Dear NSA: A Collection of Politically Incorrect Short Stories Read online

  DEAR NSA

  A Collection of Short Stories

  By Harmon Cooper

  Copyright © 2015 by Harmon Cooper

  Copyright © 2015 Boycott Books

  Cover by White Comma

  For free books visit:

  www.harmoncooper.com

  [email protected]

  Twitter: @_HarmonCooper

  All rights reserved. All rights preserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Here are two free, full-length books.

  If these names mean anything to you – Hunter S. Thompson, William Gibson, William S. Burroughs, David Mitchell, Kurt Vonnegut, Philip K. Dick, Karen Russell, Donald Barthelme – then you may like my new series, Life is a Beautiful Thing. This series is weird, it’s fun, and it may be up your alley.

  Reviews:

  'Mesmerizing, dark dystopian thriller. The action never lets up.' - Amazon top 500 reviewer

  'If Palahniuk wrote Trainspotting as a dystopian futuristic sci-fi, it would be this book...smart, funny, stylish, quick-moving, and cyberpunk-sexy.' -Amazon top 500 reviewer

  'Strangely thrilling; imaginative and depressingly fresh, Cooper introduces a freakishly diverse cast of characters in a futuristic setting that is, sadly, a feasible reality in which to devolve.' -Liquid Frost, Amazon Top 100 reviewer

  'This book will make you want to read the entire series.' - Amazon reviewer

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  Want to check it out first? The first four chapters of Book One are at the back of this book, accessible from the Kindle menu above (Go To). Or click here.

  Thanks for the support and happy reading,

  Harmon Cooper

  Pedo Drew

  Predator going door to door.

  New neighborhood is new enough, old really, but so is everything in the festering subdivision. Drew's decision trails him like a bad odor. Like a filth, a stench, a rotten tear, a kick in the ass. Knock knock knock. Say the script. Continue on. It’s the worst bet Drew’s ever made.

  Their eyes. Newcomers to the truth. Lift the veil over anything and watch it crumble. Ask a war vet, a heart-surgeon, an alien, a sinner. Their eyes suddenly grow pregnant with disgust and their mouths open like film canisters, agape at Drew's pedophilic confession. By the time their mouths shut, they're already planning their escape from Cherryview, the nicest neighborhood this side of I-10, the safest community in the county, the third safest county in the state.

  Sure, Brons Pepperock used to get into some disputes with his wife. Sure, they happened in their front yard enough times for the cops to wait down the street every Friday night. But still, at least Brons wasn't a kiddie toucher – just a drunk. And anyways, he's dead now. Fuck him. Cold in the ground with liver failure – liquor will do that to you.

  Oh, and everyone knows that Mary Santis committed suicide after drowning her terrier in the public pool (yet no one knows how she got over the chain-link fence). Still, that's neither here nor there. Besides, the dog was old and Santis wasn’t exactly young.

  The point is – there are bad apples everywhere. But this Drew Higgins… Neighbors tremble when they look at the card he gives them. The name Matthew Harper, his parole officer, is scrawled across the front along with a phone number. This Drew Higgins has to go.

  Behind closed doors they talk about moving. It’s a bad time to sell, not in this economy. Damn Republicans. Damn Democrats. Damn Tea Partiers. Damn Government shutdowns. Damn sexual predators. Damn anyone that’s not us. America is as safe as a minefield outside the seaside headquarters of the Taliban during a tsunami. No one is safe anymore.

  The neighbors will watch Pedo Drew turn and careen sheepishly down their driveway through the peephole. He'll get smaller and the world will curve around him. That flannel shirt and the way he walks like he has a stick up his ass – that's definitely how a predator would walk. Definitely. And his haircut? Too pedo to comment here. Move along people, move along. Don't go anywhere near 728 Birch Street, there's a bad man in there!

  Within hours, people start parking their cars as far as they can from Drew's house. The trees across the street lean away from his side of the curb. The shrubs surrounding Drew's house uproot themselves. Even the garden gnomes head for safer grounds (and send postcards).

  Weapons Nate begins building a trench around his house the following day. The old couple in 732 installs a pair of motion activated flood lights even though they don't have any grandchildren. The family in 729 erects a camouflage deer blind near the recycling bin. The Starks in 740 keep their tiki torches lit at all hours.

  A perpetual dark cloud forms over Pedo Drew’s house and coughs up a bucket of rain every time he steps out the front door. At night, the streetlamps above Drew's house flicker. At night, eggs spring from their cardboard cartons into the grimy hands of local teenagers, eventually finding a splattery home on his front door. At night, every bolt is locked.

  Not more than forty-eight hours after Drew’s door to door confession, a neighborhood meeting is held at the Pepperock's. Blair Pepperock takes the makeshift podium first and speaks of evil, non-redemption, the safety of her children (one of whom is currently in Juvie), the problems with the Feds, the necessity for lifelong incarceration and the best way to install a razor-wire fence.

  The Guy Nobody Knows takes the stand next and offers discount martial arts lessons at his brother’s Taekwondo Studio. He chops through a wooden board, and, most impressively, manages to slice through a watermelon with his bare hand. This brings applaud, as it should.

  Next up is Weapons Nate to talk about guns and ammunition. A lifelong shooter, Nate brings with him an impressive array of killing devices to show the concerned crowd. He even has a bear trap, which he nearly loses his foot in while showing how to properly clean a flamethrower.

  According to Weapons Nate, The National Firearms Act allows citizens to legally possess any fully automatic weapon manufactured before 1986. This includes mini-guns, antitank rifles, and if one can find it, a German V-3 Supergun – a World War II monstrosity capable of delivering a half-ton shell up to ninety miles away. Weapons Nate's enlightening presentation is followed by a quick prayer session led by Pastor Baker.

  Pastor Baker calls on the Lord Jesus himself to keep a watchful eye over the Cherrywood neighborhood, and to protect them all from the iniquitous Pedo Drew. Fueled by his own fervor, Pastor Baker draws his hands into the air. He shakes his fingers at the trembling audience, yelps and stomps; he snorts hellfire and sweats holy water; he spits like the cobras on Noah’s Ark and farts brimstone.

  Towards the end of his sermon, Pastor Baker reminds the crowd that the church needs a larger parking lot due to the increased size of American vehicles. “Big enough for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!” he jokes.

  He finishes by reading from Luke 17:2. "It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones."

  "These 'little ones' mean children," Pastor Baker explains, after seeing a wave of confused faces. (His congregation has never been that bright.)

  The pastor steps down from the podium and Rudy Harrison steps up. Rudy wants a pitchfork mob; Rudy wants flames, over
turned cars, more refreshments at the next neighborhood meeting, death and dismemberment; Rudy wants families to please remember to turn off their porch lights if they aren't planning on handing out Halloween candy; Rudy wants life, liberty and justice, blind or otherwise. Beer-tinged saliva flies from his mouth as he tells the crowd about the Fed’s conspiracy to plant pedophiles in every neighborhood to keep people afraid. With a crazed look in his eye he shouts:

  "1984 is here! 1984 is here! Down with big government! Down with Pedo Drew!”

  (Rudy hasn’t actually read 1984 but he gets the point.)

  Eventually, Rudy Harrison is led away by Pastor Baker with the help of Mr. Kim, the neighborhood's only Korean resident who looks pissed. (He always looks pissed because the neighborhood kids routinely target his house for toilet papering.) “Just relax, Rudy,” Pastor Baker says.

  "Let Rudy go!" someone shouts.

  "That's right!"

  "Let him speak!"

  "Free country!"

  “Not in my America!”

  Inspired by his budding popularity, Rudy soars back into the room like a blind eagle. He transfers over the arms of Pastor Baker, Mr. Kim and Mrs. Pepperock. The neighbors carry Rudy to the other side of the room bearing his weight. They set him down carefully, and after a moment of bizarre silence, the crowd erupts in rip-roaring applause.

  Ignited by the crowd’s anger and his disdain for Pedo Drew, big government and unconscientious neighbors, Rudy grabs the closest item that resembles a pitchfork – a chimney broom – and strikes it in the air. The intensity in the room swells and the Stark's teenage daughter pulls out her smartphone to film the ensuing madness.

  The following excerpt is taken from a thirty second YouTube video simply entitled, How to Start a Mob:

  Rudy: Drew Higgins!

  [Rudy holds the chimney broom high in the air.]

  Gathered Crowd: Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

  Rudy: We’re coming for you Pedo Drew!

  Gathered Crowd: Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

  Pastor Baker: Now folks, let's settle down. Remember, we're Christians here. Only God is allowed to slaughter the Canaanites.

  [The crowd goes quiet.]

  Rudy: Let's raise some hell!

  [The crowd hoots and hollers. Mr. Kim approaches Rudy from behind.]

  Pastor Baker: Now, I know there are a lot of concerns here, and I’m not saying that they aren’t warranted. All I'm saying is we should—

  Rudy: Let's get him!

  [Mr. Kim grabs Rudy from behind and tries to drag him away. Rudy responds by bucking his head back, sending Mr. Kim spiraling. The crowd cheers. Someone throws a bag of generic potato chips at Pastor Baker’s face.]

  Rudy holds the chimney broom in the air one more time and heads to the front door leading the crowd like a drum major. Rudy is the pied piper; he is the proverbial Paul Revere; he is the whistleblower; he is the trumpeter; he is the most demented man in the room.

  Soon, an amoeba-like mob forms outside of Mrs. Pepperock's house. The sky darkens and the streetlamps turn off. The Starks’ tiki torches are passed out. Weapons Nate hands out stick grenades that he bought at a World War II Weapons Trade Show six months ago. Real estate signs and other sharp neighborhood paraphernalia are plucked from freshly manicured yards and brandished.

  Realizing that most of the people in the ravenous crowd are active members of his congregation, Pastor Baker grabs a garden hoe – ironically, the only person to actually wield something a member of a pitchfork mob might actually wield – and beats it against the side of an empty trashcan. The crowd turns to him.

  With fury in his eyes and a garden hoe in his hands, Pastor Baker bellows from the depths of his reverent soul: "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God! Pedo Drew, down with thee!"

  The Guy Nobody Knows (later it's discovered that he actually doesn't live in the Cherrywood neighborhood) drags a wooden canoe out of the Pepperock's backyard. Using his martial arts knowledge, he stomps on the keel until it gives way. The canoe splinters and the Guy Nobody Knows heaves a large hunk of wood above his head. He yells at the top of his lungs, “This is Sparta!” and everyone seems to agree.

  In a gesture that wasn’t planned but was likely inevitable, The Guy Nobody Knows swings the plank of wood behind him and strikes Weapons Nate in the neck, severely wounding the neighborhood gun-nut. Rudy responds by jabbing his broom into the stomach of The Guy Nobody Knows.

  The Stark’s daughter manages to capture all this on video, but the audio is sketchy. In the ten second clip (YouTube: How To Attack Someone With a Broom), Rudy takes a swipe at The Guy Nobody Knows with his chimney broom. He connects with the man’s chin and a tooth goes flying.

  With a helping hand from Mr. Kim, who has taken the if you can’t beat them, join them­ attitude, Pastor Baker climbs on top of a Buick parked in front of the Pepperock’s home.

  “My friends!” the pastor cries from his vantage point above the crowd. “Do not fight amongst yourselves! Remember, we’ve gathered here today in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ our Savior to combat pedophilia. We’ve gathered to strike down the groping hands of Drew Higgins!”

  Rudy stops assaulting the Guy Nobody Knows for a second to take in what Pastor Baker has just said. “That’s right!” Rudy calls back. “We’re here to take the power back!”

  “Blessed be the Lord, my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight!” Pastor Baker screams.

  The crowd rallies behind Pastor Baker and Rudy the ringleader.

  Weapons Nate is driven by Mr. Kim and the Starks to the emergency room – he still hasn’t regained consciousness. The Guy Nobody Knows slinks away and Mrs. Pepperock locks herself in her house with a bottle of Maker’s Mark. She watches the mob leave through the front window as she smokes a cigarette. Boys will be boys.

  The angry mob arrives in front of Pedo Drew’s house brandishing real estate signs, stick grenades, tiki torches and planks of wood from the Pepperock’s canoe. It’s a sore sight to see, blurry and furious.

  Let it be known: all of this may very well have been necessary if Drew was indeed a pedophile. The problem is – he isn't. Seriously, he isn't. Drew Higgins isn’t a pedophile. I repeat: Drew Higgins is not a pedophile.

  Drew has never even been arrested, nor is he the least bit interested in child pornography. Hell, Drew doesn’t even like children. He’s opposed to the continuation of human life. He’s a fatalist, a pessimist, atheist, he’ll never marry, he’s somewhat of a loser, he’s a D&D aficionado, he can tell you every ore available on Minecraft.

  No, Drew Higgins is the victim of a lost bet. An absolutely horrible lost bet.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Matthew Harper, Drew’s rich friend said over a bucket of beer at the local Hooters two weeks ago.

  “What’s that?” Drew asked.

  “If the Lakers win the playoffs, I’ll pay off your mortgage,” Matthew said. “If the Lakers lose, you have to go door-to-door on your street telling everyone you’re a pedophile."

  It was the bet that would forever change Drew’s life.

  "That’s ridiculous,” Drew said, halfway drunk. They were at a bar that catered to a high-class clientele. Girls in tight shorts and halter tops scooted around serving drinks and flirting. It might have been a strip club.

  "You just moved in a month ago,” Matthew said. “Everyone will believe it. Trust me. Trust me."

  "That's the worst bet ever."

  "How much do you owe on your house?"

  "Close to 150K,” Drew said.

  "Sounds like a good bet to me."

  "You're a sick man.”

  "It's easy money, Drew. You know I hate giving money away. Bets don’t bother me though. Besides, the Lakers are favored to win. I'm doing you a favor here, really. I just want to up the stakes.”

  A compulsive gambler, Matthew had a habit of making high stake bets. In college he had to eat the cum cookie twice, take a bath in a tub filled with electric eels, wear a ke
tchup-covered camisole to his American Lit class, piss in the hallway leading to the dean’s office, shave a penis into the back of his head, fondle a homeless man, eat his own vomit and light his hair on fire – all the results of lost bets.

  In what might be considered one of his stupidest bets ever, Matthew bet his first wife that he could cheat on her quicker than she could cheat on him. This, of course, didn’t play out in his favor because his wife was a bombshell, and Matthew was a stocky guy with tufts of black hair on the tops of his hands like a primate. The bet ended in divorce after Matthew grew jealous.

  In a very cracked nutshell: A bet was made between Drew and Matthew, and the Lakers lost. Matthew was indeed serious, and he quickly had cards printed up that read: Matthew Harper, Parole Officer.

  Worst bet ever.

  Seriously.

  In fact, up until he made the Laker’s bet with Drew, Matthew had never actually won a bet against another person (aside from a couple of questionably successful Vegas runs where he had broken close to even). He was defined by his losing streak, his poor gambling judgment. The only think he was good at was picking the right tech start-ups to invest in. And when Matthew made the bet with Drew, he didn’t actually expect to win. He only wanted to keep things interesting. Regardless, a bet is a bet and the rules must be observed.

  Enter Drew Higgins. Yes, this story is about Drew Higgins, but it has skipped around up until this point. The only reason Drew even took the bet is because, well, $150,000 is a lot of money. The Lakers were predicted to win, five to one. Would you take the bet? Think about it.

  Worst bet ever.

  “There’s a freaking pitchfork mob outside my house!” Drew yells into his phone. Outside, Pastor Baker waves his garden hoe in the air. People scream and chant; Rudy the ringleader appears to be beating his fists across his chest. Lightning strikes in the sky above. Gruesome shit.

  “How many people are there?” Matthew asks.