Blackhumouristpress's Blog

October 23, 2010

The Ineffable or The Hitchhiker

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 7:18 am
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   “Sometimes things are just not as they appear, young man…” said Terrance as he drove his large 1972 Chrysler Newport down a desolate country road late at night.

            “Yeah…  How so?” Asked Purvis, who grasped a lead pipe in his right hand as he waited for the right moment to beat Terrance over the head to steal his car.

            “We spend our whole lives thinking that what we think is true is true.  You take that war in Vietnam…  I spent two years running through the jungle.  What I’ve learned is that we don’t really know anything.  You take absolutes…  Absolutes.  The things we believe that are completely true and just are because we all have come to accept an idea, that does not make it a truth.  Rationalities run our lives with reason or so we are lead to believe. We all are born, live and die, right?”  Said Terrance.

            “Yeah…  I dig what you’re saying, man.” Said Purvis.

            Purvis had just robbed a family that was quietly sleeping in their rooms in a remote area on the outskirts of New Orleans.  Purvis dodged the draft and was hiding out with drifters, thieves and drug addicts wherever he could.  In the presence of the parents who were bound and gagged, Purvis raped a sixteen year old girl, kicked the family dog to death and made off with several hundred dollars in currency as well as some jewelry.  Purvis stuck out his thumb as headlights came towards him for the first time in what seemed like a half hour as he walked down a dark country road.  The sounds of frogs and crickets filled the air like a symphony.  Purvis thought about alligators coming out of the cattails and attacking him.  Purvis had no way of knowing if they were out there and if they were hungry. 

 Terrance had hopped into his car to go for a ride after sounds began to make shapes and colors. Terrance was watching The Hollywood Squares when the sounds of the voices on television began to emit smells and voices such as Charles Nelson Reilly and Paul Lynne were followed by colors.  There were swirling mélanges of pinkish purple.  Terrance was eating some crawfish stew when everything just snapped.  The walls began to heave like they were breathing and voices told him he needed to move on before Charlie found him. Terrance decided to leave his house and go for a ride. Fate or divine intervention brought Purvis, a young, white, angry male together with a black man who had served in Vietnam and had a PHD in philosophy and suffered the effects of Agent Orange and LSD.

 Purvis had never met a black man with such a strange way of speaking.  It all sound like English but he had no idea what he was talking about.

            “The Greek thinking was killed off by Constantine and his mother upon finding Christianity… If had not been for Constantine’s mother, we’d all be pagan still.  Is it any wonder that the dark ages were dark?  Dutch pictures of a Dutch Virgin Mary and Christ child…  How did that happen?  How did Paul find the gentiles?  He was looking for Jews…  That’s the joke of it all.  Paul was looking to convert Jews, man!”  Said Terrance, with a hardy laugh.

            Purvis took the heavy lead pipe and cracked Terrance over the right part of his head.  Terrance heard a dull thud and for a few seconds, all his thoughts seem to dissipate.  He looked over at Purvis who was shocked that the large black man was still driving the vehicle while blood poured into his right ear.  Terrance stopped the car abruptly which caused Purvis to slam his head against the dashboard.  Terrance grabbed rope from under his side of the bench seat and tied up the hands and feet of Purvis.  All the while Terrance never stopped speaking.

            “You were born a blank slate young man…  There is no such thing as original sin.  Someone taught you to be who you are.  Someone filled your slate full of hate.  Sad that things got to come to this.  In the whole universe, something brought you to me tonight.  Why you think this is possible?  A curse and a blessing all at the same time…  I know what you’re thinking…  Some white man gave the monkey a brain and created a monster.  I ain’t no monkey and no monster.  There was no Frankenstein and I wasn’t fabricated by some great white mind… At least I don’t believe this to be true.  Then again beliefs are a funny thing.  We all believe that America is destined to be something that god had planned.  Everything is in god’s plan.  Progress in the age of enlightenment, right?  The whole world wants to be American.  I want to live in America, everything is good in America…  John Wayne loves god and god loves him like a damn disciple.   God told white people to come to America and bring black people with them to lighten the load.  Can’t hardly believe how that whole thing worked…  Capitalism has brought about a perversion that has hampered our ability to find our soul.  We got a soul in us, man.  As much as you feel you had the right to try to off me and drive away in my automobile for monetary means, to help you get a fix and a meal til you need to hunt someone else again like an animal on the Serengeti.  I don’t blame you.  You come to the water hole and lost this time to a stronger and more intelligent animal.”  Said Terrance.

            “You are one crazy nigger.  You gonna kill me, than just do it.  All this crazy talk…  I can’t take it.”  Said Purvis.

            “Where do you think you’re going to go to once you leave here?  Do you think you’re going to go to god?  Go to hell?  Maybe a hallway as far as the eye can see for the rest of time.  You take numbers for example and then you can understand that infinity is possible.  Forever is forever and it don’t end, man.  We got a starting point and it difficult to accept that from zero, we can go either direction for ever just like heaven and just like hell.  And forever is a real long time.   I grew up a Baptist with a father who was a minister and the more I learned, the less religion made sense to me.  We look for justice and legitimacy in everything we do.  Religion teaches us this.  There is too much that cannot be explained.  You wanna have faith in something subliminal… Something intangible.  You can go to sleep and a dream makes more sense than reality.  Your reality right now is like a bad dream, young man.”  Said Terrance.

          “You’re really nuts, man.  I wish you’d just speak English.  You gonna torture me? Then just do it.  I don’t want to hear all your stuff anymore.  I don’t even understand what you’re saying.”  Said Purvis.

            “You ever seen a baby born?”  Asked Terrance.

            “No.”  Said Purvis.

            “You ever seen somebody die?”  Asked Terrance.

            Purvis had killed animals and then later people.  It was always random and devoid of empathy.  The people killed had material things that Purvis needed and desired.  Killing was a way of separating what one had from what he needed.  There was no remorse.

            Terrance got close enough to kiss Purvis and whispered in his ear.  The blood trickled down from Terrance’s ear onto the bench seat.  Purvis sweated profusely and for the first time in his life, thought of all the people he had killed and tortured in his life.  Terrance was torturing him and would ultimately kill him.

            “Life…” Whispered Terrance into the ear of Purvis.  “Life is ineffable…  Among truths and beliefs and deities, I can tell you this is a universal among universals and Socrates and Aristotle would back me on this.  When you think you’re time is about to pass, there are the questions we cannot answer as living beings and life suddenly has a lot more value.  Faith?  Nothing?  You tell me, young man.  I’m gonna wait here listening to Smokey Robinson.  You Crackers don’t know nothing about Smokey.”

            The song, More Love, played on the radio while the two men sweated and bled.  Purvis had never heard the song.  Terrance heard the song for the first time while sleeping with a Vietnamese woman who looked to be ten years old even though she was twenty two with three children.

            Let it be soon, don’t hesitate
Make it now, don’t wait
Open your heart and let my love come in
I want the moment to stop when I can fill your heart
With more love, and more joy
Than age or time could ever destroy
My love will be so solid
It would take a hundred lifetimes
To live it down, wear it down, tear it down

This is no fiction
This is no act
This is real, it’s a fact
I’ll always belong only to you
Each day I’ll be living to make sure
I’m giving you more love and more joy
Than age or time could ever destroy
My love will be so solid
It would take a hundred lifetimes
To live it down, wear it down, tear it down

As we grow older no need to fear
When you need me I’ll be here
I’ll be beside you every step of the way
A heart that’s truthful and keeping you youthful
With more love, more joy
Than age or time can ever destroy
My love will be so solid
It would take a hundred lifetimes
To live it down, war it down, tear it down.

            Purvis couldn’t focus on the lyrics.  Terrance almost began to start crying.  He felt almost angry that a strong emotional moment could not be shared or understood by another living being near him.  Purvis was suddenly worth less than life. 

            “We are born, we mature and then we decay…  And it don’t make no sense and it ain’t no comfort, young man.  Is there anything of value in anything in life?  Is there anything real in the mystery that is life itself?  We are going to die.  We don’t know when or why.  We can look for symbols to help us understand what life is about…  To understand the crux of humanity.  We put a man on the moon and what does that mean?  What does that mean to you?  We got into an automobile and drove down this road.  That you can comprehend.  The moon?  What is the  moon, man?  I been to Asia and that might as well be the moon.  Nobody I knew could have found Vietnam on a damn map before 1962 but they could have told you where the moon was.  Nobody can really say for certain why going there was a necessity and if they could explain it, is what they are saying the truth?  What is the truth anyway?  How do you define the moon anymore than truth?”  Asked Terrance.

            “You weirdo…  What the hell do you want from me?  Look… Just let me go and I won’t say nothing to nobody.  I hit you over the head cause I was scared.  I’m sorry, man.”  Said Purvis.

            “I understand that you are perplexed by the mystery of life.  I know that I am and it plagues me.  How do I live with this thing that makes me powerless and emasculates me?  Life is a circle.  You start here and end here and for what purpose?  I have concluded that it’s all not going anywhere.  It’s hard to believe that we leave here and go nowhere and that we are plagued with the thought that maybe this is all there is.”  Said Terrance.

            “You’re really sick, man…  Really.  You need help.”  Said Purvis.

            “I maybe the only sane, clear thinking human being you will ever meet…  Then again, I believe that I am the last person you will ever meet too.  I just want you to appreciate how fragile this all is before you go because we are all really just hanging on by a thread, man.  Fate and faith sound almost the same when you say it in English.  I haven’t figured out the difference….”

            Terrance was about to smash the head of Purvis when flashing lights filled the dark night.  Terrance smelled lemons and grapefruits as the sirens blared towards him.  The sounds made strange shapes.  Terrance was hypnotized by the lights and was unable to move.  Several police officers approached the vehicle with drawn guns.  Purvis was all too ready to purge himself of his sins.  Terrance was held in high esteem as a war hero and one who sought to right wrongs wherever they raised their heads.  Amen.

October 20, 2010


Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 9:05 pm
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Joe Doe… The Republican candidate…  Joe is tough on crime…  He wants to issue automatic weapons to everyone with a driver’s license for our protection.  Who needs to hunt with an M-16?  Hunt Bambi with a machine gun?  Joe Doe says it is every American’s inalienable right and that giving everyone guns is the answer to crime.  Line each other up with an infrared scope?  Don’t be caught up in the cross hairs of a thoughtless, selfish agenda.  Stealing from the poor to give to the rich.  Smaller government? Joe Doe talks about sexually transmitted diseases, sexual orientation and sex education… Sex? Look at the list of banks that Joe Doe has been in bed with.  Joe Doe is in favor of cutting back on education, relief for those out of work, substance abuse programs.  Joe Doe would like to lower tariffs so that cheap foreign products continue to flood our markets.  Leaded toothpaste from China for your kids?  A vote for Joe Doe is a vote against the common man and common sense.  Want another war? Maybe in Iran?  Joe Doe believes that we are doing quote, “The Lord’s work” in Afghanistan.  Do you want your children to believe that the world was created just a few thousand years ago?  That man was tempted by women?  That a snake was the cause of this all?  We’re not biting your apples, Joe…  Why does Joe drive a foreign car but yet rallies for American Auto Workers? Why does he own land on foreign soil if he loves this land so much?  Why would he allow drilling in Alaska, Nebraska and anywhere that oil could be found?  BP would be his VP…  Vote no on Joe…  When it comes to Joe, just say no.

Carmena Bonita- The Democratic candidate- Carmena Bonita?  Muy bonita.  There is the unanswered question about where she is born.  Donde Carmina?  Think we have too many undocumented aliens now?  Just wait until Carmena opens the borders to anyone and everyone trying to quote, “Just make a living”.  Your future, your savings, your tax dollars going to help those that are sapping our country’s vigor, vitality and spunk.  Carmina- we’re not buying your junk.

 Want your kids to know that besides mommy and daddy, there can be a mommy and a mommy or a daddy and a daddy?  Want your children to be issued colored, flavored condoms in the classrooms?  Don’t ask, we’ll tell… Birth control?  Perform fellatio.  Want to be further taxed so that those unwilling to carry their own weight can remain comfortable?  Didn’t think so…  Carmena is in favor of raising tariffs on everything so that we start a world wide trade war that will plunge us further into a greater and longer lasting recession.  Carmena Bonita would like to open the gates, ban god and allow your teenage daughters to have abortions as if it were a pedicure…  Oh and speaking of feet, Carmena wants you to foot the bill…  No esta aqui, Carmina.  America for Americans…  Real Americans.

October 8, 2010

Section 8 or Happy Endings in Paradise

Horace owned an apartment building that housed close to thirty families on a side street just north of Devon Avenue between California Avenue and Kedzie in Chicago.  For most people, these coordinates mean absolutely nothing.  What you need to know is that it was a launching pad into Americana for fresh off the boat European Jews, Indians, Pakistanis, Croatians and Koreans with a smattering of Latinos from various Central American countries. 

            Horace inherited the building from his father who had purchased it upon moving to the United States from England.  Horace’s real name was Armitage Cockfoster III.  There were two other Armitage Cockfosters before him and a string of others going back to the days of feudalism.  In honor of one of Horace’s relatives who was viscount, they named the last stop on The Underground after him.  If you take one of the lines going out towards  nowhere, The Tube train has a sign on the front that reads; Cockfosters.

            All the tenants knew was that they paid there check to A. Cockfoster Management Inc. and their logo was a rooster on a weathervane.  Horace never told his janitor or any of the tenants that he was in fact Armitage Cockfoster III.  This mysterious entity who was supposed to be living in London always scared the janitor into complying with Horace.

            “Dwight…  Mr. Cockfoster received a most inarticulate letter from a Mr. Leviticus Israel regarding a plethora of inadequacies in his unit.  Mr. Cockfoster has dispatched me to determine what is necessary and what is bogus.  I shall be at the building later this afternoon,” said Horace.

            Dwight, who was named after Dwight D. Eisenhower, was actually born and raised in Romania and received the name Dwight after General Eisenhower had traveled through Bucharest after World War II.  General Eisenhower took a picture with Dwight’s father and had a bite of a pastry and a sip of coffee.  Both are still in a sub zero freezer and have been determined to indeed have Dwight D. Eisenhower’s DNA on the pastry and coffee.

 Dwight Iliescu was smoking a cigarette out in front of the building and nervously groomed his bushy moustache with his thumb and index finger.  He flicked the cigarette into the street as Horace pulled up in his Jaguar with a Union Jack sticker on the back.  Dwight thought Horace was a mealy mouthed little yes man for some fat cat sitting in a comfy chair in front of a fireplace somewhere in the English countryside, sipping Scotch and petting one of several bloodhounds.  That kind of stuff only happens in movies.

            “Meester Horace…  Let me say to you something before we go up.  These people are animals.  They are dirty people who cause this problem for themselves.  These guy can’t even talk English.  Everything motherfuck this motherfuck that.  You see for youself.  He’s home now.” Said Dwight.

            “Don’t they work during the day?”  Asked Horace.

            “Boss, nobody works.  You work and I work so that they can stay home and don’t do shit.  That’s how it work, boss.  Come on.” Said Dwight.

            They climbed a staircase that squeaked and flexed.  The hallway smelled of spices from India and urine.  The forty watt refrigerator bulbs helped to set the dismal mood of the run down building.  Horace did what was necessary.  Much of what needed to be done for the sake of humanity was optional in Horace’s opinion.

            The door opened and a smallish black man of possibly forty years of age, opened the door and genuflected as if he were ushering royalty.  Mr. Israel had no idea he was actually in the presence of some sort of periphery royalty and that’s the way Horace liked it.

            “Yeah…  I done sent an email to that Mr. Cock…  Cock…  Whatever his last name is.  Far as I’m concerned it cain be Cocksucker cause he ain’t spend a fucking nickel on this bitch.  Who you now?”  Asked Leviticus.

            “Horace Spencer…  I have been sent by Mr. Cockfoster to see what your complaints are so that we can avert any issues with Section 8,” said Horace.

            “Kay…  Follow me…  You see them motherfucking baseboards?  That there some Tom and Jerry bullshit.  Look at the size them fucking holes!  I got them stuffed up with steel wool but them motherfuckers cain chew threw anything.  I done come out the other day an they looking at me dead in my face.  I done stomped my feet and they just look at me like I’m crazy.  Well I come home the other day an my two boys got one them rats on a goddamn glue board and the pouring bleach on the motherfucking thing in the bathtub and it screaming and then my wife an daughter was screaming and I was ready to just clean out the whole motherfucking place.  I went and got my 22 and shot the thing in the head.  Now I will pay to fix the damage to the wall.  The shell got lodged right here and I done took it out already.  So I know Dwight brought up some Mexicans to put some shit in the corners but them rats are fucking sharp.  They ain’t eating that shit when they cain chew through the cabinets and eat themselves some Captain Crunch…  Okay next,” said Leviticus.

            The three men walked into the living room where Leviticus pointed at the ceiling.  Horace was mystified by the huge Star of David that hung from a thick and expensive gold chain from Leviticus’ neck.  Leviticus wore a long sleeved polyester shirt that was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest.  Horace was familiar with Sammy Davis Jr. but was not aware of any other black Jews.  Truth was that Leviticus married a devout Jewish woman and changed his name so that he and the children and wife, would all be Jewish together.  Israel and Leviticus were adopted names.  His real name was Ronald Smith even though nobody called him that any longer.

            “Look at that ceiling…  Okay…  They students up there, right?  Indians and they do some kind of dance and light up some shit that burn my eyes an my kid’s eyes.  The kids be crying.  I went up there an toll them they breaking my ceiling and to quit lighting that shit up.  They do what they fucking want.  Crazy ass fucking music at all hours … One time I go up there an they got a fucking octopus looking thing on the floor an they all smoking out this thang.  I toll them they gone push me too far.  You best talk to them Indians cause we gone have a problem soon,” said Leviticus.

            “Are we talking about east or west Indies?”  Asked Horace.

            “I don’t know nothing bout which side they come from.  You got the 7-11 Indians and you got yo casino Indians in a fucking tee-pee fighting with John Wayne, okay?  Upstairs they the quickie mart Indians.  They cook some crazy shit and smoke some stuff I ain’t never smelled before.  I smoked weed in my day an this ain’t no fucking weed that I know of.  Anyway, you talk to them and I need this shit fixed cause I don’t need no fucking plaster falling on my family, ya dig?  Okay next…”

            The three men then moved into the bathroom where flies clung to rust colored stains on a bubbled wall.  Horace blinked hard and shook his head.  Horace understood that the damage meant a leaking sanitary pipe in the wall.  The cost to fix was going to be possibly hundreds or a thousand.

            “Them flies love shit and shit coming down the motherfucking walls from the inside.  Now I cain smell the shit an piss.  You cain’t smell that now cause my wife done bleached the shit out the walls but it will come back.  Now y’all cain fix this or I cain call the city an then Section 8 ain’t gone pay shit, y’dig?  Now I know y’all ain’t got rats, dancing Indians and shit rolling down the inside y’ walls at yo place.  I’m tire of Dwight here always telling me he gone fix this an fix that.  I cain tell you his lazy ass don’t do shit round here.  If it weren’t for the fucking Mexicans this place would look worse than it do.  You wanna keep Dwight, that’s Mr. Cocksucker’s bullshit to work out with y’all.”  Said Leviticus.

            “Fuck you, you fucking guy…  Who you think you are?  I work more in one day than you work in you whole life!”  Shouted Dwight.

            Horace stepped between the two men.  It was at that moment that he noticed a hole in the wall behind a poster of The Power Rangers that was twenty years old, torn and curling enough to show a fist sized hole in the wall.  Horace pulled the poster back to discover the hole.  Leviticus quickly explained the damage.

            “Okay now this here a touchy subject cause I done toll my wife you cain’t be hammering on them walls less you know where the studs are.  So she wanted to hang a religious thang there an I toll her to wait til I cain git to it an she tried and made that hole.  I will pay this out my own pocket but I wish not to discuss this in the presence of my wife cause she will git violent an I don’t need that shit.  I got nough problems without having to fight over walls, y’dig?  So I will cover this one but y’all gone hafta roll up y’sleeves and git this shit done lickity motherfucking split cause I done had nough.”  Said Leviticus.

            Horace made a few notes on a note book and told Leviticus that he would get back to him shortly.  Leviticus told them both men; god bless.  As Horace and Dwight walked down the stairs, Horace read an email from his realtor on his Blackberry.  There was a cash offer for the building that was thirty percent lower than what the market value was just a year earlier.  All Horace caught was Dwight’s question about what he thought could and should be done.  Horace massaged his temples and looked across Devon Avenue where there was a neon sign on a Korean restaurant that advertised live barbeque.  The sign flashed the word Paradise. There was a massage parlor behind the restaurant for happy endings. Horace said the word out loud and smiled.  Dwight didn’t understand the comment.  He lit a cigarette and watched as Horace drove off in his late model Jaguar and then spit on the ground.  Dwight said to himself in Romanian inside his own head.

            “If this is paradise, what the hell is hell?”

October 2, 2010

Mixed Marriage

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:05 am
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Kevin met Keisha after a hockey game.  It seems unlikely given that Keisha really had an almost disdain for the sport of ice hockey.  Keisha’s boyfriend at the time was the goalie on the opposing team.  Kevin noticed the pretty African-American woman in the stands and made it a point of finding out where the opposing team was going to drink that night.  It was at the bar of a Red Lobster that Kevin met Keisha.  Kevin paid the waiter twenty dollars to check her identification and then give Kevin all the information.  Keisha got up to use the washroom at the Red Lobster and it was in the galley that Kevin intercepted Keisha and professed his undying love for her.

            It could have been Kevin’s boldness that really attracted Keisha to him since Kevin grabbed Keisha and began kissing her in nearly clear view of where her boyfriend was sitting.  That move was the beginning of a love and life everlasting.  The profession of love that needed to be legally bound by a document whereby Kevin and Keisha would belong to one another was where it all headed from that moment on.  It all culminated in marriage at a Baptist Church with a Catholic priest also presiding.  It was a grand affair to see the friends and family of Kevin get together and break bread with the family and friends of Keisha.  Black people trying to dance to rock from the 1980’s and white people just trying to dance.  The whites had to admit that Keisha was stunning in her white gown and the blacks had decided that Kevin looked okay for a pasty dude that really needed to take in a bit more Vitamin D via the sun.

            Time went on and is often the case, Kevin and Keisha got together and eventually had a child.  They both were excited to be parents and really loved their young daughter with all their being.  Kendra was born with curly light brown hair, light skin and blue eyes.  There was a twenty five percent chance that Kendra would come out light skinned and she did.  That in itself meant nothing to either parent other than the child looked more white than black to most but occasionally she looked more black than white to others.  Kevin joked that Kendra was a white zebra with black stripes and everyone always chuckled at the comment.  It was sort of cute to all but Keisha.

            Now for Keisha’s thirty fifth birthday, Kevin had decided that he and his wife would take a grand vacation and travel to South Africa.  A land where white people once ruled over black people and now black people ruled over all.  As the time drew closer, Keisha began to think about the tremendous amount of miles and even more kilometers it would take by airplane to get to Johannesburg and the possibility of the airplane crashing into the sea and then their young daughter would become ward of the state.  It suddenly became imperative that legally custody be granted to one of their friends in the event of their death.  The only issue was who it was going to be.

            “Benita is the sister I never had.  I would do anything for Benita and she would do anything for me.  She is Kendra’s godmother and she loves Kendra as her own.  Benita did a great job with her own children and knows that she would do a fabulous job with Kendra if something were to happen to us.  I would like to legally make Benita Kendra’s legal guardian before we go…  She is the right choice; she is a loving, educated black woman.”

            Kevin happened to be working on his spoken word/poetry reading.  He was matching up a bible verse from the Gideon Bible that he stole from a motel in Fargo, North Dakota to some rhythms that he came up with on his $150.00 Casio that he bought in at a pawn shop under the elevated train on the north side of Chicago.  It was sort of a Bossa Nova beat underneath poetry.  Kevin frequented a coffee house on the north side of Chicago with a clear view of Lake Michigan.  On Tuesday nights, random people would congregate to read indirect words about being indirect.  Kevin chose the Gideon’sBible.  A smooth jazzy beat looped over and over as Kevin softly read Deuteronomy 4: 32.

            “Ask about the former days, long before your time, form the day God man on earth; ask from one end of the heavens to the other…”

            Keisha interrupted.  Kevin blinked hard and turned off the Casio.  He could no longer concentrate.

            “Why the bible, baby?  Why don’t you write a poem about something on your mind and rattle that off at the poetry readings?  Asked Keisha.

            “Because the bible moves me.  That’s why.  Why is black so important to you?”  Asked Kevin.

            Keisha was taken aback by the question.  Kevin was aggravated by being interrupted and by Betty’s qualification of being a suitable surrogate parent because she was black.

            “What if I said I wanted to have my brother Peter to be a surrogate in the event of our death?”  Said Kevin.

            “You want you’re under achieving brother to raise our child?  The only white landscaper on the north shore?  Maybe he could put her in a junior college and teach her how to tell the difference between grass and weeds,” said Keisha.

            “Oh and your friend Betty, the one you call your sister, the one you tell our daughter that she is our aunt, the one who chose some man whore to be her husband…  You want her to hook up with some slick bastard who is going to be lining up our daughter when she hits puberty?  Great idea.  Benita chooses a worthless man before and so he will be the next one but meanwhile our daughter winds up being the Korean chick that Woody Allen wound up marrying that was his foster child.  No way.  I’m not game for that.”

            Keisha became indignant at the implication that all black men were womanizers and capable of indiscretions with young girls who may or may not be relations.

            “So all black men will rape our daughter, huh?  Is that what you’re saying?  Its cool to sleep and marry a black woman but still keep your eye on the brother, right?”

            “You get on a goddamn elevator; you’re the first one to hold your purse against your body as soon as some dude with braids, sagging pants and a long white t-shirt comes slooping up towards us.  I already know he views you as an Uncle Tom and a sell out because you stand there staring at the floor display, clutching my hand.  I didn’t make the black man a villain, they made themselves one.  I’m just here to give each individual a fair shake.  When it comes to my daughter and I’m already dead, I have to say that the screening process left up to your friend Betty, scares the hell out of me.  Her judgment sucks in my opinion.  A warm body and a large cock is all that she really needs, right?”

            “Your brother is an under achieving bust out.  He’d be happy watching television all day, drinking a six pack, asking your mom if the mail came so he could see if maybe some credit card company sent him or your mother’s dog a check in the mail.  Loser is what should be tattooed on his forehead and it saddens me to think that you would want your daughter to possibly be raised by someone that has zero ambition that is content watching NHL games in your mother’s basement with other bust outs who live with their mothers.  Why is this?  Because he is white?  You can be a worthless human being as long as you are white?  Is that the case?”

            Two days passed and neither Keisha nor Kevin would talk to one another.  The two had angered each other and dredged up latent racism that dwelled deep within both of them.  It was Kevin that thought long and hard about a compromise that would keep their South African vacation from being a case study in apartheid; suggest the lesbian Asian friend to be the surrogate mother and custodial parent in the event of death.  Keisha was surprised by the suggestion but listened to her husband without interruption.

            “I thought about this whole thing and it is really all pretty silly.  I know that Benita would be a good parent to our daughter despite whatever philandering waste of space that she might hook up with and although my brother is a bit arrested in his development, rest assured he would care for and love our daughter more than if it were his own.  I have a solution.  Your good friend Joyce from Wisconsin would be a great alternative.  Although I hope our daughter does not turn out lesbian, I know that Joyce would take good care of Kendra and being sort of butch, she would try to instill in her the necessity to be proficient at sports.  Hopefully our daughter would never be a Green Bay Packer fan but if it happens… Just like being a lesbo, I won’t be around to witness it…  What do you think?”  Asked Kevin.

            Keisha thought about the whole issue and the potential for ruining their own two week dream vacation to Africa and decided that an Asian lesbian was a great compromise.  Joyce cried upon being asked to be a parent in the event of their death.  Kevin, Keisha and Joyce toasted the agreement.  Disaster was averted.

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