The Burnsfield Project

Chapter 2

It's one in the morning, sitting on the side of the road.  The rain is gently coating the windshield just enough so you are stuck between the 1 speed and 2 speed settings on the wiper activation switch as you drive.  I hate that shit.  Seriously, the tediousness of the world drives my mind loony.  You would think that car companies would realize the inconvenience this causes to its drivers and fix that shit.  Just give me a 1.5 speed selection on the wiper switch.  The blades either rhythmically dry hump across my windshield because they are going too fast or it gets to the point that I can see because they are going too slow.

The street is damp, the oil and grease from every damn beat up piece of shit car that drives down it covering the asphalt.  The rain pulls the grime to the surface and lets it fester in the open for the entire world to see.  Shit, I wish it was blood, my blood, filling the street so I could just drop off the face of the earth.  Next psychiatric appointment needs to hurry the fuckup.  Maybe I'll just double every dose until it eventually causes my body's muscles to convulse and form a fucked up cramp on my face leaving me with a permanent smile, showing the world that happiness is achievable.

The lights from our unmarked crown vic are glaring through the rain to the back bumper of a careless speeder but not as brightly as like they should be, fucking muck built up on them from months of neglect by the station's mechanic.  A red Mustang, I used to have one of those.  Used to think I was actually a badass too because of that but in reality, I was just another dude wasting oxygen that meaningful people needed to survive.

"Yes.  We got a tail light out too.  Double ticket time!" I exclaimed with sincerity in my voice.  I really did get excited over anything that broke the mold I was used to.  One time, I got a triple ticket on one stop for one car!  No shit, tail light out, Inspection out of date and reckless driving.  Officer of the week was mine that week.  Holding my little girly hand out, expecting some sort of congratulations, waiting for my dickhead partner to slap it, instead.

BURRRRMMMMPPPPPPPPP!

"Damnit, I almost shit my pants! God damnit…uhhhh…big fucking deal, get out there and hurry the fuck up, I gotta shit but in a toilet not my pants fuck-fuck."

Ahh, my partner, Johnny Walker or J-Walk as they called him.  This guy is the definition of cock breath.  Everyone around the station loves this dude.  But they don't see him how I see him.  We patrol together all night 5-6 days a week and this fat fuck doesn't do shit…except shit.  One time, I was in a real struggle with two dudes, one going for my gun and the other going for my throat with a Kershaw.  Miraculously, my training kicked in and they both ended up on the ground.  John was busy tuggin' at his little pecker, teasing the hooker we just picked up for solicitation.

This guy dressed like he was homeless and he smelled like it too; actually, that may be slightly flattering to homeless people.  Fucking dude didn't know where deodorant was supposed to be smeared on his body.  Probably didn't even know what cologne was.  He meets every stereotype of a police officer, coffee, donuts, cigarettes, and fat gut, all of it.

"Really John??  I think you just shit your pants, so you should be okay for a while." Stepping out of the car to perform my initial interview with the suspect, I discretely crack my window to attempt to alleviate the stench that oozed from his fat ass.

"Hurry up, Buckwheat!  I'm serious! I've got the turtlehead of all turtleheads poking out. And it's WET!" John didn't even bother to get out of the car to announce his urgent sloppy bowl movement just cracked the window (to my delight) and shouted it out with a mouth full of double glazed donut. 

It wasn't that hot outside and the humidity was low but damn I was still cranky as shit.  It's barely raining, impeding my sight enough to make it uncomfortable and I'm walking up to a window that could contain a trained killer or a skinhead that hates cops.  This is the life.  How much I loathe thee.

"Good Evening Si….eeerrrr…ma'am, sorry.  License and Registration please.  Do you know why I stopped you?"  Seriously thought this was a man; it was all I could do not to laugh.  This motherfucker had to be packing an 8" cock between its legs and that thing was about to spring the fuck out of those raggedy jorts (blue jeans cut to shorts) and I was going to be forced to suck that shit.  This bitch was HUGE!

I'm not listening to the answer to my question; no one ever knows why they've been chosen to have the blue light special placed upon their very existence or at least they pretend to not know.  I'm focused on the hands, reaching and digging through piles of trash and compartments, all of which could contain a deadly weapon or some crack or something of adrenaline filled excitement.

No such luck, "Damn…" Mumbling to myself.

"Excuse me, Officer?"

"Nothing Sir…damn it, Ma'am."  Jesus Christ all mighty, Making amistake is one thing but executing the exact same mistake in that short of timeframe was borderline commendable.  That dyke bitch heard me exclaim my displeasure when she didn't try to kill me.  Her voice is deep.  Her hands are bigger than mine, big and cracked and filthy, definitely the man in the relationship.

If this chick doesn't have a dick, she straps on a fake cock and pounds the fuck out of the other one; a big, flamboyant, veiny motherfucker with internal juices that simulate ejaculating.  What a fucking joke.

Taking her/his/its license, I examine it during my walk back the cruiser, all the while, still thinking about that strap-on cock.  My face must have had cock written all over it because that was the first thing out of John's fat fucking mouth.

"What the fuck, Buckwheat, you look like you just saw a fucking gigantic cock or something." His beard was full of donut crumbs and probably some of his own ejaculate.

"You would know, wouldn't you John?" I mentally high five myself after that one.

Angrier than normal to one of my clever quips, "Fuck you Buckwheat.  You cock sucking piece of shit."

Right when I pick up the black Motorola hand set to call it in, this chick (I use that term lightly) hops out of the car with a silver pistol, pointing it right at me with remarkably steady hands.

Instead of actually reacting and doing our jobs, John and I just sit dumbfounded.  This hasn't ever happened before, not to us.  The gun was my main visual target, John was watching me and the chick with the dick was watching both of us.  We were stuck in a mental 69 together; I don't want to mentally 69 this fat fuck.  I guess it was more of a mental circle jerk but you get the predicament.

"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK!?"  John squealed like a little bitch that had just turned eighteen and was getting anal for the first time.

There was no action to take, I'm not a super hero, I'm just a normal guy with irrational fears and common emotions.

"Listen!  Listen to me, ma'am.  You don't want to do this, it's not too late for you to stop, and we can fix this."  Still not reacting like a police officer, my shouts slid out of the cracked window as the barrel of the gun was basically calling my name.

"Let me open my door and just step out and talk to you, no big deal.  My gun will stay in the car with John here." My hands moved like a mime's hands, awkwardly and deliberately.

The door popped open with a loud creek and my feet found the pavement.  The ground was wet, slippery; there was no way this chick was going to be able to maneuver with those heels on.  My neurons were firing on all cylinders, beginning to plot my next move when suddenly hands were on my shoulders forcing me to my knees.

"Joh…John, what the fuck!?" My head spun back and the realization hit, my partner had snuck up behind me and was now aiding the bull dyke that was going to end me.

"Is that an Adam's apple??"  Refocused now on the current gun situation, but it was hard not to notice that this chick had an Adam's apple.

Now, telling you that I had to piss before I initiated the stop but I just never got the chance sounds good right?  In reality, I'm on my knees, in the middle of the street with a man bitch dyke creature about to assassinate me while my "partner" holds me down.  Enough dancing around the facts, I pissed my pants, get over it.

"God damn it, this is how this shit is going to end!?" Winching, the only thing I could do,  as if the bullet had already loudly escaped the gun and struck me in the frontal lobe area of my distraught brain.

"All you gotta do to live, all you gotta do to survive tonight and make it home to your little piss ant apartment, so you can live another worthless day in a meaningless life is…suck…my…dick!" The gunman, woman, whatever was closing in on me; it's a certain kill shot. The barrel, colder than you'd think, was pressed against my forehead.  Her hand slid down her remarkably tone tree trunk sized thighs, to the zipper that holding back a mammoth sized cock.

Speech escapes my shaking body as the panic of the situation continues to escalate.  The only noises coming from my dry mouth are sounds reminiscent of orgasms but I wasn't cumming, dying was on the agenda.  Finally, this cop killing son of a bitch grabs me by the cheeks, tilts my head back like it was on a fucking swivel and dunks a huge dick head in my mouth.

"Suck it!  Suck it or you're dead!"  They both yelled.  They BOTH yelled.  My "partner" and this she-male coercing together while there was a huge dick in my mouth.  Not sure which part was the worse of the two.

Again, there's a dick inside my mouth, touching every taste bud on my tongue, so I can't form a word at all but I wanted to say, "Okay, okay!  Just don't kill me!"

Instead, they want a dick sucked, wasn't really in a position to argue.  If this was a fake dick with paint on it, it would have come out of my mouth down to its primer.  My mouth sucked that flaccid dick for a good 5 seconds, the taste still lingers today, suddenly the wig and the gun fell to the ground and both guys started belly laughing their asses off.

"Oh my God, that gay bitch!  He sucked the shit out of my dick, for real!  Oh my god, wait until this video gets back to the station.  God I love I-Phones!  He pissed his pants and sucked my dick!"

Meet Louis Durts, John's former policing partner and his current partner in crime.  This feminine looking motherfucker just mouth fucked the shit out of me and expected me to do nothing about it!

John was laughing so hard, he shits his fucking khakis and hits the street in a full ROFL (Roll On Floor Laughing).  Louis turns his back long enough for me to get to the car and grab my police issue Glock 9.

"Hey.  Hey!  Louis, John!  Check this shit out!"  Raising my service weapon on Louis as John, still covered in his own shit and stink, was beginning to stand and acknowledge me.  "You guys think you're funny!?  You think you can do that to somebody and nothing is going to come from it!?  Seriously!?"

Taking one long confident step towards them both, which put me within arm's reach of the mouth rapist, my guns sights focused on Louis' head.  The rage that boiled inside me cleared my mind of any conscious thought, my Glock clicked.  Faster and faster it clicked as my finger feverously pulled the trigger.

Click, click, click.  Now I've got this gun sideways, upside down, everything.  So distraught and disoriented from the adrenaline, I even looked down the barrel as I'm pulling the trigger.  Nothing.  Flipping the clip release, we all watch the empty magazine hits the street below.  John must have unloaded it when he was in the car by himself.  Now what?

"Oh shit."  Louis is appalled at my level of audacity apparently.  Tripping me to the ground, the beating ensues.  What used to be my face was being turned to small pieces of bone and meat.  We're talking a severe beating, one that will never be forgeotten even though my state of consciousness was taken away rather quickly.  All that could be heard inside my skull was the sound my orbital bone crushing against itself and putting extreme pressure on my right eye.

In and out of darkness I heard John stop Louis from killing me right there in the street.  A lot of good that did, life was over anyways.  John gets down real close to my mouth/nose area checking for signs of life.  Even with all my major features destroyed by the unrelenting beating from a huge man dressed as a woman, all that entered my body with every gurgled inhale was the smell of shit out of water.  Leave me; let me die in the street.  Just don't make me smell your shitty ass anymore.  Of course, those words didn't make it out of my mouth, broken jaw and all.

Slowly, darkness encompassed my world and all I could faintly hear or see was the siren and lights of an ambulance.