1 / Tub of Lard

Tubba was dragged out of the building, kicking and screaming. The police tossed him into the back of their car, then got in themselves. In seconds, they were shooting down the road to the county prison. He had been sentenced for years of identity theft, exposed by the blood work of Chubba, who didn’t actually have a brother. The teal tub of lard, who had followed him outside, listened as the psychopath wailed profanities from out the window. He was disgusted by his usage of expletives.

“What a fuckface,” Chubba muttered. He walked to the department located across the street from the clinic. The blood extraction had made him dizzy, so he decided to go for a smoke. He bought the most expensive kind available, because he took great pride in destroying his lungs in a luxurious fashion.

Back outside, he noticed a hobo sitting up against the store’s wall. He held out a mug, and returned Chubba’s glance with pleading eyes. Chubba, who cared deeply about laws pertaining to personal property, puffed a cloud of smoke in his face and hit him upside the head with his own mug, knocking him out cold.

“Filthy loiterer,” he grumbled. “People like him are ruining our country.”

“Another criminal, huh? All you Clubba’s are the same,” came an unknown voice from behind the man. There stood a Pianta, dressed in the same policeman’s attire as the two that had just taken off with his creepy wannabe sibling.

“Hold on, are you saying that I’m guilty by association? Some cop you are!”

“Actually, I’m saying that you’re guilty because you just beat an innocent bystander unconscious.” He painstakingly clamped a pair of handcuffs around Chubba’s fleshy wrists. He then herded him around the block, where another police car waited with the front door agape.

Taking advantage of the strength that came with his excess body fat, Chubba snapped the chain linking the cuffs together and elbowed the officer in the nose. He slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key, which had been left in ignition.

“Wait, you can’t do this!” the Pianta screamed, pounding on the window.

“I DO WHAT I WANT.” With that, Chubba slammed his sweaty foot on the gas, and he sped off into the night.