Blackhumouristpress's Blog

April 18, 2013

The Dark of Heartness

Imagine an actor as handsome as James Dean, as respected among his peers as Orson Wells who had previously won Oscars and had them sitting on the mantle of his fireplace in his mansion, on his island that was purchased from the CEO of Blockbuster Video. Picture throngs of adolescent girls, teens, twenty something’s, cougars and senior citizens secretly and not so secretly hoping that they could be with a man who encompassed everything a man should be if a woman could construct such a man.
Many men had decided that Prescott Hall had to be gay. No man can have a perfect face, a perfect voice, a perfect body; say the most perfect things to the feminine ear during interviews with Oprah. No man cared to be held up against the benchmark of masculine perfection.
As is often the case with humans who get everything and anything they could have ever dreamed of, Prescott turned to recreational drugs to escape the reality of perfection. Something had caused the man to snap. Prescott’s agent, two large body guards and a psychiatrist found Prescott in a secluded retreat run by born again Buddhist’s in the mountains of Los Angeles, overlooking the ocean. Prescott was surrounded by unclothed morbidly obese women in a large suite that was large enough to house a small wedding party. The grotesquely large women talked, laughed, swam and ate while Prescott washed his face in bowl underneath a mosquito net. Prescott was given an injection, put in a straight-jacket and held in a Beverly Hills hotel until the day of the Oscars. Prescott won his third Oscar and gave a speech after accepting the award that would have made Charlie Sheen cheer. The Oscar was for Prescott’s portrayal of an ordinary man whose mundane existence as an office worker, misunderstood husband that is coming to grips with aging and inevitable death. The role in itself altered the disposition and mind of the most sought after actor. When Prescott took the stage, he held up the trophy and looked down for a moment. His reflective aviator sunglasses prevented anyone from seeing Prescott’s blue eyes that were bleary and swollen from lack of sleep and over indulgence. His white linen suit looked as if he had slept in it and his dishwater blond hair looked oily which all went well with his ten day old scruffy beard. Prescott said nothing for a moment and then began speaking slowly and quietly.
“I was born in Toledo, Ohio … About two hundred miles from the Ohio River… I went down it once as a kid. When you take into account the numbers of people in the world, how is it that I am the most fortunate? Was it predestine, a predetermination by my father’s Methodist god of the Missouri Synod? Or was it just the luck of the draw? To study for this role, I had to wake up in a house in a subdivision that looked like all the other homes in the subdivision. I had toast and coffee with a make believe wife and make believe children. I was on the other side looking in. So many of you are watching me tonight when ice is melting and water is rising, you’re losing your job, you’re losing your home while gaining weight, getting diabetes and high blood pressure eating shit food. We were meant to hunt and gather… How many of you are hunting at Taco Bell for late night, fourth meal bullshit? You can’t perform sexually cause you might stroke out on a little blue pill… Fuck it; let’s go see a movie… Maybe you’re that one kid who joined the Army from down the street who is now watching my movie in a tent in Afghanistan and one of those people that you’re trying to win the hearts and minds of, has decided to strap a bomb on to his chest to kill you for trying to win over his heart and mind and provide a soccer team for girls and the right for women to walk side by side with men in a market place, right? Meanwhile the United States of Benetton pretend to sort out racial tension despite the fact that they voted for a man who is kind of white and kind of black. I am now enlightened defend your son’s right to marry another man. Wait a minute! My son is the fag? Hmmm, let me think about this some more… What’s that smell? Do you smell that? Smells like freedom, it must be killed. Why does nobody give a shit that a gallon of gas cost more than the tube of asslube it would take to make shoving so much shit up our asses, more easier? You have two choices in which to vote- and that is one more than the Communists had… Republicans are the answer… No wait Democrats are the answer… Now Republicans again. So you get fat, tired and bored and go watch a movie. You wanna know who I’m sleeping with? Want to know what I eat? Do I fart and does my shit stink? With so much starvation, war, greed and depletion of resources, with crazy fucks pointing nuclear weapons at innocent people in Samoa and children dying on the streets of cities like Chicago with guns and people want to know what I’m doing. I’m playing the ordinary man.
… Yes the ordinary man. I went back to Ohio to be the regular guy, the faceless man. I looked for that Gardenia plantation or whatever I thought it was when I was a boy and it was gone. I couldn’t remember exactly where it was and so I followed the river and never found it. It was a little piece of heaven from when I was a boy and it is now gone… From what I read, I hear that my methods are unsound and that I’ve gone insane. Who among you claims to be soldiers or assassins? You’re nothing but desk jockeys on computers at the café running errands like trained ponies. Popcorn value packs at the theater and you are watching me, watching you, watching me portraying you. Ordinary man indeed. A man who is used to acting in one way never changes; he must come to ruin when the times, in changing, no longer are in harmony with his ways… Of course I’m paraphrasing. Somebody else wrote that, somebody else wrote everything I ever said. The vulgar crowd always is taken by appearances, and the world consists chiefly of the vulgar… In any event, I’d like to thank you all for making me what you have wanted me to be… I mean this sincerely with true heart felt passion when I say what I am about to say to you all next…”
Millions of people who tuned in waited for something profound and way-out to end a ranting speech . Prescott scanned the room of quiet, pretty people who smiled nervously wondering what Prescott would say next.
“Have a nice day…”

April 2, 2013

The Boy From Yorba Linda or The Second Coming of Nixon

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 10:16 pm
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In early 1974, Dr. Henry Kissinger while having drinks with a fellow German expatriate, got to talking about the content of the Nixon tapes, future of the Republican Party and cloning while having cocktails in a D.C. lounge of a hotel.

The two German men agonized over the future of their adopted land. If not Nixon than who could lead their party and nation into the future? Both men agreed that there was nobody as intelligent and suited for the political arena quite like Richard Nixon. Since the days of the Red Scare, Ike and unbridled American growth and prosperity, the Republican Party had floundered. Advanced minds had to ensure the survival of America as it should be and as the Republicans had made it.

“Vat vood eet mean ethically to clone someone? To allow someone to leeve twice een a sense… Vat do you think, herr Doctor?”

“Ethics? There ees no such thing as ethics, mein doctor. There ees thee thin veil of the appearance of somezing acceptable and palatable for zee common everyday slob who seets een front of a television and allows a talking head like Valter Conkrite to steer their emotions and sentiments… So een short, mein doctor… Fuck vat the people might think. This ees for their own goods. Intelligent people run the voorld. Intelligent people make things happen.”

So it was that the genetic physiologist who was content making duplicate sheep, set out to find a good candidate to house the seed of Richard Nixon. The woman they found was a tall woman who was interested in having a baby for the sum of $100,000.00 knowing that she would not keep the child. The baby was born in Yorba Linda, California, in a very rudimentary building that was in an industrial park next to small factories that made plastic toys for adult pleasure and duped super 8 adult films, the second coming of Richard Nixon had taken place. Baby Nixon was born healthy and whole and was taken across country to live with a rich Republican fund-raiser whose wife’s seed could find no purchase. The couple lovingly raised the homely boy as their own for a good six months before a horrible gun accident killed the couple in their own living room.

“I told you that I do not want fire arms in this house with the baby around. Everyday you read about people who get killed inadvertently by a loaded gun.”

“If I told you once, I told you a million times; the communists are hopped up and roaming the streets of D.C., do you want one of them to kill us and rob us? The communists have not been the same ever since getting the right to vote and the death of Martin Luther King.”

“You are a silly man. Why call the coloreds, communists? That’s your code word that nobody can figure out? I want these guns out today.”

And with that, the gun discharged and put a hole in her husband’s forehead and out the base of his spine the size a golf ball. She was so grief-stricken by what she did that she immediately turned the gun on herself. The Mrs.’s gay coiffure who came to the house weekly to do her hair, entered the house to find the baby playing on the floor alone, not far from two pools of blood. The hairstylist thought about what to do and decided that the thing to do was put on a pair of rubber gloves, collect all evidence of a child living in the home and take the child to raise as his own with his communist partner. Once again, fuck ethics.

The seed of Richard Nixon grew up with the name Martin John Lipshultz-Jefferson. He was named after Martin Luther King Jr., John F. Kennedy and then took the last name of his white and Jewish father and of his other black dad.

Young Martin John was bright and a talented piano player but aspired to be a lawyer and wanted to serve the people. Martin John applied to Duke University, received a degree in law, met a Quaker woman, bought a dog and named it Checkers and before long, Martin John was a promising congressman from Orange County California. It was in a D.C. hotel that Dr. Henry Kissinger and the infamous physiologist met the congressman and greeted him like proud parents. The only two people in the entire world who knew that knew that Martin John Lipshultz-Jefferson was in fact the second coming of Richard Nixon. Dr. Kissinger took Martin John’s hands in his own like a proud father and spoke softly and prophetically.

“Vee need you to run for president in 2016. Vee need you to resolve issues Weeth China and end thee vaars we have no business fighting. Thees man who ees running these country into the ground ees nothing but a criminal… Are you up to zee task of being president, son?”

“It’s so strange that you ask. I have wanted to be president ever since my two fathers signed me up for a pottery class. I can remember making clay pots on a wheel for my two father’s gift for Father’s Day and suddenly thought about being the president one day. It was during the impeachment hearings of President Clinton… It was at that moment in time that I decided I needed to one day be president. I listened to the president’s lies as a thirteen year old boy during the hearings and I told myself that people have to know that their president is honest. Well I can tell you the People have got to know whether or not their President is a crook. Well, I’m not a crook. I’ve earned everything I’ve got…”

And with that, the two German men began to cry tears of happiness. They hugged each other and hugged the young congressman who had at just that moment decided to launch his campaign for the presidency of the United States of America where all men are created equal… and some are created from DNA of other men. Amen.

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