hero?

Jack Tait sits naked at the back of the streetcar.  his one ball dangling below the seat.  he is sick and so it dangles lower than normal.  the streetcar is busy.  it is late.  Jack is tired.  he has wasted his whole day walking around looking at young girls talking about their geeky boyfriends.  he would have fucked all forty two girls and he would have fucked them better than their geeky boyfriends.  Jack Tait has one ball but also one gigantic penis.  the geeky boyfriends didn’t.  Jack laughed as the young girls spoke.  now Jack sits tired and lonely at the back of the streetcar.  he sees a young punk up ahead pretending to be cool.  his hat sideways.  he notices a knife dangling out of his motherfucking saggy pants.  “WHAT A FUCKING POSEY ASSED MOTHER FUCKING TWAT!!!”  Jack whispers to himself.  No one hears.  Jack jerks off and blows his load onto the back of the seat in front of him.  Jack is no longer horny.  he can now focus.  he notices that the streetcar is now empty except for that poser from before.  he is screaming profanities at  cops outside.  the streetcar does not move.  the poser’s pants are down and he is calling the cops, “pussies.”  Jack leans down so the crazed poser doesn’t notice him.  Jack hears the cops yelling for the poser to drop his weapon but he refuses.  Jack is getting restless as he wants to go home and drink a forty of Jack.  “FUCK YOU PUSSIES!!!”  Jack continues to hear.  “PUT THE KNIFE DOWN.”  he also hears.  then gunshots.  more gunshots.  more gunshots.  screaming.  yelling.  sirens.  more sirens.  then more gunshots.  Jack is confused.  Jack is quiet.  he peers out from the backseat where cum is now dry and he sees the poser down.  blood everywhere.  his sideways hat in a pool of blood.  Jack stands up and puts his hands up and walks nakedly to the front of the streetcar and exits.  guns pointed at him.  cops everywhere.  angry cops grab him and put him on the ground.  his lonely ball hitting the dirt hard.  while buried on the ground Jack wonders why this young punk is laying down dead in a pool of blood.  he wonders what made this punk carry a knife onto a streetcar and start swinging it around.  he wonders why this young punk was exposing himself on the streetcar.  he wonders why this young punk was angry.  mad.  fearful.  he also wonders where his friends were.  he finally wonders why the cops felt threatened enough to shoot him and kill him.  death is never good.
  Jack is questioned by the cops and released.  he calmly walks back to his farmhouse in the middle of nowhere but hears cries from the deceased boys’ friends and neighbours and parents and they are all the same cries.  the same lies.  “Johnny was nice.  Johnny was great.  Johnny was smart.  Johnny was an angel.  Johnny wouldn’t hurt a fly.”  Jack took a deep breath and let out a big sigh.  “Lord Jesus Christ…I witnessed a young arrogant rude obnoxious prick on a streetcar tonight pull out a knife and threaten people as he pulled his pants down and expose himself.  he was being a jerk Lord.  He really was.  But I also witnessed too many cops arrive at this situation and they all seemed quite inexperienced and one man shot and killed the rude boy.  he shot him many times.  two wrongs do not make a right Lord but I am still so puzzled as to how such a “caring, beautiful, loving, friendly, smart” boy would be wielding a knife on a public streetcar.  I didn’t think such “caring, kind, smart, nice loving, friendly” boys did such things.  help me out.  please.  because people are now calling him a hero.  I am very confused.”
  Jack arrives back at his farmhouse and falls asleep.  no booze tonight.