strippa

capter 7 strep throat

Yeah, Guts didn't buy it.

I tried to convince her that it wasn't my fault and it was Pippa bein' a fuckin' shit again, but alright. Pippa calls me fuckin' Shitcher. She should get a nickname too. Like Pissa or somethin'.

And now I gotta go make up to Pissa. I'm with Cuffs in his giant ass truck, speedin' towards Target.

"Eh, bossman. Why is it always you getting in trouble." Cuffs asks me without lookin' away from the road.

"Yyyyy'know, Cuffs, I wish I could fuckin' tell ya. It's always somebody ruinin' my fuckin' day! It's always Pippa! Then it'll be fuckin' James! And then it'll be Cards and FUCKIN' ALL THE TIME THAT LITTLE-"

Before I can finish my fuckin' sentence, Cuffs covers my mouth, shuttin' me up. "Y'know, bossman, it might help ye if ye relaxed more. We're here."

Cuffs stops coverin' my mouth and he fuckin' smashes like, ten fuckin' cars out of our way to get enough parkin' spaces. I take some deep breaths.

I fuckin' hate to admit it, but yeah, he's fuckin' right. I should relax. But I fuckin' don't. It's really, really, really, really fuckin' hard when people are fuckin' dicks to me 24/7. There's still anti-mutant fuck-faces runnin' around, fuckin' morons everywhere like fleas, and James.

Good fuckin' god.

Ever since the rest of 'em came back, he hasn't stopped fuckin' pesterin' me for failin' to kill em. It's times like this where I wish I were dead, but I don't wish I were dead, but somebody's got to fuckin' go!

I follow Cuffs into Target. I don't know how that fuckin' giant fits through the door, but whateva'. They never make 'em tall enough anyway.

Cuffs folds his arms as he stares down people lookin' at us. It's funny seein' how these people are practically shittin' their pants at the sight of us. They fuckin' know who we are and what we can do. I don't know how we aren't part of the FBI's Most Wanted List or a fuckin' kill list.

I walk through Target and I find it.

The glorious ice cream freezers.

Pissa's favorite ice cream was strawberry, right? Yeah, I think it was. If it wasn't she can suck it up. I fuckin' like strawber... oh shit. OH SHIT.

I DID NOT JUST FUCKIN' ADMIT TO LIKIN' PISSA'S FAVORITE ICE CREAM. I can't fuckin' let anyone know that I like something she likes! That's the highest level of fuckin' humiliation!

I quickly extend some arms outta my back. They hastily open freezers and grab tubs of strawberry ice cream, pillagin' the entire store from their supply of strawberry ice cream.

"..And you're going to eat all of that. How." Cuffs glances at me, giving me a weirdass look.

"I'mmmmm not fuckin' eatin' it myself, you fuckin' moron. It's.. for uh, Pippa. Not because I felt bad! Because Guts is making me!" Cuffs gives me a skeptical look. At least I think he did. Ya can't fuckin' tell what he means at this point. "Aaaand I fuckin' mean it! It's because Guts is makin' me!"

Cuffs chuckles for a bit. "Eh, guess it's all working out. Let's get yer ice cream now." Fuck does he mean it's "all workin' out". Some sorta fuckin' scheme or what?

Cuffs shoves the people in front of us away, barely brushin' 'em and they fall on the ground. They look at the giant fuckin' brute himself and they fuckin' run away.

"Eh, we want all of this ice cream." Cuffs grabs all of the tubs outta my hands and he piles it on the counter. The clerk just freezes, analyzin' what he just fuckin' saw.

"O- of c- course, sir! The t- total is $1134.64, h- how would y- you like to pay?" The clerk gives me the most fakest scared smile ever

I scowl. "Yyyyyyou expect me to pay a thousand fuckin' bucks for ice cream? Nah, I think you're gonna be smart and let us leave with it for free!" Cuffs seems like he doesn't like my motives but he doesn't put his finger on it.

"I'm sorry, s- sir, b- but we can't.." The clerk behind the counters scared shitless. He's like a diet Daniel, but worse. He's lost his usefulness. It's time to do this my fuckin' way.

"Yyyyya can't what, eh?! Ya can't fuckin' follow a simple fuckin' instruction!" I reach into my coat and I whip out my Tommy Gun. I shoot three times at the ceilin'. "Ladiessss, gentlemen, anythin' in between, I'm a fuckin' idiot with a fully automatic gun robbin' this store for fuckin' ice cream, so if ya wanna avoid being fuckin' killed, GET ON THE FUCKIN' FLOOR!"

I scare the shit outta the clerk and the people in line behind me. They immediately start cowering, gettin' on their faces. People in other aisles and counters start fleein', and I can tell they've called the coppers already. Damn, if I could just kill 'em all without riskin' an extra charge once I'm inevitably caught for my fuckin' idiotic antics.

"Drop the gun and put your hands up! You're under arrest!" Two security bootleg fuckin' cops come out from behind a counter. Apparently, somebody had the grand idea to give these fuckin' moronic fuckwad security wanna-be cops guns after the whole shit show with the mutants against humans bullshit that happened a few months back. Cuffs don't look like he likes them either and he leaps in front of 'em. The ground shakes when he lands.

The two guards look scared shitless and they start shootin' at Cuffs. The bullets might as well just have fuckin' just bounced off. Cuffs picks up a shoppin' cart and he fuckin' slams it on one of the guards. I'm no detective, but if ya look at the mangled mess of blood, bone, and metal that he's fuckin' dead. Cuffs swings his arm pack and he punts the second guard straight at the fuckin' door, the glass shattering with some fine red mist splatterin' all over. He's dead.

WHOOP! WHOOP!

That's the sound of the police. No, really. Those two fuckwads bought enough time for the fuckin' cops to show up. Apparently they want to nab us badly since their response was pretty fuckin' quick.

The cherry tops pull into the parkin' lot and their cars stop outside the shattered red painted glass. Cuffs immediately was ova' there blockin' the entrance."Git the rest of the ice cream. I got this." Without anotha' word, I get to it.

"Gentleman! This is the Avant Capital Police Department! Release the customers and drop your weapons, you are under arrest!" One of the coppers tries to speak to us usin' his PA system, but Cuffs doesn't budge. Meanwhile, I extend extra arms, puttin' each tub of ice cream into bags.

I dig into my pocket with one of my extra arms. After diggin' through my various collection of throwin' knives and prickin' myself, I pull out my flip phone.

And fuck you if you're gonna make fun of me over havin' a fuckin' flip phone! Nobody can trace me from there and it's fuckin' reliable! I ring up Beer Belly, since I usually call that fuckwad wheneva' I need to get outta a jam. He's pretty reliable when he isn't messin' with my fuckin' frie- I mean my fuckin' enemy.

"H- Hello? Did you need something, boss?" Beer Belly doesn't usually stutter like this. God fuckin' damn it, why does everyone gotta fuckin' be like Daniel?! Is this an infection?! Am I gonna stutter like a fuckin' idiot too?!

"I'mmmmm at fuckin' Target. Cops are here for me. Don't ask any fuckin' questions. Fuckin' be there." I scream at 'em.

"O- oh, you're at Target? That's funny, w- we're already here! C- come to the fire exit!" And what the fuck. He's already here. He's more useful then I thought. I bag up the rest of the ice cream and I give a signal to Cuffs. Cuffs nods and he starts backin' up. He tears out a fuckin' counter from the floor and he throws it at the cops, shatterin' the glass and blockin' the door. He smashes through the wall and runs off a different way. I haul the ice cream and I start sprintin' to the fire exit. I barge through.

And just like that, somethin' sticks in my neck and I collapse.