Fucking bullshit.
He doesn’t need me? Fucking pussy, I’m his old man. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be nothing. He’d be in a gym sock. Fuck him, I hope he never comes back. Fucking wiseass.
Little shit actually asked for his fluffy. Christ, you shoulda seen his face when I said I’d be “returning” him! Hahaha, it was fucking funny. “Guuuuh, don’t hurt Scooter, he’s just a fluffy, I’ll take him off your hands.” Fuck you. You wanna flout my rules? He’s in my house, that means he’s mine. Shoulda thought of that before he went off making a scene about his fucking perversion. I’m a bigot? I ain’t hitting him or nothing, just told him that fairy shit don’t fly in my house!
Boy needs a lesson. I don’t care how “valuable” this shitpig is. Christ. How could a stupid fucking shithorse with wings and a nubby horn be valuable for more than mulch?
He’s gonna pull some shit. Probably already calling his loser buddies at all the pussy shelters. Like to see them try and stop a real man. Besides, I lied.
Fucking thing’s gonna die tonight.
I come in through the garage and slam the door. I go around and lock up before going to my son’s r-well, his old room. Anyway, sitting on a pillow on the bed is a white and gold horse thing, snoring as he sleeps. God it’s fat. No muscle at all, this thing can’t pull shit. Not even an animal, I heard.
I take a swig off my bottle of walkin’ whiskey and grab a…is this a sewing needle? Fucking hate this kid.
It’s a little box of them. Huh. I raise up the crib wall my boy put up to keep this thing from falling off. When it’s low I guess he just can’t roll off. I bring it up so he’s trapped.
Once I’ve done that, I lean in and stick it in his left flank. Really bury that sucker. He kicks and screams awake. “Screeeee owwies! Wha? Hu? Whewe?” He turn and sees me. “B…biggew daddeh? Whewe weaw daddeh?” Rude. “What, I’m not real? My boy’s not a real man, fucking fuck him…” Okay, whiskey’s definitely a factor.
The stupid little thing gasps and says “Nawty wowd!” I belt him across the snout with a right hook. I hear some of his teeth hit the far wall. He’s picking himself up, blood seeping from newly exposed gums. He’s doing a sort of wheeze-cry, where he tries to do that annoying “hoot hoot” bullshit but he’s out of breath cause he’s a fucking gay little horse.
He looks up at me with tears in his eyes. He’s confused and afraid. I barely even aclnowledge him normally. He’s probably confused about where my boy is. I spit in his face. “Quit lookin at me!” Then I smack him on the back of the head for good measure. He falls forwards and makes a funny little "ba-goof" noise as he rolls forwards from the strike. He sits back up and I do it again, but he doesn’t make the noise.
“Do it again! Fucking make the noise!” I start smacking him repeatedly on the same spot. He tries to get a word in but can’t. “Nu knu wat-” SMACK. “Stahp! Wiww du watebb-” SMACK. After a few I’m having enough fun I stop letting him get up. Just keep smacking him. “Hey pussy? Why ya sleeping? Don’t be lazy, get up?” He keeps trying every time. It never occurs to him that I’ll just never stop.
After a couple minutes he finally just starts screaming and thrashing his limbs around in frustration. “Nu wike! Meanie daddeh keep gibbin Scoobo meanie swappies! Huwt Scoobo finky pwace! Scoobo gun teww weaw daddeh an weaw daddeh sabe Scoobo!” Fine. That’s what you think?
I clench a fist around a tuft of hair on his head and lift him out of the bed. He’s yelping and trying to kick at me but it’s no use. I sock him hard in the gut with my other hand and he throws up on himself. It smells weird and that makes me mad so I punch him again, harder. Stupid fuck throws up again.
“Christ, stop that! How many times do I hafta hit you before you’ll stop making such a fucking mess?” He’s crying and hanging limp. “But onwy make sickies wen hab wowstest tummeh huwties fwom biggew daddeh punchies… Huwt Scoobo…” Wrong answer.
I punch him again, he throws up again. This repeats three more times before he finally learns his fucking lesson. Gripping his hair, I carry him towards the backyard. There’s a sandbox from when Gary was…
Well, there’s a sandbox.
When I open the back door, it starts screaming. “Hewp! Sabe Scoobo! Sabe fwuffy! Dad-” I bring up my knee and slap it with my hand. His face was tragically between them and he loses more teeth. Also his nose is very broken. It’s not pointed the right way.
While he softly cries and spits teeth I drop him in the sandbox. He curls up in a heap and just cries. “Huuuuu teefies…” I grab myself a switch off the willow tree and swipe him cross the backside with it. “Dig!” I yell and take another drink. He looks startled and confused. “Wan fwuffy make diggies? Whewe? Wat dig fow?”
I catch him a few more times, each strike shouting “Dig!” and nothing more. He soon starts digging and I go get my lawn chair. When I return, he’s stopped and is licking his hooves. The sand is scratching and cutting them and he’s clearly cleaning his wounds.
“Diiiiig! Dig! Dig! Dig!” No context. No further instruction. Just one word, backed by violence, summoned by anything but that which it describes.
Dig, you fucking shit.
…
…
After thirty minutes he’s leaving bloody dots everywhere he steps. Ive been walloping his wings so fucking bad that one of them flipped upside down. I told him he could rest and gave him a water dish. He was so grafeful.
“Fankyu! Fwuffy wub wawa, am suuuu fiwsty! Wub daddeh, f-fankyu!” He’s scared shitless and still can’t figure out where Gary’s at. As he starts drinking, I grab my industrial sized bottle of talcum powder and pour it over his head. In seconds his water is a weird sludge that tastes terrible and gets everywhere. He starts hacking and coughing and spitting, and I retrieve my Louisville Slugger. “Dig! Dig! Dig!” He’s sobbing as he scrapes away more and more of his hooves. He’s actually got kind of a hole going so I push him into it headfirst and sorta pin him there with the bat.
I can hear him spitting and whining as he thrashes his weak and bloodied limbs around. I reposition and let him up a bit, only to give him a swift kick in the balls. It sends his ass end flying over the hole, which bends his back and pulls his face out in the worst way. He scrapes along the back as well as the sand he was compacting before flopping down on his belly.
His left wing was fluttering while his right wing hung limp. It had movement at the base, but those bones were HISTORY. He’s still spitting and rubbing his eyes to get the sand out. “Ptoo! Ptoo! Owwies! See pwace huwties! Nu wike meanie sandy pwace!” He’s sneezing nonstop too. It’s hysterical.
I hear two beeps from the front of the house. Gary’s here. Probably brought friends or he’d have been here sooner. Running out of time.
First I yank off the dead wing and throw it in the yard. He yelps, and I hear “Scoobo?” From the front. Yep. It’s him alright. I shove his face into the sand as I yank the other one. It doesn’t pop clean, I mostly get feathers on the first yank. Next two pop stuff IN the wing, but finally I yank and the fucker just flies off.
The lights are on. He’ll be out here soon.
I grab my Leatherman and let him come up for air. He’s squirming and kicking and screaming. “Daddeh! Sabe Scoobo! Nu wan die!” I hear that girly fucking scream. Gary’s coming. I get the horn in my pliers and twist as soon as I hear the back door open. “Get away from him!”
I feel two snaps. The first one is the horn snapping off. It didn’t take the skull with it, mostly just made it short and ugly. I drop him and start to stand and turn only to catch my own baseball bat upside my head.
I feel the second snap as my neck lands on the edge of the sandbox. Then, I don’t hear anything.
Huh. Never knew he had it in him.