From Hoarders
by Kate Durbin
CHASE
Colorado Springs, Colorado
I’m Chase, the dragon man from dragon land YOU ARE NO LONGER A TRESPASSER YOU ARE NOW A TARGET metal sign riddled with bullet holes
I always carry guns in my glove compartment black army tank rolling up to Chase’s house; sirens screaming, lights whirring, machine guns cocked; license plate says ATTACK1
Don’t think anybody in the entire United States has as many guns in their name Chase crossing his arms in front of his tank; he has on a SHOOTING RANGE baseball cap and a t-shirt with an impression of a gun on it
It just gets in your blood female mannequin hanging out of a rusty, bullet-holed car shell
Come inside--you could hide some bodies in this Coca-Cola bar from the 1950s, filled with Glock-19s
Glocks are great because every single Glock ever made
Barbara and Jane over here, they keep me company two female mannequins slumped over a 1950s linoleum table, wigs spilling in their faces; they have on cardigans and poodle skirts
They’re the perfect girlfriends because they never complain, never talk back, never spend my money, and they never eat on the table in front of the mannequins are empty vintage mustard and ketchup bottles, empty 50s diner plates, and empty tea cups on Coca-Cola placemats; behind the women’s heads, shotguns; propped against the chairs, more shotguns; at the mannequin’s bare feet, shotguns pointing in every direction, forming a nest
This is Janet, she’s in my house for a year and a half, never even talks to me and I’m real nice to her too female mannequin crouched on the floor, hugging her chest
I like girls with big boobs, because if they trip in the house, they bounce back up blond in a red negligee under a grenade launcher
You know, when it gets cold in the winter, all these girls, they got underwear on to keep warm, and I really treat 'em good naked female mannequin lying on top of a fuzzy blanket that has a red 1957 Chevrolet Corvette on it and says HOT ROD!; in the mannequin’s stiff arms, a 1926 Thompson machine gun from the Oklahoma State Penitentiary
Guns all over the house–you can never have too many inside a round-topped 1950s Coke machine, Pineapple grenades instead of Cokes
Keep one in your car, in case a couple of kids cut you off like those kids did to me today–I feel like blowing their tires up, but I’m keeping it all inside in his Nazi Room, dozens of male mannequins in Nazi uniforms, holding St G44s, the first mass-produced assault rifle
Them Nazi’s were really smart swastika belt buckle that’s also a gun; you push the lever and the barrels pop up
I have rooms in my house for every war the US has fought Big Green Machine gun barrel from an M1 Abrams Tank, which crawled the desert in the Gulf War; chocolate chip camo; downed Iraqi MiG-21 fighter jet nose cone; M16 used by US troops in Vietnam, which frequently jammed-up in the muddy jungle; SKS Carbine used by the Vietcong; 200-liter drum that once held Agent Orange; shovel for digging trenches that a US soldier carried on his back, under his meat can, in World War 1; German Pickelhaube spiked helmet; American soldier’s Springfield; M1917 gas mask with a corrugated rubber hose; mess kit
I got a gun for every situation-if you’re at a shootout, you can quick-draw Colt Thunderer with a seven-and-a-half-inch barrel, that legend says Billy the Kid hid in a Juniper tree after his escape from Lincoln County Jail
I got a lot of these because when the apocalypse comes, they’ll become the only form of currency thousands of boxes of .22 LR ammo
When the economy collapses, and the zombies come to your door battery of AR-15s with American flags on the receivers
When Little Caesars doesn't have my pizza hot 'n ready Mossberg Shockwave with a bird head grip
When I’m on the crapper, and I need to ventilate inside the toilet tank, in a vacuum-sealed bag, a Smith and Wesson M&P
No one has ever died on my property, except my wife, who died when a smoke bomb went off while we were filming a reality show above his bed, twelve Perfect Repeaters on a wooden headboard next to a Drink Coca-Cola tin sign, Delicious Milkshakes, gyrating Elvis, nude Marilyn Monroe
Everything I have here is legal in the state of semi-automatic rifle
In the days after the Vegas attack, I sold all my hundreds of bump stocks
Whatever the killer used, that’s what the people want in his closet, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hat; AK-47 with full camo skin; fake distressed Coca-Cola t-shirt; Pennsylvania long rifle used in the Revolutionary War; old Wranglers; world’s tiniest semi-automatic handgun, the Lilliput pistol; Coca Cola-themed socks
The American people, they want to feel that power in the yard, a female mannequin shot through the face; the hole where her mouth should be, sky; inside the house, Coke bottles from the 1950s, never-opened, original liquid still trapped
