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  • Writer's pictureJay F. Servedio

Fucking Global Warming

It was a hot day in Misuckuscki, Ontario. That’s not really saying much, being that 6 months out of the year its colder than a polar bear’s ass on an ice block. In the middle of August though, seventy degrees is nothing out of the ordinary. The troubling thing was, it wasn’t August. It was January, the seventh to be precise, and due to the unprecedented weather, Rikk and Paul had to cancel their skiing plans. Plans they had made just a month prior.

The two men, fresh out of college were headed home from what were once slopes and what are now just muddy hills.

“I tell ya Paul,” said Rikk to his friend behind the wheel. “I think that Al Franken fella mighta been onta sumthin’ with that global waurmin’ talk.”

“That was Al Gore, Rikk. Al Franken is a gov’ner and writer er sumthin’.”

“Ain’tee a diddler too?” asked Rikk, cracking open another Busch brand road soda.

“Pardin?”

“A diddler. Didn’tee get in trouble fer diddlin’ kids er sumthin?”

“I don’t know nuthin bout that, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Ya only get into politics if yer handsy or stupid.” Paul spit into the Dunkin cup from an order he made two weeks prior. The brown, chew-tainted saliva slowly trickled from the side of the cup to the bottom.

“Eighty’s a bit hot though fer January, Rikk, ya are right.”

“I think that goes with-oot sayin.”

“Ya butchya said it first.”

“That I did.” The soft-spoken youngsters had their riveting conversation cut short when they came to notice a steady stream of black smoke finding its way into the sky. Rikk piped up first.

“Now who in tha name of Christ’s sweet stepbrother James think’s it’d be a good idea ta start a fiyer on tha side of tha road?” Paul squinted and looked ahead to see where the smoke was coming from as he drove along the desolate country highway.

An Ontario state trooper’s car had been set a blaze and was parked as crooked as an old man’s member.

“Oh shit, Rik, hide the beer, bud.”

“What’s that cop cahr got a fiyer awn it fer?”

“I don’t know but I think we should stop to make sure he’s ok.”

“Have ya lost it, bud? We’re bout as saturated as gets! Ya’d be blowin’ a point-seven right now, ya go near that fire ya might go up too!”

“More sober than yew, fella. B’sides, doubt a cop’ll book us if we save’is life.” Rikk took a second before responding.

“Or hers.”

“Or hers.” The stunned young guns pulled up behind the patrol car, which resembled more of an inferno at that point then an automobile. Paul looked at Rikk. Rikk looked at Paul. They shared a sigh, exited the F150 and made their way to the car.

The fire was hot. Hotter then the day in Misuckuscki and that’s saying something. Paul threw the front of his shirt over his mouth and nose and stumbled as close as he could to the driver’s side door. The fire made it hard to see, but he could make out the service pistol lying in the dead cop’s lap, and that the back of the office’s head had been blown wide open.

“Christ…” he turned back to Rikk, who was still by the trunk of the squad car. “Get in tha truck!”

“whattaya see?”

“Get in tha dam truck Rikk, tha cop shot himself in tha head fer fucksake!” Rikks face went pale.

“Jesus. Should… should we call somebody?”

“Hell no! We’d be suspects! Shellacked ones at that! Best to leave while tha gettin’s good!” The twisted pair rushed to the F150 and took off. It wasn’t until the flames were out of sight that they spoke again.

“Paul.”

“What.”

“Ya said he was shot in the head?”

“Looked that way.” Paul took the next exit he saw to get away from the fire and the burning image of the officers gaping skull.

“How did the fiyer start then?” Paul took a second to answer.

“How do ya mean?”

“Well,” said Rikk, taking his time. “Yew said he shot himself in the head. He couldn’t have shot himself then set the ve-hi-cal on fiyre.” Paul let that marinate.

“Ya got a point there.”

“Yew think it was a mob murder?”

“What, ya think Tony Soprano made his way up ta Onterio just ta kill a state trooper?”

“I don’t know. Coulda been Mennonites.”

“The Mennonite mafia?”

“Well, sure.” Paul shook his head.

“Have a wank bud, yer not thinkin straight.”

“Well I don’t know, Paul! Just don’t seem ta add up!” Paul sighed a hearty sigh.

“I know it don’t… but it don’t seem like our business neither.”

“No… it don’t.” The two sat in silence and drove with heads on a swivel til they got back to the apartment they share just on the outside of Misuckuscki. It wasn’t till the truck was put in park that Paul spoke again.

“Fuckin global warming.”

“Fuckin glooooobal warming.” Rik replied.


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