Blackhumouristpress's Blog

February 18, 2011

Habeas Corpus Christi

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 4:35 am
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“Son… and I call you son because you’ve always been a son to me despite the fact that your father is my son.”

Walter took a sip of ice tea as he looked across Ocean Drive into Corpus Christi Bay. Walter pushed chunks of chicken that were lodged in his teeth through by forcing air behind his tongue. He looked at his grandson, Walter III who was youthful, wiry, serious and obedient.

“Us being military sort of men, know that there is something that supersedes and protects evrah one of us in this land. They ain’t no mistaken the fact that gawd has chosen this country as the standard bearer of freedom for the world. As you will find out during your tour of duty on this planet, truth is painted and decorated and covered so as to keep hidden the actual truth. What is the truth is not exactly certain and we all have our version of what is true and so forth. We live in a time of deceit and lies. I don’t blame your father for wanting to escape from these things that plague us all but moving to Cambodia won’t work in the long run. When you have lots of money you cain be a quirky bastard. They refer to you as eccentric but when you ain’t got but a pot to piss in, they call you a po crazy bastard. Going from a Vietnam Veteran who wanders the street and drinks cheap fortified liquor to being a multi-millionaire and I mean getting over $100,000,000.00 all at once is more than the common man cain handle and now winning the super mega power ball or what-have-you, ain’t much different than stepping outcha house an being struck upon y’head by a Soviet era satellite. You following mah line of reasoning, son? Chances are remote but they’s always a chance.”

Walter III looked intently at his grandfather and marveled at the scenic route he always took at explaining a situation rather than a quicker and more direct path.

“Now yo father and I say yo father because in a biological sense he is the tree that bore fruit. Though you call me granddad it has been a well establish fact that I have been yo daddy since the beginning. Some folks ain’t made to have babies nor pets an yo father is clearly in both camps in that respect. Having said all this, after nearly forty years of being the caretaker of your father who has suffered the effects of alcoholism and defoliants, money is not going to solve the issue of marginal functionality to live, thrive and exist within the boundaries of our society. There has to be boundaries. There has got to be rules that have to be adhered to. It would be remiss of me to write off my son and if it were possible foh my seventy seven year bones to traverse land and sea to collect my boy, I would not be having this conversation with you. I put it upon your shoulders to convince your father that living on a plantation in the middle of the jungle is no way to live. There is too the matter of bills that your father has left me with as the saying goes: to hold the bag. I put it upon you to collect your father and bring him back even if it means with extreme prejudice.”

Somewhere along the Mekong River, Walter II bought enough land to make his own city. Walter or Junior as he was often called had finished a tour of duty in Vietnam volunteered to go back. It was during the second tour of duty, Junior was sent over the Vietnam border to flush out the Viet Cong or the Communists or bad guys in Cambodia. One never knows who is good and bad even when told. It was in Cambodia that Junior stood up to yawn and was shot through the cheek of his mouth. Five other soldiers around him were ambushed and died but Junior survived.

Junior came back from Vietnam a second time and never really assimilated back into society well. By most people’s standards, Junior was a bust-out, alcoholic that would walk the streets of Corpus Christi begging for enough change to buy booze. When things looked like they were spiraling out of control, Junior would come back to his parent’s home to “dry out” or “get on the wagon”. Junior’s parents would always help their son to get back on his feet. Junior would eat well and exercise to excess and before long he would be the picture of health. Junior would then go out and seek the companionship of young women. Very young women.

It could have been that young women made Junior feel young or it could also have been the allure of innocence of a blanker slate than most older adults that tend to have more baggage than younger ones. Then again it could have been that younger women were aesthetically more pleasing than older, saggy more lumpy, experienced and tainted females who understood the world more than the young and impressionable. With 100 million United States Dollars, Junior could live out the rest of his life as gaudy as possible and he did.

A twenty two room castle was built with a moat twenty feet deep equipped with Crocodiles and a private army to keep him well protected. On the compound was a harem of young Cambodian women that served Junior’s every want and need.

To occupy his time, Junior bought a television station and spoke about things that interested him. It was a mixture of Christianity and alcohol induced philosophy that would have been written off as drunken gibberish back before winning the super power ball. Junior began to feel that god had a plan for him. Living through two tours of duty, being shot, winning a lottery against almost incomprehensible odds had to mean something. Most of the people didn’t understand English but all of Junior’s rants were translated into Khmer and a white woman would do sign language in a small corner below Junior as he spoke.

“We’re all looking for that pop and that sizzle in life. That thing that keeps life full of zest and it all comes down to the fact that we are looking for harmonious balance of things that appeal to our vision. The vision we have in our heads and what we are seeing at the moment. The present becomes past immediately and we look to the future for the next immediate present, real time experience… And so it is that precision, that balance, that symmetry is what we look for. Babies know this without ever knowing anything. They stare into that aesthetically pleasing face because it is soothing. Religion is to art what history is to humanity. We take from that language and music and it is the crux of what becomes human knowledge.”

Translated into Khmer or sign, it was some strange babbling that really meant very little. It always appeared to be on the way to shedding light or leading to something and then the page turned. It could have been the effects of Agent Orange on Junior. Junior suffered from short term memory loss and poor concentration. When one has money, people are always interested in what they have to say, what they eat, where they live and who they’re fucking. Junior’s father caught replays of his son’s rantings and his cult like status and decided a monster must be stopped. People from around the world were beginning to build huts and pitch tents near the moat so that they could brush up against one who was deemed to be touched by god. Walter knew his son was just a lucky bastard. It became Walter’s grandson’s job to rein his father in.

Walter III got in country, hired a boat with a guide to help him up the Mekong River. While in a bar, Walter III ran into a British photographer who was hoping to get his own television show on CNN or even Fox where he would get to things of interest before others, Liam felt he was onto something with Junior.

“Your father! Do you believe thaat, mate. He’s your fucking father. And you’ve come to understand the greatness thaat exists in this man? God truly touches very few of us in this world. I mean, who would have the toime to fuss with us when you’re about the business of making everything just little bit bigger. Your father spoke to thaat not too not long ago. If everything is everything then how is it possible that it everything is expanding even further and when it reaches a certain point, will it just snap back like a fucking Tsunami? Go out and collect fish before the water comes roaring back? Eh?”

Walter III interrupted the man who gushed about a man he knew nothing about. Walter III adjusted his granny glasses and held up a hand so as to get a word in edge wise.

“Have you ever been to Corpus Christi?”

“No I aven’t”

“Okay…Never judge a man until you’ve walked in his shoes… Through the streets of Corpus Christi.”

Liam thought that was a tad profound like a chip off the old block and so he hitched a ride up the Mekong River with Walter III. Liam had been to the compound several times and knew that on Monday mornings, it was possible to hear Junior speak as if the Pope were saying mass at the Vatican. Strange creatures from far and near showed up to hear Junior speak of things that almost made sense and yet many felt that Junior was just too deep for the common man to understand him correctly. None of that was the case.

The boat crept up on a humid morning where the sun already hurt fair white skin. Hoards of people stood and sat on the hilly land that was separated by a wide and deep moat and a huge wrought iron fence that would have made Queen Elizabeth a bit jealous. As Junior descended from the castle with dozens of scantily dressed small, thin and young looking females that escorted him to the sound of Devo’s Corporate Anthem which blared from loud speakersNobody had any idea that it was nothing more than an instrumental by a New Wave Rock band from a state in America called Ohio. The song was a little over one minute in length and sounded a bit like a dissonant sounding, Here Comes the Bride. Junior had long hair that was greased back and a tan. He wore a loose fitting white linen suit and dark sunglasses. He looked like a cross between L. Ron Hubbard and Jim Jones. Behind them ten small Cambodian men carried a giant Catfish that was caught by Junior while fishing on the river. This fish was about eight feet long and weighed almost five hundred pounds. Junior wanted to have the fish sent to a taxidermist that he knew back in Texas and decided that the huge fish should live. Junior decided mounting a catfish on his wall that was the size of a Beluga, might be too gaudy and so he chose life.

Junior said a few words prior to leaving the gates of his compound and assisting his servants in freeing the fish back into the Mekong while a brigade of small Asian men stood by in fatigues, sunglasses and automatic weapons.

“Life as we know it is what we know to be in our existence. We are nothing more than organisms trying to reproduce and replicate our kind in harmony with one another. Within our ability to grasp the crux of what life is we strive to understand our purpose in this which we call life. To end the life of this magnificent creature would not be right in our conception of what god meant for us in breathing life into this creature.”

The giant fish was at that point fighting to breath and the shirtless small men stood stoically trying to contain a creature that weighed about as much as a small automobile. Junior cut his speech short and helped lead the enormous fish to the bank of the river. The fish bounced as if it were made of rubber and then pounced into the water and disappeared. The crowd roared in approval. Walter III moved quickly to reach his father. He called out as he ran towards him. Several shots rang out. Nobody was killed but people were hit in the hands and legs and Walter III point blank in the chest. Nobody was aware that Walter III wore a bullet proof vest under his clothing. Junior witnessed his unconscious son slowly coming back to life and dropped to his knees and clutched his own chest. It may have been the shock of seeing his son 13,000 miles away from Corpus Christi or that he was shot several times and lived but Junior dropped to his knees with his hands across his chest. Walter III sat up and was face to face with his father who was having a heart attack. Walter III held his father’s arm. Junior trembled and asked his son a vague question.

“Did you see it, my son? I’m glad you’re here to see it with your own eyes.”

Walter III wasn’t sure how to respond to the question and really didn’t want to ask his father to clarify what he was referring to as he was under cardiac arrest. Was he referring to the crowds, the under age army of beautiful Asian girls or the private soldiers of fortune? Was it the enormous fish or the moats full of Crocodiles or the fact that he returned to land he once fought in as a successful man? It wasn’t clear and yet nothing had ever been clear between junior and his son. Walter III answered the best he could.

“Yes dad… It’s a beautiful house. You certainly bought at the right time.”

 

February 16, 2011

Long Island’s Journey into Night or Je Ne Veux Pas

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 1:56 am
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If you take gin, tequila, rum, vodka, triple sec, sweet and sour mix with a splash of cola (doesn’t have to be Coca or Pepsi.  RC Cola would work too) and mix that with a man going through a divorce, you could have one potentially drunk male within a few drinks.  Give an average sized man six of these drinks and you could be listening to or speaking Portuguese.

I know a guy (that really sounded quite Italian rather than Portuguese) who was going through a divorce, playing Reggae music, coaching a youth hockey team and a C level women’s hockey team.

This individual’s days started with work from 1am until 8am.  Breakfast and a short three or four hour nap, pick-up hockey, lunch, practice the bass guitar, nap, coach a youth hockey team or a women’s team, play a men’s league game then back to work.  Rinse and repeat.

A mother of one of his youth players asked this man if he would take up the task of coaching a beginner female hockey team and so he did.  He quickly learned that speaking to grown women the way he might a pre-pubescent young man does not work.  Women are not boys.  Using reverse psychology will not work with women.  Using rhetorical questions will only create animosity.

“What the fuck are you doing out there?”

Pose that question and you may get one of several answers from a woman.  Here are a few you could expect.

“I am doing exactly what you instructed.  Maybe you don’t know what you’re fucking doing?”

Or…

“I am trying to do the best I possibly can.  If my best is not good enough for you then maybe you should consider fucking yourself.”

Instead the coach had to take breath and try to gather the proper words carefully so as to not cause a fight.  The coach understood well what it was like to use the wrong words and what the potential was if the wrong word or phrase was used out of anger or frustration.  Going through a divorce will cause a man to contemplate what he might have done differently.  Word choices are paramount with most women and especially with one who is contemplating divorcing you and so the coach was particularly careful with criticism while coaching a team of women that were struggling to string together two passes and play together as a team.

“Um… Abigail, try to take a second and think about what your options are before you make a decision.  Remember: hockey is a game of chess not checkers.  It is a thinking woman’s game.”

“Right, coach.  I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

The coach had one particularly mediocre player who really wanted to become a good hockey player despite the fact that she had never played sports before in her life and was not too athletic.  Her attitude was very good despite the fact that she might have been the worst player on the worst team in the league.

Abigail heard the coach talking about playing live music and took it upon herself to go out to hear him play.  If you took Ugly Betty and made her more matronly and a hockey player, you could then picture Abigail.  Abigail grabbed a table by herself close to the stage so that she could watch the coach play and sing music.  In between sets, the coach stopped by her table to thank her for making the trip out to hear and see him.  He asked her what she was drinking and came to find out it was a Long Island Ice Tea.  He had never had one before.

Maybe somebody from Long Island created the drink that appears to look like ordinary, innocuous ice tea or just someone thought it gave it a good name such as The Bitch Slapper, The Stink face, The Cross Checker or The Ass Pounder.  It is a potent drink among potent drinks.  If you find a good chemist or seasoned bartender, the drink is as sweet as candy.  If made wrong, it tastes like kerosene and then you know that the mixture of liquors is going to keep you in low gear the next day.  Abigail bought the coach one after he took a sip of hers and then he went on to have five more.  Six Long Island Ice Teas in a span of three hours.  What the coach remembers was that when he turned his head, his vision had a two second delay on focusing on the direction in which his head moved.

Coach put his hand on Ugly Betty and with a look of distress and innocence, he told Abigail that it would not be possible for him to drive and that it might be difficult to walk.  Abigail’s motherly instincts kicked in.  She placed the coach in the front seat of her minivan as he rode the roller coaster whenever he closed his eyes.  Coach felt no pain and felt as helpless as a baby as he listened to Celine Dion on Abigail’s car stereo.  Coach commented that she sang very well in French not knowing who was singing and that it was her first language.  Abigail took it to mean that Coach really liked the music.  Coach was listening to different music in his head.

Somehow after taking his last gulp of the toxic drink and then chewing on ice to fend off dehydration, Coach was more drunk than he was an hour before.  His head rolled around as he sat on the couch at Abigail’s house.  He could hear Celine again singing in French.

« Je ne veux pas … quelque chose, quelque chose … da da da, dee dee dee »

I don’t want.  Coach understood that much French in his drunken stupor.  I don’t want to be divorced, I don’t want to be drunk, I don’t want to be in someone else’s bed tonight, I don’t want to listen to Celine Dion and I don’t want to watch a woman pull feces out of a paralyzed dog’s ass with blue rubber gloves on.

“I know this is disgusting but I just can’t put the dog down yet.  She has been with me and the kids since they were little.  It’s just so hard to do this.  I’m a single mother with two kids and I can’t kill one of the only tangible things from the days when we were a complete family.”

Abigail was crying while putting feces in a bag and the half dead German Sheppard consoled her with a lick on her forearm.  Celine Dion was building to a crescendo and Coach was about to hurl.  He got up and stumbled to a bed in the back away from the dog, the gloves, Celine and Abigail.  The buzz was getting stronger somehow and the room began to spin for Coach.  The night eventually ended and with the light of day, everything gets just a little bit worse.

Coach opened his eyes careful not to move since he was not sure where he was.  He looked to his right and resting in the crook of his right arm was a head of brown hair and a body unlike any that he was accustomed to.  The room was foreign and the smell in the air was not unlike hallways of nursing homes.  It hurt Coach to blink and his throat was bone dry.  He wondered if like coyotes or wolves caught in traps if it would be possible to chew his own arm off at the shoulder so as to not to disturb the head that rested on it.  No such luck.  Coach dressed quickly and apologized profusely, grabbed his guitar and a cab in hopes of finding his automobile where he left it the night before.  To this day Coach will not drink a Long Island Ice Tea, listen to Celine Dion or coach a woman’s ice hockey team.  The mixture was not healthy for him.

Speaking of Long Island, the Islanders came to life in a big way Friday night.  After being blanked by Brent Johnson less than two weeks ago and watching Johnson knock out DiPietro with one slow blow, they pounded Pittsburgh 9-3.

Was it Talbot’s previous hit on Comeau that caused a concussion?  Was it the two previous shut-outs the Islanders endured at the hands of the Penguins?  The sucker punch of Talbot by Martin after the Isles were up 6-0 was a surprise that laid the foundation for the rest of the game. The goonery by a man named Michael Haley who was brought up from Moose Jaw, I mean Bridgeport, fighting a goalie, then Brooks Orpik driving Grabner hard into his own goalie, Gillies putting an elbow to the head of and then attacking Tangradi who was hurt by the check.  What a game.  Two games this week resembled mid-1970’s hockey a la Slapshot. 346 penalty minutes, 65 penalties and 10 ejections are exceptional for a season much less one game.  These sorts of highlights lay doubts about the sport in the minds of mothers and network executives in the states. These things happen and this week it happened twice,  Boston and Montreal and the New York Islanders and Pittsburgh.  Dan Bylsma said it best.

“The first half of the game was a hockey game and the second was not.”

On another note, Detroit which has the lowest amount of fights in the league at nine, finally returned from the all-star break with a 6-1 win over Boston.  Pavel Datsyuk is the key to their success.  Tomas Holmstrom too is back to collect trash and put it in the net.  Both were sorely missed by Detroit for close to six weeks.  The west is wild and crazy tight.  When the dust settles, who will be the eight that go on?

 

February 6, 2011

Inn of the Sixth Happiness Super Deluxe Chinese Buffet

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 5:42 am
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            Mr. and Mrs. Chang were lead out of Yang Cheng, China by an English missionary when they were just small children before the Japanese captured them during World War II.  Life as it often does, takes some strange twists and turns.  Mr. and Mrs. Chang wound up marrying one another and moving to Michigan City, Indiana and opening The Inn of the Sixth Happiness Super Deluxe Chinese Buffet.

            Most people would never stop in Michigan City unless they needed petroleum betwixt a voyage to Chicago or Detroit along interstate 94.  For those that do happen to pull off the highway, The Inn of the Sixth Happiness Super Deluxe Chinese Buffet is a must visit.

            Sylvia Chang is seventy seven years old woman but appears to be much younger.  Her sister died of SARS in Toronto some years earlier while they played in a forty eight hour Mahjong tournament between former Chinese nationals.  Since that time, Sylvia wears blue rubber gloves that make her hands look like they were submerged in water all day and smell as if something had rotted and a surgical mask over her face.  By the end of the day when she washes after she washes her hands profusely, she applies Vitamin E caplets to the slight crow’s feet by both of her eyes.  For those that don’t know Sylvia when they enter the restaurant, it can be a bit unnerving to be sat by a woman with blue gloves and a surgical mask on her face.  Most have trouble understanding her when she asks if they want smoking or non-smoking.  They still smoke in restaurants in Indiana.

            Elvis Chang is seventy six years old and also trekked out of Yang Cheng with the missionary and Sylvia when he was a young lad.  He and Sylvia learned, This Old Man, before they learned any English.  People in Michigan City were amused by the singing of the song randomly by both Elvis and Sylvia.  They speak English good now or should I say well and don’t need to pull that chanson out of their bag any longer.  In fact Elvis for kicks does Karaoke at the Blue Chip Casino on Thursday nights to any and all Elvis Presley songs while dressed in a white jump suit with a cape and large sun glasses.  Elvis Chang has a large pompadour hair-do and had a collection of Zamfir does Elvis on pan flute.  Elvis may have been the king but Zamfir is the undisputed king of the pan flute.

            Teddy Chang is the grandson and waiter who has a multicolored hair-do and is in love with early eighties new wave music.  His favorite band is Flock of Seagulls and loves watching John Hughes movies over and over again.  Sixteen Candles is his favorite.  Teddy has a huge disdain for all the patrons of The Inn of the Sixth Happiness Super Deluxe Chinese Buffet.  Teddy has determined that white American people are fat and stupid and one dimensional.  Here is what Teddy sees during the course of a day:

            Floyd wears flannel and worn jeans that only get warshed when his mother is able to get over to his trailer to tidy up and take his clothes back to her house near South Bend to be cleaned and sanitized for everyone’s protection.

            Floyd never liked sports much and never had many friends.  His body fat is at 29.7 percent.  He is forty eight years old, has hemorrhoids, diabetes and hypertension.  Floyd has always had a difficult time coming to grips with the fact that he is homosexual.  All the men in the steel mill that he works at in Gary, Indiana are extremely homophobic and so Floyd hides it well.  He has written his own number on the wall of The Inn of Sixth Happiness Super Deluxe Chinese Buffet.  It says: for a really good time…  I mean really good time, call Floyd at …

            Floyd found that gay truckers liked to meet at a certain rest stop right over the Michigan border headed towards Detroit.  Most of them were French-Canadian and liked to perform or receive oral sex and then beat the shit out of one another.  That appealed to Floyd since he was ultra-masculine.  Floyd loves to eat the fried wanton on a stick with plum sauce.  He looks at Teddy with disdain but has decided that given the opportunity, he wouldn’t say no to a romp with him.

            Ethyl goes to the buffet with her elderly mother who is thin and very spry for a woman of ninety years of age.  She is hard of hearing but other wise is very healthy.  She loves to garden and work at the resale shop in town.  She bakes cakes and bread for poor woman who have children and no husband.  She was raised Methodist and cannot understand why everyone is not Methodist. 

            Now Ethyl is about sixty and is morbidly obese, smokes, gambles and drinks.  Her and her mother will eat and then gamble at the casino and then eat some more.  When Ethyl drops off her mother, she will stop at the BP station at exit thirty three off of the highway to buy a sixteen ounce RC, a box of six mini powdered donuts, Indiana lottery tickets and a Dolly Madison cherry pie incase she gets hungry after watching QVC all night and purchasing things she cannot afford and things she really doesn’t need.

            Ethyl’s mother likes the chocolate pudding and the beef broccoli and giggles when Elvis sings Teddy Bear to her.  Ethyl likes everything and then likes to take extra cookies and put them in her purse just incase she gets famished in the middle of the night after eating her Dolly Madison cherry pie.

            Then there is Mike and Esperanza.  Mike is white but thinks he is a hybrid of African and Hispanic.  His wife is Puerto Rican and he tells people he is Dominican.  Mike thinks the Dominican is in that thin region between Mexico and South America.  He’s mistaking it for Panama. Mike is white among white, the type of white that burns in the sun and then peels like a snake.  He wears a Montreal Expos hat with a straight brim hat, extra large white t shirt and baggy jeans that his wife bought with her employee discount at Wal-Mart.  Esperanza leaves their three children with Mike while she works.  Mike is trying hard to be a rapper but just cannot think of rhymes very well.  The oldest child is in kindergarten and the twins walk around all day in a walking device with wheels.  The twin boys crash into things all day as if they were in bumper cars.  Mike blasts gangsta rap while the boys watch with Mickey Mouse Club on television with no volume.  In the background they hear things regarding hoes, bitches, fucking bitches, this motherfucker, that motherfucker, gonna kill that motherfucker while watching Mickey and the whole gang.  Mike goes by the rap moniker of Low Down Dirty Dog Motherfucker.  He tells people to just call him LD. 

            Esperanza likes to eat salads because she is trying to lose weight.  She does eat egg rolls though.  She makes the kids eat vegetables and chicken and then lets them eat cookies, cake and ice cream until their stomachs hurt.  Mike actually likes everything but complains about things being too dry or too wet or too hot or too cold.  He constantly asks Teddy questions about the food because he suspects that Teddy is scared of him.

            “Eh man…  Lemme aks you why this shit always cold…  Lemme know when you and Kwai Chang Caine fittin to make this shit fresh… I pay good money foh this shit. You hear me, Grasshopper?”

            The Cassidy Family owns a junk yard on the end of town and is die hard Indianapolis Colts fans.  Mr. Cassidy wears a John Deere hat and a Colts Starter coat.  He is rail thin and has a moustache with side burns.  He has a wide Willy Nelson belt with a chain attached to his wallet.  He wears a beeper and a cell phone on his belt buckle with three dozen keys on a huge hoop ring.  Mr. Cassidy jangles as he walks.  He throws his chest out and gives other men the stare down.  It is part of a little man’s complex.  Mr. Cassidy has only had one fight in his life and it was in junior high.  Other than being a Colts Football, the Cassidy’s love wrestling and monster truck rallies.  They hate foreigners, blacks, Hispanics and people from Chicago and the Chicago Bears.  They make an exception for the Changs since they make good food. 

            Mrs. Cassidy has three chins and is six feet of height.  She wears pig tails and loves Britney Spears and Peyton Manning.  She named their dog Peyton and makes her husband pretend to talk like Peyton while they have sex.  Their adult children still live at home and are under employed.  They both help out at the junk yard even though their dad doesn’t need them nor like their work ethics of sleeping until eleven in the morning and look to quit for the day by four.  This would not include unlimited texting, piss and coffee breaks.  The children are huge Colts fans and also love listening to the Insane Clown Posse.  They have tattoos on their arms of a clown with a hatchet in its hand, the letters ICP and Juggalos.

            The four of them love the egg drop soup.  Mr. Cassidy loves barbequed wings and carrot cake.  Mrs. Cassidy loves everything but loves the shrimp with vegetables and cannot eat enough almond cookies.  The two boys always take more than they can eat and then entertain each other by putting straws and tooth picks in the food and pretending that they are playing war.  Mr. Cassidy would like to retire but cannot imagine either or both of his two sons being responsible enough to maintain a business that was created by his grandfather.  He hopes time will make them responsible.

            Teddy hates Chinese food actually.  After work he goes to Subway and then goes to Starbucks to write to Facebook friends on his laptop while sipping on a Venti Carmel Frappichino.  Teddy realizes he has a fortune cookie in his pocket and decides that it is probably meant for him to crack it open and read it.  And so he did.  This is what it read:

            Only fools and dead men don’t change their minds.  Fools won’t and dead men cannot.  Lucky numbers 18, 19, 40, 7, 15, 27. 

            Teddy thought about stopping at the BP to play the lottery with those numbers.  He soon forgot about the fortune and wound up just going home to sleep so that he could start over again the next day.

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