Contributor: Robert E. Petras
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His name was Urick, but he called himself the Stomper, and the Stomper was in the woods stomping snakes, one of his callings in nature. Why else would evolution endow some badass with size Double D feet other than kicking punk ass and killing snakes?
He was heeling the head of a two-foot snake with Army surplus boots, snuffing it out like a cheap stogie. It stopped wriggling. The Stomper scooped up the stupid looking snake by its tail and whipped it, flinging the head off, barely missing a dove resting upon a tree branch.
The Stomper pumped a fist and then slid his ass-kicking hand into a back pocket of green canvass pants and pulled out a notebook. He thumbed through his notes: how many punks whose asses he had kicked, their names and ages, the women he had banged and dumped and, finally, the...
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Author:
Robert E. Petras
