Blackhumouristpress's Blog

June 28, 2020

Camp Grandpa

There they were at the Costco early one Saturday morning.  Bill had
his hair pulled back in a man bun holding his vente latte in his left
had while pushing the cart.  His wife Tiffany looked good for spawning
twins eight years back.  Claude came out first and then Claudia soon
to follow.  It was a Caesarian so Tiffany was firm where Bill wanted
her to be.  Aside from that, the couple had Peloton bikes and were
young, smart, fit, good looking, insulated financially from the
pandemic and other obstacles of the modern day.

Tiffany was a big proponent of Montessori.  She wanted the twins to be
independent.  Claude only liked to do things on his phone all day and
spoke like a robot from the olden days- monotone in a staccato rhythm.
The teacher felt Claude was learning to read by looking at his phone.
Now Claudia loved to experiment with things.  She might take a bag of
marshmallows and put them on a plate and then microwave them causing
them to expand and take up the entire microwave.  Claudia might force
the cats to wear pajamas and swallow citrus.  She might wear winter
clothes in July and next to nothing at Christmas.  Claudia would make
slime to play with and nearly destroy the kitchen.  Bill would have
his limits to poor behavior but was often met head on by Tiffany and
then Bill would back down.

Claude plopped down on a couch at the Costco and was playing a
Fortnight while his sister wanted a lifetime supply of candy in a
container.  Tiffany told her no and then the scene started.  Claudia
took off her gym shoes and threw them as she screamed at the top of
her lungs.  The left shoe hit the woman cutting up sausages to serve
as samples.  Bill and Tiffany attended to their daughter rather than
apologizing to the Filipino woman who just smiled while toothpicking
the sausages.

“I hate you!  You are bad people and you make me so fucking angry
that I want to kill you!”
“Honey…  We don’t swear in public.  You know that is very naughty.
Nobody talks like that at the store,” said Tiffany.
“Both you and daddy say fucking and I am going to say fucking!  I
want that candy you fucking assholes!.”

Bill grabbed Claudia’s wrist hard, gritted his teeth and demanded she
stop.  Claudia cried and screamed louder.  Claudia knew within a
nanosecond her mother would arrive to her rescue.

“Bill…  Never, ever…  We’ve been over this before.  If you need me to
handle it and go for a walk please do so.  Violence will not solve

Claude’s phone ran out of juice.  He looked at his dead screen from
the couch he sat on and it skimmed across the floor.  Bill as he was
going for a cool down walk watched his son whip the phone and then
kick over a display of cheese balls.
“That phone fucking sucks…  I need a new phone.  THAT GOD DAMN PHONE

Bill would often say that this team or that team sucked balls.
Junior picked up on that.  The words goddamn and fuck came from both
Bill and Tiffany.  Bill went to grab his son and Claude screamed that
he felt unsafe and offended.  Tiffany came waddling over to collect
her second child.

“Bill…  Go buy us all some hot dogs and I will check out.”

Tiffany promised Claude that he could get the I Phone 10 and Claudia
got a container of Jolly Ranchers to last a family of four a year if
they were good. Bill was on the phone with his father.  Bill’s dad
Wade said that he would watch the kids for a few days so that Bill and
Tiffany could get away alone to regroup.  It took some doing to
convince Tiffany to allow Bill’s father to watch the kids.  Secretly
Tiffany needed Wade to help reset the kids.  Wade was a no nonsense
father that raised Bill in the eighties.  There were rules and
boundaries for Bill and his brother in the old days.  They understood
the word no, went to Catholic school and had respect for authority.
Tiffany lectured the kids on how they were going to have to be
respectful and kind to their grandfather. When they arrived Wade had
been in the backyard lifting weights and punching a punching bag while
his German Sheppard chewed on a bone.  Wade was wearing a pair of
short and running shoes, dripping with sweat.  For a man of seventy,
he was ripped.  He wore his Army hat that let everyone know that he
was a Vietnam veteran.  The kids looked at their grandfather wide
eyed.  Led Zeppelin blared from his Bose speakers.  He had a pool in
the backyard.  It looked inviting in the summer sun and heat.
“Hiya kids…  Member me?  Grandpy…  We’re going to have a swell time
while your parents are away.”

The kids immediately began to get weepy after their parents left.
Wade tried to be compassionate at first and quickly learned that his
grandchildren were spoiled little brats.  They screamed and swore
until Wade picked them both up by their shirts and pulled them up to
his face full of gritted teeth.

“I don’t care what your parents do…  I’m in charge and things are
going to change really fast.  In life you need borders.  If you don’t
have borders, you don’t have a family…  Follow me?”  DO YOU FUCKING

The kids did in fact have a swell time.  They swam, jogged with the
dog and lifted weights.  They watched a Clint Eastwood movie in the
dark and ate popcorn.  The kids lay in bed while their grandfather
told them war stories.  They got to have Mc Donald’s but they had to
eat filet of fish sandwiches.  Wade let them have ice cream.

“In Vietnam it was hotter than it is here and more humid.  We’d try
to sleep in the jungle under mosquito nets.  There would be so many
mosquitos trying to get at me that their wings sounded like
propellers.  Snakes twenty feet long, crocodiles, and monkeys…  You
name it.  I just had to pray I would wake up and not be eaten or shot…
So you see, you got it very nice.”

When Bill and Tiffany returned two days later, the kids were happy to
see their parents.  They ran to them and hugged them.  It was a sweet
scene.  They hugged their grandfather and got into the car orderly and
put on their belts.  Tiffany asked how Wade brought about the

“Like the Stones sang…  You can’t always get what you want but
sometimes you get what you need.”

June 19, 2020

All in the Family 2020

Wednesday in the Bunker Household.  Archie spent the day driving his
cab through the streets of New York City.  Mike and Gloria spent their
days protesting.  Edith made an Ethiopian meal for the family for

Archie- Edith…  What in the hell is that smell?
Edith- Oh I was watchin The View this mornin and
an the ladies was talking bout what I should
be doin about my white privilege.  I got to
thinking bout what I could do about my
racism…  So I went on the computer and
learned to make a dish from Ethiopia.
Archie worked with that one man some
time back…  So thin.  And so we’re gonna
have something I found called Yesir! Whaat?  It’s got lentils and
tomatas and ginger…”

Archie- Jesus, Edith…  I gotta listen to this all day
And then them broads gotta start putting things in your
empty head…  Now what’s this other stuff?  What did I tell you about
going on the internet?  Nothing good comes of it.

Edith- and this other dish… It’s called Kay Sirrah…  It’s got beets and …
beets, onions and carrots…  It’s good for your stool,
Archie.  Sometimes you sit there for an hour or more readin the paper
and then you get real mad about the stuff your readin and then you
never quite do what you sat down to do.

Mike- I think that’s great, Ma.  We all need to
come to grips with our white privilege.  We all got it,
ma.  As soon as we can admit it, we can start to heal.

Archie- First of all…  The Ethiopians run 20 miles
barefoot waitin for the UN truck to throw rice to them.
I don’t remember you mentioning meat.  You all can purge yourselves
while I go visit Chef Boyardee out of the can al fresco.

Gloria- What are you prepared to do to make this
A better and less racist world, daddy?

Archie- I’ve taken in a fat Pollack who has enough
self hate to cover us all when the mob comes for us.
I’ll let meathead be our liaison when the smelly tattooed lesbians
want us to plant their sign in our front yard.  He can kneel for all
of us so we don’t get torched.

Mike- You see, Archie…  that’s the problem here.  I
am a person whose family came from Poland.  I don’t hate
homosexuals or women or immigrants or people of color. I don’t need to
make fun of people to amuse myself or make myself feel better.  You’re
like the president. I don’t believe our president is a good man.  I
think he’s a horrible man and I think we have to be proactive if we
want to return America to all Americans.

Archie- You, my woke little pierogi…  You been
Sucking off the familial tit for years.  How could you
say the system isn’t working?  If I had your life, I’d get rid of
mine.  I’d like to run around with signs all day hating myself, making
love and eat for free.  I’d like to come home and tell you that you’re
a bad man for working all day…  By the way, did any of your comrades
happen to lift a new television whilst out protesting against the
system and visiting the Best Buy?  It would be my white privilege to
buy a filched TV at a price for a … steal.”

Edith-  Oh I don’t think you’d like to walk around
all day, Archie.  Them bunions already are given you
such problems.

Archie- Would you please stifle, Edith… I gave up
years ago.  You wanna marry a man, go ahead.  Find out
what everyone else knows that’s been married.  I would think a man
would just want to horn around and not lock in but if you wanna be the
wife or the husband, catcher or pitcher, that’s your business.

Edith- I never knew the gays liked baseball so
much.  Archie used to be a catcher when he was young but
he said being on his knees was killing him…  How are your knees,

Archie waved his hand at Edith and groaned.  He put a cigar in his
mouth and was about to light it when his daughter said he would need
to be more than 15 feet away from them to legally smoke

Archie- Let me tell you something lil goil…
everyman is the king of his castle.  If I want to smoke
a blunt like meathead does, that is my business.  A man should enjoy
the finer things in life if he woiks all day…  Let’s see what is on
the tube.  No baseball of course…  No swimming, no eating out, no
churches.  We gotta stay in like Anne Frank for the rest of our days
to hide from the China virus.  I think all your compatriots have cured
the virus by causin them whatchu call herd immunity.  I’m thinking
yelling in each other’s faces, shoulder to shoulder on the streets and
through broken windows of stores, has made sure just about everyone
one of us has got this now.  Maybe sometime soon we can take off our
hijabs before we truly stifle in the summer sun.

Edith- Did you say something bout stifling?

Archie-  Yeah… Stifle, Edith.

Archie was watching Sean Hannity on Fox News while the rest of the
family enjoyed their Ethiopian cuisine.  Mike asks Archie to turn off
the television while they are eating because he is offended.

Archie- Now you tell me what doesn’t offend you
mo more.  Statues offend you.  The president offends
you, the flag offends you, history offends you, old white guys on the
money offends you, being white offends you.  Wanna watch Gone With the
Wind?  No! Never!  That would offend you.  You should get reparations
for being offended.  The police offend you.  Laws offend you…  Have I
left anything out?

Mike- You offend me, Arch…  This is nothing but
Right wing propaganda.  Hannity would have done well with
Goebbels with the original Nazis.  Talk about a guy drinking the Kool
Aid for the president…  Trump could kill someone and he would explain
why it is good for the country.

Images of people protesting, looting, beating random people on the
streets.  The images of cops killing people, talk show hosts yelling
over each other, members of congress putting down each other, flags
burning, people fighting as Archie changed channels.  His family
yelled over each other to get their points heard while angry images
flashed from channel to channel.  On public television was a rerun of
Mr. Rogers.  Everyone stopped talking and listened to Mr. Rogers as he
spoke about anger.

“When I was a boy, my parents didn’t like it when I banged on things
when I was angry so I would play the piano and my parents didn’t mind
that.  Little by little I found that the music would be less angry.  I
found that the longer I played, the less angry I would be.  I wrote
the song, Good Feeling because it does give you a good feeling to help
you become the master of the way you feel so that you don’t hurt
yourself or others.  I hope you’re finding ways to express how you
feel without hurting others or yourself.”

Archie turned off the television and walked over to their spinet piano
and began to play chords.  After a short warm up, he began to play and
sing.  At first he sang alone and then Edith joined in.  After a while
Mike and Gloria joined in.

Boy, the way Glen Miller played.
Songs that made the Hit Parade.
Guys like us, we had it made.
Those were the days
Didn’t need no welfare state.
Everybody pulled his weight
Gee, our old LaSalle ran great.
Those were the days
And you knew where you were then
Girls were girls and men were men.
Mister, we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again.
People seemed to be content.
Fifty dollars paid the rent.
Freaks were in a circus tent.
Those were the days
Take a little Sunday spin,
Go to watch the Dodgers win.
Have yourself a dandy day
That cost you under a fin.
Hair was short and skirts were long.
Kate Smith really sold a song.
I don’t know just what went wrong
Those Were the Days

May 17, 2020

Morbid Absurdity

Filed under: america,humor,humour,obesity,Pandemics,poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 12:42 am
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Cherubs on their scooters drive towards each other down the aisle
with their squires following behind.  Grocery carts stacked to supply
a partially hydrogenated life designed to upset the balance between
the good and bad, the lows and the high fructose new normal as we hide
behind science of this morbid absurdity

Contact trace back to when this was temporary and masks were not
necessary and all we needed was to flatten a curve.  Ventilators,
state commentators in plain English or sign language while we languish
forced virtually watching the next human interest story of death
Shelter in place; cover you face because we’re all in the together

Non-essential potential to receive the PPP
The bar or coiffure who is unsure if it’s time to claim bankruptcy.
Trillions and trillions given to the minions and it might be better if
they never work again.  Safety, science absolute compliance trumps the
bill of rights.

61 days and 61 nights well fed, well rested and wholly invested in the
next series on Netflix
Existing not living like Anne Frank until we find a cure and we’re
unsure if life will ever return again.

April 17, 2020


Filed under: Detroit,humor,humour,Los Angeles,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 1:31 am
Tags: , , , ,
 We had a gig the following night at Corktown Tap.  We sat out back
until it was time to go up and play.  The old Tiger’s stadium sits on
the other side of the wall like a cemetery.  Out in the distance like
a mirage is the Motor City Casino.  The lights dance around the
building like Las Vegas but it’s the only hotel on the strip.  The
gig was ok over all.  Not mobbed but a good showing.  Lowe went with
Lynn and I to Greektown to get something to eat.  He is a big time
stoner who is really an intelligent guy.  He analyzes everything and
discusses it like a philosopher.  Lynn giggles at the stuff he says
but he means it.
“How long should a person want to live?  Have you ever thought of
that?  You look at James Dean or Jimi Hendrix.  They went out before
they got old and fat.  People go to see bands they’ve loved their
whole lives and the fucking guys in the band are older than your
parents.  They look fat and sloppy like Jerry Garcia.  You get a guy
like Marlon Brando.  He was a good looking, fit guy in the 50’s and
most of the 60’s.  He buys and island and then promptly eats it.  Who
gets that fucking big?  We can go in the casino right now and ever fat
fuck with everything under the sun is wrong with them.  They got a
cigarette dangling from their lips while their eyes are glued to the
slot machine.  They’re gonna strike it rich, right?  They’ll finally
be happy, right?  They’ll go back to their shit hole house somewhere
between here and 8Mile…  So a 100 years ago, people worked fucking
hard until they died at 45.  We didn’t have so many people because
people worked hard and then got the fuck out of the way.  You wanna
live long enough to wind up in a nursing home?  Shit in your pants and
have some Filipino chick flip you ever few hours so your skin doesn’t
rot.  You just sit there and watch television and the next day you
can’t even remember what you watched but it’s good you did because it
gets your mind off the fact that maybe you shouldn’t be here.  Maybe
you been here too long.  We need a really good bomb or a really good
virus to clear this place out.  Weed out the weak.  Kind of like a
healthy brush fire so that things grow the way they should after…
The waiter came up to us three times and Lowe hadn’t looked at the
menu yet.  He just kept talking.  The third time, he snapped at the
waiter to bring him a bold red wine from Greece.  Lowe moved on to the
thought of the act of deciding.  This thought came to me before too.
“You stop to think about this…  Someone pushes you to decide
something and life could go really well or really fucked up.  When
you’re a kid, you decide to do this or that and if your parents don’t
agree, you catch a smack…  I take that back…  In the old days you
would have caught a smack and today they have someone with a bachelor
of science try to understand and draw out of your kid why they did
something…  It’s all bullshit, right?  So you become an adult and then
suddenly you don’t have anyone to really stop you from bad decisions.
You buy shit you don’t need, you hook up with nasty tramps, you drink
too much and take shitty jobs.  One day you think you have really
found the one, right?  So you ask that person to marry you.
Everything is great for ten minutes and then you suddenly grow apart.
You find another person that really gets you and so you leave that
person for the new person and then things head towards the gulf coast.
You then have to decide- is this shit right for my life?  Do I want to
spread my seed like a Jamaican and split my check five different ways
because I made poor selections, options, choices… Ready? Yes, poor
fucking decisions.  Here’s one for you.  My mom had a boyfriend when I
was thirteen.  She moved him in and he promptly told me that
everything I liked and was into sucked.  I hated the fucker.  At 16, I
decided that I could no longer go on.  I held a proverbial gun to my
mom’s head and told her to decide on keeping the fuck or I was moving
out. She decided to keep him- I moved out.  I went to live with poor
people and then my family in Detroit told me to leave beautiful
Southern California for Detroit.  I had to make a choice.  I chose
Detroit.  I’ve been here ever since.  What if I had stayed?  Would I
have remained in LA?  What would I have done?  Who might I have
married?  Big fucking fork in the road.  The idea of deciding is a big
fucking deal and we take it lightly…  If this shit doesn’t work out,
I’ll decide to do something else, right?  I mean…  I’ve got all the
time in the world.  I’m probably going to live forever, right?”
The waiter returned.  Lowe slammed the menu down and ordered the
waiter to bring him a gyros with extra sauce and extra onions.  As the
waiter was getting ready to walk away, he asked him a question.
“Hey buddy…  Were you born in Greece?”
“Why did you come here?”
“I thought it might be better…”
“Sure… Why?”
“Have you ever thought of what your life might be like if you had
decided to stay in Greece?”
“Sure…  I would have had to marry a woman named Toula and I would
have had too many kids and probably retire at 50.  I would never have
met you nice people tonight…  I’m glad I came here.”
Lowe slapped his back and we moved on.  We talked about soccer since
he was fixated by Italian soccer.  We dropped him off and got home and
crashed.  The ride back to Chicago took forever.  We stopped at
wineries and stopped at the beach near New Buffalo.  We both made the
decision to go slow so that we would have more time together.

April 2, 2020

6 Feet From Insanity

The Uber man drives around in a Toyota, carrying a sandwich.  People
are afraid of public places now. Can you blame them?  I often thought
about what was on my hands long before others gave thought to the
things that they could not see… A thin foreigner who thought a better
life would be to drive around the mean streets of Detroit making sure
that people get a sandwich.  Are you hungry, sir?  I have a sandwich
for you.  Something to take your mind off of your stomach.  Perhaps
your stomach is turning, sir… Have a sandwich.  How bad does a country
need to be before you run away to deliver food in Detroit?  A
rhetorical question not meant to be answered.

It makes People feel safe to know that when they queue up behind
someone at the Wal-Mart, they have a mask for their protection.
Picture Disneyland with no fun but we’re all being taken for a ride.
We all wear masks metaphorically speaking, don’t we?  But what comes
next?  Meanwhile somewhere in our nation’s capital, the Ubermensch
faces the press to discuss this invisible menace that kills minute by
minute.  The numbers of dead world wide.  The Italians, the Spaniards,
Koreans and in China the eel chases the weasel in the wet market while
the market on Wall Street fluctuates.   The pollution must be better
in China now with nobody working. We worry about that and climate
change.  Boy didn’t the climate change fast in these United States in
a matter of speaking. A sunny day and then just clouds of ominous
disaster in hours… It’s 2pm…  Time for a set of push-ups and the Ab
Roller.  A new commercial… Say, did you know that you could get life
insurance right now for $9.00 a month even if you’re over sixty?  Yup…
Fat, smoker, diabetes taking a cocktail of medicine?  No problem and
on top of this all, you might get this virus…  virus… I’m  going to go
play the stand up bass.  I’m playing scales while reciting homemade
poetry as if it were a Psalm.  This one was entitled Federal Form XIV
in Triplicate
The wind and the rain
Inner storm, inner pain
Distain for it all and after all
It goes where it will and against your
Will and you won’t be able to open that door
The only door given that day you were born
You have the key with all your brilliance
Strength and resilience but in the end…

I love that riff in G.  Nice and deep.  Goes well with my voice.
Wearing a Fedora and a Wife Beater with shorts and Doc Marten Boots.
What a sight I must be that see in the mirror…
Looks like rain but I think I should go for a run before I have to
hop on Zoom and discuss with 18 year olds what they think they know
about truth.  It is truly exhausting as it is amusing.  If they get
high enough, I can say things that lead them to think and then forget
that they are even thinking.   Something like this…
If Every word becomes a concept not intended to remind of an original
experience to which it owes its birth, but must at the same time fit
innumerable, more or less similar cases—which means, strictly
speaking, never equal—in other words, a lot of unequal cases. Every
concept originates through our equating what is unequal.
Stuff like this is imbedded in my memory like my own poetry or a
Psalm.  Semester after semester the same young minds of mush have to
take philosophy 101 on their way to manage a Jimmy John’s or possibly
a shoe store wearing a referee’s jersey.  I will be spewing these
things out but my mind will be in Cape Verde…  The trip I took back
when all was fine.  The drinks, the food, the woman with the large
breasts singing in Portuguese… Quêl mudjêr cú quêm m’ encôntra…
Will the truth matter?  Is the lie more important?

I open the door and my Detroit is as rural as Kansas.  No homes
around.  All were torn down after being torched on Halloweens.  I run
along the roads and there are driveways to cement pads where homes
once stood. I’m working on an 8 minute mile just south of 8 Mile…
Looks a bit like Dresden after World War II.  I don’t mind the peace
and solitude.  I don’t mind the serenity. On days when the world is
functional, I navigate my way down Woodward to Wayne State.  Well not
right now.  I am social distancing within a two-mile radius.  I have
my provisions. Wild salmon, chicken without hormones… Hopefully.
Peanuts, peanut butter, eggs, rice and the vegetable and fruit frozen
so that I can throw them in the Ninja and try to protect myself
naturally.  Fight the invisible foe with things that should save you
and your colon.

A scary thought came to me.  I’m old enough to remember back two weeks
ago when we had the freedom to go anywhere and do anything and then we
were told we couldn’t go anywhere or do anything… Just like that. How
harrowing it was to navigate the aisles and to stand in line at the
Meijer.  I was behind a man in a motorized scooter next to a woman who
needed a motorized scooter.  Their cart filled with processed shit
sure to ensure further unhappiness and inflammation.  They moved at
the pace that would make a sloth impatient.  I calculated that they
might have been gathering like hunters in the Meijer all day.  They
were in no rush to get home to watch mindless fluff just to pass the
time until it’s time to eat or sleep or shit.  And they were not
alone.  There were many more just like them.

I’m back home now… Another commercial.  Time to do more pushups and
roll out my abs.  Things are not getting better but I am trying to
improve myself and if everyone improved themselves, we might improve
things.  The commercial… A very Semitic young lawyer in a smart suit
is leaning over a good looking young thing at a desk as if they are
discussing something important while a voice tells me that he is in my
corner if I used talcum powered, had a mesh implant put in for a
hernia or was corn holed by a scoutmaster back in the 1960’s.  He is
there to get justice…  For a small percentage.  The sixties…  I miss
the sixties really.  Good music, a lot of fucking and nothing hurt on
my body back then…  We did turn the world upside down, didn’t we?
Sure… We told old people that they fucked things up and that we would
fix them.  Guys like me went on to teach while others found Jesus and
Amway.  You got Nixon and then Ford and then Carter…  Well I don’t
need to tell you. Today a bunch of young people want to go down to
South Beach for spring break and my generation shakes their fists- You
fucking kids are gonna kill me with the virus!  Quit drinking and
fornicating and get indoors and watch CNN!  Sure, pops…  Whatever you
It’s been 14 days since I’ve seen a live human.  My mail goes to the
university.  I have to say that for all the disdain and annoyance by
humanity there is a chance that I might need them the way you need to
hear sound.  If you go without sound the sound of no sound gets so
loud that you think you might go deaf…  Fuck! My thoughts are
scattered from something deep to mindless dribble.  I was born alone,
I will die alone…  What a nice view… A room with a view of things
outside.  I’m inside for protection from the outside but the outside
appears so pretty from here.  A room with no windows forces one to
look within.  I listen to Cal Tjader loudly on my Bose while the noise
of the day inaudible like a silent movie.  Think of the Aurora
Borealis with a sound track.  A beautiful mess turned down low. The
apocalypse is coming to Detroit and I’m sad that I will miss it live
in real time.
…  27,000 steps by 4pm and really what does that matter?  I’m more
than six feet away from everyone.  At what point will I risk death to
be by them again?

March 29, 2020

Missing You

Filed under: poem,relationships,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 12:04 am
Tags: , ,

I feel like I’m running along the shore

I don’t see the ship that you’re on anymore

Can’t catch my breath as I fall to the sand

As hard as I hold each grain slips from my hand

My watch has stopped and time stands still

From the windowsill I can see myself pensively reflecting from the glass out at the rain knowing it’s gone and won’t ever be the same

Wishing for an alternate ending like from a movie

I change it all and I am home again

Your voice, your smile, your scent, your touch

I took it for granted then and now I miss it so much

March 13, 2020

Common Sense

Paint this Trump’s Chernobyl

Watching stocks tumble Tesla, Amazon and Exxon/Mobil

This like everything else was made in China

By mistake or design to create a mob reaction causing the economy’s fast contraction

This has ruined my NCAA bracket- is this serious or just a racket?

Some hope its half-life lasts until November kill the economy and lead us to wonder if a geriatric with dementia could save us from the latest cable news crisis

If you’re old, fat and have type 2, ride around scooters at the stores, have trouble climbing stairs to second floors, use your fingers at the Chinese buffet and those exercise by scrolling through their phones eating garbage all day

There are things that are common and things that make sense. It’s not so common to have intelligence.


January 30, 2020

Naked Mole Rats Rule

Travis rationalized at a young age that school was really just a bunch
of bullshit.  He knew he wanted to be a hockey player and if he didn’t
make it to the NHL, he would do something with the sport somewhere.

Travis took French and so that if he were going to get a job one day
with a team, he didn’t want to rule out the Montreal Canadians and so
he did well at French.  Travis actually picked up CBC Francais and
listened to games in French.  It was the other subjects.  After gym
and French, Travis was barely hanging in above a complete failure.
Biology and Math were the driest of all subjects.  Travis’ math
teacher Ms. Cline let Travis know that as his mother’s friend, she
would be letting her know just how poorly Travis was doing.  Ms. Cline
didn’t have Travis’ mother’s number coded into her phone.  She read it
out of an old school book of numbers.  Poor Doris’ eyes were getting
bad in her middle forties.  No menopause yet but eyes were fuzzy.
Somehow Doris Cline was off on the numbers.  Travis’ mother’s number
ended with 7235.  Doris’ poor eyes read the 5 as a 6 and wound up
texting Travis.  Travis couldn’t believe his good fortune.

“Hey girl!  Hope all is well.  I haven’t seen you in a while at
Pilates.  Listen- junior is not cutting in class and he doesn’t seem
to care if he does well or not.  His attitude is poor and he is often
nodding off …  I know he’s a big time hockey guy but no college takes
people who fail.  He’s on the cusp of failure now.  I hate to come to
you with this but I know you care…”

“Oh wow.  I will certainly talk to him.  Thx for telling me.”
Minutes went on without another text.  Doris wrote back again.

“Okay…  Hope you’re not mad.”
“I’m cool.”
“I mean…  It’s all good.  I will handle.”
“Wow, Jill…  You sound like a teenage boy.  Are you getting pounded right now?”

The question stunned Travis.  He never thought of his mother, a
divorced woman of three as a sexual creature.
“Um Doris…  We make love, okay?”
“Um?  Since when do you use um?”
“When you make me sound like an animal.”
“What about your new toy referring to his cock as a naked mole rat
looking for his hole.  How about the night you made so much noise that
the Indians on the other side of your bedroom wall called the police
because they thought you were being killed.”
“OMG!  I’ll have to erase this.  What if my kids find my phone!  I
met another really nice guy on that one site.  He was so sweet but
this is the pic I took of him before I let him hit it with me.”
It was a picture of a grotesquely obese man in a thong, covered with
hair with his pinky pointing at the corner of his mouth.
“No fucking way!”
“Yes fucking way.  It smelled of skunk and ass.  He had more ball
cheese than the state of Wisconsin.”

The thought came to Doris that maybe possibly, she wasn’t
corresponding with Jill and that maybe, quite possibly, she was going
back and forth with Travis.

“Yes, ma’am…”
“Yup…  I’m fixin to aks momma about the naked mole rat finding its
hole.  I can’t imagine what shade of white she will turn to.”
“Listen… Do not do that!  I think we can work this out.”

Now Travis took a few subjects pass/fail.  Math was not one of those
subjects.  Doris Cline had a hard time looking Travis in the eyes but
was floored by his T-shirt. Travis went to the mall and had a shirt
made at a kiosk of a bucktooth weasel holding his cock with one hand
and giving the thumbs up sign with the other.  The shirt read, “Naked
Mole Rats Rule”.  On the back it read, “Filling holes for a real long
time”.  Doris was horrified.  Travis somehow received an A in math
that quarter.

December 28, 2019

I Feel

Filed under: america,pope,relationships,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 11:37 pm
Tags: , ,

Begin with, “I feel”…

It’s a bit surreal and out of the ordinary

If I told you, you might not believe.


Flip the hourglass back to the days of La Jolla that nice town not far from the border. I could see the water from the balcony and you were all with me, friends and family. I never abandoned the ship we built.


The spring held promise of something new as I walked the old to the threshold of eternity. I thought you were next to me. I’ve been treading water since you pulled the plug of the bottom of the boat, hardened your heart and built a moat.


“I feel” like I’ve been running in place as fast as I can, sinking in the sand of life’s plan without the benefit of a map to find my way.


I’m playing house once again and the variables have changed. Please come in… Feel at home even though it’s not my place. I keep my belongings in a bag and a hand on the knob just in case.


I’m swimming away from you at the shore. Treading water in the sea for the time being.

“I feel” there should be more.

Re-gifting for Christmas

Joe had never met his girlfriend’s family. With work and all, who has the time to meet family of a girlfriend when she herself disliked her own family?


Jill’s mother Gwen had a husband and a boyfriend. The husband Don looked like Zeus not Seuss with a large beard. Gwen spent most of her time with her boyfriend inside a tent at a trailer park. Gwen’s boyfriend had a drinking and drug problem. Maybe I didn’t need to say that after writing that her boy friend Bill lived in a tent in a trailer park within the city limits of Detroit. At Christmas in Detroit, it is generally cold. This year it happened to be about as warm as San Diego.


Jill had twin brothers named Nat and Nate. Nat is the natural father of Nate’s son who was Nate Jr. In reality, Nate Jr. is actually Nat Jr. Nat had tricked Nate’s girlfriend one night. He got her drunk and inseminated her. Susan, the wife of Nate happened to do a DNA test and low and behold, Nat was the father. Well Nat fell on hard times and had to move back into the home he grew up in. Gwen was rarely home and Don walked his dog a lot and watched a lot of QVC. The house was filled with things purchased that were never opened. There were tunnels throughout the house and in the basement lived Nate, his wife and son. Living in the apartment above the garage in the back of Don and Gwen’s house, were Nat and his girlfriend. The whole clan drove in separate cars to Jill’s beautiful home in Royal Oak, A sensible suburb north of Detroit.


Gwen felt badly that her twin sons were underachieving, fat and balding in their early 30’s. She never had the heart to tell her sons and husband that her boyfriend in a tent in a trailer park was actually the twin’s father. It all made sense actually.


Now Nate was married to a woman who worked at the Ambassador Bridge that is the entry point to Canada. She would ask people where they came from, what they did in Canada, what they were bringing back and if she had an inkling that something was amiss, she had the right to ruin their day by having dogs and immigration police go through everything in a vehicle for hours. Nate’s wife was over 300 lbs. and had served in the Navy once upon a time about 150lbs ago. She would watch her husband from work taking care of their twin sons on a baby monitor. Nate would hear out of thin air things like, “Nate! These kids have plastic in their mouths! Goddamn it, pay attention!”

Nat and his girlfriend were taking a lot of speed and eating little more than bacon and going to the gym a lot. They used to be obese but had lost a lot of weight. Both twins had ADD and so Nat would soon get bored with working out and dieting. Eating the rich and tasty things that their older sister Jill was about to serve to them might just kill the diet.


Now Jill escaped the strange idiocy of her family life. She went to school, got a job, bought a house, sold it and bought a bigger home. She learned her husband was gay and he left just before last Christmas but her boyfriend Matt was making the holiday time less sad and they got along well.


Matt, a good looking and fit man was supposed to buy a few things for the gathering and had procrastinated. He looked at a bunch of things he received from other people in the office and grabbed a huge basket of exotic chocolates, a bottle of wine, cheeses and meats. It was a huge basket that someone who worked for him in the office gave to him wrapped in cellophane. Matt was sort of the office overseer. His job was to monitor the things people did on line and if people were shopping or looking at porn or doing online gambling, it was his job to rat out the guilty party in the office.


Everyone ate and almost got along. The twins hate each other and their significant others hate them. Gwen hates her husband and her husband hates her. The offspring of the twins do not get along and then there is Jill who was the smiling successful eldest child whose house was immaculate. It was a Norman Rockwell Christmas for misfits. Gifts were passed around and Matt handed Gwen the huge basket. Gwen ooed and ahhed over it. The wine was Bordeaux the cheeses were Brie and Gruyere, smoked meats, crackers and then the chocolates. Gwen took the foil off of one chocolate to find a dark chocolate penis with coconut shavings around the testicles. Dozens and dozens of chocolate shaped just the same. Nate Jr. grabbed one, unwrapped it quick and bit the circumcised tip of one of the chocolates. Gwen found a note tucked in the middle of everything and read it out loud.


“Matt- you are a dick and a lap dog for the man. You’re too stupid to do anything but snitch on us all. This job suits a dumb fuck like you. You sit among us in the lunchroom and then get people fired or threatened. We hate you and hope your holiday sucks a dick. So fuck you and accept this gift from all of us.

Sincerely and truly- the office.”


Jill’s family took pleasure in Matt’s embarrassment. Christmas is about many things and many times people lose sight of what it’s all about. Once you get past it all. The Belgian chocolates were actually quite good and that’s all that matters.

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