[Buzzard County] Chapter 1

A little background on Buzzard County-Dr. Hunt pays an unscheduled visit-Anita helps out the doctor

There is a county in South Carolina that many people don't know anything about. It is not very populated. There is no big city. There is simply the county and the town of Buzzard. But a lot of things happen in Buzzard because it has an interstate highway running through it and a lot of strange citizens from the cultured and respectable to the inbred and despicable.

Citzens of Buzzard aren't fond of the name of their county or the county seat. A buzzard is a bird that eats on the carcasses of roadkill. Buzzards are nasty filthy birds, and the buzzard name lends credence to the idea that Buzzard County is a nasty filthy place. There have been many attempts to change the name, and all those attempts have failed. Even the Buzzard High Buzzards refuse to change their mascot, and it is great half time entertainment to see the mascot feasting on the mock remains of the opposing team's mascot. That is the strange thing about bearing what others consider an insult. It creates a certain pride in the one bearing the insult such that it becomes a sort of honor in much the same way that Australians take pride in being descendants of convicts exiled from the British Isles.

Our tale begins with Dr. Mike Hunt. Dr. Mike Hunt was driving down Interstate 95 right through Buzzard County when he felt distress in his innards. He had consumed some Mexican food earlier, and it was fighting its way out. Hunt clenched his ass cheeks as hard he could, and he took the exit into Buzzard County.

"My god, I am going to shit my fucking pants in the middle of this fucking hick state!"

He gritted his teeth and pulled into a Waffle House (aka the "Awful House".)

"Fuck, fuck."

It was too late. Dr. Hunt was losing the clench. Shit was blowing through his khakis into the interior of his BMW. He stumbled out of the car with brown streaks running down both pants legs and ran into the restaurant. Patrons were aghast to see Mike's distress.

Mike got to the bathroom, and it was locked.

"GODDAMMIT TO FUCK!!"

It hardly mattered at this point. His bowels emptied into the hallway. His pants were an utter beshitted mess. A patron was trying not to laugh. Another choked on his sausage link. A lady barfed.

A waitress approached Mike.

"Mister, I'm sorry you shit yourself, but you're going to have to take yourself out of here," she said

Mike lost it. He started sobbing as he crumpled to the floor.

"Hey, Mister, it ain't the end of the world. I think everybody has shit their pants once or twice in their lives. But you are grossing us out, and it smells bad like you been eating Mexican or something."

Mike just sobbed. Then, he spoke.

"You don't understand. My whole life is one shitty fucking mess. My slut fucking wife ran off with my best friend and is divorcing me. She maxed out my credit cards while I was in Florida, and I am flat ass broke driving myself back to Connecticut. I had to pawn my Rolex for traveling money. That fucking bitch. Now, I am sitting here in a puddle of my own shit in this fucking hick ass roadstop with you inbred motherfuckers looking at me trying not to puke or laugh."

The door to the men's restroom opened and a trucker with a newspaper under one arm looked at Mike on the floor.

"Goddamn. . ." he said.

The waitress put her hand on Mike's shoulder.

"Mister, you might think I am some white trash piece of shit, but I feel your pain. I've been done wrong my whole damn life. But I learned that you can't just sit there and take all that shit. You gotta get up and keep on fighting. So, get your shitty ass up off that floor and get in that restroom."

Mike did as he was told. The waitress took him into the restroom and closed the door.

"Get your clothes off."

"What?" Mike said.

"Just do what I tell you," she said.

Mike stripped out of his shitty digs. The waitress held out a trash bag.

"Throw them in here. Wash yourself up in the sink."

Mike was naked and filthy, but he did as he was told washing himself with handsoap and paper towels.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Anita," she said.

"Anita what?"

"Anita Dick."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Anita."

"Give me your car keys. I know you got some extra clothes in that BMW."

Anita went to Mike's car and brought back the clothes he needed.

"Your car smells like a shithouse in Hell," she said.

Mike put on the clothes.

"I need to clean that car before I can drive it."

"I got it covered," Anita said. "Have you had breakfast?"

"No, I haven't. I really need to run."

"Horseshit. I gotta finish my shift before I help you clean that shitty car. You're getting some coffee and hash browns until then."

Mike took his seat at the counter. No one made eye contact with Mike. It was like the shit explosion they had all just witnessed had never happened. They all knew it happened, and they would tell the story to all their kinfolk and friends for the next decade about the fancy Yankee who had shitted himself inside the Waffle House. But for the time being, they spared Mike any conversation or further embarrassment.

"What do you do for a living?" Anita asked.

"I am a dentist," Mike said. "Or at least I was. I'm in partnership with the man who is now fucking my wife."

"Damn," Anita said. "Your whole life really has gone to shit."

"I have to try and sue the bastard to dissolve the partnership. Plus, he is also fucking one of my hygienists. Christ, how did I ever trust or get involved with these people?"

"I totally feel you on that shit," Anita said. "I learned a long time ago to stop trusting people. They just use you and toss you like wet garbage."

Mike was silent as he ate his hash browns and drank his coffee. He ordered some eggs scrambled.

"I don't even know why I am going back to Connecticut. Between the two of them, I am cleaned out. I can't even get a good lawyer."

"Why were you in Florida?" Anita asked.

"My mother lives down there," Mike said. "She is retired and living on what dad left her when he died. I wanted to see her before. . ."

Mike's voice trailed off.

"Before you went back to Connecticut with that shotgun to blow their fucking brains out," Anita said. "I saw it in the trunk. It belonged to your dad, didn't it? Perfect murder weapon because there's no paperwork on it. It also explains why you didn't fly."

Mike looked down into his eggs.

"It's OK," Anita said. "You ain't going to kill anybody. You are going to relax and think it out. Then, you are going to start a new life, and everything will be fine."

Anita went back to the time clock and punched out.

"Let's clean that car, dentist man. Then, you are taking me home. You owe me the ride after what I did for you. Plus, I can blackmail you, but I won't."

Mike laughed at this.

"It's a deal, Anita."

Chapter 2

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