feel the poison

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

Click. Click clickclick. Click. Click click clickclickclick fucking CLICK. The sound of the ancient keyboard as the keys were hammered was rivaled only by what sounded like nails being scraped down a chalkboard accompanied by a complex drum beat emanating from the headphones of the boy doing the typing - Ocean View Rehabilitation Centre's receptionist, a Mr. Ramone De La Hoya. Other than the typing, the muffled music, and the occasional shuffling of papers, the reception area at Ocean View this morning was unusually quiet. This, however, changed in a matter of seconds when Ramone took another bored glance at the admission forms beside him on the desk, and choked on his bubblegum due to what he saw there.

"WHAT. THE. FUCK?"

Parker Lee Milford, the form said. Substance abuse or something like that. The paperwork had Parker down as being re-admitted to Ocean View... last week. Ramone was a little behind on his paperwork - as in, he couldn't be bothered to do his paperwork - but really, a week? If so, why hadn't he seen that skeletal little fucker around?

Convinced that this was just a conspiracy and someone was trying to pull his leg, Ramone decided to take his break. He'd been sitting in front of the goddamn computer all morning, and his ass was sore, legs stiff, eyes blurry - so fuck 'em, he could go on a break if he wanted. Leaving the computer, his music, the stack of admission forms still waiting to be processed, Ramone ditched the messy reception desk and headed towards the stairwell up to the staff parking garage, figuring it would get some blood flowing back into his legs. While he was there, he could grab his cigarettes from his car, maybe smoke the whole goddamn pack at the notion that his old - hate? Love? Punching bag? - was back for round two.

[parker lee milford]

Fucking therapy session. Parker wasn't one to ever talk about his problems, which is why this whole rehab deal and seeing a shrink a few times a week was never something he excelled at. Luckily the guy had one of those sand pits with the rake that you could play with, that was supposed to 'relax' you but really it was just entertainment. That's what he busied himself with this whole time, while the shrink tried to get him to talk about his problems. He didn't have any problems. Yeah, he was diagnosed with a few mental disorders along with some lovely 'addictions' but those weren't problems to him. They were part of his lifestyle, whether anyone likes it or not. He yawned, his blue gaze shifting to the clock high up on the wall and saw there were only a few minutes left, so he looked back to the doctor who was talking about testing out some medications to see what they would do for him. "Whatever," he murmured in response, shrugging his shoulders and looking back down to that pit of sand, shifting some rocks around with the rake. Then the therapist looked at the clock, and said time was up. Parker could leave. "About fucking time," he said, clear enough for the guy to hear, but obviously he didn't care about that. Not that he gave him much time to react considering Parker got right up off that chair, and left the wing where the doctors are. His next step was finding somewhere to smoke, and since it was getting cold outside, he headed for the parking garage instead. Winter was really going to mess with his routine.

When he got in there, he found the hood of someone's car to sit on, and bust open that pack of cigarettes and lit up. It was the only thing keeping him sane in this place, it seemed, his precious cigarettes with the nicotine he'd been addicted to since he was twelve. His lungs were probably burnt to a crisp by this point, not that he cared, cause he was going to be dead by 21 anyway. What killed him didn't matter, just that he got that feeling, you know? The one that tells you you're not going to last very long on this earth. He gave a rough guestimation of 21 cause he was gonna go out like Sid Vicious with an arm full of heroin. Sounded like a plan to him. He heard footsteps on the concrete indicating someone else in here, and when he looked around to see, what he saw wasn't expected. Ramone was still working here? How fuckin' pathetic, then again, what other place would hire a dirty immigrant such as himself. It was also in this moment he realized, based on where Ramone was headed, that the car he sat on must have been the Mexis. Explains a lot, cause it is a shitty car. "Hey Ramone, how are you?" he asked, the sarcasm in his tone able to cut stale bread that even the sharpest knife couldn't get through. This would just make his day even better, in that sick and twisted kind of way.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

Just getting out of that godforsaken building was already starting to calm Ramone down - probably more than playing with a sandpit ever could - and he felt like maybe he could go back in there and face the rest of the day after a cigarette. Fuck Parker. That little piece of shit hadn't even shown his face around so far, and, Ramone figured, if he continued to do just that then they needn't ever see each other. Everything would be fine that way, right? Right.

Except for the fact that Ramone actually kind of liked Parker, and not in the way that you like having a day off, or like getting presents at Christmas time, or like watching porn. This was like like, the kind of like that made Ramone feel all stupid and fucked-up and pissed off at n- one in particular, the kind of like that he would never admit to harbour for Parker. It wasn't something he could help - Ramone supposed he just had a soft spot for snotty little dickheads who pissed him off. In a perfect world, he would never see Parker while he was at Ocean View for a second time, and that way Ramone wouldn't even have to think about how he like liked the guy, and they'd never have a bunch of stupid confrontations, and Ramone wouldn't be in denial since there'd really be nothing to deny. Only, it's not a perfect world, and there was no way shit was going to play out like that in reality.

"Oh, fuck no."

Parker was sitting on the hood of Ramone's car, smoking a cigarette. Someone - probably God, Ramone figured - had a really sick sense of humour. Just as Ramone had figured everything would be cool if they just stayed away from each other, here was the asshole, actually sitting right on his fucking car, the car which had actually been Ramone's home at a lower point in his life. HE WAS SITTING ON IT. Okay, no, calm the fuck down. That was easily fixed, but first thing's first - cigarettes. Ramone went to the driver's side and pulled the keys out of his jeans, fiddled with the lock a little and jammed the handle down at the same time, which was a trick you had to do since all the car's locks were pretty fucked. Ignoring Parker's sarcastic remark - and ignoring Parker altogether - Ramone slid into the car, slamming the door shut behind him, then rifled in the glove box for his slightly-crushed packet of cigs and a lighter - there were maybe twenty floating around somewhere in the car.

With a cigarette lit, nicotine plugging into his brain and smoky toxic chemicals filling his lungs, Ramone felt a little better. But only a little, since that douche was still sitting on his hood. In the next second, Ramone had figured what to do about it, and started the car, which spewed smoke from the exhaust and some awful death metal from the cd player. Then, without any warning to Parker, he kicked the thing into reverse.

[parker lee milford]

It probably would have been the best idea that they stay away from each other, considering the 'relationship' they had was toxic at best. The day that he had come into the center, some other tool was at the front desk, this little old lady with a sweet voice who was all 'welcome to Ocean View' and made him wanna smack her in the face. It was after that when he was taken down to solitary to beat the withdrawl of heroin, which kept him away from people for a good four or five days. He lost count, his body's reaction to being taken off one of his most favored drugs distracting him in the not so good way. Then he was taken to a room, not the same one he had before, they probably gave that one to some schizo, and he was left in there and would be for however long he was going to be forced to stay here. He was told, by some judge, he had to complete a 30 day rehab treatment but knowing his luck, he'd be stuck here longer. After all, they can't let a psycho like him roam the streets. It's just not natural. So the point is that he hadn't seen Ramone, and just figured he quit and went onto something better... or worse. Probably worse.

Instead he was here, right now, and Parker was waiting for a response from him. But instead he was... ignored? Excuse me. He was ready to hurl out the insults the second that he saw the guy, but instead he was being treated like he didn't exist. Whatever. He just continued to smoke his cigarette, and let out a laugh when the car was started up and that horrible music was playing. "I see your awful music taste hasn't changed a bit, huh Ramone," he said, rather loudly so he could possibly hear him beyond that music, above the roar of his cars engine, and through the glass windows. He doubted it, so that was one insult going unheard, and maybe it was for the best. He had brought his smoke back up to his lips and was about to take a drag when the car was pulled right out from under his body, and he fell smack dab into the curb. What the actual fuck.

He stood up, spewing a few colorful words, and reached back to brush the invisible dust and dirt off the back of his black skinny jeans. He shot a glare over his shoulder to Ramone, looking at that mexican fuck through the front window with that look of death. "What the fuck was that for?" he screamed at him, honestly waiting for him to get out of his car so he could punch him square in the face. Smug bastard.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

Ramone killed the ignition, stopping the car a little less than a metre away from where Parker had fallen on his ass. He didn't care much that the end of his car was now sticking out of the parking space and someone might come along and collect it, even though moving the car back up to reclaim his space and running over Parker in the process might be fun. After rolling the window down with some effort, Ramone flicked ash from the end of his cigarette, mentally congratulating himself all the while. That sure showed that stupid goth fucker, who would probably think twice before sitting on Ramone's car (even though Parker probably hadn't know it was Ramone's) in the future. Even now, all Ramone could see of Parker was the top of his head, which made him smirk like the cat that had gotten the cream.

Then Parker got up, letting loose a whole lot of expletives, and Ramone thought that if there was ever a time to lock his doors, now would be it; Parker's expression hinted that he might be capable of murder. Still, he didn't, instead choosing to flick his butt out the window and help himself to another cigarette, watching the little show Parker was putting on through the dirty windscreen.

"Why the fuck do you think I did it, you fucked-up shit-for-brains cracker? Cause you were sitting on my fucking car! Fuck," Ramone replied with all of his usual tact, still smirking. Maybe he should have run over Parker after all, put the stupid thing out of his misery - he could always flick the ignition switch, put the hunk of shit he called a car into gear... But Ramone had already been in jail for murder-related charges, and didn't think his employers would look too kindly on the killing of a patient, even Parker. Besides, was Parker really worth the effort? Well, yeah, he was, but that wasn't something Ramone was going to admit to any time this century. So instead of committing murder or going out there and letting Parker do the same, Ramone chose to simply sit in his car and smoke his cigarette, and smirk like the smug bastard he was.

[parker lee milford]

Had he known who's car it was, it would have given Parker more incentive to sit there. Anything to piss off Mister De La Hoya. He should have been more careful with who he pissed off and how he managed to do so, but that wasn't something that he particularly cared about. If Ramone were to run him over with his car, at least his pathetic life would be over. He also bet that they would love a guy like Ramone in jail, he would get raped so hard up the ass that Parker would just be chillin' in hell laughing at his pathetic self. As much as he hated his life, though, he didn't want to die cause he was loving this whole being under the control of drugs and sex thing that he had going on these days. It was amusing, and sure as hell passed the time. He just needed to find a source around these parts to get his drugs from, cause there was no way in hell he was quitting the stuff. Fuck that, he wanted to keep on with it.

If he had a weapon, Ramone would be dead. All he had was his cigarettes, a lighter, and his fist. Well, the lighter could kill him if he shoved it a lit in the gas tank, which would be funny but then he'd probably die at the same time since it would be an instant explosion. Not a bad idea, though. Hmm... He might have to debate that one. Instead, for now, he remained pissed off and ready to bash some skulls in.

"I didn't hurt it, so get the fuck over yourself," he snapped back at him, as he moved to approach to the side of Ramone's car. He reached a hand in, swiping that cigarette right out from his lips and taking it for himself, since his own had been abandoned in the fall and there's no chance in hell he was picking it up off the gross ground, so he had just left it. After blowing the smoke out, he leant through Ramone's window slightly, just enough for his head to be through along with one of his hands, the one holding the cigarette of course. He was going to mess with Ramone a little bit, mostly just to piss him off and see what would happen if he did everything that he was planning on doing in the next minute. "I've missed you," he breathed out, moving his face at a slight angle as if he was about to kiss Ramone, but intead of doing that, he moved his hand and pressed the flame end of the cigarette into the side of Ramone's neck. A malicious grin spread to his lips, and he pulled himself out of the car, tossing the now put out cigarette to the side and backing up away from the car. He was just waiting for Ramone to get out and pummel him.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

Parker had a lot of balls to mess with Ramone - that, or he was just really, really dumb. The latter was probably most true, but Parker probably would be losing what little balls he had in the next few seconds, anyway. See, Ramone was from the 'hood, and one thing you learned when you were stuck in a dirt-poor ghetto was how to keep yourself alive and kicking. Parker might have been trailer trash, or from a reasonably well-off middle-class family, or what-the-fuck-ever, but he probably didn't know how to use a gun or aim a fatal roundhouse kick or what shoes to wear when you plan on curbstomping someone into next week. Not that Ramone knew much about that, either, but his brother was a Mexican gangbanger for fuck's sake, so it could be assumed that Ramone had the advantage in this situation. And Parker had just gone and jammed the flame end of a lit cigarette in his skin.

Ramone had been working at Ocean View for close to two years now. During that time, he had been vomited on more than once, had his lunch stolen, gone on strike twenty-eight times, fucked two patients on separate occasions, been held up in the parking lot by a homeless guy with a shiv, had a telephone thrown at his head and done a line of coke in the staff toilets with a patient. He had never, however, had a cigarette put out on his neck before, and of all the things Ramone couldn't tolerate, this would be near the top of the list. You didn't piss off a snake, but Ramone wasn't just pissed off. He was mad as hell. And he was going to fucking kill Parker Milford, patient or not.

"What the fuck!" Ramone yelled, quite clearly in agony, clutching his burning neck with one hand and shoving the car door open with the other. "You're so fucking dead!"

He advanced on Parker, and, with one swift movement, landed a punch right on the fucker's jaw. He would have preferred breaking Parker's pretty little face, but, well, Ramone wasn't the tallest guy around. Not to mention that he was a little preoccupied by the painful throbbing in his neck. Still, he wasn't so preoccupied that he couldn't aim a hard kick at Parker's babymakers - and land it.

[parker lee milford]

Parker definitely had balls. He had toughened up a little bit in the last six months, since he had moved his ass out of home and went to live with some friends who were tough little fuckers. You know, those druggies who are willing to kill someone to get their fix, and that's what he had been surrounded by for awhile now. He went home on maybe a once a month basis, mostly to get food and be babied by his mom, then he was gone and back to his lifestyle. He had learned a few tricks over the last five months where he had been living that life, some you wouldn't expect him to have ever learned. He wasn't the same guy he was when he left Ocean View originally, or well, he was since he was still as much of a smart-talking pig-headed asshole as he was before, just with a new disorder according to the doctors which is what was causing him to act this way in the first place. It's always a fun fact, finding out the truth behind how psychotic you truly are. At least it gives a reason.

He had done a lot of fucked up shit in his life but the only place he had ever put a cigarette out was on the ground, or in the side of a building, whatever, never ever someone's skin. It felt good, though, any act of violence was okay'd by him. He knew he shouldn't have done that, but he didn't care. He did, so Ramone just had to deal with it. Ramone punching him in the face was nothing, it barely even affected him, but then the foot was meeting his nutsack and he could have screamed. Asshole. You do not do that, ever, yet he just did. Parker didn't react in any other way than laughing, though, like the psycho he was. After a few moments of recovering, he felt he was good to stand up, so he did, slowly cause he was still hurting a little bit. He didn't let that show though, instead he just grinned. "I don't feel dead, Ramone," he said to him, referencing to what the other male had said before about 'you're so dead'. "You're losing your touch, I barely felt that." When he spoke, he pointed to his jaw, where the punch had been delivered before the ball-kicking. He was still pissed off about that, which is why he did the same to Ramone in that moment to get back at him. He raised his knee up, and slammed it hard into Ramone's babymaker. Two can play that game.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

Well, ouch. On the list of things Ramone had planned to do on his break (including smoking a cigarette or three, and maybe listening to some Trigger The Bloodshed in his car), being burnt with his own lit cig and kneed in the crotch were no where to be seen. Ramone had been majorly pissed off when Parker had extinguished the cigarette out on his neck, and the area was already turning into a painful burn lesion which would most likely blister like a bitch within the next few days and scab over within the next few weeks, leaving a permanent circular scar. But when he'd been kicked in the groin, well, Ramone hadn't really felt anything other than searing pain which made him double over, grinding his teeth together hard and gasping uneasily for breath. "Fuck you," he managed to get out, but his voice was breathless and sounded like he was in a whole heap of serious pain, rid of the usual Ramone rancour.

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck" Ramone managed to gasp after a moment, and finally seemed to be able to regain his composure after a few painful minutes of pure, throbbing agony which a man is not supposed to experience much. There was certainly a rule that you should never kick a man in the balls, and for good reason - now both Ramone and Parker had broken the rule, and Ramone supposed he was coming out the worse-off. But wasn't there some sort of rule about putting out cigarettes on people, too? There ought to be, since that was a whole different sort of pain, kind of like the time Ramone had fallen asleep on his hair straightener and woke a few minutes to find a foot-long burn of epic proportions running up the side of his bare stomach. The pain of Parker's knee connecting with his crotch had died down to a sharp ache, though, and Ramone was able to stand upright once again (albeit with a wince), ready to make the next move.

"Feel this, then, you fucking goth faggot."

And Ramone proceeded to tackle Parker around the waist, taking them both to the ground.

[parker lee milford]

Parker hadn't come out here expecting to get punched in the face then kicked in the balls, but what can ya do. Sometimes your day doesn't turn out how you were expecting it to. He had figured he would come out here for a smoke, then head back inside and jerk off, then have a nap, then get up later that night to go fuck someone then that would be his night. Not too exciting, but good enough considering where he was stuck being for the next however long it took for him to be fixed of his problems. As if that's going to happen any time soon, sadly. He watched amused as Ramone went down, a smirk on his lips. Now he knew what it felt like to get randomly kicked in the dick. God, fucker thought he could really get away with that? Looks like he was sorely mistaken.

He could have easily walked away at this point, continued on with the unofficial plan but it was amusing to watch the other male writhe in pain. He was a fuckin' masochist, fully enjoying the pain that others and sometimes even himself experienced. He was fucked up, he knew that much - everyone knew that much. When Ramone was getting up, it made him pout a little, since he wasn't on the ground in pain for quite long enough. Oh well. There was no pain worse in the world than getting kicked in the balls, but it still didn't last long enough for Parker to be happy. What he really wanted to do was cause so much pain to Ramone that he'd be fucked for hours, but that would involve brutal torture he didn't have the supplies here for. Shame.

Being tackled was whatever to him, he let himself be and he could soon feel the concrete against his back. "Jeez Ramone, stop trying to kiss me. I'm just not that into you," he said, like sarcastic little fuck he was, then he pulled his fist back and slammed it into the side of Ramone's face with all the force he could muster.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

Seppuku is a form of Japanese ritual suicide by disembowelment that was traditionally reserved for Samurai, but right now Ramone De La Hoya, a Hispanic American, was considering it, and he was no Samurai. It wasn't that Parker made him want to kill himself - Ramone wasn't that much of a pussy. No, he was thinking about maybe getting something sharp and performing a seppuku on Parker. But would that actually be seppuku, or just murder? Well, whatever. Ramone hadn't already killed Parker (when he probably should have run him over earlier), so the chance that he was going to now seemed to be getting slimmer and slimmer as his lunch break got shorter and shorter, since he'd need time to get rid of the body and such. Then again, Ramone could always stow Parker's corpse in the boot of his car, but the lock on that thing was a real bitch to get open, and Ramone figured he didn't want the old car to smell any worse than it already did inside. The interior reeked of cigarettes, which the stench of death would not improve. You could always walk away, be the bigger man here, that little voice said in the back of Ramone's mind, known to many as the 'voice of reason' which Ramone seldom listened to. He couldn't just walk away, because that would mean Parker had won. And Parker couldn't win.

Ramone managed to get a few punches in at Parker before Parker delivered a hard blow to his face. He stopped for a second to check that all his teeth were still there, since Parker had punched him in such a place that it might loosen a back tooth or two. Coming to the conclusion that all his teeth were there and okay, Ramone continued the pummelling - except it was more like he being pummelled by Parker, despite the fact that he was on top. Parker just seemed to be landing more hits, and Ramone was still tender from a ) the whole kicking of the balls business, and b ) the cigarette burn on his neck, which still stung like hell. Still, that wasn't stopping Ramone from trying, and he actually managed to get a good hit in, right in the middle of Parker's pretty little face. Hopefully his nose would be broken from that, but, knowing Ramone's luck, Parker would get a bit of a nosebleed at best.

After the satisfying feeling of punching Parker right in his stupid face, Ramone decided that this whole deal was just a waste of his precious time and energy. He got up to his feet then, and kicked Parker once in the ribs for good measure, then spat on Parker - the finishing touch, if you will.

"I'm done, you stupid whiteass piece of shit. I'm going to go and get some more goddamn fucking cigarettes, maybe a slushie and a pack of ice for my fucking cojones. I guess you'll want some too, fuckface?"

[parker lee milford]

Parker honestly wouldn't mind being gutted, even if the plan would be something less than satisfactory. He had his own plans of how he'd rather go out, thank you very much, and having a seppuku performed on him wasn't one of those ideas. As much as Ramone hated him, though, Parker seriously doubted he had the balls to ever actually attempt murder. There was a difference between beating on someone and killing them, and Ramone just had enough of the tough factor in him to do the former but never the latter. Lucky for Parker. He was personally capable of killing someone if he wanted to, he just didn't feel like spending the rest of his life in jail. That, my friend, would suck. He would be one of the ones who Bernie makes friends with cause Bernie likes the skinny ones who come in, the ones who remind him of his girlfriend back out in the real world. Talk about disgusting. Parker did enjoy sex, but he wouldn't from some disgusting fat tattooed man. He had standards, you know.

He wasn't going to lay there and be submissive while his face got pummeled, hence why he continually threw his own punches back in the fuckers face as hard as he could, hoping he'd injure him enough. When the first met the middle of his face in the nose, he didn't feel a crack, thank god, but he did feel the sudden wet sensation of blood coming out and that pissed him off. He lifted up his shirt to use the bottom of it to wipe the blood off and hold his nose, keeping it in place and tipping his head back to try and stop the blood flow. He should have had the sense to punch Ramone in the nose so they could be bleeding buddies. Fucker would deserve it, but his sense had cut short on that. Oh well.

"Yeah, sure, why not. You fucking owe me for this damn nose bleed anyway, asshole," he said, cause he did. He wasn't gonna have a nose bled and not get anything to repay for it, so Ramone was gonna be forced to buy him a slushie. The biggest cup they had, just to piss him off. So, he walked over to the passenger side of Ramone's car, waiting for him to unlock the thing so he could get in and they could go get their slushies and ice for their poor injured penises.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

Ramone simply could not fathom just why he'd invited Parker along, or how events had suddenly taken this weird turn; he put it down to a mild concussion occurring from one or more of the blows Parker had delivered to his head. That had to be it, right? A spur of the moment slip of the tongue brought on by his brain hitting the inside of his skull was what Ramone had concluded - there was no way in hell that he'd have asked Parker if he actually wanted a slushie otherwise.

"I don't fucking owe you anything, cunt. You owe me for putting out my own fucking cigarette on my fucking neck, shithead."

Getting in his car with another wince, Ramone debated hitting the ignition and slamming the thing into gear, leaving Parker on the curb were he rightly belonged. He figured that Parker was probably bat-shit crazy enough to try and break the window in order to unlock the car, or something else to that degree of retardedness it was probably just easier to go with it now, and see how things played out. It wasn't like Parker was going to attack him again or anything, since they both seemed to be pretty much over the whole thing already - it wasn't like they had never fought like that before, either, so this was nothing new. So it was a first for Ramone to be inviting Parker anywhere, ever? He could just go with this, sure. Reaching over, Ramone unlocked the passenger door, then moved back and started up the car, so that Trigger The Bloodshed started blasting once more with a little grindcore gem. Ramone cast a weary eye over the interior of his car - mostly the cesspool of miscellaneous cd cases and empty cans of Red Bull on the floor of the passenger side - just, you know, checking that there was nothing sharp within easy reach of Parker when he got in. Vaguely, Ramone became aware of the sock filled with pennies he kept under his own seat, the baseball bat in the trunk of the car... goddamn! Ramone was hyper-aware of violence, and the fact that violence could errupt in any place at any time, today being a perfect example of that. This didn't mean he was always ready for it when it happened - he'd totally forgotten about the makeshift weapon stashed under the seat, too preoccupied with the fact that Parker had put out a fucking cigarette on his neck.

Still, if that little fucker tried anything now, Ramone would be ready for him.

[parker lee milford]

Parker wasn't too sure what was going through Ramone's head to have been invited along to get a slushie, but he wasn't about to start complaining. Anything free was golden to him, especially since he hadn't had one of those things in months and now his cravings were going wild. He laughed when Ramone said that, yes, an actual laugh coming from someone like Parker who you figure the only permanent fixture on his face would be a frown. "Whatever you say, Mexi," he spoke, snide remark always in tact with whatever came out of him. He rolled his eyes then as well, not caring whether it was he who owed the favor cause he was the one with the brutish tendencies to abuse others to the extent of amusing him. He really was a sick fuck, there's no doubt about it.

When the car door was unlocked, Parker reached for the handle and pulled it open, sliding himself into the car. He winced at the disgusting music playing as oppose to any pain on his body. He was used to pain, it had stopped affecting him months ago and now all he felt was nothing. And, on occasion, pure bliss where antagonizing pain should be. "Ramone, really, get a better fucking music taste," he commented, reaching for the speed dial and turning that shit off, flipping it to radio immediately and finding the oldies rock station. He was into the old hair metal crap like Def Leppard, White Snake, Motley Crue, that kind of crap. Not your modern day equivalent of bullshit which is all that the screamo crap was. Who the hell could stomach listening to someone sound like a pig? I mean, really, if you wanna hear squealing like that, go find a farm and chill out there. Don't pay for a CD when you can get it for free.

And if Ramone was paranoid Parker was going to try shit, beat him up and steal his car, whatever, he was sorely mistaken. That was the last idea on his mind.

"Drive," he told him, sick of waiting. Instead of violence, he wanted that slushie.

[ramone jorge de la hoya]

"Fuck you, crackerboy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts the fuck up," Ramone replied, frowning at his gas gauge on the dashboard, which was near empty to the point that the little orange light (which Ramone had always presumed was broken) had come on. Okay then, gas station it was. Before he stuck the car in gear, though, Ramone reached across and quickly flipped the cd player back on, cutting the radio announcer short so that the deafening wail of guitars flooded the car once more. Then he hit the acceleration, and they were screeching out of the parking lot way faster than sane people normally attempted that manoeuvre. Parker had probably never seen Ramone drive before - if he had, he probably would have re-thought his accepting of Ramone's invitation. If he, you know, valued his life at all and didn't picture himself going out in a high-speed road collision.

"And don't fucking tell me what to do," Ramone added, although it was a little too late for any witty comeback. Ramone didn't give two shits about timeframes - you could insult him one day and get a comeback a week later. Fuck conventional comeback times.

Just as they pulled out of the parking lot did Ramone come do a sudden, terrible realization as he had slipped his seat-belt on in that reluctant way that people sometimes do. "You're sitting on my cigarettes," Ramone said very pointedly to Parker as he pulled out onto the main road, flipping off some old lady in a four-wheel drive he had cut off in the process. It was true - Ramone had left his cigarettes on the seat, and unless Parker had moved them, which Ramone figured he was too stupid to do (since Parker didn't exactly think before he did anything), that dumb fucker was crushing his cigs with his skinny little ass. Now they'd be all tainted with Parker-butt. Woe. At least he'd be getting a slushie in a moment (lime, Ramone decided), and it would definitely be bigger than that faggot Parker's slushie. Oh, and some ice for his dick, too.