HOBO JOE – PART FOUR

HOBO JOE – PART FOUR

 “Not all those who wander are lost.” J. R. R. Tolkien

 

Who is Hobo Joe?

Hobo Joe is a fictional series that will be appearing periodically on Tripoart.com

Joe is a young guy who recently got kicked out of his family’s house because his terribly chosen friends stole and destroyed many of his dad’s favorite irreplaceable possessions during one of the most insane parties of Joe’s young life. Now he has to learn to live and survive on his own. He’s smart and resourceful but also likes to live life like a wild man. Where will Joe’s journey take him next?!

This series is based on survival, partying and the interesting and whacked out characters encountered during Joe’s travels. It is filled with adult themes, therefore it may contain vulgarity, drug/alcohol use, and sexual scenarios, please don’t continue to read if you are easily offended by this type of content.

 

Part One – The Departure

Part Two – The Crow

Part Three – Welcome to Amish Country

Part Five – The Brent Hill Keeper Job

Part Six – Living in Alabama!

Part Seven – On The Boat With Billy Bob

 

This is Part Four of Hobo Joe:

 

 

Day Fifteen – The Game Master

I hiked and hiked and hiked and hiked until my feet were swollen with pink blisters and felt more tender than a chunk of chopped up Italian liver, but I didn’t give a shit so I kept on hiking anyways. At this point, I was out of the wilderness and back on the main road. I kept walking and eventually came upon a gas station late in the afternoon.

I went inside, drank some water in the bathroom, and washed off my tired grimy face with my Hobo hands.

I saw the attendant at the front of the store and asked him, “Hey mister, do you know if anybody’s traveling South around here?”

The guy looked at me, sizing me up. He was a broad-shouldered man with a goatee and a blue jean jacket, “Yes, actually there’s a big rest stop a few miles down the road and you should be able to hitch a ride there with one of the truckers or other travelers. We get hitchhikers like you in here once in a while looking for a ride, and I always send them that a way”

“Great! Thanks for the tip, high-five!” I said and gave the man a big high-five slap across his beefy mitten. I was happy and wanted to keep on traveling.

I briskly hiked to the rest stop.

It looked more like a giant commercial center on the side of the highway. With hundreds of cars, dozens of 18-wheeler trucks, stores, gift shops, restaurants and a wide range of businesses, with all sorts of activities going on. People of every race and creed mixed in and melted together. I went and sat down in the middle of the parking lot and began to munch on my tasty Amish sandwich.

As I ate, I noticed the truckers. They seem like the real travelers around here. They know the open road. They know how to cross a continent. They have stories to tell and wisdom to share, I’m sure of it. I’d rather travel with one of them than travel with a family, with a bunch of snot-nosed kids in the backseat. At least a trucker could probably relate to my situation, of how I want adventure and to travel across the world and what not.

I got up and walked towards the big group of burly men. They were all hovered around each other talking loudly, smoking cigarettes, quickly throwing the burnt-up butts to the ground while simultaneously lighting new ones, and telling jokes to each other about God knows what. They reminded me of those nature shows I used to watch on TV. They were like a group of the strongest and most powerful diamondback gorillas in the middle of the jungle, conducting an important primitive meeting by grunting to each other and pounding their chests with their fists. Each ape, just as dangerous and unpredictable as the next one. A huge mass of primal testosterone, planning their next ambush of weaker animals on the food chain.

I approached the huge steroid-infused apes – I mean truckers, saying, “Hey, fellas!” in a loud clear voice.

They all stopped and looked at me like I was an annoying insect; a flee or a fire-ant that needed to be stomped on by one of their black leather boots. I counted thirteen of them. They had elaborate tattoos of skulls, demons, dragons, and witches on their arms and necks, funky-ass beards like ZZ Top, bandanas on their massive curly-haired heads, and black Harley Davidson or Metallica type T-shirts on their huge muscled bodies.

“Hey kid, go away,” said the tallest and mightiest looking one of the group. He reminded me of Andre the Giant. His truck must have been custom designed just to fit his enormous frame into the cabin. They all turned and continued to talk and bullshit amongst themselves.

“Wait, I need to ask you´s all something,” I insisted, speaking even louder.

“I need a lift, I’m traveling South. So who needs a smart and helpful traveling partner?” I said while smiling at the overgrown monsters.

They all laughed at me.

“Listen, you little faggot-ass turd, we don’t need a useless punk like you getting in the way of our work. So get the Fuck out of here before we take you into one of our trucks, bash your dumb brains in with a metal pipe and throw your worthless dead carcass on the side of the highway like a piece a road kill for the vultures and maggots to feast on!”

After Andre the Giant said that to me I decided it was probably smart not to speak with them anymore. I turned around, a bit discouraged, and headed towards the main rest area complex, which was as active as a gigantic beehive during honey gathering procedures.

I walked through the great arched doorway of the rest stop center and couldn’t believe my eyes. There were hundreds of kids running around carrying oversized candy bars, melted ice cream, hot dogs, chili-dogs, greasy cheeseburgers, and huge plastic toys. Most of them were screaming at the top of their lungs and their brightly-colored clothes and tangled-up hairs were all smeared and covered with disgusting food stains. They ran around aimlessly across the entire space like little hyperactive Tasmanian Devils in the middle of a nation-wide campaign of lunacy and mayhem!

I saw their poor exhausted parents attempting to maintain order and sanity. The mothers were chain-smoking cigarettes while screaming at the wild unruly youngsters. And most of the fathers had complete blank looks on their faces, worse than the worn out old faces of ancient zombies, destined to wander the earth till the end of time. Some of these domesticated men were laying on various benches that were set up across the area trying to relax and rest their weary bones.

And a few of them were totally passed out sleeping and snoring as their families did whatever the hell they wanted to do.

It was pretty fucking wild, and the best part of it all was that in the back of the enormous complex there was a full-on arcade room, equipped with the latest video games on the market.

That’s where I went first.  I saw pinball machines, motorcycle and Lamborghini racing games, ping-pong tables, air hockey, and an insane children’s size obstacle course that looked like something out of a military´s boot camp training session.

I saw one puny five-year-old kid playing on the best video game of all time. An intense man-to-man combat game. This kid attempted to play it but he totally sucked balls. He was making all the wrong moves. He was only fighting on the first level against the easiest opponent and he was losing pathetically. HaHaHa This kid needs to go back to school and take some lessons from The Master!

“TOMMY! GET YOUR LITTLE SCRAWNY ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW BEFORE I SPANK YOU AND MAKE YOU SCREAM IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AGAIN!” I heard some ugly frustrated looking woman shout from about forty yards away.

Boom, here´s my chance! Tiny Tommy left and began running towards Mommy, so I put down my backpack, cracked my knuckles, jumped in and started to play!

Unbeknownst to any of the nomadic humanoids in this fine establishment; in my hometown, I’m the champion of this here game and I was going to give them a show the likes of which they have never seen before!

I stepped up to the glorious arcade machine with only 0.001% energy left, and the character who Tiny Tommy happened to choose was my favorite one. He had the best and most bad-ass fighting skills of all the warriors. Luckily, the more ass you kick, the more power and energy you get, and you can literally play forever, annihilating multiple enemies, in multiple dimensions and universes. Man, I fucking love this game!

Let’s go!

Fight!

I did my famous back-around flying kick against lrodo´s thick skull. Direct hit! I continued with some jabs and right crosses to weaken his soon to be destroyed body. I felt the controls beneath my sweaty palms like a man feels a woman’s sensual body during a heated love session. It was like manipulating supple playdough and I was completely in my element!

I did another powerful kick and took off Irodo´s head; clear off his pathetic body.

Fight over!

You Win! Congratulations!

Battle Two, Coming Up!

My next opponent was a warrior princess known as Lady Sheila Chin of the Sheshuine Province. A gorgeous and sexy Chinese princess, who wore tight lingerie as she battled, exposing perfectly formed Oriental breasts.

Unfortunately, for her tight Asian ass, she was about to feel the tremendous wrath of Hobo Joe, like she has never felt before!

Fight!

Some of the little hyperactive children stopped and took notice of my highly skilled gameplay. They gathered around to watch The Master.

“Take this you Chinese bitch!” I yelled.

Screaming at the monitor in an angry rage, while moving my hands and watching as her pixelated body was split in two for everyone to see!

The kids stood behind me and watched in awe with their drooling mouths wide open as The Master continued to kick ass before them. They knew that they were in the presence of one of The Greats and I gave them the best show of their little hyper lives.

One opponent, after another, after another, the fighting was ceaseless and relentlessly violent and just as entertaining as watching a death match within the greatest arenas of the ancient Roman Empire.

I was in the midst of an onslaught of dangerous enemies and I systematically dismembered their poor helpless bodies in seconds, and all the children started to cheer!

Go Joe! Go Joe! Go Joe! Go Joe! Go Joe!

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

They chanted and cheered me on like crazy lunatics; jumping and hopping around the arcade machine! Their cheers filled me with potent doses of energy and adrenaline and I kicked so much ass that it was out of this world!

I was so awesome that one of the children gave me his hot dog and I ate it with one hand while fighting with the other. I was up against a grotesque horde of demonic beasts from the deepest pits of hell, ripping apart their souls as if they were flimsy pieces of discarded toilet paper and crushing their skulls with my medieval battling ax. But that wasn’t my favorite weapon, no, mine was the spiked mace. I swung it around and took out hundreds and thousands of enemies with one mighty swing!

I didn’t realize it at the time, but while I was in the midst of battle, a dark figure was lurking in the shadows of the arcade room. Watching my every move. Hearing my shouts. Seeing the attention that the children rained upon me. Studying me. Analyzing me. Picking me apart and making conclusive decisions. I did not know this was happening. I was too busy eating my free food and extinguishing demons, while the children shouted and cheered on at the top of their lungs in high pitched squeals.

I was at the last level of the game, in the heat of battle, sweating profusely, fighting against the greatest warrior of all time. It was just him and me. Mano a Mano. No turning back now. My power was up at 125%. I looked at my digital opponent with the eyes of a fearless psychopathic warlord. Ready to smash him to smithereens.

Fight!

Right when we started to engage in battle, I felt a heavy hand grab onto my shoulder.

“What the hell, get out of here!” I said, annoyed at the distraction.

“I´m playing a game can´t you see, leave me alone,” I said while brushing the hand away, pissed off cause I was in my element and I just ate two delicious hot dogs and was about to win this whole damn game in front of the entire facility!

“Hey kid, I´ve been watching you play back there and I need your help,” said a deep gritty voice.

“Can´t you see I´m in the middle of something here mister?! I´m about to terminate the most badass warrior in the history of the universe! Why the hell are you bothering me?!”

“Listen to me you little shit,” he said all frustrated like, “Do you want a fucking Ride or not?!”

That got my attention.

“Hey you!” I said, looking at a confused short round kid who was sucking on a fluorescent-red Slurpee that was bigger than his own face. I passed him the controls, telling him, “You got this bro, now go kick some butt!”

I turned around, walking away from the young crowd and saw a man that was more than six feet tall, maybe six-eight, I don’t know for sure. He had a thick stylized goatee with some gray hairs in it, but most of his hairs were as black as the midnight sky.

“Let´s talk,” he said.

“Alright, what´s up?”

“Listen, I didn’t want to say nothing in front of the other guys, but I could use your help.  I´m riding down to Alabama, it’s gonna be a straight run. Meaning, we don’t stop until we get there. Now this is illegal because we are only allowed to ride for ten hours per day. We´ll be riding for two and a half days straight. If I don’t get this shipment down to Alabama by Thursday, I lose my job and lose thousands of dollars. So I need you to help me to stay awake and drive true. We need to maintain the speed limits and you will be listening to the police radio to make sure we safely pass unnoticed through any and all security checkpoints and weigh-stations.”

“Think you can handle that kid?”

I said, “Sure, why the fuck not. My name is Joe, let´s do this man!”

“Perfect, thank you Joe. My name is Brent Hill Keeper.”

“That’s a badass name Brent, where´s the truck at?”

 

 

Thanks for reading Part Four of Hobo Joe!

Click Here to read Part Five and join the fearless Hobo on more wild adventures!

Charles DuFont

Creator of Tripoart, the best art promotion site!

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