Fighting Demons!

Zane Wilson

It’s an ordinary day for me: video games, chewing tobacco, bullshit with my fiancé, Marsha, who won’t have sex with me for some fucking reason, and a bottle of Corona. I see Marsha getting ready for work. She gives me that ‘fuck you’ look, like what the fuck is he going to do all goddamn day?

“So, you’re just gonna sit there and play your stupid game all fucking day while I have to fucking work?”

“Well, Marsha,” I explained, putting my beer down, “it’s my day off, so if I want to spend it playing Zelda, drinking beer, and chewing tobacco, I should be able to do so without you breathing down my neck.”

I swear Marsha does this every day. She bitches about how I don’t spend a lot of time with her because I’d rather spend my free time playing video games and drinking beer.

It’s not like I don't want to spend time with her. I do. It’s just that every time I want to give her a little love, she resents it as if I have cooties or something. Sometimes I even wonder why she’s even with me in the first place. It’s probably because I have money.

I work as a shift manager at McDonald’s. I also recently received a nice sum of money after my father died from natural causes. It’s not much, only two million dollars. I spent twenty thousand dollars’ worth of stock investments, mainly Amazon stock, Apple, gold, and silver.

Considering my father was an abusive douchebag that beat me every fucking chance he got, good riddance to that asshole. The fact that I got anything from him was quite a surprise; however, since I was his only living son, I don’t think he had a choice. One thing he did teach me, however, is how to stretch a dollar as far as possible. So, I put five hundred thousand dollars in my savings account, just as a safety precaution.

“So that’s your response, Zane?” Marsha asked, with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, Marsha, pretty much!” I snapped back. “Don’t you have a fucking job to go to?”

“I do. But before I go, are you going to be here tonight?”

“No, Marsha,” I said, “I’m gonna be at The Drunk’s Last Stop later tonight.” Marsha gave me the scariest glare as I said that.

“Besides, it’s not like you’re gonna give me any tonight anyway.”

“Whatever Zane.” Marsha storms off and slams the door. Good riddance. Maybe I can get somewhere with my game now that the useless cunt is gone.

Later that night, I pulled into The Drunk’s Last Stop for some beer and shots. I pat my jeans pockets to ensure I have plenty of chew and plenty of dough to have a good time. I’m what you like to call a classic redneck: I chew wintergreen long cut, drink like a fish, and hang out in my boxer shorts when I’m not going anywhere. I don’t have a lot of friends; Marsha can be a little possessive. However, I do have my drinking buddies to bullshit with when she’s not around: Alan, Cronk, and Nelson.

Nelson sees me and yells, “GRAB A SEAT ZANE!”

I go over to the table we usually sit at, to, again, bullshit, and watch the Hurricanes game. We’re all big on sports; I mainly support the Carolina Hurricanes, Tampa Bay Lightning, and Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I’m originally from Tampa.

“So, anything new with you Zane?” Cronk asked, taking his first of many shots of whiskey.

“No, Cronk,” I stated, drinking my beer, “just the same bullshit: Marsha doesn’t like what I do in my free time, even though she will never give me the time of day half the time we do have together. So why am I going to fucking try anymore?”

Cronk does have a monster crush on her; however, he’s a stand-up bro and would never betray me by sleeping with her… I hope.

“That’s too bad, Zane.” Nelson said, “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. I mean, it’s been, what, five years? And y’all still haven’t had sex?”

“Ugh,” I grunted, putting some chew in my mouth, spitting in my now empty beer bottle, “don’t remind me! Sometimes, I feel like I’ve wasted five years of my life with someone who’s just using me for my money,” I continued, dipping in my bottle, “I just wish she would at least try every once in a god damn while.”

A few hours later we’re all piss-ass drunk, insulting each other while I’m spitting tobacco juice everywhere; Two other drunk idiots walk by, trying to tell me to take out my tobacco because it’s, “disgusting.”

I looked at both of them and said, “Unless you’re the fucking president, you douchebags are not going to fucking tell me how to fucking live my fucking life; so GET FUCKING LOST!”

Moments later, my buddies and I were in an all-out brawl with those two assholes. After Richie, the bar owner, watched for a few moments, he decided to kick all six of us out, stating that we shouldn’t be encouraging fights or chewing tobacco at his bar. Afterward, Cronk, Nelson, Alan, and I look at the two dumb assess. We all chuckle a bit and exchange “fuck-offs”, going our separate ways.

I got in my Corvette to drove off. I’m blasting some Green Day while doing a little swerving in between. I must’ve missed a few stop signs and traffic lights because before I knew it, I heard some sirens going off. It got to the point where I wasn’t sure what was fucking louder: my music or the god damn sirens. Finally, I decided to pull over to see why this bitch was pulling over a drunk redneck like me

“Sir, have you been drinking this evening?” the police officer, Officer Mel Jackson yelled; she clearly knew I was drinking since I obviously ran a few red lights. I noticed a Star of David necklace she was wearing.

“What’s up my nigga?!” I started, “Maybe I have, but maybe I haven’t; do you have any proof of this silly allegation, sweetheart?”

“Step out of the damn car, sir,” Officer Jackson’s glare and demeanor tell me that she’s not fuckin’ around; therefore, I play along. “I’m also gonna need your license and registration while you try to get out of your car!”

Clearly, I need help because I’m shuffling through papers looking for that damn registration until I realize I have it in my hand all along, with my license in my other hand. Now, I must’ve had a little too much because when I got out of my car, I fell flat on the ground, face first. Mel then grabs me by the hair and handcuffs me, reading my rights like I don’t fucking know them already. Mainly because this would not be my first DUI.I was quite out of it; however, I heard Mel call out to her partner, Carolina, stating that she’s bringing in another “drunk idiot” for a breathalyzer test.