Blackhumouristpress's Blog

August 16, 2011

God Hates Haters More Than Faggots…

            Thorson Jensen received the news that his younger brother Erik had died on a Monday. Erik died in Afghanistan by an improvised explosive device on the road side in an area of the country that looked like Mars. Thor had been working on a 1947 Indian Motorcycle back in Nowhere, Minnesota when he received the call from his father.

            The news hit Thor rather hard.  Erik had been Thor’s younger brother who had been uncommonly handsome, wholesome and talented.  Erik had been on the student council, a wrestler and a singer in the school choir as well as musicals.  The only odd thing about Erik was that he always seemed indifferent to women.

            During boot camp, Erik had met a young man from Northern California by the name of Timothy who had been a high school football player and an outstanding student.  The two hit it off and became a couple.  Erik and Timothy together came to grips with their sexuality and found that they were each other’s best friend and lover.  Both of them believed that being discrete was important and to act like men was expected and so it was not known to anyone in either of their lives for quite a while. 

            It was during Christmas while Erik was on leave that he broke the news to his family.  It was like a bomb had been dropped on their ice hut on one of 10,000 lakes in Minnesota.  There was Thor, Erik and their father Lars, ice fishing in a hut when Erik told his brother and father the news.  Thor and Lars were in disbelief but after giving it some thought, they later realized that there were signs that they just never picked up on such as Erik’s love for musicals, gardening and color coordination  of clothes.  Erik was just too handsome and too perfect of a man for an area of Minnesota that was just not that refined.

            Thor had been the black sheep and renegade of the family.  He looked like Hulk Hogan and had been a modern day pirate that pillaged.  After doing half his adult life in prison, Thor went clean and started his own motorcycle repair shop that also fixed snowmobiles and lawnmowers.  It was by no means lucrative but it was steady and that is what Thor wanted.  Thor found a woman to settle down with that was covered in tattoos and had three children by three different fathers and was a recovering heroin addict. They were a typical biker family.

            It was quiet for a good minute or so after Erik broke the news to his brother and father that he was not only gay but had found his life partner.  Thor broke the ice with a little joke.

            “We wouldn’t mind meeting him I suppose…  Hope he won’t take offense to the fact that I think all Oakland Raider fans are queers.”

            Timothy showed up at Easter with Erik.  Timothy was equally good looking, masculine and well mannered.  Thor and Lars didn’t know what to discuss with Erik and Timothy at first but after awhile, it was like talking to any other men.  The fact that they were not demonstrative in front of them or effeminate in anyway, made the whole thing harder to believe.   Mom, dad and brother shrugged it off and decided that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

            Nobody ever thinks that they would out live their children and to stand at a grave site service and subliminally listen to a priest preach the merits of a young man he did not know, was like back ground music to the parent’s deeper thoughts and memories of their son’s life from the cradle to the grave.

            A stone’s throw away was a group from Kansas that carried placards that read things like, “thank god for dead soldiers” and “god hates fags”.  They yelled over the priest who was saying pleasant things about a young man who was good and had selflessly served his country.  The extremist, anti-homosexual, anti-flag, anti-American group claimed to be primitive Baptists.  Primitive as in preliterate with physical similarities to humans.  Uncivilized, savage, simple and wholly unsophisticated splintered synod of Baptists.  Their hateful message was so profound that even other Baptists couldn’t recognize them as being like them.

            Thor and his band of biker buddies stood by silently upon Thor’s orders.  Thor’s emotions changed from sadness to anger.

The obnoxiously hateful group spewed such vitriol at a moment when as big and strong as he was, Thor was about to break down and cry.  Instead, Thor and his band of friends dressed in leather and boots just glared at the idiocy of the moment.  Women with high pitched voices yelling over men reciting bible verses who claimed to understand what god hated.

             “Most god loving people would agree that the men of Sodom were wicked and sought to break the order of things and destroy the differences between right and wrong.  This faggot was punished by god for being a sodomite.  He was a faggot and god hates faggots.  Genesis 13:13…  In the beginning god discussed his disgust with faggots, sodomites, homosexuals.”

            Lars balled up his fist and was about to attack the group when Thor stopped his father.  Lars was mystified by his older son’s restraint.  Thor had always been prone to fisticuffs.  If ever a time called for violence, the desecration of a soldier’s funeral called for action.  Thor simply whispered calmly in his father’s ear.

            “God has a plan for those motherfuckers.”

            One of the biker brotherhood was instructed to follow the troop away from the funeral to a motel where they were all registered.  It was at about midnight when most people are in their deep REM sleep that Thor and his gang of friends kicked open the doors to their motel rooms and rounded them up.  Thor lit a large cigar and took swigs from a bottle of Jack Daniels as he kicked back in a chair with his feet up on the bed.  The group of protesters sat cowered together on a double bed while an infomercial on the television loudly made a pitch for a fat hiding girdle like device.  Fat people could look thin by wearing what was akin to a girdle without having to exercise.  It was nothing new except to those who knew nothing about the Victorian Era. One of the bikers turned off the television so that Thor could be heard clearly.

            Thor opened up a dictionary and began to read calmly to all of them the definition of empathy.

            “Empathy…  If you’re psychotic this means nothing to you and I suspect that to be without of empathy leaves you probably in the psycho camp.  You bunch of fucking misfits picked the wrong fucking funeral to show up at…  Well then, let’s see…  Empathy- is the capacity to recognize and, to some extent, share feelings such as sadness or happiness by another being…  Those unable to recognize this cornerstone in human emotion are devoid of empathy.  Meaning that they do not give a fuck about other’s emotions.  You motherfuckers are going to learn something about empathy tonight.  After tonight, I suspect you will be able to put suffering into the proper perspective.”

            Thor and his friends drove through the night from southern Minnesota through Iowa into Kansas so that all those attending the Westboro Baptist Church could see the fruit of god’s labor.  Hanging off of every peak around the church was a protestor who was bound by the hands and ankles together with a tennis ball stuffed into their mouths with a duct tape to secure the balls in their mouths.  Sticking out of their exposed anuses were rubber chickens.  The heads of the rubber chickens were hidden with in the anal cavities.  All that was visible of the rubber chickens was a neck and body. A dozen members hung from every peak of the church with their asses exposed with dangling rubber chickens. The, “” banner was removed.  In its place was spray paint on the building that read, “God hates haters more than faggots.”   It was a sight to behold on the Lord’s day.

August 11, 2011

The Next Beat

Filed under: humor,poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:10 am
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Sangria Maria, don’t know no Jazz

she discovered Bossa Nova at Starbucks one day

don’t like no mondays cause you know Saturdays

are for sundaes like whip cream and fluff.  Read the

papers about that stuff.  This is up and that’s down

obituaries and the funnies and some coupons for the buffet.

A smorgasbord of taste, smell and sound.

Dig that young cat with the mascara and the hair covering

his eyes.  Despondent resident of a subdivision and momma

always had food in the pot.  He learned them power chords

gonna make a band.  Don’t want no conventional stuff.

Full of angst and anger about all kinds of stuff.  You know

them southern California kids was so mad once upon a time

with their Punk Rock.  Now they got the perfect life, a mortgage, kids

and shapely wife.  Crack open the wine they bought at Napa for the

company.  Jim is a swell guy and a great golfer.  He might want to swap

wives for the night.  No need to trade lives.  Got the same cars, same homes,

same distant children with everything they used to have when there was real Punk Rock.

Drop the needle on some Black Flag or Fear and call your old girl on your momma’s

rotary phone. Momma was always there when daddy was busy.

Daddy was a Mason and an Elk, Republican and Presbyterian and a little Welsh.

You ain’t gonna get old and you ain’t gonna die but if you do, they got it all picked out for you.

Next to nice trees by some shade not far from the interstate and a billboard about 4Gs.

Because in the circle of life, they ain’t no corners.

Just the things that go around and come around.  No real forest, hill, groves

or real parks except for the industrial ones with their industrial strength.  More caffeine, less stress, less pressure,

more leisure  more comfortable shoes and a numbers when you sleep next to Sangria Maria after Tapas Tuesday

with Swell Jim and his wife in this comfortable life in that tract home in every town in every state…  No matter the state you’re


August 2, 2011

Obama’s Text Messages


His name was John Holmes but everyone referred to him as The Wad.  The Wad was a smallish British Man with bushy blond hair, horned rimmed glasses and a smirk on his face at all times.  The Wad expertise was getting information that seemed impossible to get.

            The Wad had the occasion to meet with members of the Republican National Committee.  While swirling a Scotch in his glass at a Washington DC gathering of top GOP, The Wad posed a question.

            “Wouldn’t the public really like to know what it is your president says and thinks?  None of the farce you see behind the podium, Hail to the Chief and all that rubbish.  What I’m talking about is lifting the rocks and watching the bugs scurry about.  You people here in the states stay glued to television watching grotesquely obese individuals lose weight, has-beens and almost-were individuals dance and so forth.  Don’t think for a moment that transcripts of your president’s text messages wouldn’t be for every inquiring mind… Because it would.”

            Several older men with furrowed brows listened with interest to the jovial Brit.  Nothing was decided that night but soon after, The Wad received a text message from a Republican mover and shaker.  This is what the Cryptic message said:




            Keep in mind that the American people voted for change in 2008.  This change most likely meant an end to war, lower inflation, lower taxes for working people who make a modest living and possibly more jobs.  By election year four years later, taxes were higher, there was still a war in a part of the world that 99% of Americans would never visit and jobs were difficult to find.  Very little had changed.  The one thing that the president had over the stable of GOP hacks was his personality.  Being able to expose the president as a fraud and fake might be the only thing that could put a Republican back in the White House. 

 Two million in United States currency was wired to The Wad in London.  The GOP officials read in giddy glee at the intimate text messages between the president, his vice president, secretary of state, his wife and the singer R. Kelly.  It was a perfect deterrent from real issues like two unfunded wars, the economic mess of Wall Street, lost jobs and vanishing job opportunities.  Reading text messages from the president and his inner circle would be perfect to get people’s minds of the fact that to pay off the national debt, each person living legally and illegally, would have to pony up close to $40,000.  For all the talk of deficit reduction, there really wasn’t going to be a reduction.  Text messages are more interesting and easier to understand than finance.  Here is how it went:


President- We yanked Osama too early.  I’m going to need to pull another rabbit from a

                  hat before the election.  Any ideas?


Secretary of state- I say you put the bloodhounds on John Boehner.  Expose him like

                              Jimmy Swaggart.  Leave him crying like Eliot.  The public wants

                              blood. I say shove it up his ass.


Vice president- I’m ready to do what is necessary.


President- Lol…  I like the picture of Swaggart.  The holier than thou crowd caving like a

                           A house of cards.  Do we have someone digging up the dirt on the

                           Republican front runners?  Get word to Anderson Cooper.  We  

                           need this exposed.  I know he’s sore about the gay marriage thing.  That’s his

                           thing.  I just don’t believe it is the next civil rights issue.  Too many people

                           still don’t give a fuck about gays.  I got enough fish frying to worry about

                           all that.  If we need to, get Sulu from Star Trek to do some leg work for us.


Secretary of State- Do you really think we have much to worry about?  Mormons?  Get

                               real.  Stay the course like Bush Sr. used to say.  We got this one 

                               in the bag.  The GOP is looking for the great white hope and it isn’t

                               there.  McCain came off looking like a crippled Beetlejuice and now

                               what?  Mormons?  Airheads from Alaska?


President’s wife- The girls want to know if there is still a chance we might visit Haiti. 

                            They really are not fond of their French tutor and would rather quit if

                             We are not going to France or Haiti.


President- With all I have going on at this moment.  Look, you tell them we all have jobs

                   to do.  They’ll learn French.  I don’t want to hear again that Americans cannot speak anything but

                   English and certainly not our girls. I would like nothing more than for the press to catch wind of our

                    girls parlaying Francais.


Vice President- I’m ready to do what’s necessary.


President- Cool, Joe.  I’ll let you know what’s up.


R. Kelly- Wad up, dog.  Got a gig in Baltimore.  Was wondering if you wanted to get a

                A game going.  Two on two.  Me and Shaq, you and Prince.Lol.  Lemme know.


Secretary of State-  This may sound a bit Nixon like but I think we set up surveillance of

                               What is going on at the republican headquarters.  We get pros for this

                                and then turn it over to CNN as if they had been on the trail all along.

                                This will detract from anything that has flatlined and stagnated.


R. Kelly- Yo I hope your old lady is cool with me stopping by.  Don’t want to start no

                stuff, dog.  Two Chicago boys thrown a little rock.  That’s all.


Vice President- Just say the word.  I’m ready to do what is necessary.


President’s wife- I just spoke to Oprah.  She said she can arrange for Justin Bieber to

                            show up and do a few songs for the girl’s party.  What do you think?


President- I am copying you all on this same text.  I am overwhelmed with text messages

                 right now and need to put some fingers on some dykes.  French- yes.  Justin   

                 Beaver okay but what will it cost?  Tell Oprah I said hello and thank you. 

               R.K- B-ball yes if you can get Prince and Shaq, I’m down with that fo sho.  Hill- have

                your people look into what can be found on people of interest and so on.  Joe-

                I need you to visit a VFW hall in Fergus Falls, Minnesota next Friday for their

                 fish fry if you can attend.  Gotta go.  Playing golf with Boehner.


            The GOP was ready to make the call to Fox News when the bomb dropped in Great Britain.  Rupert Murdoch’s stock dropped in British Sky and really that was the only thing that really scared people who were stock holders.  Somebody, some employees, had decided to hack into phone messages.  Hacking of the royal family, victims of the London bombing and dead British soldiers.  The GOP feared that handing over transcripts of text messages of the president, might back fire and might be illegal too.  One older gentleman twisted the scan that he printed off of his computer message from The Wad and lit the paper and then lit his cigar.  Several men watched the flames burn the transcripts.  The flames glowed in all of their despondent eyes.  One man among them spoke a few words.

            “Well, boys…  Let’s pray that a calamity arrives in time to save us.  We have to HOPE for a CHANGE at this point…  That’s all we have left.”

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