BADASS JONES FOUL MOUTHED ZOMBIE HUNTER.
THE TAXMAN

By Thom Bruning

Published by Thom Bruning at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Thom Bruning
Cover art Copyright 2012 Cole Carter


Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Don’t get me wrong mutha fucka, I’ll pay my taxes.  It ain’t about me not wantin to pay my taxes.  It’s just last time I went down to the tax office is when all this shit kicked off.  Now we gonna have to go back bout two years for this one.  Now ol Badass Jones had a life before he became a head smashin, door kickin, zombie killin mutha fucka.  Yep, sho did.   I had several lucrative forms of money makin shit.  I was one of them life coaches.  You know, a mutha fucka call me up and say, “Hey Badass Jones.  I feel like shit bout myself.  My job sucks, and I ain’t gettin no lovin.  What should I do?”  I would ask, “What you wanna do mutha fucka?”  And most times, deep down inside, a mutha fucka knows what they should be doin.  They just can’t see it right at first, and I was there to dig around and pull that shit out of them and push them in the right direction.  I run a daycare for a little while but that shit went south pretty quick.  I don’t know what the fuck happened there.  Guess mutha fucka's didn’t like my way of child rearin.
Back to the shit I was tryin to say.  Bout two years ago, I’d been hearin on the television news bout how mutha fucka’s was goin crazy.  Started out one or two a week.  Next thing ya know, all kinds a mutha fucka’s was losin it. Mutha fucka’s would start out lookin like they had the flu or somethin - then go all bat shit crazy and start bitin whoever got close.  Then those fucka’s what got bit would start doin the same shit.  Before long it was one big giant zombie mutha fuckin bite fest.  Everybody bitin everybody, just like in them movies.  Turns out, this shit had been goin on for a while and the man was keepin it quiet.  You know, didn’t want mutha fucka’s killin each other just cause somebody had a cold.  So up in the middle of all this shit my taxes was due, and I didn’t want no taxman knockin on my door takin my shit.  So I go down to the tax office to take care of business, and on my way in I saw ol Mr. Smith sittin behind his desk.  Now he’s been the taxman ever since I was a kid.  He was always alright, not like you hear bout taxmen bein sorry.  Anyway, as I walked past his office I noticed that he looked like shit. “Damn, Mr. Smith looks like shit,” I said to myself and went on my way and got in line. 
Well hell, it wasn’t five minutes later I heard some kinda commotion over round Mr. Smith’s office.  Ol man Smith had him a woman, Ms. Johnston, pushed up against the wall, and it looked to me like he’s tryin his damnedest to get some lovin.  It wasn’t long and she went to slappin him on the head with one hand and pushin him away with the other.  Now I didn’t want to get in the middle of some office love thang, but sometimes you can’t just look the other way.  Well I went over and tapped ol Smith on the shoulder and was about to say something when he turned around and looked at me with ol milky eyes.  I almost shit myself.  
“Goddamn Mr. Smith!  What the fuck is wrong with yo eyes?” I said.  Well that little ol man come at me like a fat kid to a cupcake:  mouth all gapin open, eyes all crazy, arms swingin.  I had just enough time to reach out and grab that mutha fucka round his throat, but that didn’t stop him.  He just kept swingin.  It was right bout then that I realized this mutha fucka ain’t right.  He got that shit that’s been goin round.  So I’m standin there with both hands wrapped round his ol skinny neck, and I looked around and everybody’s just starin at me. 
 I said, “Goddamn, somebody call the po-lice.  Shit.”
When the po-lice finally got there, they came bustin in with guns out, and every one them guns was pointing right at me.  I heard one them mutha fucka’s say into his radio, “Badass Jones has Mr. Smith by the neck, he’s trying to kill him.”  
I thought to myself, “This shit must look pretty fucked up.” 
“Turn him loose Badass.  Don’t make me shoot you,” Sergeant Molina said. 
“Shoot me?  Molina, what the fuck is wrong with you?  This mutha fucka ain’t right,” I told him.  
Molina said, “Everybody has to pay taxes Badass.  It’s not his fault.” 
I looked all cockeyed at that mutha fucka and said, “Have you lost your fuckin mind Molina?  This ain’t bout no taxes.  This mutha fucka’s sick.  He got that shit what’s been on T.V.  He’s tryin to bite me and shit.”  
The whole time me and Molina are discussin this shit, ol Mr. Smith is still just goin to town tryin to get at me:  legs kickin, arms swingin, and teeth snappin.  Molina and his men eased up a bit and stood there lookin at us for a minute.  
Finally I said, “Well what the fuck you gonna do?  I can’t stand here all day holdin this mutha fucka up.  My shit’s gettin tired.”
Molina came slinkin up next to me lookin at ol Mr. Smith.  “Damn!  What’s wrong with his eyes?” he asked.  
“If I was you, I wouldn’t be worried bout them Goddamn eyes.  I’d be paying attention to them snappin teeth,” I told him.  
Molina stood there thinkin and finally motioned to a couple of his men and they ran out the door.  “I have an idea.  Just hang in there, and we’ll take him off your hands,” he said.  
A couple of minutes later his men came back in wearing riot gear, covered head to toe in Kevlar, helmets, face shields and all that.  “Shit, that’s what I’m talking bout,” I said.  
Molina smiled and said, “I told you I was going to take care of it.”  He motioned for his men to come over and get to work.  The two officers stood there looking at each other for a bit.  They shifted their eyes to me then Molina.  Molina just shook his head then said, “Badass has him around his neck, so just grab his arms and cuff him behind his back.  Can you do that?”  
Each one grabbed an arm and went to twisting them behind ol Mr. Smith’s back.  It  looked like they was having trouble hangin on, so Molina stepped behind Smith and put the cuffs on him.  “Can I let this mutha fucka go,” I asked Sgt. Molina.  
“Yeah, turn him loose.  I think these boys can take it from here,” Molina said.  Both officers cut their eyes at him.  Well I let go and stepped back as quick as I could, glad to be loose of that mutha fucka.  
I stood there watching them two po-lice tryin to get ol Mr. Smith loaded in the back of their car.  They looked like a couple of monkeys fuckin a football.  They was bein real careful not to rough him up and tryin not to get bit.  Finally, I just went over and grabbed him up by the back of his neck and seat of his pants and chunked his old ass in the back of car.  That was that.  
As they drove off, I looked over at Molina.  He was standin there with a shit eatin grin on face.  
I said, “What the hell you smilin at?”  
He said, “Damn Badass.  The way you handled that I might have to put you on my payroll.”  
I told him, “Yeah mutha fucka, your makin a joke now, but if this shit starts spreadin round our lil town, you ain’t gonna be laughin so much.  You just might need ol Badass Jones to step up and take care of some shit.”  
Molina’s smile slowly faded from his face when he said, “You know Badass, you may be right.”Molina was serious as shit when he said that.  He actually looked a little bit scared as he walked back to his car.  
I told him, “Don’t worry brotha.  We gonna be alright.  I’ll keep my schedule light for the next few days, just in case.”
As I watched Sergeant Molina drive off, I thought to myself, “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

###