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I’ll tell you one thing, I fuckin’ hate the state of the world. I didn’t have much use for people when they was alive, clutterin’ up the highways, buying up my town. Now they’re fuckin’ dead, and they still be in my way. Well, I got a solution for ‘em, in just about every fuckin’ caliber.

Call me Howie. I’m a lobsterman by trade, and a Mainer by birth. Spent my whole life in a town called York. My family was all there. Reckon my parents are dead now. They wouldn’t come with me when I went for the boat. I know they went down shootin’. My Ma was a hell of shot, even in the wintertime when arthritis curled her hands up like dead chicken feet.

My son took off with that friend of his, who always got conversion kits for new guns. I’d bet they’re all right, if anyone is.

See, I was home that February day when I finally found out what was worst than tourists: fuckin’ dead people without the goddam decency to stay dead. The weather was mild, but there was rough water out where I put my traps. I was takin’ er easy cleanin’ some guns, and putting a new muffler on my truck. (I’ll you what, if the head of Ford got ate by one of those things, I would not be upset.)

Anyway, ‘bout noon I hear screamin’ from the Goddam Yuppie housin’ development down the street from me. I figured they were just lettin’ those useless little leech kids of theirs run wild, like always. Never did discipline those little assholes, just gave "time outs", like they was playin’ hockey. I swear those people only had kids to show ‘em off.

Well, the screamin’ got real loud for a bit, then it sort of trailed off. Then I heard sirens. The York PD were on their way. I figured whatever was wrong, those people’d do better to bribe their assailants, rather than depend on the fat stupid cops to save their bacon.

Being as I’m a practical man, I went inside, and loaded the guns I’d just cleaned. I called the wife downstairs and told her to check her rifle. She looked concerned, but she knows better than to argue when I start talking about guns.

I turned on the scanner. They changed the police frequency a few years ago, so you can’t listen in on the cops. They didn’t do nothin’ to the fire and ambulance frequencies, though. Those equally fat useless fucks at the York Volunteer Paramedic squad were on their way to scene. Seems there were a lot of seriously wounded Yuppies. If I wasn’t so close to those Yuppies, I might’a been right pleased.

When the first ambulance got to the scene, I heard one of the attendants puke out his window. From what they were saying, a mortar round may have gone off in a Yuppie’s yard. I felt like I’d dreamed that at some point. Anyway, the cops started putting rounds into somebody, and that somebody wasn’t impressed. The whole thing turned into the opening of "Saving Private Ryan", blood, screaming, bullets, and craziness.

The wife turned on the TV, to see if there was any news about it (not likely in York), and found every station, including cable, talking about attacks by unknown assailants. The National Guard was called up everywhere. Jesus H. Christ.

I went down in the cellar, and got my prize weapon: an M60 machine gun. I had three crates of ammo, and gathered all that up and brought it out the truck. I told the wife to start loading all the guns into the truck, and to grab some food. We were going to the boat.

It’s been what they call an open secret, ‘tween me and the cops; about the machine gun, I mean. They know I got it, I know they know. They know that if they ain’t got a warrant, and the National Guard, they are not to come on my property, or I’ll demonstrate the effective use of it. I didn’t care a turd about the secret right then, as I didn’t think there were gonna be any more cops in just a minute.

The wife got the supplies in the truck, got in. Right about then I saw the first of those things: a Yuppie, naked except for sandals (what kind of a man wears sandals?), and a toupee that was coming unglued. In spite of the wounds (bite marks and bullet holes),I recognized him as the arrogant fucker who tried to buy my land two years ago.

Now, I had no idea that he was dead, so to be a law abidin’ citizen, I gave a warning.

"You sick bastard, stay the fuck off my land!"

He didn’t stop of course, so I shot him in the knees, smiling like a kid on Christmas. It cut him off at the legs, but the sonofabitch started crawling. I figured that was clear and present danger, so I cut him in half, lengthwise. That stopped him.

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