Blackhumouristpress's Blog

August 21, 2012

F#@k Las Vegas… This is Detroit

Filed under: Detroit,humor,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 6:14 pm
Tags: , , , , , ,

            Trev and Tracy, both exceptionally good looking and best friends, were bailed out of jail by a man they had never met by the name Bruce. Trev and Tracy had all the qualities of a tandem that could possibly go Columbine.  They were each other’s best friend, hated everyone and everything and lacked empathy for others the way any respectable sociopath like Jeffrey Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy or the Son of Sam lacked compassion.  Trev and Tracy grew huge in a short period of time from using steroids.  Both long haired, young men, stood a hair below six feet of height and weighed about 215 lbs.  Among ordinary men, the were formidable and knew it.  The two were arrested for starting a bar brawl at a bar on Woodward in Ferndale that was holding a gay Tango dance night.  Trev and Tracy taunted the patrons until they were confronted.  Trev and Tracy beat up several guys, broke chairs, glasses and mirrors within the establishment before the Ferndale, Michigan Police collected them.  Bruce came to their rescue with bond money.

            Neither Trev nor Tracy knew who Bruce was. They came out of a holding pen to see a short and stocky Jewish man with a bad toupee that looked like a black helmet.  Bruce was talking on a cell phone with his elbow sticking out at his side and his pinky finger with a large sparkly ring, pointing daintily in the air.  He wore a Hawaiian shirt that was unbuttoned down to the third button, his gray chest hair contrasted against his tan skin and a large star of David.

            “Boys…  You two are bad motherfuckers.  I’ve been hearing about your escapades for some time and found out from a friend of a friend

of some other fucking guy, that you were locked up for some fisticuffs with a bunch of fags. I myself would kick the shit out of anyone for doing the Tango.  Who does the Tango anymore?”

            The boys looked down and shook their heads in agreement.  Bruce was a strong presence even though he was paunchy and short.  Bruce put his arms around both boys and walked them down to a 1963 Lincoln Continental with suicide doors.  Trev recognized the car and asked Bruce if it was the car that Kennedy was killed in.

            “You are a very astute student of American history, son…  This is a replica of the exact automobile that our

late president was assassinated in.  I was a young boy when he was killed but you want to talk about hope and change…  That motherfucker was a breath of fresh air after a decade of Red Scares, witch hunts and what have you…  I could put the top down if you want but there is always a chance that some motherfucker in a vacant book depository might take pot shots at us.  After all, this is Detroit..”

            Bruce’s driver was a large black man with mutton sideburns.  They listened to the Isley Brothers while Bruce’s assistant made Mai Tai’s in the back of the massive vehicle for the boys.

            “You boys have a rep…  You are both known as bad motherfuckers in a bad motherfucking town.  Detroit is serious bad.  It’s hard to be a bad motherfucker with palm trees around.  You walk the desolate streets of Detroit, that is some shit and you two motherfuckers got the shit I’m looking for…  You know what I’m saying?”

            The boys shook their heads like bobble heads; up and down and sideways.  They pretended to know what Bruce was saying but they motherfucking didn’t know.

            ”Boys…  I am a promoter of a fight league of true brawlers.  I am associated with raw, brute strength.  You two are built like motherfucking Greek gods. No fat and nothing but muscle with the knowledge of how to fight.  I back fighters in fighting matches.  This ain’t no fucking fake wrestling shit with fat fucks swinging chairs.  This ain’t some octagon shit with a ref to stop you from dying.  This is a ring where the fight stops when someone stops moving. I know you two could kick some fucking ass.  My money is on you two.  So here’s the thing; you win, you get 10k, you lose, you get 2k.  I give you each a grand now and the remainder when the match concludes.  Now this isn’t some weak shit.  You two will be put up at the Motor City Casino and chauffeured over to the arena on Rosa Parks near Corktown.”

            “What’s the name of the arena?”  Asked Tracy.

            “The motherfucking Bruce the Bruiser’s emporium of ass kicking…  Whaddya say?”

            “I wish it were in Vegas…” said Trev.

            “Fuck Las Vegas.  This is Detroit.”  Said Bruce.

            Come fight night, a Saturday night.  A limousine came to collect the two young men.  They were driven to a desolate area of mostly vacant buildings on a street in Detroit that was named after a black woman who was a bit of a pioneer.  Neither boy knew who Rosa Parks was.  Tracy thought she was Betsy Ross, the woman who made flags for President Washington or something like that.

            The boys were whisked into a dank hallway that smelled of mold where the floors were covered with water that had seeped through holes in walls.  Their outfits were laid out for them. Two purple colored Speedo like trunks with sequins were on a rudimentary board under a bare lamp that hung from the ceiling.  A rotund man with hair on both sides and nothing up the center, entered with four chins and a thick moustache.  He held a large can of mineral oil.

            “I’m here to oil you both down and mousse your hair.”

            Two large men came in and escorted Trev and Tracy who were oiled and moussed in purple trunks down a long hallway where they could hear Euro music blaring on a sound system.  The boys watched scantily dressed men, wearing chaps with nothing on the ass, serving beer to patrons only attended by men.  Men who looked macho like bikers or truck drivers and wimpy looking English teachers and artists, singles and couples.  In to the ring stepped two large men that were slightly smaller than seven feet in height and about three hundred pounds.  They had long blond, curly hair and huge muscles. They wore Speedo style trunks that had Texas on the ass and a white outline of the state where their cocks would be.  They both had erections that looked like a tent pole holding up a tent.  Sideways.  They wore cowboy hats and had whiter than white teeth.

                “Harry… Which one them you want?  Imma have the smaller one.  I like when they small.  They scream louder.”  Said Larry.

                “Larry…  Don’t much matter ta me.  I love em all jus the same…  y’all bout to git yer asses beat.”  Said Harry.

                Trev and Tracy tried to climb out of the ring.  The door was locked to the chain link fence that was twelve feet high and slathered in oil too to prevent any sort of climbing.  Both Trev and Tracy found it was impossible to climb the fence.  Trev and Tracy ran around the arena, afraid for their lives.  It was a surreal moment for both of them.  They looked at the faces of the ordinary people in attendance and could see the perverse excitement on their faces; they wanted to see blood, gore, violence and rape.  Eventually the Texas twins were able to catch both Trev and Tracy.  It was like MMA meets Deliverance.  Once back in the cold holding pen that served as the “visitors” locker room, the prep/oil man, handed them two towels and soap.  Trev and Tracy were bloody, sore, bruised and humiliated in a way they never thought possible.  Bruce walked in with three large men and dropped two envelopes of cash for Trev and Tracy with a sadistic smile on his face.

                “I got  two asskickers coming in from Boston.  Tough Irish kids with pseudo black accents who fancy themselves some really tough motherfuckers.  It will be quite a show tomorrow.  We are in nowhere fucking Detroit in a home made five thousand seat arena where sick motherfuckers are coughing up $100.00 a ticket, $500.00 ring side to see the male equivalent of the donkey show.  As PT once said, there is a sucker born every second and I’m there to take em…  Have a nice evening.”

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