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“Hey, Jailboy! Get yer bony ass in here right now. We got a train for you to pull!” Jailboy heard Big Rod scream out from the shower room and he trembled in fear. Out on the streets, Jailboy had been a tough guy. He had stolen newspapers from stands and once he even strong-armed a 10-year-old kid for the 37 cents in his jeans. He was also known as a big time bicycle thief and that wasn’t the half of it--once he even ran out of Pizza Hut without paying for his pie. The rap they sent him up on--soliciting some guy for sex in a public washroom--has been a bummer. Christ, who knew it was against the law just to ask some guy if he’d give you a buck to suck his flopper! “I was just joking, your honor,” Jailboy whined when the judge sentenced him to three years in prison. “The kneepads you were wearing tell a different story,” the judge replied sternly. “Take this pervert away!” In stir, Jailboy was just another piece of punk ass. He’d had it put to him right up front: It’s either shit on my dick or blood on my shiv, your choice. Being somewhat short of a full bucket of courage, Jailboy had chosen to ride the Hershey Highway. It was a trip he knew well, every bend, hill and valley. He sometimes wondered if he might not be in danger of falling through his ass and breaking his neck. “GET IN HERE YOU SILLY MOTHERFUCKER!” Big Rod screamed again. Jailboy whimpered and flinched, but he pulled his sorry ass up off the bunk and headed toward the shower to pull the big train. They were all queued up in anticipation. “CHOO CHOO, ASSHOLE!” someone laughed. Jailboy thought about crying out to mommy, but thought better. Besides, he was getting used to it. And maybe even liking it a little. WOOOOO CHATTANOOGA CHOO CHOO! WOOOOOOOOOO!
Jailboy finally got parole from his sentence as a would-be blow queen. His ears--both of which he’d worn rings in out on the streets prior to his bust--were sticking out further from his head than before, from all the tugging on them while he was in stir. His little goatee was worn off from all the scrotums swinging into it. “Oh Mommy!” he wept soon as he climbed into his mother’s pussy wagon--she called it that because it was the conveyance she used to peddle her shopworn ass. “I have been abused, Mommy Dearest!” She looked at him sourly, and farted. “Shut the fuck up, you whining little wimpy son of a bitch,” she growled. “I should have pulled your head off and flushed you down the commode when you were born. Better yet, I should have had you aborted. You would have amounted to more.” Jailboy got the idea that Mommy must be pissed at him over something. “You’re just like your father,” she continued. “Or at least the bastard I think was your father. A feeble minded punk with a paltry dick and about enough balls to fill a matchbox. You’re just like him, except he was twice the man you are!” The outburst angered Jailboy, but he kept his mouth shut; he remembered the last time he’d mouthed off to Mommy and how she had stomped the shit out of him. But he would relieve his anger later, yes. He would get even with society because it was society’s fault that he was such a pathetic nerd. Later that first evening of his freedom, Jailboy put on a long set of dangly earrings, turned his underwear inside-out (he might get lucky) and hit the streets. He was looking to do some crime and he was, in his mind, about as bad as anyone who ever shit between a pair of shoes. He had to rethink that possibility about 15 minutes later when he got his first ass-kicking of the evening. He tried to take a bicycle away from a kid of about 11 and the kid wailed on his ass. In fact, Jailboy wound up begging and pleading and the kid finally stopped kicking his prostrate form. “Doan fuck with me you ugly fag,” the little kid said, kicking him one last shot in the ribs. “I whup yo ass good!” Jailboy dragged himself over into some bushes to recover. It was then that he noticed he had crawled through a big pile of dog shit. He noticed because all of a sudden his normal rank body odor seemed somehow more perfumed than usual. Christ, he hoped he didn’t run across any of his buddies (not likely, since he had none), cause they would surely think he’d doped himself up with French whore perfume! Somewhat recovered from the beating by the kid, Jailboy was in a rage. He would find someone’s ass he COULD kick if he had to travel to another state, another country. There has to be somebody I can whip goddammit! he thought. He spotted that somebody about two blocks down. It was an old woman hobbling across the intersection. She looked to be about 90 and moved like a turtle, wobbling along with her walking cane in one hand and a brown paper sack in the other. Jailboy smiled and speeded up his walking pace so as to intercept her near the corner. Drawing nearer, Jailboy saw that it was an old Asian woman. That was good, because he had everybody that wasn’t the same race as he was, whatever that was. If they looked different, they were the enemy. “Say ol’ lady, I’m going to kick your ass,” he said, blocking her path with a big smile on his face. The old lady looked up solemnly at him and nodded. “You should go away, sonny,” she said. “You might be killed if you do not go away.” Jailboy laughed aloud at that. “Whatcha gonna kill me with, that walkin’ stick?” he giggled. The old lady shook her head sadly. She placed her small sack of groceries onto the sidewalk and then leaned her walking cane against the crossing light standard. “No, I will kill you with these,” she said, holding her hands before her in a somewhat combative way. “Bullshit! That’s a joke,” yelled Jailboy, jumping up and down in delight. Christ, he’d finally found someone he could whip and he’d have something to brag about tomorrow. How about a little dose of Mawashi Geri,” the old lady said. She moved like lightning suddenly, catching him with a roundhouse kick that staggered him. He could not believe it. “Now, a little Ushiro Mawashi Geri,” she grinned, catching him with a spinning back kick. “Oh, and lets not forget some Oi Tsuki and Hiji Chudan Age,” she cried, lunging in with a punch and then bringing her elbow crashing into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. “OK, OK!” he gasped, “that’s not fair! Please don’t hurt me ol’ lady!” “Too late, sonny,” she grinned like a crazy person. “A little Shuto Sakutsu Uchi Komi should set you free!” She crashed a knife hand blow to his collar bone and Jailboy dropped like a turd from a tall cow’s ass, crying like a baby before he hit the pavement. “You see, sonny punk, you have run up against the Fighting Granny, the ass-kickingest 92- year-old woman on earth! I have enjoyed kicking your worthless ass and I would be happy to kick it any time you choose to fight again.” She bowed, collected her belongings and once again slipped into the elderly woman mode, hobbling slowly away. Jailboy winced and whimpered all the way home. He had never felt lower in his life. What could be worse than getting his butt kicked by a 92-year-old woman and an 11-year-old kid on the same night? And what was worse, Mommy would probably kick his ass again when he got home. “Oh, I wish I was back in prison,” cried Jailboy aloud. Truth was, he sort of missed Big Rod and the shower crew.
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