Blackhumouristpress's Blog

April 11, 2019

She’s Leaving Home

Filed under: dementia,hospice,Short Story,Vietnam — blackhumouristpress @ 1:46 am
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The two men sat in the dark room with symphonic music playing. Lying in the bed with the white noise of oxygen being pumped into their mother’s nose.

“I think they fucked this whole thing up… If she can’t swallow any longer than how the fuck did she eat yogurt and drink water?” Asked Wade.

“There’s no way of knowing if it’s going into her lungs or stomach…” said Jimmy.

Jimmy is Wade’s son but was adopted by Wade’s mother while he was in Vietnam and so Laurie was the mom of both men. Wade was adamant that his mother was Jimmy’s grandmother and referred to her as such. Jimmy, tired and stressed over standing watch over a dying woman snapped at his dad and brother.

“Look… When someone adopts you, that person becomes your parent. You and my real mom gave me to her and so that makes her my mother too… Why don’t we just call her Laurie? That way I don’t have to hear you call her grandma. She’s not your grandmother and she’s not mine either.”

Back in the old days when Jimmy was a boy, Laurie would make Jimmy spend time with Wade. Wade, a Vietnam Veteran affected by Agent Orange, had a short attention span, problems with anger and an inability to hold a job. Wade never had to ever take care of another human in his life until now with his mother doing hospice. Laurie was a tough woman who fought cancer several times and won. Wade was a man who was burned over 65% of his body in a house fire and lived. Jimmy had a high threshold for stress.

“Wade… Do you remember the guy you shot in the foot?”

“Oh yeah… That fucking guy…”

The man’s name was Gene and he was a drunk Marine who was sitting in the backyard of a drunk Army/infantry veteran. Gene called Wade a pussy and told him he was too much a pussy to shoot anyone. Wade took a sip of his beer, pulled out a handgun and put it to the foot of his drinking buddy and pulled the trigger.

“Whatever happened to that guy?”

“He was as nuts as Mr. Peanuts. They put his ass in a mental institution. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive.

Wade yelled to his hard of hearing mother who was lying in bed holding a stuffed animal, staring straight ahead. He took a sponge on a stick and tried to jam water into her mouth. Lodged in the corner was a ball of yogurt that was being stored not swallowed.

“Looks like Laurie is saving that yogurt for dessert later,” said Jimmy.

Both men quietly thought about the days when she was younger, pretty and vibrant. Laurie was a bundle of energy at all times and could never do enough for her boys. Wade looked at Jimmy in his tank top with his arms folded. Jimmy’s arms looked strong. Both men worked out, ate well and wanted to try to not suffer in old age as much as possible.

“How much can you bench now?”

“On good days when my joints don’t hurt… 235 maybe 240… I remember when them two Greeks kicked my ass and I had to get stitches on my eyelid. You were lifting out in the backyard with your shirt off. It was summer time and Laurie was hanging clothes out on the clothesline. I came to you and asked if you could get me started lifting. You looked at me and told me never to wear stupid clothes anymore and eat more meat… I gained 35 lbs. of muscle that year. Nobody wanted to fight me anymore after that…”

Laurie picked at the blanket that covered her with one hand and reached out to her mother and grandmother who were standing in a field with the wind in their hair. Both women waved to Laurie and she waved back.

“Well, I say we call 911, get her to a hospital and do another swallow test. This is horseshit. If she can swallow, she can swallow.”

“Wade… The car is running but it’s not going to drive anymore… You know what I mean? It is what it is. She’s doing better because she sees you and me now instead of the nurses at the nursing home twice a day. She has advanced Alzheimer’s. It’s a matter of time. I don’t want that but it’s coming. We’re watching the sun setting with clouds. When the clouds pass and the sky gets lighter, we think the sun is coming back. It’s not coming back. It’s setting here and rising somewhere we can’t see.”

“That’s some deep, poetic shit, Jimmy. Put that on a greeting card, make some money.”

“I’ll put your picture on the front for people to laugh so that they won’t think it’s too heavy…”

“Fuck you…”

For as much as Jimmy disdained the man who was really his father, he was impressed with his ability to go on. His ability to persevere. His ability to conquer without fear. Jimmy understood that Wade was afraid to lose his mom. More so that Jimmy.

“Where are you going?” Asked Laurie, faintly.

Laurie’s mother and grandmother turned and held their hair in the breeze. They were young and vibrant like they were back in the 1930’s with crimped, short hair.

“We’re getting things ready for you… We’ll see you soon.”

Wade started to tear up as he looked at Laurie. With a crackling voice and sniffles, he explained harsh things that happened in his life that never left him.

“We captured a gook that got some of our guys killed. We tied him to the back of our truck and let him bounce around until his body was pulled apart and only his trunk was left. I watched a guy next to me die after a hole was put through his head. I watched people die in that burn unit from their injuries. I screamed myself when they scrapped my skin with a wire brush and had to cream my whole body and give me morphine… Those were hard things. Losing your mom is the hardest thing I have ever gone through and I’ll never forget her.”

Jimmy began to tear up. He was crying too. All he could do was shake his head in agreement. They would both miss her.

 

The Beatles

She (we never thought of ourselves)
Is leaving (never a thought for ourselves)
Home (we struggled hard all our lives to get by)
She’s leaving home, after living alone, for so many years.

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March 29, 2019

Inverted Universe

There is an other universe where alternate endings happen. The Germans and Japanese won World War II, the Soviets remained Soviets and apartheid still exists in South Africa. In this alternate universe, John F. Kennedy never was shot, neither was his brother, Richard Nixon was never president, the Vietnam War never happened. Oh and the Dead Kennedys named their band, California Uber Alles.

In the deep down south, a cable company in a quest to find something interesting for people to look at like the zoo, found a man Virgil who found oil on his land, sold it and lived a gaudy life that seemed funny and odd to people who live in urban or suburban environments.

Virgil married the daughter of his sister but his sister was really his mother but his mother gave Virgil to her mother because she was only fourteen. His birth mother told Virgil that his cousin was actually his sister but it was too late, he had gotten her pregnant and they had strange looking slow children with wide set eyes. Virgil would invite city folk, mostly black gangbanger types to go fishing and hunting with him and that was the angle of the whole show- take a homie hunting.

Now Virgil wanted Donald Trump to win the election of 2016 with all his being. He wore Trump hats and shirts. He had lawn signs and bumper stickers on his large trucks. When Donald Trump lost the election, Virgil would go on right wing radio shows and talk about how there was a definite conspiracy with hackers to change the results of the election. Illegal aliens and terrorists being allowed in, all had a hand to throw the election to Hillary Clinton and Virgil and many people like him were quite vocal about not accepting at face value that their horse wasn’t tripped, their horse just lost the race. Then one day it all happened.

“It was reported today that the cable television show star Virgil Hibbets of the show, City Meets Country, was attacked by two hooded black men. Virgil had come out of a local barbeque restaurant with a slab of ribs in hand and fought the two attackers. They were described as young black men in their teens or twenties. They attempted to pour tar and feather Mr. Hibbets. As you can see in the grainy closed caption film captured outside the barbeque restaurant, tar is poured on the head of Mr. Hibbets while a second man dumped feathers upon him. They then punched and kicked him and drove off in a car with New York license plates that were captured in this video. There is a Bernie 2016 sticker and Hillary 2016- I’m with her sticker on the back bumper of a green Nissan Leaf.”

The right wing was incensed. Virgil went on Hannity and Laura Ingraham’s Fox television shows and spoke about the incidents.

“Now these evil communist perpatratahs come outta one of them hybrids. They faces was obscured by they hoods… They took they hands and made the letter H like some kinda gang thang and shouted out dat this is Hillary country. They called me a fat crackah and pro-ceeded tah pour tar upon me and then feathers. The tar got into mah eyes… You kin imagine how much mineral spirits ah needed to get the tar off? Mah eyes still ain’t right… The climate in this ah here country is a di-rect result of the politics of the day. It’s horrible tah think dat people would attack me fuh a difference of opinion…”

For a short while, people believed Virgil and then after a while, they started to put together the whole thing and it just did not make sense. Where did the Nissan Leaf come from and why was it in Mississippi? Two young black men who happened to be passionate Hillary supporters in a part of town where if you were black, white people would look at you as if to ask if you were lost. The next thing was that Virgil’s cell phone had been wiped clean. It wasn’t done professionally like Hillary’s with BleachBit. This was just old fashion erasing and not understanding that erasing is not enough. Before long, they found out that the two black men were not black but actual white men who worked for Virgil and wore black shoe polish on their faces. There was closed caption films of the two men buying clothes that black people might wear at a mall in Jackson and another film of them buying tar and feather pillows at a Home Depot outside of their town.

Virgil was confronted with the evidence as were the two men who worked for Virgil and before long, they were all arrested. Virgil having deep pockets bailed himself out and the two who were paid a whopping $3,500.00 by check to help Virgil get back into shape. Call it personal training. CNN, MSNBC, CBS and so on took Virgil to task and rightly so. Virgil’s explanation was that the network that hired him, was thinking of dumping his show and to draw attention and sympathy, he came up with the whole thing. Horrible to think, right?

In Jackson, two weeks later, without cameras, the judge in a speed trial took into account that Virgil had a clean record and never even had so much as a parking ticket in the past. Virgil had to forfeit his bond money and they took as community service, the food bank work he had done as a young man with the minister, Billy Graham. Virgil emerged from the courthouse draped in the American flag, holding the hands of his two little children who looked a little off. The press yelled questions at Virgil. He quietly with a tear in his eye put his hand over his heart and thanked god, his mother and those that love freedom and the United States of America. God Bless.

March 23, 2019

The New Hockey

Filed under: humor,humour,Ice hockey,Uncategorized,youth hockey — blackhumouristpress @ 12:06 am
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The Whackers had a season that most coaches only wish they could have. 35 wins and 1 loss. The one loss was a sore point with Luke and Francis. They were going up against the team across town called the Beaters. The Whackers were flat that day back in February and the Beaters beat them soundly. Luke said a few select words to his impressionable 13 and 14-year-old boys.

“I watched those fuck sticks do drills over and over around cones and tires… How many cones and tires did you find on the ice tonight? You got the bald fuck who can’t skate who stands at center ice and points all over the place like a field marshal Don’t know what a field marshal is? Google it when you’re not looking at jack-off movies. Then the young tool with the goatee… His little butt buddy. They had slow, fat children playing D and nobody got around them. Every loose puck, they beat us to. You thought you had this game in the bag before we took the ice and they handed you your own asses… This shit will not happen again this season. If I have to find five willing to play the way I want, I’ll do that and the rest of you can sit up in the stands with your parents and criticize what I do… Are we fucking clear? Francis… Anything you want to add?”

Francis was a man of few words. He put it plainly and quietly.

“Boys… You shit the bed…”

The Whackers got back on track and tore through the season and beat the Beaters in the semi-final and then faced the rich kid prep school with their track suits, matching hockey bags and stick bags with the school emblem. King of all Kings Prep School was the hands down favorite to walk away in the final. The Whackers were nervous and on edge until Luke gave his pre-game speech.

“You won all your games this season except one. If you lose today, it will suck greatly to have to shake their hands with tears in your eyes. It will suck to get the almost won banner and miniscule trophy too with it. It will suck to go home in your daddy’s Ford Truck and watch the prep fuckers roll out in Range Rovers and Bentleys. Play every shift like it was your last one. Play like there is an empty net behind you. Be willing to do anything and you might just win.”

The Whackers skated to a 0-0 tie after three periods. In the overtime, a Whacker defenseman whipped the puck around the boards to clear the zone. It hit the stick of prep player and glided towards the prep goalie. A Whacker wing skated harder than hard to beat the defenseman and approaching prep goalie. The Whacker wing dove and whacked the puck past the approaching prep goalie and watched it trickle in past the goal line. The Whackers threw their gloves and helmets up in the air and mobbed the winger who won the game. The parents cheered and hugged one another. Out of 60 teams at the bantam level, the Whackers emerged as the best of the best. Great story, right?

Monday morning after a weekend of drinking and backslapping with parents. Testimonials and funny stories about this player or that, the hockey director called Luke and Francis into her office. In the office smiling like the cats that ate the canaries were the Beater coaches. The Whacker club lost their full time hockey director due to budget cuts so they gave the job to the twenty something year old speed skating director. In her infinite wisdom, she watched the playoff games and felt that the Beater coaches were better suited for what she felt was necessary to develop the Whacker program going forward. She liked the serpentine drills with cones and tires. She liked that the bald coach was quiet and methodical and that his sidekick had sold her on truly growing the program by working in tandem with Luke and Francis. The Beater coaches had convinced the Whacker hockey director that if they put Luke and Francis in a role of mentors, the four of them could really create something special. It sounded so good to Tiffany and the name Tiffany sounds really tough for a hockey director. She explained the new plan going forward with a lot of “likes” and “umms”. Luke listened in shock and awe. Tiffany used words like family and community to define the new configuration. Luke interrupted.

“I’m a plain man… In plain English are you saying that we are mentoring these guys?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“And what you mean by mentoring is that we are their assistant coaches. We move the tires, we move the cones and bend over and pick up the pucks at the end of practices, right? Fill the water bottles and so on.”

Tiffany wrinkled up her nose and pushed back her glasses, she nervously hunched her shoulders before speaking again.

“Umm… It’s not really like that… It’s like one big team working together to create something really special..”

Umm Yes. Like really special… And yet really weird.

March 13, 2019

The New and Improved Mayor

Guido Guiliana was known around his village just west of Chicago as “hizzoner”. Guido had been mayor for over twenty years and for years; he had a lock on things. The village pushed through a video gambling initiative and it just so happened that Guido’s friend Mel or Melsie happened to be a middleman for the leasing and operating of the gambling machines.

Twenty years earlier, the town was very blue collar and sort of old world white. There were union electricians, plumbers, police officers, firemen, builders and so on. Now it was becoming a place that millennials chose to move into to get away from city taxes. The Hispanics and blacks too were creeping in and low and behold, the upstart councilman who questioned the mayor’s collusion and steering on building contracts just happened to be black and an opposition mayoral candidate. This election was no longer a sure thing.

Now Guido was quite worried about losing that side money when a street needed paving or someone needed work done to their house and permits and shoddy work was passed while his shell company made money. The biggest cash cow was the video gambling.

Picture old women with oxygen tanks taking breaks from their addiction to smoke out in front of establishments with neon signs that read “gaming”. Yes, smoking with oxygen being piped into their noses. There were many patrons that fit that profile that were putting money into Guido’s pockets. Guido was making a penny on every dollar that was put into a gambling machine in town. It afforded Guido the money to buy cars and homes he didn’t need and to have side women.

Guido met a beautiful young thing at a nail salon run by a black woman whose clientele was primarily black. The mayor would go in to get his nails polished and glossed. For years, the woman who did his nails was a large and unattractive black woman, who smelled slightly of skunk, had wisps of facial hair and weazed when she exhaled. The new girl was truly smoking hot.

Felicity was young and had a young fit body. She was pretty and laughed at everything the mayor said. Felicity eventually went with Guido to fancy restaurants and clubs where other Italian mayors hung out and drank tropical drinks in a dimly lit lounge that was supposed to be Polynesian but was really Filipino. As time went on, Guido took trips all over the country with Felicity and put her up in an apartment that he could spend the night at periodically. Felicity began too look at the situation and wanted the full benefit of spreading her legs for the mayor. She wanted the house, the cars, the title and so on. What Felicity didn’t know was that the mayor was helped in many ways by his wife’s father who was a mob guy and so he could not dump his wife for a black chick, a young black chick, without drama or death. Felicity allowed herself to get pregnant and have a beautiful baby boy that was sort of a caramel color. Felicity also was smart and thought ahead at all times.

Mrs. Guido Giuliani or Luciana or Lulu as most called her, had a clothes boutique with a café attached that Guido had set up for her so that she would have a little something. She hired a pretty young black woman by the name of Sue. Lulu would come home and talk about Sue and how helpful she was and what a good and tireless worker she had. Guido was not putting two and two together as they say. One day he got the surprise of his life.

“Honey, the girl who works for me is going to stay with us for a little while. She had been living in one of those horrible places you rent by the hour with a small child. I thought we could give her the sub-basement where my mother lived…”

Sue… I mean Felicity walked in the house and extended her hand for the mayor to shake it while holding the toddler in her left arm. The baby pointed at Guido and said “dada”. Guido could feel his heart beat in his eyes and began to sweat. Sue corrected her young son.

“That’s not dada… He looks a little like dada but you know what they say… Y’all look a lot alike.”

The situation was tortuous for Guido. There he was trying to win a close election and keep his companies alive that serviced the village exclusively and now his side bitch had maneuvered her way into the house. There was very little Guido could say or do and Sue was masterful at playing the game. Sunday dinners were special times.

“I’ve always wanted to see the world… You know place like Miami, New Orleans and Hoboken.”

Guido had been at a mayoral convention in Hoboken. Felicity knew this because she was there. It was a game where Guido had to hide Anne Frank but the only problem was that Anne Frank was right out in the open, with a child and another name. Guido upon talking to his drinking buddies and other Italian small village mayors, decided to just roll with it. Frankie, the mayor of one town over, put into terms that made sense to Guido.

“Guido… You fucked up. No other way to put it… Waddya goanna do? Apologize and cry like a little bitch? You wanna stand at a press conference crying, your wife crying, your adult children crying and have the black chick standing with the press holding your baby like it was the fucking Maury Povich Show? Fuck it… She ain’t busted you out yet… Just go wid it. It’s a new era. Anything fucking goes… Just go wid it.”

If you ever go to Chicago and go a few miles west, you’ll find a really racially cool mayor in a village that used to be old school but is becoming cool, hip and cutting edge.   If you see the mayor, say hello. He’s really a good guy and one day, you might need him and he might need you. You never know…

January 31, 2019

To Be or Not to Be

I’m really worried about baby turtles on the beach

Wringing hands hoping they’ll reach shore… TURN OFF THOSE LIGHTS! and there’s more

I want a salad with no meat, no cheese… Are you aware the animals are raised with disease? in pens… Those poor hens

Spotted owls, alligator boots and those that become fur coats

 

I’ll stand at the gates while some poor soul waits to be executed for what he did on bad days…Anyways murder is wrong and I wrote this song about the travesty of ending a human life.

 

Don’t call it abortion, that’s a contortion of every woman’s right. Speaking of right, we have the right to stop the right to re-write Roe when we lose Ruth Bader. There will once come a day when you have the say to arrest on a birthday to prevent the fat, red headed, special needs or gay.

 

It will be like 23 and me for what’s growing in me so don’t call it infanticide. I thank Albany for thinking of me and standing for all that’s right.

 

Speaking of right we need to fight those evil Nazi misogynists. The racist, Russian loving wall builders who separate immigrants from their children… Yes that’s the key… the children, right?

January 23, 2019

Comedy Today- A Faux Pas

Cynthia told the Oak Park Women’s group that she had a cousin who was very good at stand up comedy and performed a lot in Detroit. The women rented out a restaurant bar along Lake Street in a town that proudly claims Ernest Hemingway and the architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Two famous men who couldn’t wait to leave Oak Park. The women’s group agonized over the fact that comedy today is very touchy. If things are not directed at the president exclusively, they could be taken as racist, homophobic, xenophobic and so on. Those in attendance were mostly women and a few husbands and or girlfriends of women. The first two comedians ripped on the president, his wife, his youngest son, his daughter who became orthodox Jewish, Mike Pence, Make America Great Again, followers of Trump. Wade, the cousin of Cynthia, made quite a splash.

 

Wade came on stage with a joint in his mouth unlit, wearing a “Make Men Violent Again” t-shirt. He glared at the audience with squinty eyes as if he was looking for someone he knew.

“Aleuts? Aleuts? Anyone what we used to call Eskimos here in attendance? Now don’t try to fake me out if you’re from Samoa… You’re a little darker than your cousins who crossed the land bridge 10,000 before the Protestants and Columbus came and renamed you people… No Aleuts? Okay… Then the rest of you are fair game.”

Wade lit the joint, inhaled and expelled it into the face of chubby looking lesbian with a Dutch boy hair cut with a plethora of political buttons on her Army coat. The woman snapped at Wade.

“No smoking? In Detroit we can still get a drink and smoke in casinos…  I don’t see any video gaming her… Well fuck it… By the way… This is medicinal. Me and my kid are both ADD and when I’m not on Ritalin, I smoke a joint to calm my nerves to keep me from getting my shotgun and taking out those that annoy me…”

-Groaning and whispering-

“Hey… I must have total silence. This is not a democracy it is a constitutional republic and until I can rewrite the constitution I must have silence!”

Wade took a sip of his Scotch on the rocks and took a horse crop and slammed in on the chair next to him as he did his best German accent and hid his upper lip.

“Sank-you… What a diverse group we have here tonight…

Girls who are boys who like boys to be girls who do boys like they’re girls who like girls like they’re boys… That song reminds me of Rumsfeld at press conferences. Wouldn’t you like to put him in a room with Trump and hear what’s being said? Maybe get Rod Rosenstein to wear a wire and play that shit in real time on CNN…

 

-Groaning and more murmuring

 

“Okay fine… You like Trump jokes… So Trump goes golfing with Mitt Romney and John Mc Cain but Mc Cain has to hire a midget to swing for him because he has that weird one armed shit like Bob Dole had… Mc Cain wouldn’t let the midget putt but otherwise that little fucker had to carry the clubs like a Sherpa and try to beat Trump for him. Well in the end, guess who won? You got it… Trump. The house always wins. But while they’re walking around losing to Trump, Trump asks them how they could possibly lose to Obama. He then tells them that they’re losers and he will show them how to go out and run for president and win… How did he do that shit? I mean all you fucking people hate him, right? How did he win? Russians? Well now Mitt becomes senator in a Mormon state, smiling and looking as real as Max Headroom meets The Mask. His first order of business is to align himself with the people that defeated him… Now that’s a Republican for you…. How bout a hand for those two dolls that went before me tonight. The plump one was hot in a Buddy Hackett sort of way…” Wade pointed to a woman in front of him. “I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick, ma’am…”

 

Women and a few men begin to heckle him. Wade smiles, takes a sip of his drink and holds it up to the crowd.

 

“You won’t rattle me. I went to the same school as G.G. Allin. Don’t know him? Take a second and Google him. Now then I wrote a poem in honor of this occasion and it goes like this…

 

These are very troubled times

I’ll stir the pot with my rhymes

Build a wall to keep us in

Nobody likes you where you’ve been

The world hates you for being American

The red white and blue is a sin

You need to sit when you piss

In a bathroom for every gender

We’ll suck the testosterone from your balls

Make you wear a dress in the halls

You racist, misogynistic cunt

You probably like it in the rump

I’m losing you all again… Okay…Donald Trump!

 

You’ve been a great audience. God bless you. God bless America and good night.

January 17, 2019

Absurd

Filed under: america,Ethnicity,fast food,humor,humour,obesity,pope,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 5:40 pm
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Sitting in a fast food palace, wall to wall plastic

Maury giving a bro hug to a man on the tube that is the father of his daughter’s child… Wild? No. In a word-absurd.

 

A man with a blue tooth devise attached to his ear goes table to table selling Krispy Kreme donuts on the side, on the slide, trading a burger for a box of donuts. Nuts? No. In a word-absurd.

 

The people behind the counter move slow… You know the type- Type 2 diabetes, cherub faced sweeties with no neck, nails like claws, sagging draws and lashes long enough to tickle your face. Bad taste? No. In a word- Absurd

 

The heroin addict with the sad look and a sign by the freeway is doing just fine. He pulls out a fat wad of cash, eyes bloodshot from smoking some hash to clear his mind and face the day. A # 2 with a large Coke… Is this all some sort of joke? No. In a word-Absurd.

January 9, 2019

We Interrupt

Filed under: america,donald trump,humor,humour,poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 8:17 pm
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We interrupt The Bachelor, Dancing with the Stars, The Khardasians and those texting in cars to bring you a message from the president… Not my president, there are no illegal residents, a New York precedent… It’s safe there and free, there’s no fee except to those at the tippy top who are moving their dough to the Caribbean, listing their homes and moving to Monte Carlo.

 

Raise your hands to block the kick, prevent the win to build a wall. We care too much for them all and after all, the future hinges on their vote. Please don’t quote me; it’s off the record, anonymous sources from the swamp. We hate Trump… We love Trump either way it’s a ratings boost for cable news and for whatever side you choose. And if you think you’re winning either way you lose.

December 29, 2018

We Like Ikes

Like the Amish, the Ikes were a mysterious bunch of people that people knew very little about. What they knew about the Ikes is that they wore nothing, watched nothing, and drove nothing, furnished nothing in their homes beyond the year 1960.

A rich man bought up the land on two small islands off the coast Florida on the Gulf of Mexico side and sold parcels to anyone who would submit to living as people did sixty years ago. No cell phones or computers and people drove old cars in pristine condition. The kids if they were part of the greasers, wore slicked back hair and listened to Rockabilly, drove hot rods and motorcycles. They terrorized the sochies or sociables as they were called. It was all pretty quaint. Each island had a high school and people had little shops and supported one another. They watched old movies in the one theater or the drive in theater near the ocean. There were popshops where kids ate burgers and had malts and danced. Life was simple and non chaotic. Like the Amish, at the age of 18, children on the island could go into the world and live for a period of six months and at the end of six months, they could either leave, never to return or they would return, start a family, find a job and live happily ever after.

Tom and Mary, brother and sister, twins actually, headed out in a 1951 Mercury convertible to Miami. They rented a room on South Beach in an old Art Deco Hotel on Collins. They ate at the Versailles in Little Havana, went and danced to Salsa music at night at Bayside, they took in a Miami Marlins baseball game and at night, found a bar that would let them in to drink even though they were underage. In the bar, women danced on the bar wearing barely nothing and music pulsated and was so loud. Tom kind of liked it and Mary kind of hated it. Mary wore a nice summer dress that went beneath her knee with a matching headband and saddle shoes. Tom wore a summer suit and kept his hair in a flat top. He had white shoes and a straw Fedora hat. Tom and Mary did the same things every day and nights for weeks. One night, a buxom Cuban girl danced with Tom. They sat down and had Mojitos at a table on the sidewalk. The woman had long nails and fake eyelashes. She split her time between talking to Tom and looking at her phone and answering text messages. A group of other young people came up and sat with them at their table. They convinced Tom and Mary to come with them to an all night party where they both drank until they passed out. They woke up with no money on them as the hot sun beat down on them on the front lawn of the Fountain Blue. They thought it was the alcohol but they had actually been slipped a date rape drug or a mickey as it was called on the island. Tom had enough gas to get them home and so they drove the three-hour trip back to the island. Tom and Mary went straight to bed and woke up the next morning to find their mother and father in the kitchen. Dad was reading the island paper and mom was making pancakes. The twins plopped down in the assigned kitchen chairs. Tom was wearing a Florida Marlins t-shirt and his frost tips caused his dad to stare at him with a furrowed brow as he puffed on his pipe.

“Gee Pop… I guess it’s just one of those things you have to see, touch and smell to understand…” said Tom, as he bit into his buttery, syrupy pancakes.

“They are unhappy people,” said Mary.

“Oh is that so, Pumpkin? Tell me why,” said father.

“They’re fat and loud and profane. They’re dumb by choice and lazy. They are glued to devises that they carry in their hands and rarely look at one another. They love to take pictures of themselves and want everyone to think that they’re happy and they’re not,” said Mary.

“Well now you know.” Said mother as she put out scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

“You know the guy who became president? We never hear much about him here except maybe the good stuff like unemployment and proud to be American and all. If you turn the television on out there, it’s incredible… I followed it on television like a soap opera…”said Tom.

“So what did you hear, sport?”

“It would take hours to really elaborate but it appears as though the president won the election and nobody thought it would happen and so those that didn’t like him, claimed the Russians helped him win and so the attorney general did something called recusing, which means he did nothing and they got the guy under him to assign someone to look into the president and Russian involvement. Two guys went to jail that did not do anything with the Russians but didn’t pay taxes and told some fibs to the FBI… The FBI meanwhile hated the president and the head of the FBI gave documents to a friend so that friend could go to the papers and let everyone know that the president tried to tell the head of the FBI to not go after this general who was on the president’s staff. So one of the FBI investigators was sending messages on one of those gadgets that they all have in their hands at all times, telling his girlfriend who also worked for the FBI, that he would stop the president from being president. Meanwhile, the president who has a really pretty wife, had relations with another pretty woman a long time ago and he gave her money not to talk about it… Well guess what? She talked about it… And now they say he used money to run for president to pay the girlfriend not to talk. Thing is that he has billions of dollars and probably just used lunch money to make her be quiet. Now those that hate the president, want to impeach him and those who love him, don’t care what he does. Everyone is so angry right now out there… It really is crazy,” said Tom.

Nobody said anything for a minute. They all just sort of thought about what Tom just said. Mother poured everyone some orange juice and asked them all a rhetorical question.

“Golly what a mess! Could you imagine any of this happening to Eisenhower?”

The question made them all laugh.

December 1, 2018

Teachers Have Bad Days Too

Filed under: america,humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 9:54 pm
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Terry had an absolute miserable day teaching. She was hired to teach guitar and keyboards as an elective to high school children in an impoverished area of the city. The pay was good but it was nothing more than babysitting. Her classes consisted of Hispanic and black gangbangers with neck tattoos, some with ankle bracelets to monitor their every move by the police, some pregnant, most high and all profane.

“Eh eh Ms. Bitchtits… This motherfucker ain’t got all it strings. How my bout to learn this shit when y’all done gave some defective shit. I don’t see Pedro motherfucker over dere wit his leafblower on his motherfucking back missing no strings on his shit… That discrimination, Ms. Bitchtits.”

Pedro took offense to the leaf blower comment as he tried hard to form a G chord without cramping his fingers.

“The only one with bitch tits all up in this bitch is yo fat ass, motherfucking Fat Albert motherfucker. What kind of crazy bitch mom names their kid Sirarthur? Yo momma was cracked out when she gave you that bitch name.”

A fight broke out. Two guitars were casualties. The school security separated them and took them out. A string of other outbursts occurred through out the day. Run of the mill swearing, playing music on their phones, eating in class, sleeping in class and general disrespect for the Terry brought her to tears on the way home.

 

Chris was a private school teacher in a really rich suburb where there were eight students in the class. The kids spent most of the day on social media or skyping friends in other schools. Kids ignored most of what Chris was trying to teach the children. Chris had a student named Floyd who dressed in black with died black hair and a safety pin through his bottom lip. He wore shirts of death metal bands you never heard of and hated everything. His parents were divorced and the dad had an older Costa Rican woman taking care of him while travelling the world on business. Floyd was in prep school but got thrown out of so many that they brought him home. His stepmother detests him and the dad just gives his kid more money to placate him. The assignment was to read allowed what the perfect day would be. Floyd read his in front of the class.

“My perfect day would be to tie up my parents in their fucking sauna and turn the temperature up to about 150 and leave them in there for a good while to ensure their reproductive organs were officially shot. I would then come to school with a dozen large sows and let tear gas off in the school. I would sit out front with a six-pack and a lawn chair on the school’s front lawn while the pigs and girls squealed like pigs and then I would probably take target practice on the knees of those running from the mayhem. No murder, just a little maiming. Of course this is just a fantasy, you see… For I have no sows at home.”

Chris dialed the police and the police showed up before Floyd could finish his essay. The police hauled Floyd in. His father was in New Zealand and the stepmother was fucking an Internet buddy in San Diego and so the Costa Rican au pair had to sort it all out. The father, who donated thousands, maybe tens of thousands to the school on top of tuition each year, pledge to see that Chris would be fired when he returned. Chris drove home crying.

Chris met Terry through a friend of a friend. At the time, they were both dating men but went on to become partners. They were once really romantic but Chris began to gain weight and Terry had become a health nut. It was just a few days ago that Terry had to break the news to Chris that the funky smell in her vagina was due to all the shit food she was eating and a little bit of poor hygiene. Love had been on the rocks and now they both had a really bad day. They walked in to find that their cats were fighting and had broken porcelain figurines that had belonged to Chris’ grandmother. The gloves came off the moment they both got home.

“I hate these cats… I hate them, I hate them… We couldn’t get fucking dogs because we live in a building that won’t allow them. So these destructive little fucks have ruined something of mine once again that can’t be replaced. I have had a day from hell and I don’t have room in my life right now to be dealing with destructive fucking cats,” shouted Chris.

“Fuck you… You teach at a country club. Try one day in my goddamn shoes and you need more therapy than you’re getting now,” said Terry.

“How dare you use that against me… You are a hateful bitch… When your parents get here, I will be staying at a hotel. I am not putting up with your criticism and theirs together. You are all unhappy people and then you shit on me. Your parents raised you to be a mean combative bitch. You’re just like them. I’m outta here.,” said Chris.

“Yeah… Will you be sending the what are you doing tonight text to your old boyfriend?” Asked Terry.

“What are you talking about? We’re just friends. I don’t hate Paul. It just didn’t work out.”

“I get all the neurotic bullshit and he gets to buy you a few drinks, slip you the genuine article and you both go on with life. I’m not blind,” said Terry.

“I’m not having this tonight. I had that weirdo kid talk about tear gas, wild pigs and shooting people in the legs today and now his rich dad wants my head for calling the cops…” said Chris.

“Welcome to modern teaching, sister. Yo this Motherfucking, bitch, niggah, bitch, niggah, motherfucking bitch ass mothefucking motherfucker… Now that’s commonly used just for description… Every minute of everyday. So you got a rich Goth psycho. You must be stressed.”

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

In the lobby of condominium were the parents of Terry who had difficulty coming to grips with their daughter’s change of life but were ready to shrug it off and wish them all the happiness in the world. The button to the intercom had stuck. Chris had pressed the button with maple syrup on her index finger earlier that morning when the Amazon man arrived with a package and that darn button never released. For a great while Terry’s parents just quietly stood in the foyer and listened to domestic car crash taking place. The parents quietly agreed to each other that they were really no different than any other couples. And that’s just how it goes on really bad days.

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