Blackhumouristpress's Blog

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

Decide

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…
Fuck.”
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?”
“Yes…”
“Why did you come here?”
“I thought it might be better…”
“Detroit?!”
“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
say.
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.

“Travis?”
“Yes, ma’am…”
“OMFG…”
“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.

December 4, 2019

Happy Thanksgiving or A Deluge of Shi* in Buffalo

Benjamin was from Buffalo, New York. Upon graduation from high school, he knocked around Community Theater in Brooklyn and shared a studio apartment with other “starving artists”.

 

Benjamin met Bev while doing a production of Oklahoma with an all-homeless cast to raise money for the poor. Bev donated her time to make costumes. To this day you can still find cowboy looking homeless men panhandling around New York. Bev loved Benjamin’s passion and Benjamin loved that Bev was organized, a go-getter and willing to row the boat of life a lot harder than he. They married even though Benjamin detested the idea of a possible suburban existence with two kids and a mortgage. Bev suspected that marriage would eventually land them in a burg somewhere around the country with a scripted and wholly domestic life. Things went well at first. Their son Benny was born and then their daughter Daisy soon followed. Around that time they also bought two cats and a dog. The picture was complete and ready for stickers of the family on the back of a minivan- mother, father, son, daughter, 2 cats and a dog.

 

Benjamin and Bev opened a thriving fine arts center for children in Chicago. Benjamin carried his two children proudly around as tots strapped to his chest. Benjamin was half administrator and half choreographer. Bev taught dancing and French language lessons. Life was as it should be and as good as one could hope for when they decide to buy animals, have children and open a business with their spouse.

 

Now Bev suspected that Benjamin might be gay, bisexual or asexual. The amount of sex they had was at about the average it should be if you were 70 years of age. They both were in their early forties. As is often the case, someone in a relationship is unhappy. Benjamin ordered what he got but envisioned something else. Unhappy people who don’t like confrontation set themselves up to be caught. There it was on the computer just waiting for someone to wake it up from sleep mode. A short video of Benjamin having rough doggie style sex with the born again Christian mother who was hired to do voice lessons at the studio. Bev at first couldn’t see the face. All she could see was her husband and a really large ass. Benjamin commanded the woman to face the camera as he pulled her hair. As you could imagine, this discovery was not fit for a wife to see. It ruined their day, it ruined their marriage. These things happen.

 

The years passed and Bev got the house with the kids and the mortgage and the debt. Benjamin bought a yellow Volkswagen bug convertible and lived in a studio apartment again in a building of twenty something’s trying to make it in music or theater. The building was a practice space for loud and noisy bands that were going nowhere. Many of the musicians lived in their practice space that used to be factory back when there were a lot of factories. Those factories are now in China… Anyway, Benny and Daisy were now junior high age. They loved their electronic devices. Benny loved to kill things virtually and Daisy loved to make dancing videos. Once a week they were forced to have a meal and spend the night in their father’s apartment. For Thanksgiving they were invited to go back to Buffalo to celebrate the holiday. Benjamin’s mom footed the bill for the airfare. Benjamin hated the idea but it was a free trip.

 

There was the Thanksgiving meal at 1pm with Benjamin’s mother and her wife. Picture two women looking like Elizabeth Warren. One was called mom or granny and the other was called mommy or grandmother. The kids were confused and called them nothing. Their cousins knew each other since they lived in Buffalo but didn’t know them and so they ignored Benny and Daisy. At 4pm they went to pick up Benjamin’s father and go to the all you can eat buffet for Thanksgiving. Benjamin Sr. the first in a line of Benjamin’s asked about his ex-wife and made snarky comments about how it all works with lesbians and who might take the lead on things like sex and dancing. Benjamin couldn’t wait to get the fuck back to Chicago. His kids looked mopey, he hated his family and the idea of recreating a loving event by having a meal with them. Benjamin headed to the airport and if you know anything about Buffalo, it snows there. Guess what happened next? It snowed in Buffalo and it snowed a lot. It snowed so much that the national news showed feet and feet of snow in and around Buffalo along with a closed airport. Luckily for Benjamin, he found a motel near the airport and the three of them spent the next 36 hours watching cable television in a room that smelled like cigarettes and booze. Nobody spoke much to each other. They watched cooking shows and cold case mysteries until they couldn’t take it anymore. Finally the time came and they boarded a plane to go home to Chicago.

Benjamin texted his ex-wife and ranted as he did once when they were married.

“THIS SUCKED. I HATED IT. THE KIDS HATED IT. MY DAD IS STILL AN ASSHOLE AND MY MOTHER IS FUCKED UP. MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS HATE ME AND THE KIDS AND THEN IT FUCKING SNOWED BIBLICAL TYPE OF SHIT HERE. I WILL BE BACK SOON AND I WILL NOT BE TAKING THE KIDS UNTIL CHRISTMAS. JUST SO YOU KNOW.”

 

Sometimes things go bad now and then. Other times it comes in bits and pieces. For Benjamin it was a deluge of shit. Benjamin arrived at the parking lot at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. It was cold in Chicago but no snow. Over in the distance was his yellow bug with a wheel lock device around the front passenger side wheel. There was a large yellow sticker on the window letting him know that the city of Chicago had added up all his unpaid parking tickets and that if wanted to get his prized vehicle, he would need to go downtown and pay the tickets first.

 

Almost a week after Thanksgiving, there they were all together again in Bev’s sensible SUV. The kids were silent, Benjamin was silent and fuming but with her hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, Bev got quiet satisfaction in her ex-husband’s misfortunes. Many in a week. White Christmas by Bing Crosby came on the nonstop Christmas song station that Bev tuned into right after Halloween. Benjamin turned the radio off. Bev grabbed Benjamin’s hand and moved it from the dial and put the music back on. She smiled at Benjamin and simply said, “I’m listening to the song…”

November 1, 2019

Last Tango in Detroit

Rick asked Tony to watch his house for a few days, feed and let the dogs out and bring in the mail. Tony didn’t mind the idea of camping out at Rick’s house for a while. There was beer and food in the refrigerator and they had the Center Ice NHL package on Direct TV. Tony loved it. If he wanted to watch any game going on, he could- Vancouver, New York, Montreal Las Vegas… All of them.

Tony played hockey, sold hockey equipment, coached a youth hockey team and then more recently, a woman’s hockey team. Rick’s wife entertained the idea of being the women’s team goalie but hated the idea of being shot at, putting on so much equipment and having to stand in front of the net while everyone else got to skate around. Rick told Tony that his wife wasn’t too keen about many of the women on the team but one in particular who just happened to become Tony’s girlfriend since he became the team’s coach. Her name was Susan and she was tall with red hair. Susan liked to go to hockey games and listen to live music. She was a lot of fun but outspoken when it came to shitty goaltending. Part of why Rick’s wife Donna decided to quit was Susan’s comments such as Donna couldn’t stop a cock between her legs anymore than she could a puck. Tony shrugged it off. Hockey is not for everyone and everyone does not like everyone.

Tony had a men’s league game later one night. He boiled a pot of pasta and could only find butter to put on the noodles. The only television at Rick’s house was in the master bedroom. Tony put the television on by hand since he could not find the remote control. For about 5 minutes Rick stood there manually holding the button for the channel to go from 5 to 770-1 for high definition. Detroit was playing Edmonton. Edmonton was off to a good start and Detroit was about where they have been for the past five to six years- nowhere. Tony balanced the soupy plate of pasta while changing the channel to the Islanders against Carolina when the whole plate of pasta fell onto Rick’s bed with a black fitted sheet. Tony swore a bit and scooped the pasta back onto the plate and ate it without a thought. He fell asleep that night on one side of the bed while watching the highlights of the day’s games. Tony’s team lost earlier that night but he was a plus 1 and had two assists playing defense. At the next game, Rick thanked Tony for watching his place and taking care of the dogs. He had one question though for Tony- what the fuck did you do in my bed? Tony thought about telling Rick the truth but created a funny story instead.

“Susan is an old film buff and so she brought over a copy of Last Tango in Paris and we watched it in bed. I then went and got your Land O’ Lakes out of the fridge and rammed it up her ass while recreating the scene after watching Marlon Brando do it… I didn’t use the whole stick of butter. I put back about half in the fridge.”

Rick smiled but was a cross between shocked and jealous. He then thought about having toast that morning with the butter that went up a woman’s ass. He couldn’t remember tasting a difference.

At the end of season party, the boys on the team showed up to the apartment of one of the transplants from Boston. There they all were on the roof of a high-rise drinking and waiting for the lobsters to be boiled. Donna stood glaring at Susan and Tony who were talking quietly to one another and kissing a bit. Donna had just enough drinks to feel brave enough to confront the couple.

“You know what? I might have sucked as a goalie but you suck as a human… Both of you actually. What kind of a tramp allows a man to put a stick of butter up her ass, then fuck her in the ass of a friend’s bed, make a fucking mess and then not have the decency to take the sheets and simply wash them… That’s not enough! Then take the stick of butter and put it back in the fridge. It’s disgusting at a minimum. Kinky and exciting for my husband but repulsing for me…”

Susan studied Tony’s face while he nervously laughed and smiled. Tony had two women angrily looking intently into his face. Susan demanded an explanation.

“Babe… It was watery pasta that fell off the plate while I was watching hockey one night. That’s all it was plain and simple. I hate to pop Rick’s bubble but there was no anal sex… But I thought it would be a funny story. I can tell you this- Rick loses his man card for telling his wife something so lurid such as that. Somethings like that are better left untold between men…”

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