Tales From Kentuckytown: Rick Rutherford's Dream

By Jake

Rick Rutherford awoke to the sounds of roaring thunder. He glanced over to the clock to see it was only 3:00 AM. "Fuck this shit, man," he thought to himself as he closed his eyes to go back to sleep.

He fell back to slumber seven minutes later.



Rutherford entered the REM phase of sleep. His mind began to show pictures. He was dremaing. He never remembered his dreams when he woke up and it pissed him off.

His dream:

"You fucking stroke," screamed Rutherford as he launched a water balloon at a five year old girl who was riding her bike down the street in front of his nice country home. The little girl's scream was so shrill that it was barely covered up by Rick's the uproarious laughter. "You fucking douche," he thought to himself while tears streamed down his face.

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Rick took his shirt off and headed over to his pool. He was sweating and had just gotten down oiling his tractor. His tractor rolled a lot smoother now and Rick was pleased. He decided to reward himself with a refreshing dip in the pool.

He dove in, at first the cold water was a shock to him. Then he felt his body go numb. "Fuckin' fuck of a goddamn rattlesnake cunt," he thought to himself, "I shouldn't have dove head first into this motherfucker."

He was right. He landed on his neck and was suffering from a stinger. He couldn't move his body and his lungs were beginning to fill with water. "Donkey shit, what am I going to do?"

In bed he was tossing and turning. This dream was extremely vivid, he usually doesn't have vivid dreams like this. To him it felt very real.

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He started gasping. He jolted up from bed. "Oh holy mothershitting hell," Rick said with an escaped breath. He looked over at the clock again, the time was not 4:17 AM. "Fuck it, I'm going to watch the fucking TV."

He went to the basement so he wouldn't wake his family up. If his dad woke up he might be angry and punch Rick in the head again. The last time he watched TV this early Rick's dad knocked him unconscious.

Nothing was on TV. He didn't really feel like watching TV much. He glanced over to his left and saw his dad's gun cabinet. "I'm going to shoot me a fuckin' can or two."

Shooting cans is Rick's greatest hobby. Sometimes he goes on the internet and logs onto ICQ under the name Rutherfordfairlane, but he doesn't respect the computer like respects cans and guns. He heads out the door with a rifle in tow.

He walks behind the barn and set some cans up on a tree stump. A few of them were beer cans that Rick and his ex-girlfriend Thea Vidale drank one night last August before they had their first awkward sexual encounter. Thea had asked Rick to stop after one pump, but he said "Fuck you, bitch" and pumped three more times until he came. There was a trial, but Rutherford's father was pretty powerful in the town--he had the biggest farm, after all-- and Rick got off. He was very lucky. Thea and her family moved out of Kentuckytown shortly after that.

This passed through Rick's head as he began to unload on the cans. A huge smile beaming like the rays of sunshine that were beginning to peak from the horizon. "Take that you sroke-assed cans," boom boom. "Take that Thea, fuckin' slut," boom boom.

He hit two of the cans, and five remained standing. "Not fucking bad at all," he thought to himself. He went back inside and fell right back to sleep. This time he didn't dream. He didn't need to anymore. Most of the dreams he didn't remember were about shooting cans. This time he lived his dream.