feel the poison

[parker lee milford]

"It's hard for shot gun to shut the fuck up when the music choice the driver makes sucks dick," he snapped back at him, not that the remark would have done him much good since that horrible music was filling the car once again. He didn't have much other time to react before the car was pulling out of the lot, fast sure, not that it affected him. Speed was the last thing he gave a shit about. He wished he had a car out here so he could just leave this place and never look back, but that would defeat the whole purpose if patients could have cars. Instead his precious El Dorado was sitting in his parents garage back home gathering dust, and would continue to do so until he was let out of this place. Again. He drove like this on an every day basis back home, hence why he barely even flinched. Instead he reached back to the radio and turned the CD off, and at that point the station was playing an actual song, a good one at that, so Ramone would just have to deal with his precious screaming metal no longer playing. He could listen to that shit later, when he was alone for example, and didn't have a guest in his car who didn't appreciate awful music what so ever.

"Ooh, good one," he sarcastically remarked, rolling his eyes. Ramone was starting to lose his touch on the comebacks, apparently, and it was amusing at best. Parker would have to comment on that later, for now, he was going to be nice and not say anything that could have Ramone hit the breaks and send Parker smashing through the windshield, seeing as he wasn't wearing a seatbelt and had no intention of putting one on.

Being told that, Parker cocked a brow, then lifting his ass off the chair slightly and pulled the packet out. He hadn't thought about that, instead he had just flopped himself down and didn't bother moving it cause it's not like it made much of a difference to him. "Now your cigarettes smell like my ass - the only thing that belongs to you that ever will," he smirked, since Ramone's cock was never getting within a hundred feet of his ass to smell like it. The smell was good, though, not gross cause he actually washed his whole body and smelt like this amazing soap and every part of him did. Apparently it tasted good too. Too bad Ramone would never have any of that. Or so Parker always convinced himself, but somehow he knew that one day he'd give in and fuck the other male senseless. Best sex ever, yes/no, seeing as they hate each other and those kind of emotions always prove for the best sex. Anyway, back to the cigarettes, he pulled one out of the package and lit up, relaxing back in his seat and tossing the pack directly at Ramone's face. He didn't care if he hit him, obstructed his view of the road for a second, whatever. He was the one whining about his precious cigarettes being sat on, so he was getting them tossed at him now.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

"I thought you'd be used to dick sucking since, you know, that's like your fucking job or whatever. Not that you'd get paid a whole lot or whatever, with a face like that. Fuck, ugh," Ramone replied just as snarkily, rolling his eyes and flipping the radio back again. There was no way that Parker was having final say on what music they listened to in Ramone's car. Okay, okay, so his tastes in music were terrible. This was mostly because Ramone, who had most likely been born upside-down, hated the things that everyone else liked, and listened to music that everyone else hated. No doubt that in a parallel universe, there was a Ramone De La Hoya who was popular, handsome and well-mannered, and definitely not some twisted asshole who hated everyone and was hated on by everyone in return. The fact of the matter was that it was Ramone's car, and he'd listen to whatever the fuck he wanted to listen to, and Parker could suck it up or gtfo. Those were the rules.

"Yeah, right. Because you saying, 'ooh good one' like some sort of fucking bitchy teenage girl is such a good one, too, fuckface." Sarcasm all round. Not to mention the adding of 'fuckface' there? Surely there is no better way to prove a point than to add those two golden words to the end of a sentence. That way, no one can question your intelligence, hell no. Fuckface. It was about then that Parker threw the packet of ass-cigarettes at Ramone's face, which then dropped onto the floor. Ramone wasn't really phased by this - hell, he was used to people throwing things at him - and ducked down to retrieve them, abandoning the wheel for a few seconds which caused the car to drift over into the next lane. Only when someone behind them beeped very loudly did Ramone sit back up again, cigarettes in hand. He fished one out of the packet, then reached across and snatched the lighter from Parker, using his knees to steer as he lit the cigarette before throwing the packet - and the lighter - back at Parker. Trying to hit him in the face on purpose. "And thank god for that," was all Ramone had to say in response to the whole 'that's the only thing that ever will' comment, like Parker thought his ass smelt great or something? Just the idea of that made Ramone laugh - Parker was such a douche.

At least the car-ride was over very quickly, as Ramone pulled into the gas station and stopped at one of the pumps. Sometimes being a fast and incredibly dangerous driver had its definite bonuses, like when you wanted to get somewhere quick and get rid of your passenger post haste. Ramone got out of the car, careful to take his keys with him, dropping his cigarette butt in the bucket of water with one of those squeegees-on-a-stick typically used for window-washing.

Parker could just fucking wait while Ramone filled up the gas tank if he wanted that slushie. Ramone's car, Ramone's rules.

[parker lee milford]

Parker just rolled his eyes, again - that seemed to be something he was doing today, probably because Ramone was such a fucking jackass that it was hard for him to not. "Oh, good diss you fucking faggot, calling me a prostitute. I'm so hurt," the sarcasm he used could honestly kill, if he willed it to. He'd rather use his hands to, though, wrap them around Ramone's throat and not let go until he was good and dead. That's what he's talking about. Jesus christ, was he really going to have to endure this shitastic music for this entire ride? What happened to good music actually being played, huh? I mean, did good music get lost along the ages when people were somehow told that screaming was good entertainment? No, whoever told the douches with the long metal hair that, were assholes. He wanted to punch them in their disgusting ugly faces, cause the majority of those fuckheads were hideously deformed. Fallen down the ugly tree one too many times. Maybe that's why Ramone likes these bands so much, cause his face resembles there's to a tee. Alright, no, that was a lie, Ramone was actually really fucking good looking and Parker had thought that on occasion before but the fact he was an asshole trumped those good looks. In that alternative universe was also a stable, clean cut Parker Milford who actually got along with this alternative Ramone De La Hoya and they were lyke, the bestest frands evaaarr! Good thing that alternative universe didn't really exist, or else Parker might just have to kill himself for associating with this douche.

"Better than anything you could come up with, doucher." These two were such idiots when it came to dissing each other. I mean, sometimes the things they came up with were 'ooh, snap!' material but most of the time, it just made you wanna punch them in their ridiculously good looking faces. "I can second that," he muttered, basically under his breath but loud enough for the other male to hear. When secretly, yeah he wanted Ramone's dick in every hole in his body but that kind of thing wasn't actually ever going to be admitted... ever. Outloud, in his head, on paper, on some word application on his computer - no fucking where. That was just... too disgusting for him to even comprehend.

When they got there, he immediately exited the car, the stench really starting to get to him. Instead he sat on the hood again, watching Ramone out of the corner of his eye. He took a drag of his cigarette, a long one that could fill up his lungs completely where the tar was nice and comfortably set already after years of smoking this crap. "Hurry the fuck up," he told him, cause he wanted his dang slushie already and didn't wanna wait any longer. He could always just go in and get it and drink it and fill it back up and be like "oh my friends paying for it" just to piss the guy off more but... He was feeling semi nice right now, probably cause he didn't want another nosebleed, so he remained on the hood smoking quietly like the good little boy he was. Or, well, should be.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

If there was one thing Ramone really hated, it was being told what to do. Especially when the one giving the orders was a snot-nosed little junkie brat like Parker Milford. Seriously, fuck that guy - who did he think he was? He was getting a free slushie in return for, what, kicking Ramone in the crotch? And now he just happened to figure he could sit there looking all pretty on the hood of Ramone's car, bitching at him to hurry up? I mean, wait, what? Did I just say pretty? I mean, pretty stupid. Yeah. Sure. At any rate, telling Ramone to 'hurry up' in a whiny, pre-pubescent voice was not going to make Ramone do any such thing; on the contrary, he was now going to take twice as long as usual to fulfill the task he had set out on. Oh-so-slowly did Ramone unscrew the cap from the gas tank, then slooowwwwwwllyyyyyyy eased in the pump nozzle.

Something like five minutes later, the tank was as full as twenty dollars would allow, and Ramone gave Parker this bored kind of gesture that indicated along the lines of, if you want that slushie I suggest you tell me what flavour or maybe just get the fuck off my car and come inside and, no, you know what, I don't really care, do whatever you want. Without bothering to check whether or not Parker was indeed following him into the grimy highway gas station, Ramone walked in through the dangerously defective sliding doors and made a straight beeline to the freezer section. He said a quick little prayer to various gods that the station would stock and sell something like ice packs for his throbbing crotch; alas, when he reached the cooler there were none in sight.

"Fuck. It's just my lucky fucking day," Ramone muttered darkly under his breath, then resigned himself to locating the slushie machine up the back of the store. Fucking Parker, fucking gas station, fucking testicles. Fuck. At least they had lime flavoured slushies, Ramone's favourite, which was something of a rarity - Ramone was quick to grab a super-sized cup and fill it right to the top with the ominously green goo. Delicious. He took his much-deserved prize to the counter, behind which stood a somewhat nervous-looking attendant who couldn't have been older than sixteen. The guy kept looking at Ramone, then Parker, then back to Ramone; it was obvious that he suspected they were up to no good, and, well, who wouldn't? As much as they might argue it, the truth was that together they looked like a couple of scenester faggots fresh from a Bring Me The Horizon gig.

Ramone slapped his slushie on the counter, causing much of it to overflow as he countered the kid's jittery staring with a sharp glare. "Gimme two packets of smokes, too. Lucky Strikes."

[parker lee milford]

Parker knew immediately what Ramone was doing - taking his sweet, piss ass time. The fucker. It almost made him want to snap, walk on over there, and take the gas getting into his own hands which wouldn't take five thousand years. Instead, though, he remained sitting there smoking cause Ramone would probably punch him or kick him in the nads again and he wanted to avoid that. Right now, he just wanted a slushie and to smoke so he was good with this. He just had to roll his eyes again, make one of those huffing sounds, and look around the surrounding area for something to keep his attention and amusement. The most entertaining thing there was a fat man bending over to check his tires, or something like that, with his ass crack hanging right out and it made Parker want to vom over being amused. So he turned his gaze right away, looking back to Ramone instead. At least he was good to look at, not something he'd ever dare to admit outloud, but hey... what canya do. You gotta go with what you can get, simple as.

He was quick to slip off the hood of the car, and follow Ramone into the gas station. Before, though, he put his cigarette out and threw it onto the garbage can, then was inside and following suit to the slushie stop. He grabbed the biggest size, and once the other male was finished, he proceeded to put all the flavors into his cup. Sans the soda flavor, as that was just disgusting, but the other three were going into his cup so he was good. A mix of all the colors and flavors was always bound to be delicious. Then he grabbed a straw, put it in the cup, and took a sip as he moved back to the front of the store, placing the slushie on the counter and giving the guy a look saying 'he's paying for it', he being Ramone. Obviously.

"Aw, shucks Ramone. You sure know the way to a guys heart, buying him smokes," he commented, one of those cheeky grins of his coming to his lips. Free cigarettes and a free slushie? Wow, someone was bitten by the nice bug tonight, either that or he wanted a blow job and figured Parker would give in and give him head. Uh, no, not even close. You'd have to give him a ton of booze and drugs to give this fucker any kind of erotic lovin'. Sorry, Mexi boy.