All Hail The Quintessential White Trash Couple – Fiction

All Hail The Quintessential White Trash Couple

by Christopher James Hassett
illustration by Dave Coscia

105 Miles an Hour.

At 105 Miles an Hour, revolving at the speed of a Madonna CD, spinning uncontrollably,

Careening down the snow-covered highway in her ’87 Iroc Camaro…

She is BIG HAIR!

Her freshly shaven legs, now purple,

The circulation cut off from her bicycle pants,

Cinnaburst gum clenched tightly between her perfect teeth,

She fights the Momo steering wheel.

Once again, BIG HAIR faces death on the interstate.

Using a ’92 Crown Victoria with government plates as a bumper, BIG HAIR straightens herself just in time for her exit.

Do not tell her she drives too fast, for it will anger BIG HAIR and her voice will become loud and shrill.

Such criticism passes through BIG HAIR’s mind in a brief moment of introspection, but is cast out the window with her tasteless chewing gum.

BIG HAIR cranks her car stereo up to 188 decibels to fully enjoy Salt n Peppa’s latest.

BIG HAIR knows that she will not hear this (her favorite song today) on the radio for another half-hour so she has to enjoy it thoroughly while it is on.

BIG HAIR lives life to the fullest!

She draws a Marlboro Light 100 from a fresh pack and heats the Camaro’s cigarette lighter, waiting for the small cylinder to pop back open with red hot coils at her disposal.

BIG HAIR loosens the lycra spandex just below her knees, giving the tissue in that region a few seconds worth of oxygenated blood cells before suffocating them again.

In the heat of passion brought on by the song’s chorus, BIG HAIR forgets the cigarette lighter and fumbles through her purse for her Zippo.

An open flame lit so close to a Nexus-shocked mane may seem a bit dangerous to some, but BIG HAIR has only caused her head to explode three times during the ten years she has smoked.

Danger is all part of the life of BIG HAIR, be it flicking ashes into her highly combustible frizzy personality, or getting drunk and flirting with a group of ex-cons loitering in a dark alley, or even driving through the back roads.

BIG HAIR gets out more than you!

The cigarette adheres to the think layer of lipstick that is BIG HAIR’s trademark.

BIG HAIR returns the Zippo to her purse, feeling for the bag of grass she bought off the town hippie.

Even though he has never admitted to it, the town hippie wants to sleep with BIG HAIR. Why else would he sell BIG HAIR his best pot at cost? And that is what BIG HAIR enjoys most:

Every man wants BIG HAIR in his bed, and they can’t have her!

BIG HAIR is going on another date.

She has to pick up her boyfriend because he doesn’t have a car,

She will have to pay for his drinks because he doesn’t have a job,

She can’t go outside state lines with him because he’s on parole.

God he’s hot!

BIG HAIR has known him all through his interesting life, and she decided they were made for each other.

BIG HAIR’s date is He Who Once Wore Parachute Pants,

He Who Was First To Have a Rat Tail,

He Who Has Everything By Van Halen and Led Zeppelin.

It is He:

BIG HAIR fishtails her Camaro into her boyfriend’s driveway, screeching to a halt, leaving one quarter inch between her South-American made plastic spoiler and the fragile garage door.

Once again, she loosens the tourniquets just under her knees, then skips out of her violently abused chariot to the door of THE HUMAN SPORTS BAR’s suburban palace.

Through the door she can hear SPORTS BAR and his father (the homeowner) talk politics, which means they are in a contest to see who can say the word “nigger” the most times in a single sentence. BIG HAIR is disinterested.

She rings the doorbell.

With a quick smile and a firm “Let’s go,” SPORTS BAR orders his mate back into her driving position.

Inside the Camaro, he wraps one hand around BIG HAIR’s waist to keep her from running away, then jams his tongue down her throat, proving that he really cares.

BIG HAIR can taste the Jack Daniels Protein Shake her lover had.

THE HUMAN SPORTS BAR has kept true to his promise to learn nothing from the Court Ordered AA Meetings.

Posi Traction: The Limited Slip Differential of The Gods send the couple off on another Hell-Bent-Never-Slow-Down-Action-Movie-Packed-Unforgettable-Unforgivable-Unfathomable-Under-the-Table-Drunk-Making-Noise-All-Night-Long-While-Pissing-On-The-Town-Monument-Or-Maybe-A-Secluded-Church-Then-Later-Telling-God-It-Was-Nothing-Personal-Fill-The-Rear-Seat-With-Empty-Sam-Adams-Or-Zima-Bottles-As-If-Your-Life-Had-A-Top-40-Soundtrack-With-Vanilla-Ice-As-The-DJ-And-Still-Being-Able-To-Pass-The-Breathalizer-Test-Or-At-Least-Not-Getting-Caught-So-You-Can-Tell-All-Your-Loser-Friends-About-Your-Weekend-When-You-See-Them-After-Showing-Up-For-Work-Three-And-A-Half-Hours-Late-And-Snickering-To-Yourself-Because-You-Know-They-Will-Cut-You-Up-Behind-Your-Back-Out-Of-Jealousy-But-You-Don’t-Care-Kind-Of-Like-Spring-Break-At-Daytona-Beach-The-Way-It’s-Covered-On-MTV-But-Uncut-NC-17-Version-That-Can-Never-Be-Found-At-The-Video-Store-Because-So-Many-People-Want-To-Find-Out-What-All-The-Controversy-Is-About-But-This-Is-Real-Life-“I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Legal”-Adventure!


By the time BIG HAIR and THE HUMAN SPORTS BAR get to the Motel 6, their 12-pack of Coors is gone.

They had gone to all the local hangouts they go to every weekend. No one was there they knew.

They had spent another night out on the town with all eyes on them.

And nobody was around to see it.

BIG HAIR and THE HUMAN SPORTS BAR conclude that it was their friends’ loss and retire to a house of love for some unbridled sex.

It is a torturous spectacle.

BIG HAIR sleeps with her boyfriend not to satisfy her own needs, she is not even motivated by a superstition like that “love” thing.

She does it so she can tell people how naughty she is.

THE HUMAN SPORTS BAR feels nothing.

He’s drunk.

Afterwards they hold each other whispering gentle lines from R. Kelly songs, letting the cocoon of warm soggy sheets, the battling odors of hormones, and alcohol paralyze their movements to the point where the two can pretend to feel a glow.

The smell of SPORTS BAR becomes too much for BIG HAIR to stand.

She asks him to break out the pot.

BIG HAIR casually trots into the bathroom while THE HUMAN SPORTS BAR rolls his first and only bomb of the night.

With the contraband skillfully manipulated in his dexterous fingers, he looks around the motel room.

He imagines it as a seedy, run-down hovel with a roach problem.

He pictures an urban jungle outside with sirens and occasional gunfire faintly playing in the distance.

In his mind’s eye, the room is cool.

With the fictional decadence surrounding him, he feels the danger stabbing him.

The experience of looking over your shoulder, with uncertainty your only true companion.

Events are re-lived in your mind as you look down at the scars on your body.

His streetwise manner has now changed into a legitimate personality.

He yells “SUCKA” at people, and they fear him.

The girl in the bathroom is now someone he just met that night and charmed the pants off of.

At this moment, his body transforms.

Within the time it takes him to finish rolling the joint, THE HUMAN SPORTS BAR has literally become Harvey Keitel.