Blackhumouristpress's Blog

July 19, 2011

Ali/Babar and the Wife Thief

Filed under: Detroit,Ethnicity,humor,Oprah,Short Story,walmart — blackhumouristpress @ 5:15 pm
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Ali was born a full six minutes ahead of his twin brother Babar.  Mother decided that her boys would be A and B and so it was.  A and B’s father decided when they were young that there was a land of great opportunity and diversity where immigrants were accepted and could find work, this land was Canada of course.

            Ali and Babar were as identical as identical could be.  Their parents could only tell them apart as infants and toddlers by a small birthmark on Ali’s left butt cheek.  As time went on, Ali was the quiet, thoughtful and a methodical young boy that would construct buildings with Lego’s and Babar was the loud, busy child that would deconstruct things his brother created.  As time went on, Babar suspected that his parents favored his twin brother at every turn in the road.  When it came to time to find them each a wife, Babar was convinced his parents held Ali in higher esteem.  Babar was matched up with a woman nearly the same height as him who carried more than a few extra pounds who had to shave the hair on her rotund stomach.  She wheezed, chortled and drooled in her sleep and always smelled like salami.  His wife’s mother had accompanied her only child to Canada fromPakistan and so Babar had a package deal that he did not care for on top of all the quirks.

            Ali went to Queen’s University in Kingston,Ontario and landed a job with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  Babar often joked with his brother that he wanted to come toOttawato see his brother on a strong black horse, dressed in a red suit.  Ali was not offended.  Ali’s wife had been a runner-up in the Miss Pakistani World contest in Mississauga,Ontario and was beautiful among beautiful women.  Babar was upset that his brother had a good government job and a hot wife who maintained her shapely physique despite having two children, while his wife appeared to have swallowed furniture after having just one child.

            Babar actually loved the freedom of being a cab driver.  Like most Canadian boys, Babar was hockey crazy.  Babar loved watching the sport and playing it.  Babar kept his goalie equipment in the trunk of his cab and would not take customers who needed the trunk for suitcases.  Babar played shinny and league games all overTorontoand in nice weather, he could be found playing cricket at a park here or there.  Having a smaller home and less prestigious job was the trade off for Babar who loved the freedom to do what he wanted at anytime.  Babar could live with all that.  Having a less desirable wife than his brother was something that was hard to absorb and after close to seven years of marriage, the reality that his wife was plain and heavy and his brother’s wife was stunningly pretty and fit, still was something that overtly bothered Babar.

            Babar was more Canadian than he was Muslim or Pakistani and so it came as a surprise to Babar’s extended family when he had made the announcement that he was going back toPakistanto become a better Muslim than he had been up to that point.  Babar made friends inPakistanand grew to hate the Americans like the rest of the world.  A persuasive older man had convinced Babar that he was the best candidate to go to Afghanistan to train to be a terrorist.  It sounded like a good idea at the time.  Train to do god’s work of stopping infidels who occupy the land of Allah and his messenger Mohammed. 

            Babar got into the best shape of his life running around in a part of the world that looked more like the moon.  Babar was sent back toPakistan and ordered to wait in a hotel room.  Three men picked up Babar and covered his head, whisked him away in a hot van to a room without windows where an intense older man with a beard, instructed Babar in English what it was that he had to do.

            “Have you been to Chicago in the United States, my brother?”

            “No sir, but it has an attractive lake front with a food festival in the summer that would be worth checking out if I had a week or so to spend away from home…”

            “Yes…  Well that can be arranged.  You will be picking up a Ford Flex at Pearson Airport that will be registered to you with Ontario plates.  We will need you to drive to Chicago and put the vehicle through the basement of what they now call the Willis Tower.  Most still refer to it as theSearsTower.  Same difference. It is on a South Wacker Drive.  You have to navigate your way to the lower Wacker in order to get to the parking structure that supports the entire building”

            “Am I to leave this car in the parking lot of the building?”

            “You are to drive this automobile at top speed into one of the supports of the building…”

            “And when do I bail out of the automobile?”

            “There is no bailing.  Thus shall it be.  You shall be paired with companions pure, most beautiful of eye.  In the gardens will be mates of the modest gaze that have never been touched…In other words, you get the virgins when you’ve completed the mission.”

            It was sort of a tough sell for Babar.  He undoubtedly felt that the talent in the afterlife had to be better than what he had at home.  One in seventy two had to be hot or at least beautiful to the eye.  Babar convincingly accepted the task of picking up a new Ford Flex stuffed with explosives and caesium-137 that had been purchased by a Russian cab driver who was actually Ukrainian but spoke only Russian because back in the old days, that is what everyone spoke.  This Russian cab driver used to be a scientist in the formerSoviet Unionand was able to steal enough of the radioactive material stored in lead cases to sell to crackpots for a good price.

            While Babar was on a long flight from Pakistan to Toronto, he thought about how he could get out of committing suicide.  After all, Babar didn’t hate Americans anymore than other Canadian citizens.  Americans were loud and fat and felt that they were the standard bearers of freedom and had won the Cold War through their brand of democracy and capitalism tinged with strategic economic imperialism.  Babar really wasn’t passionate about felling the largest building in the world that represented American greatness and strength.  Babar was just not that passionate about donating his life to the cause.  The wheels began to turn in Babar’s head and before long, Babar had devised a way to complete his mission and get his brother’s beautiful wife all at the same time.  All he would have to do is convince his twin to drive the Ford toChicago.  And rig the automobile to detonate from Toronto with his brother in the vehicle in Chicago.  Technology is wonderful.

            “I have never asked anything of you in my whole life.  All I am asking is that you drive this automobile for me toChicago.  Someone will meet you in downtown Chicago who is interested in buying this vehicle that I won in a hockey raffle.  I don’t need the car, I need the money. I cannot afford to make this trip right now.  You have the vacation time to do this for me. You park it in a parking structure and wait for my instructions.”

            Ali opted to do this for his brother.  Besides, he really wanted to visit Chicago to hear some Blues and eat some really good pizza.

  Ali had crossed the border at Windsor without much questioning just as the skies grew dark and angry.  Before Ali could change his Canadian currency into American greenbacks, it had begun to storm.  The wind was hurricane force and the sky was as dark as night.  Ali pulled off the highway in Detroit as the windshield wipers could not keep pace with the rain that came down as if he were in a car wash.  The streets in Detroit resembled rivers.  Ali had decided to pull off the highway until the rain let up when he hit a hole in the road that was caused by a Detroiter who had stolen the sewer cap to sell as scrap metal.  The scrap yard accepted the sewer cap even though it had stamped on it in clear letters, CITY OF DETROIT.  The new vehicle had extensive damage and made a wheezing sound like Babar’s wife as it chugged along at about 10 miles an hour or 6.2 kilometers per hour.

            Ali drove past many abandon homes and streets that had no homes as the sky began to clear up.  Off in the distance was a Walmart unlike any he had ever read about in the middle of nowhere Detroit.  This Walmart was the Disneyland of Walmarts.  There was daycare, eye care, auto care and a petting zoo within the building that stretched over a length of a city block.  Ali passed thousands of parked cars as the Ford Flex limped up to the auto center.  Upon lifting the auto up in the air, it was discovered that the shocks were shot and the frame was twisted. 

            Ali walked to a motel that rented by the hour or night.  The beds took quarters and the ceilings had mirrors.  Ali watched the BBC news on public television and drifted asleep.  It was early in the morning when he returned to the Walmart. Ali drank coffee in the waiting room of the Walmart auto service center watching re-runs of the Oprah Show when the explosion occurred.

             One of the mechanics took a torch to the shock and a frame support that had gotten crushed when the front wheel on the driver side fell inside a large hole.  Ali had been speaking on the phone when he hit hole at thirty miles an hour.   Ali nearly bit off his own tongue as his head hit the roof of the vehicle.

            The explosion was the loudest thing that anyone had ever heard before except for those that had served for their nation in places like Afghanistan or Iraq.  The sound was familiar to them and they knew that it wasn’t a gun shot or a back firing truck.  It was a homemade bomb.

            Babar took a train up to Ottawa and hung around a coffee shop until the news broke that there was terrorist act against the world’s largest Walmart.  The CBC showed pictures of stunned people crying and consoling each other while fire fighters tried to extinguish the smoldering mess that was once the grandest department store ever erected.  Babar wondered what had happened and what had gone wrong.  It made no difference to Babar either way.  A few Detroiters were interviewed near the scene.  One was a man who went by the name of Yates.

            “Itta damn shame actually…  You know how hard it was in the first place to get any kinda grocery stoh, dee-partment stoh and automotive stoh and what have you right here in inna city Dee-troit?  Shhh damn…  Come on, now.  Who gonna wanna come back now aftah this?  Terrorist don’t like no success.  Dee-troit was coming back.  People was working again and buying cars and now this.  We all gone hafta go north of 8 Mile again or buy all important stuff at liquor stores…  Ain’t right.  It like roaches, you think you got them all an then some somehow git into yo box of cereal. Bin Laden waddent the end.  He die and someone else grab the wheel and drive. I’m saddened by this today.  Damn shame….  Ain’t nothin else but a damn shame.”

            Now Babar had gotten a tattoo of a mole on his left ass cheek and purchased clothes that he knew his brother would wear.  He walked into his brother’s house with out Ali’s wife or kids batting an eye.  The dog knew his master by scent and snarled at the imposter.  Babar had to give the dog some treats just to calm him.  The wife clung to who she thought was her husband and tried to console him over the possible loss of his brother.

            “It is a shame really.  To think your brother, playing hockey, drinking and watching porn and he turns around in a short period of time to become a fundamentalist.   They say he is in intensive care and has no hearing and cannot remember who he is…  So sad.”

            Babar was hopeful that his brother might die or remain incapable of knowing who he was.  Babar rolled with it.  He made love to his sister-in-law five times the first day and four the next.  She had to leave home to shop just to keep who she thought was her husband off of her.  Everything was working out as planned until Monday morning came around and Babar arrived at work and showed his name tag and had to hold his hand over a scanner.

            “This crazy thing has been acting up lately, Ali…  Just go ahead, we’ll have this checked, eh?”  Said the guard.

            Ali worked in forensics for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  In fact Ali or Babar was studying finger prints and did not have a clue what he was supposed to be looking for or what he had was supposed to have been working on the Friday prior.  Ali’s co-workers thought he was a bit out of it but understood since his brother had been part of a terrorist plot to destroy an American institution like Walmart.

            When Babar returned home that Monday evening, the land line rang.  His wife or sister-in-law answered the phone and had a look of relief and happiness as she listened to a doctor report’s that Babar or Ali actually, would live.  They suggested his twin come to Detroit to spend time with him in hopes of getting his memory back.  Ali’s heart sank but really it was Babar’s heart.  He wondered if he would wind up in a Canadian prison or an American prison or if the terror cell that paid him and trained him, would catch up with him and kill him.  Ali/Babar looked at his beautiful wife/sister-in-law and told her what he thought would be best given the situation; more sex.

            “I will go to Detroit to help my brother…  It is the best thing I could do now.  I think before I go though that we should probably…  Well you know…  One last, I mean more time before I go.”

            The beautiful woman became suspicious.  The unquenchable appetite for sex, the politeness, the indifferent attitude towards their children and the dog who constantly growled and snarled at Ali/Babar all indicated that Ali was not Ali actually.  An idea came to the beautiful woman.

            “It has been quite a long time since I’ve allowed you to have anal sex with me… I think since we may be apart for some time, anal sex would be best for both of us.  Would you enjoy that, my love?”

            The real Ali had confided in his wife about his brother Babar’s fascination with having anal sex.  Ali on the other hand was never interested in engaging in that sort thing.  Ali/Babar’s eagerness revealed who he really was.

            “Okay my love…  I’m going to freshen up.  Why don’t you hop into bed and I will be there momentarily…”

            Within minutes, the RCMP had surrounded the house and came through the bedroom door and windows where Babar anxiously waited with an erect penis that pitched a tent under the sheet while he clasped his hands behind his head.  It became a very interesting story to all that heard, watched or read the details.  A man trained to be a terrorist sends his twin brother to bomb the largest building inNorth Americawith a vehicle packed with explosives and nuclear material, while moving in and assuming his brother’s life. 

The two Mounties and FBI agents burst out in laughter when Babar told the story of laying in bed waiting to have anal sex with his wife or the woman who was supposed to be his wife.  One of the FBI agents, a large African-American man, shook his head and put his hand on Babar’s shoulder.

            “You should have gotten up and ran at that invitation…”

            “Why do you say that?”

            “What beautiful woman asks her husband to perform anal on her…?  Shh damn… Come on, now.”

July 5, 2011

Karmalyzed Capitalism

            Molly was given LSD at her first party as a freshman in college and from that moment on, the world changed for her.  Molly became more aware of who she and was more in tune with the world around her and her senses.  Suddenly all that was right was wrong and wrong really seemed like the right thing after all. Things looked better, smelled better, sound better and tasted better than when she was living in a straight middle class life in America. The three bedroom bi-level in a post World War II suburb filled with men who belonged to the Masons, Moose, Elks and John Birch Society and women who ironed, shopped and watched soap operas by day and worked to please their men by night sort of life.  Suddenly the idea of aspiring to find a good candidate with whom she could replicate her species, seemed wrong.  A white, protestant, pro-Nixon, pro-Vietnam War, pro-women’s club, pro-monogamous, homogenous, nuclear family, with a man with a good smile and perfect hair, who would carry his lunch with him to the train station on his way to his desk job downtown, just seemed completely wrong and if given the right hallucinogenic drug, upside down can seem like the correct view of the world.  That’s what I’ve heard.

            Molly went on to take a lot of drugs, had a lot of sex, and became a communist and an activist for any and all causes that seemed anti-establishment.  While spending time in Oakland, California, Molly had fallen in love with several Black Panther activists.  One of the activists was successful at planting his seed within her while living together in a commune.  Molly gave birth to a mixed raced boy by the name of Huey Newton Washington.  Huey was named after the leader of the militaristic Black Panthers but carried Molly’s last name, the same last name as the first president of the United States and a slave owner; a true dichotomy.

 Molly loved Huey with all her being but found that Huey was cramping her ability to tap into her ability to find her “bag” and “do her thing”.  Having Huey was “groovy” and “beautiful” but it became necessary to really go to the Mecca of inner spirituality with a rebellious orthodox Jewish boy she was dating at the time, to India while Huey went to live with Molly’s parents for the rest of his childhood.

            Molly went through six marriages and lived on three continents and close to twenty countries but always made a point of sending her son postcards from all the places she visited and lived to remind him of how much she actually and truly loved her son.  From a great distance.  Most letters went something like this:

December 9, 1981

            “Greetings my one true love and reason for being in this life on my way to a higher level of human develop before I one day reach the pinnacle of understanding and knowing here on Earth.  My son, it is immanently important that you let your spirit soar.  That you become truly one  immersed in your spirit so that you can tap into your gifts bestowed upon you by God and come to understand that the only freedom truly in the world is that of total awareness in being and knowing who and what you are.

Currently I am in Hoboken right now which is in New Jersey.  I am working by day as nurse’s assistant in a hospital and a Yoga instructor by night.  I wanted to take the time to tell you that although I have not been there to witness ever little nuance a mother expects to experience in the development of their child, my love for you has never waned.  You are a part of my soul.  I gave birth to you and in doing so, gave you a part of me that will live on in your after I have departed this life for the next.

  On a separate note, John Lennon was killed yesterday and we had a slew of people come into the hospital who tried to kill themselves over his death.  One young man with a Mohawk and safety pins through his cheeks, tried to kill himself over a musician named Darby Crash who was in a Punk Rock band called The Germs.  Ironically he picked the same day to die as John Lennon.  I must say that I’m out of the loop on music these days and don’t quite get the Punk Rock phenomenon right now.  I do know that heroin is dangerous and hope that you are doing all the right things with grandma and grandpa and are saying no to drugs mostly.  They are good people and you are lucky to have them.  I will write you soon.

Love Mommy

            Huey played basketball and baseball as well as football and a little soccer but was run of the mill in all.  He was one of those black children that appeared to have been adopted by whites and in doing so, was stripped of his identity.  Huey did well in school, became an attorney, married a blond woman, had a family with children, and lived in a nice house with nice cars.  On the surface, all seemed well.  Huey was slightly paunchy and was too busy for regular exercise, ate fast-food, had a high stress job and was constantly on the go.  One day while arguing with a client on his cell phone, while sitting in traffic on the freeway, shaving and trying to eat a burger and fries, something tightened in his chest.  Fortunately for Huey, traffic was nearly at a standstill and so in the middle lane of a packed interstate, Huey put his car in park, opened his car door and faced on coming traffic with a look of horror and panic on his face while clutching his chest.  Motorists went around him while honking, flipping him off and yelling at him through open windows. Two black Ambulance drivers just happened to see him while coming back from meal at a Popeye’s Chicken.  Catfish was on sale with large fries and a 34 ounce soft drink.  The grabber, if you’ll pardon the expression was the special issue cups that were two ounces larger than a standard 32 ounce plastic cup and was tapered to fit into cup holders on both domestic and foreign vehicles.  They were left over special cups from black history month.  Bill, the ambulance driver, took sips of a soda from a plastic cup that had the image of a singing Paul Robeson.  Bill could have cared less about his special issue cup or Paul Robeson.  All he knew is that it was ethically wrong to pass up another man who might be dying and ethnically wrong to not stop and help out another brother.  Bill’s unselfish act saved Huey’s life and made it so that he and his mother could meet again after nearly twenty years.

            Death and funerals bring family together usually and although Molly was in Tibet at the time that Huey was married and was in Peru with the Shining Path Guerillas when both of Huey’s children were born, Molly always sent something like a card or a gift.  One year the kids received a hand made blanket from a Quechua Indian and another year was a Hugo Chavez action figure that still remains intact in it’s packaging in Huey’s garage.  It was the one item that was never sold in over four garage sales that Huey’s wife held.  In any event, the reunion between son and mother was interesting if not touching.

Molly- son…  This is a sign from God that the life you are living is not the life worth living.  Dilated pupils, high temperature, heart rate and blood pressure through the roof, insomnia…  It’s like a bad dope trip, son.  I’ve seen it happen many a time.  Capitalism kills.

Huey- Mother, I don’t take drugs.  I don’t even take the damn blood pressure medicine because it kills my ability to be a man.  I have to make some adjustments.  This is my body’s way of sending me a message.  I’m going to come out of this and become healthier.  I’ve always just said no as you always said I should in all your letters from around the globe.  You can’t fault me for trying to make a living and support my family.

Molly- Saying no to drugs is just the tip of the melting iceberg, son.  How bout saying no to poverty, greed and blinding capitalism that has lead you down this path of self destruction?  Your processed meals and need to get somewhere you think you need to be in order to fit in with something that someone else envies.  That’s what will kill, son, the need to keep ahead of the Joneses.  There is blood on my hands with all this.  I needed to find me at a time when I was young and unsure of my future and what it all meant. I cast you into my parent’s world knowing my roots and how you would not be of a clear enough mind to see past the finely manicured suburban lawns.

            Huey was about to rebut his mother who showed up as the victor and standard bearer for the true path in life necessary to take when suddenly a light fixture that was fastened to the ceiling became detached and hit Molly on top of her head.  Nurses rushed in and rushed Molly to the emergency wing of the hospital.  Molly was pronounced dead within an hour.  It was a sad freak accident that a twenty pound fixture had come detached from the twelve foot ceiling and came crashing down squarely onto Molly’s head. 

            A nurse phoned the hospital chaplain who was on his way up to break the news to Huey when something amazing and miraculous happened.  Molly sat up in bed, removed the sheet that covered her face and began to speak perfect Indian in a dialect consistent with inhabitants of Bangalore.  As time went on, Molly did talk shows with an Indian translator and although her mind processed her thoughts in English, Indian came from her mouth.  For those Americans who turned to transcendental meditation, Hinduism and Buddhism, Molly had become the reincarnated deity.

            It is difficult to say exactly what happened to Molly.  Was she reincarnated?  Did God put the Indian tongue in her mouth to help those on the path spirituality or just one of those freaky cases of Foreign Accent Syndrome?  Huey recovered and began to eat at Wholefoods and took up jogging.  Huey decided to go to New Jersey to visit his mother at her store front temple where people from around the world would come to see and hear words of wisdom from the odd woman who once spoke only English and could only speak Hindi. For a small fee of course.  Molly had become the Mother Theresa for crackpots.

  Huey spoke to his mother through the translator and told her that he had forgiven her for leaving him so many years ago and that he wanted to leave the anger behind and start new and fresh with a whole new way of living which would have meant trying to do away with pent up anger and resentment from unresolved things that he carried since childhood.  At the end of their meeting, Huey embraced his mother and they both became teary eyed.  Huey promised he would return to see his mother again soon and that he wanted a relationship with her.

            “Life is short mother and there is no need to carry the weight of things we both cannot change.  The past is the past,” said Huey.

            Through the translator, Molly said that she was pleased by Huey’s transformation and looked forward to getting to know her only child after nearly forty years.  As Huey was leaving, the translator stopped Huey to give him a card that had ten printed icons of the Hindu god Vishnu. Vishnu was holding a scepter in one hand and had the palm of his hand up in the other.  One of the icons was punched out by a card punch.  The translator explained the card’s significance as Huey studied it.

            “Your mother has opted to not charge you for today’s visit.  Your card has been punched today.  After nine visits, you can redeem this card and on the tenth visit, your visit will be completely free…  Thank you, please come again and may your spirit guide you and continue to grow.”

            Huey was truly speechless. 

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