“Smoke meth!”

Survival haircut? Check.

Survival finger manicure? Check.

Survival wristband, “stop masturbating” style? Check.

It was time, or at least it was after scarfing down a homebusmade raccoon burger and fries, with a healthy swig of olive oil and salsa.

And then there was the meth, lit ablaze smokes right into the nostril, laced with a healthy dose of pine pollen.

“What’s up, anti-root troopers!? This is day ONE-OH-OH-OH of NoFap!” A tree collapsed as he shouted each “O,” all the while making an okay gesture three times on his right hand after lifting one finger on the left.

“All right, so I got so much sperm going through my veins ‘cause of NOT MASTURBATING, and you know what that means? That’s right: I’M BEING REPRESSED FOR NO MORE! See the root out there thinking it owns the world, all like ‘ah yeah, I can make you have to be homeless to live the real anti-root lifestyle!’ WELL I’M GONNA TAKE THE ROOT, WE’RE GONNA LIVE IN VILLAGES APART FROM THE ROOT, AND THAT MEANS YOU GOTTA KILL THE ROOT, BUCK THE ROOT, AND BUILD THE ANTI-ROOT LIFESTYLE SOCIETY ON TOP OF THE ASHES OF THE ROOT, AS TOLD IN THE ANTI-ROOT MANUAL FOR SALE AT ANTI-ROOT DOT COM, AT A NICE PRICE OF FIVE ANTI-ROOTISTAN SILVER COINS! BREAK THE CONDITIONING!” A handful of mustard plant went down his throat, almost choking the meth with the burning sensation crackling through the smoke. “SPICY!”

The bus revved its wheels up and Mr. Porky glared forward as the vehicle blew out the fumes of Raccoon oil, kind of like the old biofuels he once gathered from the wastes of In-N-Out.

The power of what has been before rises to trap you within echoed through the radio as the grass burned from the sheer force of the speed demon searing each blade; plus, the air was dry already.

Some flames licked the bus, giving the look of a flaming white-and-yellow bullet turning its entire trail to pure charcoal.

“CRASH THE BUS INTO THE SYSTEM, THE SYSTEM OF ROOT CONTROL!” the megaphone atop the bus blared with the force of a sound cannon, knocking tree scraps from the branches. They added some height to the back of the trail, blazing beyond the bus and into the heights, dancing to the gleam of stars and moon beyond.

“WHEN I’M THROUGH WITH YOU, KERI, YOU WILL KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO CHEAT A CHADCEL SUPERSOLDIER LIKE ME AND YOU’LL NEVER FORGET, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!” Mustard fumes foamed up with the meth smoke, catching ablaze and forming a grin growing wider by the moment. First, the bottom of his eyes caught an unending flicker, followed by an orange screen spreading past the ends of the wheel.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO TIME TO BUCK THE ROOT!” The bellow broke the windows as the shards fell out into the flames, a flaming grin spreading across the mirrors and past the bus, now an overgrown blue mustache joined the flaming trail, twirling to the freedom above.

A series of buildings were finally visible. A city limits sign became sliced first by brushing the bustache, then shredding like paper as it fell back into the cutter.

“All right, anti-root supersoldiers, get ready for the final lesson: the ultimate bucking of the root is to cook and drive!” By the time the deer heard this, he was already run right into the bus, cooked to a perfect crisp. A fork and knife cut down a massive chunk of meat, going straight down the gullet for a last supper fitting of a final journey. The protein from the red meat swelled through his limbs and gut, energizing the exuding flames into a full coating, the bus now only visible as a wheeled body of flame to the average eye.

“Siijbus has no brakes!” The bus blew right through a building, the fork and knife planted to the floor as the blast shot him straight to the top of the condo. He leapt with the knife and fork still in his hands, 19 floors boosted by the self-made jetpack from his mouth.

“KERI DRESDEN, YOU BITCH, YOU LEFT ME TO JOIN THE ROOT, WELL, NOW I’M TAKING THE ROOT AND IT STARTS WITH YOU! FOR YOU ARE A ROOT!” The panting left residual droplets on the condo door, his kilt burned to shreds and leaving seven inches exposed. Thankfully, the protein retention therapy had kept his rosary hanging on for good measure. He took a good moment to pray, hunched over with nothing but himself and spare utensils.

The flame reached past the top of the condo. He got up and kicked the door, sending a wooden rectangle through wall after wall until it fell out the other side of the building. “KERI DRESDEN!”

A body collapsed to the floor, hands up praying for mercy.

“The true meaning of an anti-root supersoldier is NO MERCY TO THE ROOT!” Meth breath blazed the walls as a fork penetrated a boob, a knife cut the fat, a fork pulled out an Adam’s apple, the knife slid it off, the throat meeting a fist briefly before being chucked out the room, meeting a fiery end like all other objects in his trail.