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July 30, 2009

Disney Still On Ice

Filed under: Disney,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 2:31 am
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Disney still on ice

June 26, 2009, Anaheim, California 9:12 PM PST. Under the Pirates of the Caribbean.

“Mr. Disney? Mr. Disney?”

Walt looked up at the bright lights above his head and could not see anything but really bright light. Walt wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or if he was truly passing through the tunnel to the other side as they say.

“The lights are very bright and the temperature is close to 100 degrees in here to help bring your body temperature to where it should be, ” said Dr. Smith, with a soft baritone voice that was soothing to Walt.

Walt disney was led into a dark room where a film projector cast light on dust floating around in the air. The film began and standing off to the right of the screen under an amber light was short man in a suit by the name of David Gold.

“On behalf of all of us here at Disney, we would like to welcome you back, sir. My name is David Gold and I am the designated facilitator. My job since coming to Disney, has been preparing for the day when we would bring you back…”

Walt sat in a recliner and sipped hot tea. With the room temperature nearly 100 degrees and a layers of clothes and blankets, Walt was still fairly cold. The green tea with rose hips was helping.

“We, well… I… Well you see, sir… There has been a terrible mistake made, sort of a failure of sorts, if you will…” said David.
“How terrible?” Asked walt.
“Well there was an earthquake near Bakersfield and that in itself is not a problem… What is a problem is that we had a small tremor nearby that killed power and security did not alert us to the fact that the back up generators that were in place to ensure you would be frozen at all times… Well they failed, ” said David.
“So a small earthquake caused a power failure, the back up generator failed and the security guard failed to catch on that I was thawing? Is this where you’re going?” Asked Walt.
“Well yes… And we are very sorry and are making every effort to make you as comfortable as possible until we can refreeze you, ” said David.
“Well I might like to take a few days and see what changes have taken place in the last… How many years?” Asked Walt.
“Roughly forty three years, sir… We have prepared a film to show you the things that have taken place since 1966, ” said David.
“You’re going to fill me in on forty three years in how many minutes?”
“Roughly thirty minutes…”
“Seems as though everything is rather… Rough, isn’t it?” Asked Walt jokingly.

Walt Disney watched bombs fall in Vietnam, Hippies dance to the song, Revolution by the Beatles. He saw Richard Nixon bowling and shaking hands with Elvis and killings ordered by Pol Pot. Walt watched gas lines, the Iran hostages, Ronald Reagan getting shot, Ronald Reagan shaking hands with Gorbachev and the Berlin wall falling. Walt then saw Operation Desert Storm with burning oil fields in Kuwait that left the day time sky like night. He watched highlights from 9-11 and the inauguration of Barrack Obama. Walt saw men on the moon, computers, cell phones, rockets and so forth. He then watched a scroll of Disney holdings that seemed to go forever. When that was over, David then turned on lights. Dr. Smith and a few others in white smocks, stood quietly observing Walt Disney. Walt began to peel off layers of clothes and asked that the room be room temperature again. Walt stood up to stretch his stiff back and legs.

“So what’s the deal with cancer? Do we have a cure yet?” Asked Walt, while bending down to try and touch his toes.

“No sir… Science has made great leaps but no cure as of yet.” Said Dr. Smith.
“Okay… So I’m here… You people allowed me to be defrosted. No cure for cancer but you can land planes with little hand held computers and all… Hold a press conference and let the world know that Walt Disney is no longer on ice.” Said Walt.
“There could be an infringement with the Disney on Ice… We have to be careful how we’d word this because Disney on Ice is a company that has figure skaters act out Disney stories. It could be confusing to those who hold tickets for Disney on Ice and if they cancel then we could have a lawsuit on our hands… You understand, sir?” Asked David.

Walt shrugged and wiped sweat from his brow. He finished the tea, set down the cup and stared back at those staring at him.

“I would say that we just go ahead and parade you around for publicity to show the world that cyrogenics does work after all. You’re living proof, ” said David.
“But… I feel a but coming, son, ” said Walt.
“Well the economy is tanking, GM and Chrysler are in bankruptcy. North Koreans are getting ready to send a rocket over Hawaii for the Forth of July… Then there were a slew of famous people that became famous after you died, that have died today, that are now being covered by the press constantly. One was a famous pop singer, the other an actress with Anus cancer and then Ed Mc Mahon…”
“You mean… Here’s Johnny? That Ed Mc Mahon?”
“Yes sir…” said David, with folded arms.
“Anus cancer! Is that possible? Well at any rate, the republic is falling apart and famous people all died to day. You people goof up and thaw me out and you don’t think it would be wise to show me around a bit?”
“It could be really bad for our stock right now, sir… I think you can understand that…” Said David.
“Well… Okay… You get the power up and the crew in white here to put me on ice again?”
“Yes sir… Just until we can find a cure for cancer. When that comes, you’ll be front page news. We’ll thaw you out again quicker than you could say Jack Robinson. We’ll get that cancer taken care of so you can live a long and happy life… That is unless you have heart disease. That may shorten things up a bit…”
“Well son…” said Walt while trying to get the last few drops out of his Mickey Mouse mug. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, won’t we?”
“Certainly, sir…”

Waiting for Oprah

Filed under: Oprah,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 2:28 am
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Waiting for Oprah
Bobby and Agnes were treated for their injuries and sent home. They really needed the beds at Cook County Hospital for people with more serious injuries such as knife wounds or gun shots. More people died of knife and gun shot wounds at Cook County Hospital in one year than the number of American soldiers in Afghanistan. That could change next year.

Bobby and Agnes had badly bruised faces, missing teeth and serious whiplash. Anytime one who is hit from behind in an automobile at seventy miles an hour, would find their head would flip back and forth like a rag doll.
Bobby and Agnes lived in Agnes’ sister’s apartment off of Archer Avenue on the south side of Chicago. Beatrice was Agnes’ older sister. She had two children that she raised herself from the age of eighteen. Her children had children young too and are struggling not far from where they once struggled with their mother, their entire youth.
Beatrice was a beauty when she was a younger woman but at 43 years of age, she appeared to be clos er to 53 years of age. Years of smoking left her walls yellow and her voice husky. Whenever she laughed hard enough, Beatrice coughed up phlegm. Beatrice has worked at the same diner on 95th Street across from Little Family of Mary Hospital since she was a teenager. What she doesn’t know yet is that she will eventually die at the hospital across the street from the diner. That won’t come for a while yet, but it’s coming.
Beatrice was not a fan of Bobby. Bobby was in his mid thirties and had been in and out of jail. Bobby did eight years for attempted murder of his ex-wife’s lover. It was Bobby’s cousin Bill who had mistakenly fired the gun that grazed the arm of the man who had been seeing Bobby’s wife for years. Bobby took the rap for his younger cousin who had no previous record. Bobby reasoned that he probably would wind up in jail again at some point and Bill may never have to. Bill had at least a high school degree.
Bobby and Agnes laid on the pull out bed in the living room the next morning. It was a one bedroom apartment that Beatrice rented. Bobby and Agnes both laid propped up in bed, smoking cigarettes and watched the Oprah Show. Oprah had just changed the lives of some poor people with three children. They no longer had to live in public housing not far from where Bobby and Agnes lived. Agnes loved watching the Oprah Show. 0Bobby hated Oprah. He felt Oprah had too much power over American women. He felt that if Oprah ordered all men killed, that those just in the book club alone might take up the task.
“Why doesn’t that bitch come here and move us out of this palace? Why don’t you write her and tell her you ready for a make over and a new house? Shit she could fix our teeth and hair and my god damn car that’s now killed… Call her now. She right there in the studio,” said Bobby.
“The show is previously taped… Hush up now so I kin see this,” said Agnes.
Bobby watched and shook his head as his cigarette ashes fell to their yellowing sheets that had not been washed in months. Bobby rubbed his temples and tried to massage his own neck. It hurt too much to touch. Bobby’s head hurt to move it up or down and from left to right. They were both issued braces to keep their heads still but neither intended on wearing them.
Bobby was urinating with the bathroom door open when he heard knocking on the door. He yelled for Agnes to get it. Agnes yelled back that she couldn’t get up. Beatrice heard the commotion and went to the door. A man in a suit with a brief case in hand, stood smiling at the door. The man stood there and observed the squalor and wondered how people so genetically close to himself could live like animals. It smelled of cigarettes, stale liquor and unwashed clothes. All the drapes were drawn. One would not be able to tell that is was day or night between the shades and drapes. The man in the suit never stopped smiling. He asked to talk to both Bobby and Agnes. Bobby walked towards the man with his shirt off and zipper unzipped on his dirty jeans that he had slept in. Bobby suspected the man was from the IRS or an undercover cop. Bobby pre-empted the man by speaking first.
“I paid my debt to society. My girl bailed me out and I go to court next Wednesday. Til then I ain’t got nothing to say,” said Bobby.
“Sir… Hear me out. Your life is about to change for the better…”
Agnes struggled to sit up. She smiled despite the fact that she was missing her two front teeth and had two black eyes. Agnes was certain her prayers were going to be answered.
“Your from the Oprah Show, aren’t you?”
The man in the suit just smiled and began to explain to Bobby what his purpose was. Bobby had a few questions to ask of the finely dress man.
“So lemme git this straight… You git 33% of whatever we can git in court?”
“That’s entirely it…”
“That sounds like a lot of fucking money, man. I git in a gawd damn accident and you git to walk way with a third? That’s some bullshit, man,” said Bobby.
“Sounds bad to you? How would you like 100% of dick? Sounds a lot worse than 66% doesn’t it? Let me speak plainly, my friend… You’re living with your common law wife in her sister’s one bedroom apartment. You no longer have a car and you work for a Polish gentleman who calls you to work when his regular crew is too drunk or busy to work for him. You have nothing. You stand to make enough money to catapult you out of these dregs that you presently wallow in. You could buy a home, a car, start a business. You more or less have won the lottery. My job is to bring this to fruition. Athletes have agents when they make their millions because they have agents who know how to shake the tree for money. You want to risk going to court and telling the judge in your folksie way that you have been wronged? The judge will dismiss the case and you won’t get diddly squat. Now if you have me going before the judge, I can tell him what a har d working man you are that is trying to make a buck out of a quarter. I can tell him how your health for the rest of your days, will prevent you from working any longer as an apprentice tuck pointer and that you no longer can work the only job you’ve ever known. I can tell him how the correctional system rehabilitated you and how you’ve been an upstanding citizen who works and pays his taxes.”
“Um… I git paid under the table in cash. I ain’t filed since 1993, ” said Bobby.
“Don’t worry my friend, we’ll just skip that part of it,” said the smiling attorney with bleached white teeth. “We’ll work around all that… All I need is a signature below from both of you… Getting whacked from behind from an executive of a major automobile company… By years end, you’ll be hob nobbing with Oprah… Trust me.”

Midlife Chrysler

Filed under: Auto Industry,Chrysler Deathwatch,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 2:27 am
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Midlife Chrysler
Joe pulled into the lot of the beach front night club in Malibu, California at such a fast speed that the carhops jumped out of the way. Joe slammed on the breaks of his jet black Dodge Viper as the car screeched to a stop.

“You fucking kids… What you think, you fucking kids? I’m gonna hurt you? Eh? Take care my prize… I love that fucking car more than life.”
Joe’s name was actually Shlomo and Joe was Jewish not Italian. Joe never told anyone that he was Italian but it was implied. He walked in the club with a cigar in his mouth, wearing a burnt orange suit and shiny black shoes with his hair greased back. Joe was bird’s nest bald in the back but hid it well by combing his hair straight back. The bangs rarely get cut. Joe hugged the owner of the club an Italian man from New York who went by the name of Willy. Willy escorted Joe arm in arm to a table near the dance floor that had a VIP card on it and a velvet rope had a reserved sign in front of it. Joe pretended to talk on his cell20phone to a business associate as he panned around the room. A pretty raven haired girl with pouting hips, sat at the bar with a few other girls that were just days over the age of twenty one. Joe sent over a bottle of champaign to the girls as a few regulars stopped by his table to chat with him. Joe sent over another bottle to the girls and told the waiter to have them join him at his booth. The young women giggled at first but mustered up the bravery since there were four of them in all. Joe kissed all of their hands as they individually extended their hands. They got a good look at Joe’s expensive Cartier watch, gold bracelet and pinky ring. The girls all thought Joe was a gangster and he played it up to the hilt.
“So where you girls from?”
“We are all students from Spain,” said the stunningly beautiful raven haired young woman, in a heavy accent.
“Spain… I love Spain. Seville, Barcelona, Madrid… Love it there,” said Joe.
The other girls had difficulty speaking English the way the raven haired Marina could. Marina worked in a hotel in Spain where mostly British tourists would come for holiday. Joe was totally smitten with the angel faced young woman with a perfect body. Her silver dress contoured her body li ke a glove. It was nearly impossible for Joe to pull his eyes off of Marina. Joe sipped his scotch slowly as marina drank down the champaign at nearly a glass every fifteen minutes. Marina got bold and sent her friends home without her. Joe had no way of knowing since Marina commanded her friends in Spanish. Joe was hers and there was no disputing this. After four generous glasses of champaign, Marina sat close to Joe and listened to his every word intently.
“Tell me all about you, Joey… I want to know everything about such a handsome specimen of man,” said Marina, into Joe’s ear while brushing her lips gently against his earlobe.
“Well I was married once and now I’m happy… That was a little joke there,”
“So what do you do, Joey? You must be an important man.”
“I don’t like to discuss what I do so much, babe. I do what I do and I do it well and it makes me rich and that’s all you gotta know.”
Marina kissed Joe on the lips. Her soft lips and thin neck smelled of a light flowery perfume. Joe kissed Marina on the neck and posed a question he had posed nearly every time he found himself in a similar situation with a young impressionable woman.

“Do you believe in fate?”

“Fate? What is fate?”
“Do you believe that gawd meant for us to meet tonight? I tell you why… I was going to go home and go to bed. I stepped out on the balcony of my place and watched the moon shine on the waves and said to myself, there’s got to be something special waiting for me on such a beautiful night. I found myself coming here for a reason I did not know… I know now though. After seeing you, talking to you, I now know that gawd had a purpose for me tonight. It was to meet someone really special… This is like winning the lottery…”
“Tell me one thing Joey; Do you have good insurance?”
Marina was visiting on student visa and was attending Pepperdine University. Her goal was to find an American man who really wanted to be married. She then would get her citizenship and vanish to some other area of the country like possibly Miami.
Marina woke up to the sound of seagulls screaming over head and waves crashing on the beach. A note on the table from Joe. This is what it said:
Swee t Marina,
A lot was said last night and I meant all of what came out of my mouth. I look forward to getting to know you and sharing my life with you. I believe in fate and feel that you do too. You have my cell number now. Call me later. We can meet for dinner.
Love Joey
During the day, Joe was Shlomo and his job was to manage a shopping center in the San Fernando Valley that was owned by his wife who was a trust fund baby. Yerhuda inherited money and property from her father who bought land all over the country. Yerhuda’s job was to collect checks from companies that managed her properties in various cities. Shlomo’s job once a year was to visit all the holdings and give his wife a report. The rest of the time, Shlomo worked out with a personal trainer, played golf and tennis and ran around in his various sports cars.
Yerhuda was known as a Jewish ten; a five with money. Lots of money. Shlomo was able to convince Yerhuda that what he felt was true love. Yerhuda bought it and they went on to have five children over the course of eighteen years. All the children were stout, chubby and spoiled rotten. Shlomo hated to come home most days when the children were home. They yelled, cried, fought with one another and whined for things that they didn’t need but received anyway.
When Shlomo was not at the country club, he could be found sleeping in office inside the mall which was owned by his wife. Shlomo had a Murphy Bed installed in his office. A Murphy Bed is one that comes out of the wall and is disguised as a book shelf. Shlomo would usually be hung over from running around all night. Yerhuda took sleeping pills to sleep and rarely knew that Shlomo was out carousing.
“Honey, the agency sent over the new au pair,” said Yerhuda, while eating a bowl of blueberries in her jogging suit in their spotless kitchen.
“Well she seems nice enough… A student and all just like the others… Okay, Captain Bill will bring the yacht to the marina at three, don’t be late… Huh… I just had a thought. Sort of coincidence… Well whatever. Hurry home. Love you.”
Shlomo joe parked his Dodge Viper in the large circular driveway. His eldest son was playing basketball in their tennis court with a neighbor and never acknowledged his father’s presence. Joe opened the front door and set his keys down on the antique table just inside the foyer. Yerhuda was in the sunroom giving instructions to the au pair.
“Ariel cannot drink milk. He is lactose intolerant. Rebecca will not eat pasta with sauce. It has to be butter. Ziv can stay up until ten and then he must go to sleep. We’re just going to our place in Cabo for a few days but you can reach us on my husband’s cell phone anytime… Oh here he is now. Marina, this is my husband Shlomo.”
Shlomo was as stiff as a soldier and pushed his wife to get her things and leave forthwith. Yerhuda asked Shlomo what was wrong and why it was that he looked so pale. Shlomo blamed it on the lox from the deli in Santa Monica. Shlomo kept waiting for the young girl to do what young girls do; get angry and drop the dime. It never happened. Shlomo was intrigued as to what was going through Marina’s mind. After a half day passed, Shlomo sent Marina a text message.
“I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.”
Marina responded ten minutes later.
“Call it fate… Don’t worry, Joey. We’re going to work out the terms… It’s like a gift from god. Just like winning the lottery. Kiss her for me 🙂 ____ Marina”

Tacos 69 Cents

Filed under: Ethnicity,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 2:23 am
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Tacos 69 cents
She had blond hair and a carefree attitude and a sense of humour that would intimidate most guys. She had a very pretty smile and seemed at ease with her friends on a girls night out listening to white guys, playing black music. Most of them well past the age of trying to be rock stars. They play music because it’s what they do to remind them of what they’ve always done since the age when it was natural.

She asked the guy with a Manchester United jersey if he was a soccer player. He responded like a guy who was hoping that coming up short, would still be impressive.

“I played for the Flint Dilweeds in the Michigan also ran league which was semi-pro. I had a head injury which forced me to be an English teacher in a junior college in Wayne County, Michigan… Yup, one little play kept me from greatness,” said the keyboard player of an all white Reggae band from Detroit where the population is 90% black.

The blond woman responded in a way that was so emasculating and amusingly cruel all at the same time.

“That is so cool. Do you want to go in the parking lot and fuck?”

The Semi-pro English teaching Reggae musician who only uses minor chords in all his songs nervously scratched his arm and responded.

“I can’t. I’m married…”

With that he walked away. It was at that moment that the other man, a listener, knew that the blond woman with a pretty smile who appeared to be20happy and confident, understood how to walk through den of lions and never fear their capabilities. The lions were fearful of the whip. The whip was nothing more than a quick wit and sharp tongue… The man was impressed. A jaded, sarcastic individual who prided himself on using words to entertain mostly himself, was highly impressed. It was more attractive than any physical attributes that would draw any man to a woman. The man wanted to continue to talk to her. She was the most interesting person he had met in quite sometime and her smile only made it all more inviting… The crescendo? Tacos at 4am. Nothing more nothing less.

July 5, 2009

Hello world!

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 3:22 pm

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