Hell City
Chapter 6: “Free Pop With a Pump”
Hell City is our weekly comic book type superhero detective noir thing by our good friend in LA, Tim!
If half an hour ago you’d tell me that I was on the original road trip from Hell with a creature that makes Swamp Thing look like Heather Locklear I’d tell you you were just two tickets away from the grand prize of being certified ca-razzzzy. But here I am traveling down the open road with a cuckoo warrior god from the Twilight Zone that I’m not sure if she wants to kill me or dry hump me. The dial on my gas gauge goes limp. I’m right there
with ya pal.
“Hey uh, looks like we’re low on gas. I’m going to pull over to the Tug ’n’ Pump. You want anything?” I asked the… um… the thing.
“Teewwhhll! I’m fine. Just hurry up so we can get to the president and I can kill him and have sex with him.” The… um… the thing replied.
Doesn’t matter what plane of reality you’re from, every girl has a one-track mind. They all just want to kill and have sex with the president.
I pulled into the gas station. Hmn, will you look at that. Regular is only $3.00 a gallon. That’s a great price. I’ve never gas prices so low out here. I got out of the car as excited as a lifeguard on shore leave. This is going to be the cheapest fill-em-up in history. I want to make my car practically choke on petroleum. The pump clicks off with a slight ding, the unmistakable sound of a car well fed. I looked at the price. WHAT THE THOMAS H. FUCKKKKK!!!! $35.00 for 10 gallons?! How does that work, I’m not mathamatologist but that crap just don’t add up. Better talk to the head Gasaluisimo around here.
I walk into the store. I can see the boss at the counter. Oh this guy looks slick.
He’s got one of those cool hipster mustaches that curls up and connects to his eyebrows.
Two lazy eyes and an even lazier set of ears adds up to something I can’t even comprehend. Was this guy hustling me the whole time? Twisted genius or Twister Sister? Which one are you my furrowed friend?
“Hey pal I think there’s something wrong with your machine out there. I pumped 10 gallons of regular and it charged me $35.00 when regular should be $3.00 a gallon. What the dick?”
“Not wrong. Regular is $3.00 when you pay in cash. You paid with credit card.” The pump jockey replied.
“With cash?! It doesn’t say that anywhere on the sign!”
“It doesn’t have to. It’s my store. My sign. My rules.”
“You can’t do that. You have a right to the public. I could sue your ass you know!?”
The Gas-Ass narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. He raised above me like a bear reaching for the moon. “Sue me!? Me?! Philip? Haha. I’d love to see you try. Go ahead! Spend money on a lawyer and a fancy suit. Get yourself all cleaned up and then bring it to court. All to save $5.00. You don’t have the resolve. People like you disgust me… worse than the original explorers that came to this great country and senselessly killed Native Americans left and right. Well what’re you waiting for. Be a man or get the fuck out of here! You disgust the crap out of me.”
Don’t let him see you cry. Don’t let him see you cry.
I walked out of there defeated and with $5 worth of $1 sandwiches less in my bank account. I guess I should get back to my weird road-buddy. What the hell!!?! As I stepped outside my eyes were feast to a sight of two pretty boys playing hacky sack with the head of the weird interdimensional she-thing I was supposed to be driving.
“What the heck happened here!?” I yelled at the two hunks.
“Yo this fuckin’ thang over here tried grabbing our crotches.” Said beefcake number 1.
“Yeah, so we cut it’s fucking head off and now we’re kicking it around. It’s 2014 bitch!” Said beefcake numero dos.
I grabbed the head from the very attractive, young, fit men.
“You animals. Away! Away! This was a living creature. A psychotic living creature that wanted to do horrible disgusting things to almost everyone it met but still it had a life and probably a soul!”
The kids walked away clearly defeated by my verbal thrashing I just gave them. I felt proud of myself for about two seconds. That’s when the handcuffs slapped around my wrist.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of… um… that thing.”
Like what you see? Tim also does a comic strip every Monday at www.thehiggsweldon.com and writes and illustrates his own kickass comic book, Goatman. Check it out here: Facebook.com/goatmancomics!
