Heinie in action
I recently received an attachment in my email labeled “TGWYJAN2019”.
Normally, I would have just trashed it, but you never know how The Great Willie
Young is gonna try to communicate with you, and so after scanning it to make sure
it wouldn’t give me e-AIDS, I opened it to find a document purportedly written
by a young man who simply identified himself as “a soldier of The Great Willie
Young in the battle for the South.”
This young soldier claims that The Great Willie Young sent
him from the future to warn the world through me of what’s to come. Shaken, I
huffed some ether and tried to make sense of it. It was certainly not beyond
the powers of The Great Willie Young to do this, but he had never contacted me
from the future before. This must be serious. And so I began to read, and
indeed, it is . . .
Hello, Mr. Neil from the Internet, I’m but a lowly soldier of
The Great Willie Young in the battle for the South, and I was sent to warn you
that you don’t have much time. Shortly, the government will crumble and society
along with it.
I’ll give you a moment to deal with this, to handle your
emotions, but basically that Trump fella was run out of town finally, only no
one bothered to replace him and so shit just kinda got weird. Politicians didn’t
know what to do. A few of them tried but they just ended up arguing about
bullshit until they eventually all just starved to death. No one tried to help
them, and really no one much cared. Most folk just made jokes on Twitter and
played video games and shit.
Here in New Orleans, though, Col. Brees, a dumb sumbitch who
everyone suspects of torturing stray cats, sorta took control and started
hollerin’ at everyone to get ready for war. No one knew what the fuck he was
talking about, but apparently he had been communicating with some of the other
cities in the South, and because he’s a goddamn asshole, he ended up pissing
everyone off and they decided to attack New Orleans.
Now, nobody thinks it was a tag-team type deal or nothin’.
They just all hated Col. Brees that damn bad, and were all headed our way at
once. Naturally, this shit wasn’t cool.
And that’s when he showed up. The Great Willie Young. It
seems that he had been here all this time, just layin’ low in the Quarter with
some ladies, fishin’ in the Gulf and down by the river. He said he was never happier
than when he was chillin’ with his river people and he was gonna be goddamned
if he let some shit-smeared asshole like Col. Brees fuck up his city.
He was accompanied by a sidekick he simply called Heinie.
Heinie didn’t much give a shit about nothin’. He just liked to fish with
Willie, drink some beers and maybe get with a lady every now and then. Heinie
said we should just grab Col. Brees and fuck his shit up, throw him in the
river went it was done, but The Great Willie Young said it was too late for
that shit, and that we had to see through what Col. Brees had started, and besides,
Col. Brees had some weird control over some good men like Sgt. Kamara and Pvt.
Lattimore, who followed him even though they knew he was an asshole. “Whole
world run by assholes,” The Great Willie Young said, “and sometimes you just
gotta hope your asshole is better than their asshole.”
This was depressing as fuck, but sadly true, I suppose.
Besides, Col. Brees started this fight and it was only right that he be here
when it ended. The Great Willie Young did take him aside and told him to leave
them fuckin’ cats alone, and when Col. Brees tried to argue, Willie slapped
him. I seen it myself! Col. Brees started to blubber like a little bitch, but
Heinie told him to shut the fuck up and fetch us all some beers.
The first news of the attack came ‘round Thanksgiving. We
was all sittin’ down to a nice meal prepared by some hos that Heinie had
rounded up. The Great Willie Young said they didn’t have to do it, but they
said they didn’t mind, and besides, some turkey might make Heinie take a fuckin’
nap so he wasn’t chasing their asses all night.
Anyway, our meal was interrupted when we heard some loud
cries coming from what sounded like up above. “What the fuck is that shit?”
Heinie yelled. “We bein’ attacked by wild crows or some shit! Brees, I told you
to leave them crows alone, motherfucker!”
Col. Brees denied doing anything as The Great Willie Young
poked his head outside. “It ain’t crows,” he said. “Heinie! It’s fuckin’
falcons! Hundreds of ‘em!”
We all rushed outside to see an army of falcons dive-bombing
the city. Riding a giant falcon in the middle of it all was some square-jawed
sumbitch. “It’s that cocksucker Ryan!” Col. Brees hollered, and Pvt. Lattimore
grabbed an old rifle and started taking shots at ‘em all.
“That shit ain’t gonna help none,” The Great Willie Young
said. “We gonna have to fight these motherfuckers hand to hand.”
“But they ain’t got hands!” Heinie yelled. “They
motherfuckin’ birds, Willie! They got claws and shit!”
“It won’t be the first time I knocked out a goddamn bird,”
The Great Willie Young said. “Shit, this one time I fought a whole flock of
pelicans over some fish.”
We barely had time to prepare though when there was a savage
roar, and the next thing we knew a bunch of motherfuckin’ cats was runnin’
through the Quarter.
“Brees, you motherfucker!” Heinie yelled. “I done told you
to leave them cats alone!”
Col. Brees just stared with his dumbass mouth hanging open,
but it was clear from the sounds these cats were makin’ that they weren’t
normal alley cats. No, these motherfuckers was huge!
“Panthers,” The Great Willie Young said.
Col. Brees done pissed himself – I seen it myself – but
while Heinie called him a nasty motherfucker and said he was ashamed to share
his city with a piece of shit like him, The Great Willie Young calmed everybody
down. “It ain’t no thing,” he said. “Y’all forget, my daddy was the Cheetah
God. Now, these ain’t cheetahs, but same deal really. You just gotta know how
to speak their language. The only complication is that motherfucker right
there.”
The Great Willie Young pointed to the largest panther, which
had a man on its back.
“That’s Cam Newton!” Heinie yelled. “I got high with that
motherfucker when he was at Auburn! He stole $7 from me. I’ll take care of that
piece of shit! Oh Lord, sweet vengeance be mine!!!”
Heinie rushed into the fray, exhibiting courage that
inspired the until then horrified people of New Orleans. They all grabbed
whatever they could get their hands on – bats, clubs, Heinie’s empty bottles –
and rushed the panthers, some of them stopping to lob bottles at the falcons
that continued to divebomb them.
“Get your ass out there and fight, you little bitch!” one of
the hos screamed at Col. Brees, but he didn’t want to move. He just sat there
in a puddle of his own piss until Sgt. Kamara grabbed him by the neck and
dragged him out into the streets to fight.
But by then, we received even worse news. Captain Winston
with his buccaneers had just landed.
Nobody liked Captain Winston. He was a known rapist and
crab-leg thief. One of the hos was so mad at hearing that he had landed that
she took a crew of her bitches to head him off before he could rape his way
through the city with his boys.
It was a full-on war. Motherfuckin’ falcons were divebombing
us and divebombing the panthers too. It quickly became obvious that this was a
goddamn battle royale. Throughout it all, The Great Willie Young stood tall. One
moment, he was trying to reason with a panther in its own language, the next he
was wrestling with a falcon, telling it to stay away from his fish.
Meanwhile, Heinie had pulled Cam Newton from the back of his
panther and was whipping the man with his own pants. Cam Newton squealed and
begged him to stop, said he had Heinie’s $7, but Heinie said it was too late
for that shit, and Heinie’s hair was flowing wild and free at the back, the sun
shining off the top, and he had a sort of wild madness in his eyes. Heinie was
a chill man, there is no doubt about that, but even a chill man can only take
so much. He had been through it all, had walked the flood waters of Katrina,
had rode with The Great Willie Young through space and time, but that
motherfucker Newton had stolen $7 from him, and worse, we found out later that
he took the last of Heinie’s weed. He thrashed that poor bastard right there in
the street.
I saw Col. Brees feebly slap-fighting with that motherfucker
Ryan, who had landed with his falcon. The falcon seemed so ashamed of the whole
thing that it done flew away and we never seen it again. The rest of the
falcons – the ones The Great Willie Young hadn’t knocked the fuck out anyway –
joined him in his flight.
The city cheered. The panthers had begun to see reason from
The Great Willie Young, the falcons were gone, Ryan and Col. Brees was slappin’
at each other, and Heinie had done some dark shit to Cam Newton I can’t talk
about here.
The only problem was that we could still hear Captain
Winston and his boys runnin’ wild. We rushed to meet them, but when we got
there we found that the hos was already whippin’ up on his ass. His men was
runnin’ back to their ships and Captain Winston was hollerin’ about crab legs.
The Great Willie Young told the hos to chill, and laid hands on Captain Winston
himself.
“If there’s one thing I hate more than anything – except for
maybe the redcoat motherfuckers that hunted and killed my daddy, the Cheetah
God – is a weak-ass rapist. Rape ain’t fuckin’, boy. It’s just weak shit.”
Captain Winston tried to apologize, but The Great Willie
Young just slapped him around some and told him to take his bitch-ass boys and
slink on back to where they came from. But before he let ‘em go, he had the hos
geld each one of them motherfuckers as a lesson to all. “I don’t like taking
that shit from another man,” The Great Willie Young said. “But these motherfuckers
ain’t men.”
And so ended the battle of New Orleans and the war for the
South. After it was over, The Great Willie Young and Heinie said it was time
they be moving on. Heinie grabbed a bucket and walked the streets before he
left, the people cheerin’ him and throwing beers in his bucket. It was the most
heartwarming thing I ever seen, I swear it.
I asked The Great Willie Young if we’d ever see him again, and
he just smiled and said “Boy, just look into your heart and I’ll be there,
baby.” He then whispered to me that I tell you what happened, and I asked him
how such a thing was even possible and he told me not to worry about it, that
you would know what to do. I’m hoping so.
Anyway, after he left, we all partied for a few days. Of
course, that bitchass Col. Brees took credit for the whole thing. People let
him, mostly because they knew there would always be an asshole like him around,
and better it was a soft asshole like Brees that they knew how to deal with
instead of some other crazy asshole. He still likes to torture stray cats, but
last I heard the cats had turned on him and there are rumors he has feline AIDS
now, which is fucked up, but what the hell, that’s life I guess.
my word
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