Free Sample Sunday, why the Hell not?

Just a little taste of what they're serving over at Swinging Dick's Saloon.

“Start the night drinking at a place like Dick’s and you never know where the night is going to take you next.”

Slim (name redacted) former bartender, Swinging Dick’s Saloon

       Dirty Jokes and Violence

 Todd Morr

"Survey says: Nine out of ten people will enjoy this gang rape." 

The four men gathered around the table drinking weak American beers and doing shots of strong
American whiskey laughed. This was a foursome who could appreciate a good, or even a mediocre,
rape joke. One man found this so funny he spit out a mouthful of Pabst Blue ribbon onto the tall round
table. The table laughed again, especially Dusk who showed some pride in being able to make a man
laugh so hard he would waste a mouthful of Pabst Blue Ribbon. 

Deke was there for the joke teller, Blake Randusky, Dusk to his friends, a piece of shit as far as the rest
of the world was concerned. Deke had been following him for a while, making notes of his patterns
and planning the best time to take him down.  Dusk stuck to his usual pattern and showed up at
Swinging Dicks Saloon after work just like always. 

The world would not miss Dusk, a man who offered nothing to the world except violence and dirty
jokes. Deke could not wait to don his 'The Discipliner' uniform (he hated to call it a costume) and
remove Dusk and his evil from the world. 

"My friend told me if I wanted to satisfy her I had to kiss her in the stinky place, so I drove her to
Bakersfield," Dusk said after downing a shot of Old Crowe. 

Everyone started to laugh until the man sitting across from him said, "Hey, I'm from Bakersfield." 

The table was silent until Dusk smiled and said, "Well, that explains the smell." 

Everyone, including the man from Bakersfield, burst into laughter again. 

Deke turned back to the television on the wall. It was best to keep a low profile. This early on a
Wednesday night the only people in the little dive bar at the edge of an industrial park known as
Swinging Dicks Saloon were him, the bartender, a hunched over old guy sipping on a Budweiser at
the corner table and of course, Dusk and his three pals. 

"What is green and smells like pork?" 

"I don't know? What?" 

"Kermit the frog's dick." 

More laughter, even the bartender let out a small guffaw, though he may have been just angling for a
tip. 

Deke finished his beer and paid. If Dusk held to his pattern he would sit there for at least another hour,
telling bad jokes and drinking bad liquor, before heading back to his apartment.  

He reminded himself to be careful and not be overconfident, just because Dusk drank a lot didn’t mean
he would be easy to take down. Like most of his type, the type The Discipliner sought to cleanse from
the streets of the city he had sworn to protect, Dusk’s ability to consume alcohol was impressive. 

Deke left to prepare. Tonight justice would be done.

"Why was the drug dealer jealous of the whore?" Dusk asked the table. When no one answered, he
said, "because she could wash her crack and sell it again." 

Everyone in the bar laughed except the bartender and the hunched over man in the corner. 

The old man makeup was starting to itch, the grey wig was making his head sweat and keeping himself
hunched over was starting to hurt his back. To make matters worse Bud Light really tasted like shit.
  If his quarry had picked a more popular watering hole he would not have to go through all of this, but
with almost no customers to speak of it would be impossible to not be noticed. 

He was glad when the target left. It meant he would not have to be here much longer keeping up this
ruse. It was important he give it some time, having anyone thinking he and the target left together could
be problematic. 

He would not have to worry about losing him. He had been studying the man for a while. This man
had very specific habits, the fake old man could relate because he had specific habits himself.  He was
glad he had stumbled across this troubled young man, it was a rare thing to find someone like him.  

He finished his beer and watched sports highlights for a bit before shuffling out the door. 

He could not see the target, but he knew he was there.  

****** 

"You okay to drive?" The man from Bakersfield asked Dusk. 

"That's the funniest thing you said all night," Dusk said as he put a cigarette between his lips, "I've
made my way home from this fucking hole in the wall so many times my van knows the way by itself." 

Everyone laughed, except the Discipliner., who sunk deeper into the shadows.  Dusk did him a favor
by parking in the back. The other three rode together and were parked down the street. The Discipliner
would have Dusk to himself. 

Dusk walked right past the man dressed in black, stumbling a little bit as he made it to his van. Among
his other sins, he was a drunk driver. He was fumbling for his keys when the Discipliner stepped out
of the shadows. 

"Your crimes have gone unpunished for too long. It is time for you to be disciplined," he said making
his voice a little deeper and adding a little gravel as he said his signature line. 

Dusk turned, saw the man in black, looking like he was getting ready to ride a dirt bike giving the pads
he was wearing.  In the low light, it took a second to see he was wearing a hockey mask spray painted
black. 

"What the fuck are you?" 

"I am the discipliner." 

"More like the dipshitter, walk away weirdo, before you get hurt." 

When Deke swung his right arm forward the ‘club of justice’ was supposed to slide out of the pocket
Deke had sewn into the sleeve his uniform. In the dark, it would seem like Deke produced the cattle
prod out of thin air.  Unfortunately, the cattle prod stuck in the pocket.

He swung his arm forward again, putting some more force into it and got the same result.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dusk asked.

Deke didn’t answer. When the third swing of his arm didn’t produce the weapon Dusk turned to get in
his van.

Deke made the same move with his left hand and the weapon in the pocket on his left sleeve, a pair of
nunchucks he called the twin sticks of redemption slid into his hand. He spun the weapon to generate
some power and struck Dusk across the back of the head.

“What the hell dude,” Dusk said as he turned around.

Deke hit him again putting the heavy stick across Dusk’s face.

“Stop it, you fucking weirdo,” Dusk said.

“Feel the discipline,” Deke said as he swung the nunchucks again.

Dusk got his arms up and took the next blow on the forearms. When Deke pulled back to deliver
another blow Dusk stepped forward, closing the distance so he was too close for Deke to hit him with
the nunchucks. Deke tried to step back so he could smack Dusk with his twirling sticks but Dusk
buried a right hook into Deke’s ribs and threw the left at Deke’s head.

The Discipliner uniform had steel plates sewn into the shirt and the hockey mask was covered in tacks
so Dusk took the worst of it. Dusk pulled back and looked at his mangled right hand and bleeding left.
Deke did not come out unscathed. The blow to the head stunned him and pushed the mask to the side
so he couldn’t see.

While he adjusted the mask Dusk tackled him forcing him to his back. The landing knocked the breath
out of him but it also freed the cattle prod stuck in his sleeve. While Dusk was trying to pry the mask
off Deke’s face so he could pummel him without messing up his hands Deke jabbed him in the side
with prod.

Dusk’s body jerked as he absorbed some volts. While he was stunned Deke smacked him in the head
with the heavy prod. The combination of getting shocked and getting his head bashed made it easy for
Deke to shove Dusk off of him. Deke jabbed him again with the electric prod and then got to his feet.

Dusk was still trying to get up when Deke kicked him in the face. 

With Dusk nearly asleep Deke slid the prod back into his sleeve and drew the butterfly knife from his
utility belt. He twirled it and snapped the handle into place.

“It’s time for your discipline,” Deke said as he stepped forward to drive the blade into Dusk’s back.

Something struck him in the chest. Even with his armored plates sewn into his uniform, the force
knocked the breath out of him. Deke dropped to his knees and on the ground saw the bean bag that
struck him. He looked up and saw a man with what looked a lot like the t-shirt cannon he had seen at a
baseball game.

He dropped the knife and his nunchucks when the bean bag hit him, the club of justice was still in his
sleeve. He saw the man, dressed all in black much like he was drop another bean bag into the t-shirt
cannon. Deke flipped his arm forward and the heavy cattle prod filled his hand.

He rose to his feet and said,” It is time for you to be disciplined.”

The second bean bag hit him in the face and he went down again. While he was trying to get up the
man with the t-shirt cannon jabbed him in the neck with a long needle and depressed a syringe.

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