Blackhumouristpress's Blog

March 17, 2015

The Deer Rider

Filed under: humor,humour — blackhumouristpress @ 9:51 am
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“And this is your’s ma’am… I want you to know that I’m not sure what my ancestors did to you people, I know we are all created equal but then again some get to be a little more equal than others. I didn’t forget that you gave me pocket change when you were struggling to figure out how you were going to get your daughter to school and explain she can’t go to dance class any longer… I heard all of your conversation on the phone. Here is a little cash to help out with that. I appreciate you giving me enough to get a cup of coffee that day. You had nothing and you helped me… Mr. Hynes, please give this young lady the car keys and the envelope.”

Mr. Hynes, a well dress man in a suit and sun glasses, smiled and handed the woman who was fixing her hair and pulling her Tupac shirt over exposed skin as she stood dumbfounded looking at a vehicle that was so stereotypical and yet beautiful. A perfect paint job and lowered to about four inches above the ground.

“Hynes… Please show her what it can do.”

Mr. Hynes blasted the stereo system to something they both thought the young woman would appreciate. A bass filled song with expletives about having money, making money and being money. The woman counted $10,000.00 in one hundred-dollar bills while the music blared.

“I’m money, bitch and a bitch better not touch my money, bitch… When you rich, every motherfucking bitch come out with they hand out, tongue out, they cain’t believe, they cain’t conceive that I’m money… Dats right motherfucker, straight up money.”

Hynes hit a switch and the car bounced. Ham steaks, rice in bags and Faygo in two litre bottles all jumped as the car bounced. The woman cried and laughed at the same time. Chauncey took it as overwhelming gratitude and reached over and hugged the large woman, she smelled of sweat and some sort of hair product that he was not familiar with. Mr. Hynes and Chauncey pulled away and brought Elvis wigs to people going through Chemotherapy, souped up motorized scooters that could burn rubber to the elderly, mariachi bands and a man with a taco cart to hard-working Mexicans. All received gifts plus money, enough money to help them through their plight. Facelifts, breast augmentations, liposuction, wiener dogs and so on. How did this all come about?

Mr. Hynes, a respectable attorney with a nice home, nice wife, nice kids and a nice income happened to be running through a forest preserve when he felt a pain in his right arm. His arm tingled like it was asleep and then it throbbed. He stopped running and felt a gripping feeling in his chest and dropped. When he came to, there was a man hovering over him smiling. Beyond the smiling face were bare trees without leaves and the sun. Mr. Hynes thought he was already dead.

“I decided years ago that living my life against a clock, against the Dow Jones average was not going to work anymore. Monday? Friday? Fuckwith… Sleep when you’re tired and enjoy the time you have here. Work and work and work and what do you get? You get a pat on the back and a kick in the ass towards a nursing home and a crematorium… Do you ever feel like maybe you shouldn’t sleep so much? Eight hours out of twenty four just to recharge… Our batteries suck. I take four twenty minute naps a day and don’t get miss anything. Sure my mind goes where it wants… I used to watch television in my big house and got the idea that maybe I wasn’t watching the television as much as it was watching me and conditioning me to do the things that were expected of me… You wanna know what I did?”

Hynes could barely speak above a whisper…

“What?”

“I said goodbye to things and then picked up the television and threw it through the window. I asked what was the point of anything. Following, following and then let your mind fill up with shit on television… I have a large home but I spend my time out here mostly. I am the only person out here in the forest that can sneak up on a dear and ride it. The deer don’t know what to think as I hold their antlers and hug their sides with my legs. That’s when I knew I had a gift. Money left for me was left to give. There is no high like giving and feeling the euphoria between those who don’t have anything and me giving… I could really use some help… Would you like to help? Kennedy asked once ask not what you can do for your country but what others need you to do for them… Or something like that. It’s a mission and a way to set yourself free. No more heartaches over the stress of something that manifests itself in something new tomorrow… I don’t know if you can hear the trumpets in my head. It’s a call to duty… If I can’t show it, you can’t see it…”

Hynes really believed that it was a sign from god. A heart attack, a full recovery, a crazed lecture from a trust funder who lives in the forest riding deer giving away things and money to catch a high. Hynes went to work with Chauncey with the caveat that once a week he come with him to a bar where other men discussed theories and conspiracies. On a Monday night in the midwest, you can find Chauncey in a ripped pair of jeans and a t-shirt that says “Choose Life” sipping Bailey’s on ice after four twenty-minute naps in the forest in a sleeping bag. When you’re rich and crazy, you’re deep and people want to know what you think. Even if all your money was inherited.

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March 3, 2015

Half Families, Ice Hockey and Wonderpets

Filed under: humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 6:29 am
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Every couple, every family has that thing that puts them over the edge. For Coach Monahan and his wife Lynn, the team manager of the squirt house league ice Devils hockey team was a bacon cheeseburger on a pretzel bun.

It would be too simplistic to blame the burger. Of course it was the overbearing, unrealistic parents with stopwatches and whining about “balanced ice time” and the problem of living life in America. Lynn would approach her husband about parental concerns while Coach Monahan would watch NHL highlights late night after their kids went to bed, long after practices and games.

“J wants to know why his son J jr. never gets to play on the power play or penalty kill and why it is that when there are faceoffs in our zone, you pull his line off the ice.”

Monahan looked over at his wife who was monitoring the mundane lives of Facebook friends and catching up on email beside him on the couch. She would rather be watching Kardashians but would let Monahan watch hockey highlights. Monahan got a free pass for going to watch 50 Shades of Gray instead of staying home to watch the Detroit Red Wings play the San Jose Sharks in real-time. Monahan taped it instead. 50 Shades seemed improbable and too Harlequin to be real for Monahan but he was a trooper and for that reason, Lynn was a trooper right back. She did have to ask her husband the coach how she the team manager should answer a group question copied to the whole team. Monahan answered Lynn.

“Junior is twenty to thirty pounds too heavy. J who knows nothing about the fucking sport of ice hockey and should be happy that his little butterball gets as much equitable ice time as I can afford without giving the game away because his little liability is huffing and puffing like a middle-aged man making love… Ask J why it was that he didn’t have the nutsack to ask me these questions tonight when he was standing over me while I tied my skates to get on the fucking ice. He talked about how cold it was outside and how much his kid is learning from me and then goes home and poses questions he could have asked me in person. Ask why it is that he needs an open forum to ask a question that he knows the answer to- his kid is fat, slow and ineffective and uninspired to move his fat ass to the best of his ability. Video games and high fructose drinks have caused him to develop tits and love handles at a young age. When the boy smiles, his eyes disappear… Am I going to fast, dear?”

Lynn did not answer Monahan. Instead she wrote the email verbatim paused for a moment before hitting the send button much the way pilot paused before hitting the drop button on the Enola Gay before releasing the first atomic bomb on Japan in 1945.

The answer did not sit well with some parents and with others it was exactly how they felt only they would never have constructed such a frank response. J, the father of Junior, did not attend the next game but he did make sure that several officials from the league were in attendance to monitor the game. The game went poorly. The goalie was sick and so a stand in had to face a firing squad of competent skaters and shooters and stood there like a deer in the headlights, like a scarecrow in a field a corn field- you get the picture.

After the game, before the pilgrimage home, the family unit stopped for food. Monahan’s step-daughter ordered a bacon pretzel deluxe but failed to mention that she did not want onion, mustard, mayonnaise, catsup and lettuce. The pubescent curled her lip at the food as if she had a pile of shit on her tray.

“This is not what you wanted?”

“I didn’t want all this stuff on it.”

“Did you tell them you wanted nothing but a burger, bacon and a bun?”

“Well… She didn’t ask me.”

Monahan took a deep breath, took the sandwich to the woman behind the counter and asked her to scrape off everything and give it back to him. Monahan’s step-daughter opened the burger and was astute enough to see that it was not a new burger but the same burger which had been scraped of condiments. This caused momma to come to her daughter’s rescue.

“You could yell and scream at kids and refs for an hour and a half but you don’t have the fortitude to go ask a small woman behind the counter to just give us a plain burger. It’s not coming out of her pocket. She won’t be offended… And I’ll tell you this- your daughter will not wear her coat in an ice box ice rink when I tell her too, will not urinate when I remind her to, will not drink lemonade because it’s pink and none of that matters to you. You want to give MY daughter a hard time over a burger. I will buy the fucking burger myself. I will go face that tough looking woman behind the counter and ask for another burger. Sit here with your daughter and ask her why she cannot drink lemonade that is pink.”

It was at that moment that Monahan pictured himself walking out of the restaurant, getting into the car and driving to the most southern point in the United States- Key West. No ice except in glasses, no hockey, no parents, no wife, no kids, no problems. Just a Mai-Tai and warm water.

On the ride home, Monahan’s daughter was quietly listening to a Taylor Swift song next to Lynn’s daughter. Lynn looked out of the passenger window with tightly folded arms. Monahan knew there was nothing he could say to make Lynn speak to him at that moment. He knew that being a coach was a thankless job that he did for the kids and that being the team manager was a thankless job his wife did to share in something he loves and to be with him. Monahan turned down the radio and began to sing a song that he learned watching the Wonderpets with his daughter when she was a toddler. Monahan always thought that the idea of a talking duck, guinea pig and turtle was pretty lame but the song popped into his head and he knew his wife would soften up and laugh if he could get the girls to just sing along with him.

“This is sew-ious, there’s a baby bewd in twouble somewhere… What’s gonna work? Teamwork! What’s gonna work? Teamwork!”

Yes, it was teamwork that melted the ice in Lynn’s heart, made the pre-teen forget about her hamburger debacle, the grade schooler forget about lemonade being pink, made Monahan not look like a too serious ice hockey coach who was afraid to rectify a burger gone wrong.

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