Adios, Pendejos!

By Smokekaka


Miles Antwiler smashed his steel toecapped boot through the cheap plywood door.


"POLICE, HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"

As he entered the house, the familiar smell of stale beans and onions made its way up his nose.

Fucking spic houses were always the same; bleached by the disgusting LA sun, run down, cheap ugly curtains always closed, trash in the yard with a  constantly barking pitbull chained to a stake. Can guarantee that poor mutt has never heard a single "good boy" in his miserable life.

Fuck! Dogs were more human than these goddamn wetbacks. But not other "minorities", they were just as inhumane. You can always get the measure of a man by how he treats his dog.

Miles went in, gun first. The stench of the beaner cuisine grew stronger.

The interiors were as bad as the exteriors; dark, damp, stenching. A layer of filth, decades thick hung on everything. Tacky Made in China "ornaments" adorning some shitty monsterous cabnet. Every piece of furniture second hand from a cousin. Some bullshit Jesus painting and some shitty candles.

Jesus won't save your nasty asses now, you fucking filthy beaner scum.

He turned back to the rest of the squad.

"FRONT ROOM AND KITCHEN CLEAR!"

Fucking 70 inch tv, no doubt stolen, jabbering in spanish at full volume like a demon. An ever present pot of beans was simmering quietly, filling the house with its pungent aroma.

Miles's blood boiled as he went down the hall and kicked a bedroom door in.

"FIRST BEDROOM CLEAR!"

Christ, from what evidance he could see, it seemed ten people were living in that tiny room.

Termites live better than these spics.

As he continued down the hallway, Miles remembered how his late brother Noah "Spoony" Antwiler had forced him to watch one of his interminable Lets Play videos, SWAT4.

"Look, I'm like you Miles"

Spoony had meant it. In his demented mind, he truly thought that playing this game was literally the same as being a real policeman.

Miles still felt guilty at the relief he felt when he heard that Spoony had killed himself, but he managed a little chuckle; this really was like SWAT4.

The next door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it gingerly. As it swung open, a maniacal scream filled his ears, and a monsterous little shape was rushing towards him.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Miles had been top shooter at the police academy, he never missed his target.

The body slumped to floor. He pulled it over.

Staring with brown eyes, was The BlockBuster Buster. Even in death, he was discintive with stupid wetback grin. Those teeth were worse than an Englishmans.

"You alright Miles?" asked a fellow policeman, standing in the doorway.

"Yeah. Look, the fucker was armed"

And there in his small hand, was his trademark busting hammer, still tightly clutched.

"GUYS, GET OVER HERE!"

Miles and the rest of the squad followed the voice.

"Look, the fuckers were hiding this behind a bunk bed"

There in the wall was a small door, probably about 5 foot 3.

Miles turned to the rest of the sqaud.

"After three guys. One... Two... Three!"

Miles smashed the little door open. A small staircase led down to what looked like an enlarged basement area.

As they descended, Miles and the team could hear screaming and shouting.

Bracing himself, he walked, bending,  along a small passageway and came to a metal door.

Miles tried the handle slowly. It was unlocked. But what he found inside was something he never expected.

Chained naked to the wall, on a filthy cum and blood stained matress, was a skinny blonde haired girl. She can't have been more than 16. Between her ivory legs, was the hairy tanned slightly shitstained ass of a spic. But the spic was not naked, he had on a cheap black leather jacket that seemed at least two sizes too small. With each thrust, a small but stinky bean fart was expelled from between those hairy cheeks.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK! WHAT THE FUCK WERE THEY THINKING WITH NO MANS SKY!!!"

Shocked by this, Miles ran over without a moments thought.

"Don't you dare touch this helpless white girl!"

He grabbed the spic by that shitty jacket's collar, which tore.

"Angry Joe?!"

"YEAH THATS RIGHT MOTHERFUCKER!"

AngryJoe's four incher (LittleJoe as he affectionately refered to it) quickly lost its tumescence at the sight of the armed police squad.

"OTHER JOE, QUICK, GET THEM!"

OtherJoe, who had been sitting in the state of the art gaming chair which the fans had been told had cost 7 pesos, lept up as fast as his pilling on the pounds middle aged body would allow, making for the stolen gun that lay on the edge of the state of the art gaming desk.

A deafening chorus of gunfire followed, as all memebers of the squad let loose.

As the gunfire stopped, Miles looked down. There lay the rotund bodies of AngryJoe and OtherJoe.

Miles unchained the girl, who seemed to be jabbering in Swedish, a wild look in her eyes. He picked her up gently and carried out of the squalid hellhole where she had clearly been imprisoned for some time.

"It's okay sweetheart, you're going to be okay..."