Inbred Hick Fucks

Inbred Hick Fucks
by David Rutter

The inbred hick fucks picked me up,
Wet and weary, looking like something
The cats dragged out in the rain
To play with and then kill.
I said goodbye to the friendly cow
Who was keeping me company and
I got in the backseat of the car.
I was alone in my seat in the back,
Which seemed strange to me,
With all three of my hosts,
Overly virile fuckers, one and all,
Crammed together in the front.

We drove on through the rain,
The inbred fucks and I,
For what seemed an endless time.
I was far too drunk and miserable
To have any idea whether or not
They were headed in the right direction.
They made some witless small talk and
Good, antagonistic sport of my
Freshly shaven head,
Still soaking wet and gleaming
From many hours lost and drunk,
Playing vagabond in the rain.

Our fun came crashing to a close,
As it was certainly wont to do,
When the three hick fuckers
Began to insinuate that
My shaved head must be some indicator
Of political beliefs that leaned,
Quite the opposite of the truth,
Towards sympathy with those of
The far right wing.
It seemed only logical to
Defend myself by declaring,
“What do you inbred hick fucks know?”

After screeching to a halt,
The inbred hick fucks proceeded
To drag me out into a field
And demonstrate for my edification,
Exactly what three corn fed country boys
Were capable and made of.
Now curled into a protective ball and
Soaked as much with my own blood
As with the pouring rain,
I had time to compose my motto,
“It’s never a good idea to
Identify inbred hick fucks by name.”