a hit tweet

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

You might think henching involves a lot of battles, a lot of mannish scenes of wiping down equipment or checking to make sure it’s loaded. Cool stuff people do in the fluff parts of LOTR: imagine Aragorn, in all his weeks-unshowered glory, oiling the leather of his sword hilt or something. He smells wicked bad but anyone would kiss him full on the mouth.

What henchmen mostly do when they aren’t sitting around playing Tekken involves driving around to different spots of anarchy, or to 7/11 to get snacks. Usually, they aren’t given the correct directions, and cell phone Mapquest sucks in those days. The routes are scenic views of mountains or fields, the most sober driver is only deemed as such because he can walk in a straight line, and everyone else is fully 4 sheets to the wind.

Henchman 37 sighs loudly from the passenger seat. How he got shotgun is anyone’s guess—16 year old permit carrier and baby butterfly 21, sober aside from a hint of the dank stuff, eyes him questioningly. He’s been rather quiet, the older henchman. 24 hasn’t even complained about the smell of his bare feet in the past 30 minutes.

“I’m quitting,” the older henchman declares soulfully within the minute silence of belching and barfing. Before 21 can once again question him, 37 tosses a large ziplock baggie out of the open window.

“Dude, what was that, your panties?” 21 jokes, maybe trying to calm his heart—he’d thought he meant henching or something. Even so far from his family, the little butterfly can’t fathom getting out of this life. He’d seen a guy get fisted to death three days ago. You can’t go back from that.

“No, that was my coke.” “Your…coke.” “Yeah, I’m done.” 37 sounds a little more confident now, nods sagely to himself.

16 year old, barely-permit retaining henchman 21’s eyes widen behind his mask, and he hits the breaks hard. The other henchmen scream and hit the back of the seats, someone might go through a window, but that matters not to the two in the front.

“YOU THREW YOUR COKE OUT?!” 21 shrieks, hands no longer at 10 and 2. “We’ve got to get it, dude! Someone could find it! You know all the roads this way, they’re trying to make safer for deer. What if a deer finds it!?”

No one can stop the hysterical henchman from leaving the car, nor from tracing the path they’d come—21 wouldn’t listen anyway; he’s sobbing under his breath, his footsteps are stuttering as he’s hunched down in search for the illicit drugs. While a couple of the henchmen are curious, 24 has often seen the little guy have to take an impromptu dump, so he isn’t concerned.

37, feeling responsible, follows the little guy in question. His drugs, his problems, their little butterball butterfly kid. As he watches 21 get more and more upset, and it gets darker and darker, he swears he sees some gray hairs splitting beneath his mask if he just shifts a little and looks up.

Ultimately they do find the drugs—no deer were in danger, and 37 kicked his coke habit! In favor of beer.