cocktail in a fancy suit. He hadn’t asked why Tawny had had one in her closet that fit him. It was stiff but it felt natural. Tawny’s house was real fancy. Everything was white and there were only a few cigarette burns in the carpet. On the ride here in her real fast car Sammy had figured out that something about her wasn’t normal. She wasn’t a normal woman. “Why do you steal jewels and do crime, “ he asked sipping his martini. 

“I do crime so someday I can escape this bad city and have a family not here.”

“Do you think you’ll live that long?”

“No but I can dream.” Off in the distance a space missile whizbang from the moon landed in the slums. They always seemed to land there but nobody cared even though that was where he lived and all his stuff was and also Thommie and his stuff. In the warm bloom of the kinetic explosion she held his hand lighting a fire bigger than the orphanage a few miles away.

“Me too. I want a house that doesn’t move when you don’t pay the rent and also a dog and maybe a hamster.”

Tawny came close to him. “I also want a house that doesn’t move and also three hamsters and seven rabbits that don’t make a mess on that floor that you get blamed for.”

Sammy had never been connected to a person more than now. “I want to sex you.” Tawny got naked by pulling a string on her dress Sammy picked up a blanket and covered her up. “Tawny, somebody might see. You need to cover yourself so people don’t see your vagina and stuff. Its uncomfortable.”

She wrapped herself eloquently in the blanket and laughed. “Oh, Sammy, you’re too worried about what people think. We are 38 floors up from the ground.”

“I dunno. There might be some guy with binoculars that looks at you naked every Thursday at 3:45 in the morning. Lets go to the bedroom.” He hurried her off away from all the big windows in her condo and went into her room. There were a bunch of cool posters from bands on the walls. She lit a fire in the fireplace then sat in the bed.

“Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“Will you love me forever?”

“Yes unless you’ve got something I want and then need to crime you for.” Then they sexed super hard because Sammy had a huge wiener and didn’t flinch when somebody he didn’t know touched him. When they were done they lay there holding each other in the damp sheets. “That was nice. Are you pregnant now?”

“Maybe. Do you still love me?”

“I think so. Do you think I’m a slut?” He covered his shredded but exposed chest suddenly feeling like a dirty boy, a bad boy of a different and uncomfortable sort; like he had traded his scared but sacred flesh for a momentary flicker of hope. 

“Kinda. You put out on the first date. Its ok though because you said you’d love me forever.”

“Nobody has ever said something that nice to me.” 

She kissed him on the cheek and then the mouth, full tongue. “My family was always not nice and you are the only thing that makes me feel full even if for just right now.”

Sammy choked back tears. Nobody had ever been this human with him. He didn’t trust her but he loved her as hard as he had loved her. She also had all those jewels and also a hot butt. She didn’t even make him feel uncomfortable mostly. “How do we get out of here and make a good life with each other? Can Thomie live in our garage?”

“I thought you didn’t care about anybody, Sammy.”

Sammy thought about it. Did he care about anybody now? Why was he worried about if Thomie had been instantly vaporized in that blast or maybe got a shard of a building in his eyes. “Maybe bad crime boys can have friends too.”

“Just friends, Sammy Haegar?

“Maybe if I can have friends, I can have more.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Tawny cooed. And then they did the sex a whole bunch and it was super cool and hot. 

When Sammy awoke he was naked and alone. Before opening his eyes he checked for any fresh surgical stitching. Nothing. He opened his eyes. He was in the same bed, wrapped in the same crimson satin sheets. Tawny was gone. Sammy got up and went to the kitchen. Tawny had laundered all of his clothes and had laid them out on a chair besides the big table. She’d made all his favorites: off brand cereal, dollar store, “Squeelin’ Steven,” ham steaks, chicken eggs, blood sausage, and cold pizza. Tawny was on a clean white couch drinking a cup of morning whiskey. “How’d you sleep,” Sammy asked. 

“You didn’t let me get much sleep with all of that really impressive sexing,” she said with a wink. “Its not much but I made all my favorite foods for breakfast.

Sammy started putting on his clothes, checking that everything was there. From his boots to his magic gun everything was there. He felt like he was being conned. “This is all very nice. What do you want to do today after we eat this feast?”

“I need to go into the office today. You’re welcome to stay but I can give you a key that lets you come and go.”

“Do you trust me that much? I’m the most dangerous man in this whole mega city.”

“You said you love me. Also, I am pregnant. I did a test. It said I was pregnart. Besides, I know where you live.”

“You know the bridge I live under?”

“I’ve been watching you a long time, Sammy. I know a lot about you.”

“How? Why?” Under the table his hand reached for his gun.

“You’re the best crimesman thats ever been. You’re the only man that I can escape with.”

Sammy rubbed his stubble. “So you just want me so you can get out.”

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Dangerous Crime, Pinball, Women, And Also Sammy Haegar

“No.”

Sammy shifted the minty from one corner of his face to the other. Why did the bad men always have to be so bad? He did it for the thrill and to get a fix but this guy just didn’t have any style about it. Sammy pushed the man down on the cobblestones real hard then shot him a few times, seven times. He picked up his friend with a brotherly clasp. “Look over there.” Here in this blue sky town there was only one place to be and it was the dance hall. Its where all the cool kids hung out and everybody there knew Sammy and Thomie’s faces. Sammy popped his collar. It was time to become the party. They dragged the body into an alley, drank all the rest of the bottles, then decided to go in. Sammy shot the body another seven times, the same number you do when you turn a door knob, then they walked out all drunk as hell and went to go play pinball. 

“You ready to go in?” Sammy asked lighting up another smoke and drinking the last of the bottles.

“Yes. Lets go inside.”

“Ok.”

They went inside the dance hall after Sammy had touched the door handle seven times before opening it. The outside looked like a laundromat but on the inside it was real big and nice and paneled with wood. Big Len Chen the owner of the dancehall was running the bar today. “Hello Sammy, please, I don’t want any big trouble. You promised not to crime me when people are around. You going to be good?”

Sammy thought about it real hard. He wanted to do more crime, needed to do more crime. But not here. He needed more drinks and he had the pinball in his heart. “Big Len Chen, pour the drinks. This steel is hot but if nobody doesn’t give me more trouble I’m liable to keep to your pinball machine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bad Crime Sammy Hagar. I can’t afford another repeat of the last time I still haven’t cleaned all the blood and brown liquor out of the ceiling.”

Sammy made a weird face. He’d forgotten about the last time that he’d come in. That had been no good. “You don’t need to call me that. You can just call me Sammy or Good Boy Sammy Who Picks Up All The Cigarette Butts That Are Making Holes In The Carpet.”

Big Len Chen nodded. “Thank you Mr.  Good Boy Sammy Who Picks Up All The Cigarette Butts That Are Making Holes In The Carpet.”  He passed Sammy a bottle of the stuff. Thomie motioned for a bottle of his own and Len gave him that look you get when you aren’t getting something. Thomie lowered his hand to the bar top. 

Thomie twitched and moved around like he was being cool but he was actually really not happy that he hadn’t been able to get a bottle. “Can I have some of yours, Sammie?”

“No.” Sammie walked over to the Aerosmith 1997 pinball machine and put his silver currency coins in. “The world provides for those who provide with themselves maybe with a brick.”

Thomie thought a moment. “Sammy, can I borrow your gat?”

Sammy passed it over with one hand because he was so good at pinball he could do that. “Careful it has infinite bullets.”

“I know Sammy.” Thomie walked over to the bar and shot a shitload of bullets. It had to be a hundred or maybe even more. He came back and passed the fun back. “I didn’t get any of the sweet stuff. We should maybe go away.”

Sammy holstered his strap. “Guess so. I really like this but I’m still always the best and have all the top scores.” As he turned to leave he noticed a woman at the bar that was looking at him with some kind of something in her eyes. She was beautiful, perfect. She had big blonde hair and looked like the lady in that one Whitesnake music video that was on the hood of the car having a sexy seizure. Her ebony eyes cut deep into his tender heart like the teeth of those dogs cut deep into him under the bridge. His breath caught in his throat. “We can’t go. I need to go talk to whoever that is.”

“But Sammy, that cops are....”

“Thomie, nobody cares about what you have to say and that lady is really nice looking to my eyes and she doesn’t have an anti-sex league sash. I want to have a shot at kissing her face, you nerd.”

“But, her skin makes me cry.” He looked at the woman and drops of sad rained down from his face onto the top of the pinball machine forming into moon shaped pools. 

“Thomie, what’s wrong with you? You gotta stop being such a creepy weirdo. Here,” Sammy gave Thomie the rest of his bottle and the last quarter. “Play some pinball while I go fall in love.”

Sammy walked over to the bar super smooth while lighting another smoke. Thomie’s lots of bullets had really wrecked the place up a lot but it didn’t look like anybody was shot up too bad. He leaned next to her at the bar and said, “It doesn’t look like anybody is shot up too bad.” Len had been shot in the stomach but he still was working the bar. He may have been bleeding but he knew better than to leave Sammy alone with his many expensive bottles. “What’s your name lady? I can buy you a drink if you want.” 

“Tawny, go for it its a free country and you're hot as hell,” She winked at him and nodded real sexily. 

Sammy demanded the best bottle of the good stuff. Len left them the jug and two big glass cups. He poured fast and deep since he didn’t have to pay for a bit. “Want to make out or something? I have a huge dick.”

“Ok.” And then they made out real hard until Thomie broke them up so he could ask for more quarters. Tawny gave him some coins out of her purse that was full of money and bars of gold.

When Thomie went away she kissed him again harder and some more. When they stopped she noticed Sammy looking into her purse. She smiled a wide, white smile. “I’m a bank robber. I’m just here for a drink after my last big dangerous robbery where a stole a bunch of money and some jewels.”

“That's mighty impressive. I’m just a nobody from nowhere who crimes for the love of crime. I’d never thought about doing it for money more than my next fix,” said grumbled into his drink. He’d never met a better crimer than himself and worse still she was a girl. “Maybe I should aim higher.”

“You’re already aiming too high with me but for some reason I like you really a lot and want to sex you at your house.”

“I don’t have a house. I live under a bridge.”

“A man on the road, I like that.”

“Actually, I live under the road.”

“Sometimes we all do. Do you want to get out of here before the cops come?”

“Ok.”

Tawny grabbed him by the long, sandy hair. “Lets go now.”

As he was dragged away Sammy shouted, “Thomie, I’ll see you back under the bridge. Don’t touch my stuff,” then they were off.

Thomie tried to finish his bottle but it was too much. He lost all the quarters then walked over to the bar. “I’m out of quarters. Can I have some beer?”

“Ok but only if you pinky swear to me that you aren’t gonna shoot me again no more.”

“Ok, deal. But you have to promise not to tell the cops it was me when the cops come here.”

“Darn, I was going to do that. Ok.”

“Do you want to be friends?”

Then they pinky promised and Len gave Thomie some quarters and two whole beers. When the cops came he told them it was that some guy named, “Bad Crime,” and the police cops nodded knowingly. 

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Decimatio I

Jackson sat at his desk, stolen motel pen in hand as an ape would; it was wrapped in his fist, point perpendicular to the page. He couldn’t think. The hammering on the other side of the wall was too much. It was so intense that it was jarring his framed Van Halen poster. He tried to focus on THE face but there was too much noise, too much motion to track. The man was so smug, so self assured that the world would fit his needs despite the hurt of being the worlds best rockstar. He could study it all night but it was that time, the time he hated the most, more than when he had to go to the otherside of the mobile home park to do his court mandated visits to his dad. Mom had come back from the anime convention and the trailer needed to rock before any of them could sleep. He sure would like to be playing some pinball at the laundromat with a friend. He’d settle for the friend but he’d always been too odd and had never had enough quarters to go play with the other boys. Really he’d like to be playing pinball. Really, really, he’d like to be anywhere but this godforsaken doublewide on the edge of Mendota, Illinois. He wished he understood why he had to be here. If the library was open all night he wouldn’t have to be. He put his pen on the partially scribbled sheet and screwed up his face in an attempt to block the pungent smell of sage and weed seeping through his vent but it didn’t help.

Going over to the dresser, Jackson dug through his t-shirts. He wished that he had more of the blank ones but all Mandi ever bought him were plastered with Japanese cartoon characters. He’d hidden a half filled pint of whiskey inside a Jojo shirt that he had never worn. Bringing it over to his desk he took his first swig. If he was to be a big writer he had to drink to escape this hell. He was old enough to know his mother was a stripper down at The Glitter Puddle and that he had been an accident. He knew that because his father had made very sure to make him understand the mechanics of how he had come into this world and that his mother was, “A dirty godforsaken weeb whore who ruined both our lives,” during their last visit. He looked at the pint of Canadian whiskey that he’d snagged during that same trip across the park. He knew that the first drink would burn and that every one after would burn a little less. He wasn’t much good at school but he knew he wasn’t dumb. He picked up on little things like that from just watching people. He unscrewed the plastic cap and took a long pull. Jackson’s guts writhed in rebellion but he held it in, kept it down as best he could. 

His mouth felt watery and his stomach still hadn’t settled down when he could finally put the cap back on. He closed it but then thought better of it. After another tiny slug he wielded his pen like a sword. The noise and smell had dimmed a bit. All he could smell or taste were cheap alcohol. It was his breath, it was his brain. He swam the pen to the page. He’d be thirteen tomorrow. He had to make his mark to escape this place. These sheaves of loose-leaf would be his way out. He hid them between his mattress and the frame when he wasn’t writing. He didn’t need his mother seeing or stealing his words. She’d already stolen all the light bulbs and replaced them with LED light strands all over the house; He wouldn’t have it with his way out. He looked at the poster and thought about what the coolest man in the world would do in his boots. Then he touched it seven times then wrote. 

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Don’t Never Do No Dreamin’ Sammy Hagar

Sammy and Thommy walked down the street at a fast pace the sky seemed dirty like a big bird pond full of cigarette filters. Out on the outskirts of town they heard the sound of a big boom. The sky lit up for a second with a bright yellow that stuck down on the ground a few miles away. In the distance they could hear the lamentation of the women. Through the smog choking the nights sky the horizon flickered orange; the city a big candle that your mom buys at the candle store when the Fall discounts rolls out. Thomie turned up his collar to the cold and incoming dust. “Hey, Sammie?”

“Yeah, Tommy.”

“Do you think Eurasia will ever stop sending those big mean wizbangs?”

As long as Sammy had lived they had done so in the fear of an explosive, steel sky.”No.”

“What if  we stopped bombing them?”

“Then they’d just bomb us more, idiot.” He took a big slug of his goof juice then lit up another minty. “Some things in this world are always. They will always bomb us, we will always bomb them, and I will always not care.”

“What about all those dead people?”

“They shouldn’t have been there and they aren’t me. Those people are from five, maybe six blocks away. Besides, the pre-cops are getting better every day at seeing when the boomers are incoming.”

A man in a big red jacket with a big bucket and a red brick came over to them. He clanked the bell all the way so all eyes were on him. “Pardon me, boys. Give me money or I will hit you with this brick. In the face and maybe I’ll put it in your mouth or something. I’ll step on yours shoes too.”

Thomie dug in his pocket out of instinct. “Is this for a charity?”

“No.”

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Of Laways, Of Misery, Of Sammie

The two XYs walked over to the EZ Lotto and Guzzoline to get themselves the previously discussed Wild Scottish Rose. Thomie walked inside to get them some of the best stuff on the lowest shelf of the goofy juice isle but Sammie stayed outside. After all the action of killing another man in cold blood he needed some mint in his lungs. He sat down on the bus bench on the sidewalk in front of the store and lit a minty with his dad’s lighter. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the first drag. There was nothing quite like the first drag of a fresh smokie and that pleasure was only made all the more bigger after a kill. It wasn’t a kind of feeling that he tried to give himself too often because he knew that he had a habit of picking up habits. “A bad junkie man needs to know his limits, sometimes,” he muttered to himself.

He opened his eyes and took another lung full of smoke. Sammie had never really paid attention to the stores across the street from the big EZ. Normally he just got some mouthwash and had it down the hatch before he got here and the walk to get here was always fuzzy since the walk usually came before his first bottle of whatever he was starting the day off with. The block across the street bustled with people. The people all looked so happy and fulfilled. They gave each other smiles and patted each other on the back and lied to each other when they passed people who had babies by saying, “What a nice baby that doesn’t look at all like a wrinkly red potato.” Those were the people that Sammie wanted to be like. They had it all together.

In his head, Sammie reasoned that maybe it was the block they were on that helped make them look so fulfilled and normal. Left to right on that block there was a marble templo to the mighty Jeeb god man, a money store, a store that just said, “The Work Place,” a vidjya gamblog parlor, and a big building on the right corner that had a big, blinky red sign that said, “Suicides on Layaway.” He noticed that that people seemed to go left to right, visiting the stores in the same order that he had looked at them in. The men with their Darby haircuts and the women with their prim, tight bobs looked happy coming out of the Templo of Jeeb and even happier coming out of the money store but when they came out of The Work Place they looked as broken as his parents marriage. They looked downtrodden but there was still a bit of hope shining in the corners of their eyes. The gel in the men’s hair had started to lose its strong hold and a few stray hairs frayed at the edges. By the time they left the gamblog parlor their skin had turned as ashy as the bottom of a minty stub out tray, their bodies were slumped like used hard ons, and the light of Jeeb had left them. Counting the change in their pockets they headed to put some money down on a layaway. After they left without their change they headed back down to the Templo. They kept walking in the same line again and again and again and again until they just didn’t come out of the layaway store again. Sammie didn’t know why but the sight made him feel real bad for all these people.

From beside him there was a thud as Thomie jumped over the back of the bench and landed beside Sammie. He handed Sammy a dusty bottle. “Drink up, Sammie,” he said. “This is the good stuff. It’s vintage. Almost a whole year old.” Thomie cracked the plastic cap on the bottle and clinked it with Sammie’s before taking a big huge swig.

Sammie’s eyes went wide in amazement. A year old? Thomie had really pulled out the stops when he had bought such an old, rare bottle. “Maybe you aren’t so bad, Thomie. Thank you very a lot for such a nice gift. I’ve never had such a fine, rare drink.” Sammie cracked the top of his bottle and also took a big huge swig. Something about the block across the street made his head hurt and his heart felt the same. There was something just wrong about all of it. All those poor people stuck walking slowly in lines from one end of the block all day until they just disappeared. He pulled the nickel bag out of his pocket, balled his fist with the thumb pushing down and away, then tapped some of the sloth dust onto the flat triangle of skin between his fingers and wrist. With a gusty snort he sucked it all up into his nose and leaned back, full of stimulated relaxation, and kissed the bottle again.

“Hey, Sammie?”

“Yeah, Thomie?”

“Do you ever wonder why those people don’t just go straight to the store and put it down on a suicide?”

Sammy screwed up his face a bit. He didn’t think of that until now. “I don’t know Thomie.”  

“I bet they get all kinds of dollars at the money store so why would they go to the Work Place or gamblog parlor before they put some change down on layaway?”

“Those people are a mysterious mystery to guys like us. If they had any sense they would just buy a non-kink garden hose.”

“Them chumps just don’t know how to live. They’re the kinda folks that daydream all day about fake plastic trees while they walk the line. They live lives with no surprises, just sad boring lines that they follow until they finally save up enough to die.”

“Do you think that’s any better than how we live, though, Thomie?”

“What do you mean?”

“We live real rough. I do crimes to get my fixes and you get beat up for your Wild Scot money. How is what we do any different from them. Maybe the path we, the path I walk ends in the same place. Maybe I am just making the path more winding, more bad for me. The only time I’m happy is when I’m doing bad naughty crimes or when I’m so toasty I fall asleep.” Sammie pounded down the rest of his bottle to quiet up his head. His brain was getting real dark real fast. Sammy dug in his pockets. The right pocket had a big hole in it, and the left one only had some lint. He reached into his jacket pocket and came out with a few George Walshington coins. “Maybe I should put down a layaway payment. The non-kink garden hose way didn’t work. Maybe I should have professional do me a solid.”

Instead of responding Thomie let out a girlish wurrrp of a burp that sounded more like a bird chirping than a man’s belch. There was a clinking sound at his side and he pressed another bottle into Sammie’s chest. “We all wanna die but sometimes we gotta use our change to make us happy instead’a saving up for the day we die.” Sammie looked over to see where the bottle had come from and saw that his Thomie had bought a whole case of Wild Scottish Rose. “Hey, Sammie?”

“Yeah, Thomie?”

“I got some quarters too.”

“Wanna come with me to layaway store?”

“Maybe. If that’s what you wanna do I’ll come with but I heard from the nice man behind the bulletproof glass at the EZ that the Korean’s that run the dance hall just bought a new pinball machine. Wanna go use our Walshingtons there?”

   Sammie slammed the bottle in his hands then looked at the three silver coins in his palm. “Ok, Thomie, lets go.”

   Thomie picked up his treasure chest of sweet, sweet non-organic wine in plastic bottles and offered his hand to Sammie. Sammie took his hand and Thomie used all of his girlish strength to help heave Sammie up onto his boots and off they went and not another word was said about layaways or Jeeb. Who had any use for them when there was Korean pinball to be had?

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Bad Sammie Saves The Day Today But Still Feels Like Bad Crime Man

It was moments like this that Sammie was glad that he had a shooter with an unlimited number of bullets. With his collar popped Sammy followed the cries of the woman down the alley. She sounded like she had limp, lily white wrists that made doing anything more labor intensive than lifting a pumpkin spice late to her lips a big huge task that she was sure to complain about. Sammie didn’t understand why but her voice filled him with a hollow ennui that could only be settled with lots of malted brew sodas and a few car keys full of slothdust and maybe other skinny women with pixie haircuts with bad taste in music. Sammie didn’t like it. He liked voices that made him think of warm summer days and real fast autocars; especially the ones that were red and went extra real fast, the ones that couldn’t go slower than 54.

Sammy rounded the corner of the three way junction that separated the alley. His shooter was extended in front of him as he sped into the scene of somebody else’s crime. Sammie stopped and tried to find the screaming woman. The only people here were Thomie Yorke, who was on the ground crying, and Thinny Lizzo standing over him with a mean looking tire iron in his huge hands. Sammie shook his gun around because he was asking the questions here now. “Listen to me now! I’m asking the questions here now! What is going on here? Where is the lady who was making screams like a hairless Siamese left outside on a nippy fall morning?” He waved his gun at them then blasted thirty and then seven bullets in the air so they got how serious he was about being the one asking the questions now.

Thinny Lizzo dropped the pipe and it clattered on the ground. Skinny Lizzo raised his hands and said, “I’m robbing Thomie Yorke because he has money for spray paint. I like to huff spray paint so I’m robbing him for money to buy some. The silver is my favorite flavor. If you aim that bullet shooter at Thomie I’ll give you half of what I, Thinny Lizzo, find in Thomie’s pockets. He’s loaded!”

Sweat beaded on Sammie’s forehead. Sammy liked to make crimes and he hated Thomie but something in him robbing Thomie wouldn’t be very righteous. Just because Sammie hated every grain of salt that made up his fallow soul and extra hated every action of his corrupted hands it didn’t mean that he always had  to be bad. He was getting itchy but Ronnie had given him a nickle of black tar slothdust so he didn’t need to do more bad to get more. For the first time in a long time Sammie did what he knew was good. He shifted the irons of his shooter at Thinny Lizzo’s center mass. Sammy pulled the trigger and infinite bullets times infinite bullets hit Lizzo square in the chest, burrowing away at his flesh until they streamed out the other side of his body. Sammie kept the trigger pulled and as Thinny Lizzo fell the ruined corpse was divided in a wide line from the sternum up. When Sammie was sure that Lizzo was stomped into the soundtrack he stopped pulling the trigger. He blew a breath at the smoke that came out of the red hot barrel. It looked real extra cool. 

Sammie walked over to Thomie and gave him a kick in the kidney to get his attention. Thomie cowered a bit more so Sammie gave him a few more kicks while shouting, “I saved you.” Sammie stopped kicking him when he rolled over with a real good face full of surprised happiness at being alive.

Thomie propped himself up on his hands and raised his kicked up torso. “You saved me, Sammie! You did real good. Why did you do a good thing like this?”

Sammie shrugged. “Because I have all the good stuff I need right now and I thought you were a little girl when you were screaming.”

Thomie laughed and said, “I do scream like a little, weak wristed, self involved girl who puts out music as deep as a small puddle.”

Sammie looked left and saw the two of them reflected in a moon shaped pool of Thinny Lizzo’s blood and chest juices. “This is gross so I’m going to leave. I want to go do some of this slothdust under a bridge and think moody, sad thoughts about how bad my life is and stuff.” Without another sentence of words Sammie walked away from the pee, sweat, and blood stuff soaked Thomie Yorke. Thomie was safe now so Sammie could go about his day.

He got a few feet away when Thomie squished up to him in a spring. “Don’t leave me alone Sammie Haegar! I’ll trade you Wild Scottish Rose non-organic wine from the booze store if you will protect me from other rough bullies. You won’t even notice that I’m here. I’ll be quite like a mouse burglarizing a judge’s mansion.”

“No,” Sammie said. “I work best alone. I don’t want to let you down like I let down my mom and dad.” He tilted his head to the sky and shouted real loud, “I’m so troubled!”

“But, Sammy, my parent’s are getting divorced and I don’t want to go home to them and all the girls at the mouthwash store try to steal my breath when I go there. Please! Let me pay you in Wild Scottish Rose and minty smokies to be my protector because I’m so weak and helpless. I couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper bag with scissors.”

Sammy mulled it over in his head. It was much harder to mope and think bad thoughts about his existence when there were other people around. That was a plus and a minus. Sammies head hurt. He’d need to do a little bit of slothdust so that he could think this over clearly and the best chaser for the nose-into-throat drainage that the gritty slothdust caused was Wild Scottish Rose. “Fine, but stay out of my way and don’t try to stop me from killing myself if I want to.”

Thomie fell into step a few steps behind him. “Okay, Sammy. Thank you for not shooting me up and protecting me real strong.”

Sammie popped his collar up even more. “I  saved you because I didn’t need a fix and because I’m the only one in this town allowed to be doing crimes now.” Sammie wasn’t sure if he believed himself but the short, stuttering syllables felt right in his mouth; whatever they meant.

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Home and Hearth and Sammy And Also Thom

Sammy reached inside the inside jacket pocket on the left inside of his jacket. He hoped that maybe whoever had left this fine ass garment had also left him some minty smokie snacks. Sammy loved minty smokie snacks because they made his inside breather sacs feel nice and clean unlike Sammy’s past. Sammy was in luck as his probing fingers clutched upon a rectangular sweetness that his tooths and breathers craved. Sammy swore that it hadn’t been inside his pocket when he left Ronnie’s house but that’s where he had found them. He peeled the cellophane wrapper like the peel of a big delicious, green banana with all the skill of a very skilled monkey and licked his lips. He counted a precise number of cigarettes in the pack and flipped the last one upside down. As a spiritually aware person Sammy knew that if you didn’t flip the unlucky your fate would be sealed real bad. The unlucky cigarette watched all the others go up in smoke and bore witness to the horror before meeting the same fate. To not flip that silent peeper would open you up to having God smoke all your friends while you watched. He wasn’t dumb. You flip the unlucky cigarette and wipe the blood of a lamb over your door on Passover too stop the naughty kill man from taking your first baby that came out of your wife. 

Popping a minty smokie treat in his mouth Sammy thought about how nice it would be to light this with the special metal lighter with the cross, that had equal measurements from it’s center, that he had sold to Ronnie last month for a teenth of rock candy. Reflexively, the kind of thing you do without thinking about it, Sammy reached inside the inside jacket pocket. There, again, his finger’s found more rectangle. Sammy pulled his hand from the inside of the pocket with all the speed of somebody pulling their hand back from something gross. Inside his palm there it was. He blinked his eyes a few time to make sure they weren’t being mean tricksters. It was his special lighter that his dad had given to him on the fourth of July to light the bottle rockets dad put in all his empty dad juice bottles. Sammy must have lit of two or three packs of the big, loud boomers that his dad got from Uncle Bobbie at the Chinese restaurant. 

A particularly stiff wind blew down his back over the collar of his sweet, sweet cool looking jacket. He flipped the collar up to stop that because he didn’t like it. Without thinking anymore about how his special lighter had gotten here Sammy lit his minty and hit the pavement while thinking about that fourth of July. When dad had been awake all his attention had been on him. Well, it had been on Sammy and the Gutierrez family next door. Dad had been a good man, always looking out for his family. After ten or twelve bottle rockets he had told Sammy that he never take his eye off, “Those People.” Dad never had cottoned to people from Hockey Land up North. It had been the only thing that his dad had ever wanted to teach him.By the time Sammy was on the second pack of bottle stick boomers dad had been on his second pack of minties. He remembered it in his brain screen like it was yesterday. Dad came up and put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder. He spit out the horseshoe in his lower lip and smiled at Sammy. His teeth were yellow-orange, the same color as his sissies when all he had to drink all day were 40 oz glugs of vodka and lemonade, and there were grains of the loose brown leaves in his teeth but it was the first time he had seen it. Dad kneeled down on one knee beside me and finished his bottle then handed it to me. “There you go boy. Aim it at those goddurm maple leaf’d northern invaders house. Show ‘um how we do.”

Dad’s breath smelled of sickly copper pennies like normal but for the first time he wanted to be a dad real good to him. Sammy knew he needed to do him real proud so he placed the biggest boomer they had in the bottle. Sammy would have to hold onto it to aim it sideways. Dad stepped back as the spark string leading to the body of the boomer threw fire chips. When it reached the body nothing happened. Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a shower of spark chips to bloom from the bottom of the boomer. When his hand wasn’t warmed with heat he opened his eyes. For a second the boomer smoked and then, before he could think fast enough to figure out what was happening, the boomer exploded in his hand. There was smoke and the smell of mean bad eggs and Sammy was on the ground and Sammy looked at his hand and it was red and gushy and there was a lot of smoke and Sammy felt pieces of the bottle in his shirt and his shirt was red and wet and his dad was looking down at him and shaking his head and his ears were ringing. When Sammy could hear a little bit he asked, through his soot blackened lip flappers, “Did I do it? Did I teach those dirty Nova Scotians, diddy?”

Sammy’s dad shook his head and flicked his cigarette butt into Sammy’s dry left eye. “No, you didn’t. You screwed it up real bad like you always do. I knew you were your mother’s son.” Without another word Sammy’s dad walked into their doublewide setting all of his mother’s hundreds of wind chimes chiming like a thousand disparate piano keys; all playing in time to a nameless, wordless tinkling soundtrack to his sorrowful life. The tin tube piano key’s danced a upbeat fugue. Sammy didn’t care though. Sure his skin hurt but that was the cost of having good times with dad and dad had left him something. Clutched on the inside of Sammy’s really badly burned hand was his dad’s special lighter with the cross engraving where the measurements were all the same from the center. Later that night dad would ask him where the lighter was and Sammy fibbed a big one. he told dad that it had fallen in the open sewer hole in the street when he had exploded hiself. To show his disappointment in his favorite boy, who he had just spent a good time with, he gave Sammy a light beating with the oversized Manster Energy Brew belt buckle on his belt. It was worth it though because when dad fell asleep halfway through the beating Sammy went to his room. Under the bed in a small cigarette tin Sammy hid the lighter among his most special thing. There was, of course, the lighter, five shotgun shells, six of his Uncle Michael’s teeth from the fight at Christmas two years ago about who got grandma’s house, a small, wooden Jesus cross that he did secret night prayers at, and the bones of a Rat that he pretended had flesh so it could be his pet. Sammy loved that lighter and he had sold it all for a hit of that dirty, cheap rock candy.

Off in the distance Sammy could hear a tiny, girlish scream down a real dark alley. Sammy moved the minty from one pocket of his mouth to the other in a deep think. Somebody was doing crime in this town and it wasn’t him. Sammy pulled out his pistol, the one with infinite bullets, and headed inside the smelly, dark alley that was full of danger! The danger in the alley, now, though, was Sammy! And his bullet shooter!

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Badder Crimes,Cooler Clothes

Walking into the house Sammy saw that the normally clean living room was full of potted plants that looked like maple leaves with too many leaves. “What are those, Ronnie,” asked Sammy.

“Don’t worry about it Sammy. You couldn’t handle smoking leaves. You need to stick to safe drugs like go-fast powder and brain icer.”

“What about the sweet, sweet vein drugs?”

Ronnie laughed like Sammy was a big dummy. “Sammy, those are the safest. It’s just a better version of the candy doctors give you just more direct.”

Sammy slapped his forehead. Of course! What a dummy numbskull he was!! “This is what I’m just a bad crime boy and you are the good man who gives me all the sweet drugs that I crave in my body. Now can I have my brain icer? My body hurts real fierce from all the dogs and circumcision.”

“It’s ok, Sammy. I know how that feels. Dogs sure are mean.” Ronnie slid a big cool poster of Hulk Heegan at his biggest and strongest like he was on that vhs tape Sammy had found in his dad’s sock drawer that had the naked dads wrestling on it on the second half. “Hulk Heegan sure was strong in that match against the big giant man,” said Ronnie as he opened the metal safe box in the wall behind the poster.

“He sure was.” Sammy locked his lips in anticipation. One whole human kidney sure would get him lots of what he wanted.

Inside the safe were wonders that Sammy could have never dreamed of. There were the big plastic baggies of all the good, good drugs that anybody could rub into their eyeballs but there was other neat stuff too. There were Neintendo games like from when he had been a little scamp and his parents were still together, a pile of magazines with naked ladies looking uncomfortable in hat bales, a holographic Agumon card, and a few glow sticks with funny looking yellow and black symbols on them. Ronnie sure had a bunch of neat fun stuff for all the hard work he did. Pulling out a bag of green brain icer powder he made Sammy three big, fat lines. “There you go, Sammy. Don’t go spending it all in one place.”

Sammy didn’t listen. All he cared about was crimes and drugs! He snorted all of it before Ronnie could stop him. He jerked back on the couch as though he had put a pronged food poker in the bread toaster. His head hit the wall with a thump but he didn’t care. His nose burned worse than it did when he put pixie sticks up there and his brain had a real mean freeze on. It was worse than that time he drank one of the biggest freezie slurpos. His skull felt like it was Christmas time inside it. “I do what I want! Nobody cares to love me!”

Ronnie shook his head. “You’re right nobody loves you but I don’t want you having a take-too-much-drugs conniption fit on my couch. What would the neighbors think? What would my parents think?”

Sammy knew he was right. He had no place in this safe, happy, normal home. “I hope that kidney is your size.” He struggled to his feet and headed for the door. Sammy got what he wanted but he knew that it was best if he kept moving. He didn’t want Ronnie to start hating him and divorce him from selling Sammy drugs. “Goodbye,” Sammy said waving goodbye at the door.

Ronnie smiled. “Come back when you have more money but not before.”

As Sammy left into the cold, fall daylight he smiled. Why was Ronnie always so nice to him?

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Wake Up And Get A Bad Ouch

The pain. It hurt so bad. Much worse than when he had gone to sleep. It seemed as though Sammy had been awake but in a real big, white room. Only tiny minutes felt like they had passed since he had gone onto Doctor Phil’s table. The white rooms walls began to soften and give way to the normal minutes world. Directly in front of his eyes was his side. It had a mean looking, long, red ouch that had been stitched up with between the teeth string. Sammy blinked a few time and he finally understood what he was looking at. Uncontrollably, the words came before the light bulb that helped him understand went on in his brain. “Oh no. doctor Phil stole my kidney again.” He looked down at his private pants region. “And he took a little bit more of my foreskin! What a bad man!”

When he could move his head he could see that he was in a big wash tub. It was full of water that might have been cold cubes at some point but now it was just a red colored soup His head hurt. It had been hours since he had taken a 40 oz of medicine or smoked himself a flavor stick. Beyond his tub he recognized his surroundings. It was the big lot behind John’s old store. For some reason it made him think of all the times that John had played catchball with him when his dad was on a three day bender. To left the store and to his right were a whole bunch of big, metal shipping boxes. Thinking quick with his biggest smarts he realized that there might be something that could help him out of this situation. 

Naked, like that guy from the killer robot movie at the beginning where he gets out of the portal from the time future that’s full of robots that want to kill all the people, he got unsteadily to his feet. Beside the aluminum tub there was a big mean looking rock. He picked it up and walked around the containers. He wasn’t sure which would do him the most good if he crimed into it with the rock until he saw one that said, “Real Good Stuff: Don’t Crime This Or Else We Will Call Your Parents!!!!”  Luckily, Sammy didn’t know how to read so he was safe from the fear of them calling his parents. It wouldn't have mattered anyway because they were divorced and didn’t love him which he knew because they wouldn’t buy him a hamster. With one big smack of his crime rock Sammy smashed the lock of the container’s door.

With a big heave he pulled it open to reveal it’s secret, hidden, unseen treasure. Inside Sammy found all the neat things he could ever want. There were boxes full of candy corn candies, a box full of neat clothes that had were made of cool black leather that made him look like the coolest kid at his school (much cooler than Billy Jacobson), and even a real mean looking six shooter bullet gun with unlimited ammo. As he was walking out he tripped on a box. Felling real angry at it he shot a few bullets into it then kicked it. It went flying and when it hit the wall it exploded! The stuff inside went all over but the thing that caught Sammies attention was a kidney in a bag. How lucky could one boy be! He picked it up and started running with all the strength he had.

The leather clothes squeaked as he ran and it chaffed his thighs real seriously rough. He needed to get this kidney to a man who could do something with it for him. After a while he had to walk because all the running made his side hurt not very good. It took him a while but he eventually got where he needed to be. His palms sweated in apprehension. This man had what he needed to make him whole with this. He knocked on the door with the last of his strength. There was a shadow at the peep hole and it opened up. It was the expensive drug man, Ronnie. “What do you want Sammy? You know you don’t have any money for any of my nice stuff.”

“But I do!”

“You’re a liar, Sammy!” Ronnie was getting real red in the face and he started yelling at Sammy as hard as parent’s do when you forget to feed the dog for two weeks even though Sarah said that she would before she went to school that one day. “If you don’t get off my porch with those lies I’m going to maybe do something bad and mean and hurting to you!” Sammy held out the kidney in a bag. “Is that a kidney?”

“It is.  Can I maybe please get some brain icer powder for this?”

Ronnie stepped aside to let him in. “Alright, Sammy. I will give you what you want. You are lucky that Doctor Phil stole one of mine and I need to put it back.”

Sammy walked in and took off his shoes to be respectful and not track mud. “Me too. He did that to me twice. If he does it one more time I’ll be in real trouble!”

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Bad Hurt, Said Sammy

When he came to the next day his Sammys skin hurt bad, real bad. And some of it was missing. Struggling to his feet Sammy walked down to the edge of a reflective, stagnant puddle. In it’s reflection he could see that the dogs had done him bad in the face. An ear was missing, and part of his cheek had been nibbled.He assumed that his tender, quivering flesh had been a nice snack for them since he was missing so much of it. His belly rumbled. He hadn’t eaten in a big long time and the slab of meat he had hung up above was being swarmed with flies. Not wanting to get caught in a maggot rain he walked away from his only source of food. As he walked down the road, kicking a can as worthless as himself he thought about how he had gotten here. He wished life hadn’t turned out this way. Maybe if his parents hadn’t found that hamster that he had smashed with a brick under my bed they wouldn’t have slept with their assistants and they would all be one big happy. But that wasnt the world he lived in. As he walked he realized he was making a big mess with all the blood he was leaking. To the uncaring world he shouted, “IT HURTS ME REAL NOT GOOD!  I DONT LIKE THIS AT ALL!!!”

At the intersection Sammy weighed his options. He needed a big adults help or all this blood loss would do him not much good. There was only one thing to do...A CRIME! A big one! Sammy limped over to a store window. In big yellow letters it read, “Bullet Guns! Come get one now to save your children from the russians and emigrants that took my dads job!” Sammy punched straight into the glass. It shattered in a thousand droplets of shining crystalline shards, each reflecting like a diamond under showroom lights. “Now I have a weapon to get fixed up real solid.” Passing on a long blaster gun he grabbed a real mean looking shard of the glass. It made his hands bleed but all he could feel was the rush of crime. He didn’t like that he liked to hurt himself or other people but it had just been happening more and more since his parent’s divorce. If they could see him now they would know just how bad that had done him!

He went down the street leaking even more ketchup to Doctor Phil’s. When Sammy kicked in the door Doctor Phil was writing down doctor things on a big paper roll. He had medicine shots in a bandoleer around his belt. Doctor Phil normally would be able to beat him up real bad but this time Sammy was ready for him so he couldn’t cut off any more of his foreskin, the mean man. He put the jagged glass up to Doctor Phil’s spine. “Listen here Phillip. I need you to fix what these dogs that bit me under the bridge after I tried to hang myself  did to me. Also drugs! Gimme the ones that make me sleep that dad takes when playing with his bullet gun with a bottle of whiskey. I want them in my stomach to take away my pains.”

 Doctor Phillip looking sad nodded. He’d seen Sammy like this before but never this bad. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. What a bad boy Sammy had become. He had always been a good boy that played Suikoden and drank brown fizzy water that made him fat. Now he was all mess up and messed up bad at that. He put the needle in Sammys vein after giving him some round no pain pills. Just like the brown stuff it made him drowsy just like the sweet sweet china white he loved so much. Maybe it was the blood loss or the good drugs running in his veins like a thousand white Appaloosas upon the great plains but for once he couldn’t remember that he couldn’t forgive himself. It was a good feeling even if Doctor Phil was rubbing his hands and licking his lips as he faded into the darkness. It developed him like his parents arms used too. 

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

birth-day newps, birth-day dog meat, birth-day crimes!!!

Sammy woke up. He felt like he had been drinking his dad’s special orange juice all morning and his eyes burned like his mom’s hair when she fell asleep with a cigarette in her mouth on christmas last year. Looking down at the puncture booboos all over his arms Sammy let out an all too common sigh. The slow-down needle he had put in hadn’t been cut with fentinyl.. He, sadly, was alive another day. All he wanted was the brain ouch to go away. Sammy threw up on his pants then brought down the dog carcass he had hung from the girders of the rusted bridge. He knew if hadn’t put it up there the mongrels would have eaten their brother. Family often did that.

Walking through the forest beside the bridge Sammy sadly made his way to the EZ Lotto N’ Gas as he did every morning. He had liked John’s store more but now that he had done him dead there was no going back. Sammy walked past the cashier and into the bathroom, He copped a squat over the porciline and unleashed soupy, green-yellow loose poops. In the sink using pumps of foam soap he washed his big boy parts and butthole. When he was nice and clean he dried off by bending over under the hand dryer. As he enjoyed the warming sensation he couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that today was an especially bad day. Looking in the mirror he saw that his eyes were more sunken in than a spanish galleon in the caribean. His face wasn’t his own but he knew whoevers it was they didn’t deserve love. Sammy was a hagard hagar.  

Walking out feeling fresh Sammy grabbed a big ol’ beer and a bigger bottle of mouthwash; the tropical one, the one that went down the easiest. The total came out to $3.69 and Sammy dumped out a big plastic baggie of change. He felt shame that this was the only way he could pay for his addiction to the sweet green goddess. The man gave a disapproving click of xeres tongue. The man handed him his bag after he counted out thirty pieces of silver. “Don’t drink that on our curb. Only good boys can drink beer and mouthwash out there.” With a tear in his eye Sammy went outside and saw Thom Yorke drinking a bottle of the premo shit surrounded by girls. He had the mouthwash without the chemical that gave rats a mutation that grew exploding tumors. Sammy cried a bit more. Why couldn’t he be a good fun boy like Thom? Sammy bet that his parents were still together. Pretty and happy the bungnut.

Thom waved. “How’s it going, Sammy? What a nice day. Happy birth-day.” He pulled out a pack of Newps and handed him a cracked cigarette. 

Sammy Hagar took the cigarette with more tears in his eyes. It was more than anybody had ever given him for a birth-day. Why couldn’t he be as nice as Thom or as happy? In a sudden rush of sadness he ran back to his bridge. Using a non-kink garden hose, Sammy tied a noose hung from the girders. He gabbed the stool he used for sitting and stepped into the death knot. This was it. All he wanted was to make it end. He looked at the recipt in his pocket. The date was familliar. This was his birth-day. The only reason he had found out that it was the day his mother stopped loving him was because he was buying mouthwash to drown his sorrow, his self disgust. He kicked out the stool and struggled a bit. His body jerked like a St. Vitus fish on dry land. Just as he blacked out the knot he had secured the noose with gave way. He had been saved by yet another of his fuckups. His eyes grew heavy as his body gave out. Just before he passed into sleep he heard the growls of the ferals coming to avenge his breakfast. Happy birth-day they said with their sharp, sharp teeths.

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Sad, Bad Sammy

Sammy did a line of go-fast powder off the back of a time weathered photo. The white grains stung the inside of his nose like drunk bees. When it stopped hurting he put the photo in his pocket then went back to turning the rotisserie he'd spitted a large rat on. As it cooked it sizzled reminding him of John. Sammy missed John but he missed his old life more. After his mom and dad got divorced he'd needed to do more and more and more bad crimes to stay alive on the streets. When the rat had finished reheating Sammy took it further down under the bridge. The dogs he passed looked at him with feral hunger. Sammy had woke up a few nights ago to all the strays circling him while licking their chops. They weren't good dogs like the one he had had back when mom and dad still loved him, back before dad loved his secretary. With his back against a concrete pillar Sammy Hagar ripped into the charred rats flesh. He had stolen the rat off an old woman's window sill while it cooled. The parts that weren't gristle reminded him of his mother's cooking back before she had started sexing the Gardner. He wiped his greasy hands on his pants then threw the bones to the dogs. Sammy pulled the picture out of his pocket again. It was him and his friend Murry dressed for Halloween as the loud danger rock music band Van Hellen. That had been a good day. They had gone trick or treating and had only found one razor in their candy. The back of the photo read, "Good Boys for life who will never do bad crimes to nice people, especially old ladies, when their parents get divorced because their son wasn't good enough." How wrong he had been when he wrote that. Suddenly he felt something hit him from behind. When he turned he saw it was the biggest of the dogs. It looked real mean at him then lunged for his throat. Luckily, because of the go-fast he caught it midair by the jaws. Even though he knew the dog couldn't hurt him now Sammy Hagar just wanted to see it hurt. He pulled with all his might and ripped it's lower jaw off. Out gushed warm, metallic blood all over him. He dropped the carcass and let out a single sigh. Tomorrow was his birthday and this was how it would be celebrated. At least he now had a full meal to go with the go-fast. Somehow that just made him sadder

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Bad Crimes, Again

“Give me all the abortions you have back there,” said Sammy Hagar. He waved his bullet gun threatening violence with this crime! His skimask clung to the damp skin around his goatee. Sammy didn’t want to do this but this was the only way he could get more black tar.

“Please, Sammy, don’t be bad like your dad. You don’t need these abortions. Don’t bad crime us! The moms who don’t wanna be anymore need them more than you!”

“Don’t tell me what to do or what I want. I have the gun so give them to me because I want them!” Sammy didn’t care about the moms all he cared about were powdered drugs he could rub into his gums.

“Alright.”

“Put them in this bag right here. Give me all the abortions!” The nurse put all the abortions behind the counter in the bag. “Good, now go away so I can run away to my hideout! Don’t make me get crazy.” The nurse woman knew this wasn’t the day to be a hero. All she wanted to do was see her kids again. If it meant keeping her life she wasn’t going to get between bad Crimes Sammy and the drugs he craved. She walked into the backroom of the abortion store where it was safe. Sammy got on his mean motorcycle outside and roared past the policemen that were on their way to stop him. Cutting through an alley that the police cruisers couldn’t fit through Sammy gunned it out of town.

Once he got outside of town he took off his mask as he flew down the desolate forest paths. Out here nobody could tell on him to the police so he didn’t need it anymore. The wind blew his hair back in a golden halo. He shook his head to himself. “How could you do this Sammy Hagar? How could you steal from all the moms?” The fall was here now so the trees had begun their seasonal change into their red-orange. He used to love this time of year. Now, after his parent’s divorce, all Sammy loved was bad crime and drugs. After a few miles he came to a dirt road. At its end, where he always was, the drugs man waited.

With eyes low to the ground he handed the drug man what he’d taken from the sad nurse. The drug man looked over what he had to trade. “Sammy, you did bad crime for these?”

“I did the bad crimes for drugs. Give me some, give me some right now!”

“Okay, Sammy Hagar, I will give you drugs. Do you want to rub it into your gums or to put it between your toes?”

“Both, give me all the drugs so I can forget all the crimes I do. My dad is in jail so I need to be the big man!”

“Okay, Sammy.” The drug man gave him as much scag as he could for his bag of stolen abortions. “Good, this is the drugs I wanted,” He took his heroin under the bridge that was his new house. The feral dogs that lived there came up to him looking for love but the only thing he gave them was a taste of his boot. These dogs were his only friends but he knew the day he fell asleep the hounds would eat his tender flesh. He sat down on his sleeping roll and looked at the brown Indonesian junk powder he loved so much. He tied off and spiked up with his favorite needle. As the sweet sleep of the junk rolled in a tear rolled out of his eyes. Sammy wished he could stop doing bad crimes but more than that Sammy wished he could love himself. God had forgotten him in this gutter just like the radio. Where was home when you are just a Bad Crime Sammy Hagar looking for crime?

[sammyhagarcrimeboy]

Bad Times, Bad Crimes, Bad Sammy

“Please don’t crime me I’m an urban statistic,” said John the liquor store owner. “You’ve known me all your life, Sammy!”

“I don’t care about you or your kids! I’m Bad Crimes Sammy Hagar so you need to give me your money for drugs that I can take with my face nose.”

“No, Sammy, you were a good boy who never bothered anybody.”

“I don’t care!  Now I’m a bad crime boy.”

The liquor store owner handed over the few dollars in the cash register. He’d scrimped and saved all week so his daughter could have a nice dress for the big nice summer dance. All the penny pinching didn’t do him anything in the face of Bad Crimes Sammy Hagar. When Bad Crimes Sammy needed a fix of the stuff he had been known to stick up the other store owners. He remembered Sammy Hagar as a bright young boy. He’d always been studious in school and had always kept the Sabbath sacred. Of all the boys in the neighborhood John would have suspected Sammy Hagar to be the last to try bad drugs. Ever since his parent’s had split up  he’d been acting like a real bad boy. He’d been staying out late, listening to the danger guitar music, and smoking cigarettes with his lungs.” “Alright, Sammy. Now that you’ve had your crime please leave me alone.”

“I can’t leave you alone, John. Now that I’m doing crimes I can’t have you telling people I took your money for face drugs. John you were like a dad to me but I need to kill you.”

“Please, Sammy, you don’t need to follow in your dad’s path of bad crimes!”

“I don’t need my dad to do bad crimes, John.” Sammy pulled the trigger of his bullet gun. The back of John’s head erupted like an overripe watermelon onto the small racks of pints and half pints behind him. He felt something unholy twinge in his underwear. Looking over the man he had once thought of as a father dad when his was behind bars Sammy didn’t want to think about how bad this was. If the police found out he’d be with his real dad. “I need to burn you now so that the CSI cops don’t get me.  As the sweet, sickly smell of long pig filled his nose Sammy couldn’t the remember the last time he’d felt like a good boy. The kiss of the sun no longer felt soft on his skin. He’d been doing crime to fund his addiction drugs so long, too long to get out. It was all he knew. Still, he didn’t want to do bad crimes. “I’m sorry I did you bad, John.”

He took the money down to the expensive drugs man and bought the sweet, sweet crystal drugs his mean little heart desired. As the needle entered his vein, Sammy sobbed to himself. “I don’t want to do bad crimes any more.” He knew it was a lie but he wanted to believe for a minute that he, Sammy Hagar, could be a good boy again.