Blackhumouristpress's Blog

December 28, 2019

I Feel

Filed under: america,pope,relationships,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 11:37 pm
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Begin with, “I feel”…

It’s a bit surreal and out of the ordinary

If I told you, you might not believe.

 

Flip the hourglass back to the days of La Jolla that nice town not far from the border. I could see the water from the balcony and you were all with me, friends and family. I never abandoned the ship we built.

 

The spring held promise of something new as I walked the old to the threshold of eternity. I thought you were next to me. I’ve been treading water since you pulled the plug of the bottom of the boat, hardened your heart and built a moat.

 

“I feel” like I’ve been running in place as fast as I can, sinking in the sand of life’s plan without the benefit of a map to find my way.

 

I’m playing house once again and the variables have changed. Please come in… Feel at home even though it’s not my place. I keep my belongings in a bag and a hand on the knob just in case.

 

I’m swimming away from you at the shore. Treading water in the sea for the time being.

“I feel” there should be more.

Re-gifting for Christmas

Joe had never met his girlfriend’s family. With work and all, who has the time to meet family of a girlfriend when she herself disliked her own family?

 

Jill’s mother Gwen had a husband and a boyfriend. The husband Don looked like Zeus not Seuss with a large beard. Gwen spent most of her time with her boyfriend inside a tent at a trailer park. Gwen’s boyfriend had a drinking and drug problem. Maybe I didn’t need to say that after writing that her boy friend Bill lived in a tent in a trailer park within the city limits of Detroit. At Christmas in Detroit, it is generally cold. This year it happened to be about as warm as San Diego.

 

Jill had twin brothers named Nat and Nate. Nat is the natural father of Nate’s son who was Nate Jr. In reality, Nate Jr. is actually Nat Jr. Nat had tricked Nate’s girlfriend one night. He got her drunk and inseminated her. Susan, the wife of Nate happened to do a DNA test and low and behold, Nat was the father. Well Nat fell on hard times and had to move back into the home he grew up in. Gwen was rarely home and Don walked his dog a lot and watched a lot of QVC. The house was filled with things purchased that were never opened. There were tunnels throughout the house and in the basement lived Nate, his wife and son. Living in the apartment above the garage in the back of Don and Gwen’s house, were Nat and his girlfriend. The whole clan drove in separate cars to Jill’s beautiful home in Royal Oak, A sensible suburb north of Detroit.

 

Gwen felt badly that her twin sons were underachieving, fat and balding in their early 30’s. She never had the heart to tell her sons and husband that her boyfriend in a tent in a trailer park was actually the twin’s father. It all made sense actually.

 

Now Nate was married to a woman who worked at the Ambassador Bridge that is the entry point to Canada. She would ask people where they came from, what they did in Canada, what they were bringing back and if she had an inkling that something was amiss, she had the right to ruin their day by having dogs and immigration police go through everything in a vehicle for hours. Nate’s wife was over 300 lbs. and had served in the Navy once upon a time about 150lbs ago. She would watch her husband from work taking care of their twin sons on a baby monitor. Nate would hear out of thin air things like, “Nate! These kids have plastic in their mouths! Goddamn it, pay attention!”

Nat and his girlfriend were taking a lot of speed and eating little more than bacon and going to the gym a lot. They used to be obese but had lost a lot of weight. Both twins had ADD and so Nat would soon get bored with working out and dieting. Eating the rich and tasty things that their older sister Jill was about to serve to them might just kill the diet.

 

Now Jill escaped the strange idiocy of her family life. She went to school, got a job, bought a house, sold it and bought a bigger home. She learned her husband was gay and he left just before last Christmas but her boyfriend Matt was making the holiday time less sad and they got along well.

 

Matt, a good looking and fit man was supposed to buy a few things for the gathering and had procrastinated. He looked at a bunch of things he received from other people in the office and grabbed a huge basket of exotic chocolates, a bottle of wine, cheeses and meats. It was a huge basket that someone who worked for him in the office gave to him wrapped in cellophane. Matt was sort of the office overseer. His job was to monitor the things people did on line and if people were shopping or looking at porn or doing online gambling, it was his job to rat out the guilty party in the office.

 

Everyone ate and almost got along. The twins hate each other and their significant others hate them. Gwen hates her husband and her husband hates her. The offspring of the twins do not get along and then there is Jill who was the smiling successful eldest child whose house was immaculate. It was a Norman Rockwell Christmas for misfits. Gifts were passed around and Matt handed Gwen the huge basket. Gwen ooed and ahhed over it. The wine was Bordeaux the cheeses were Brie and Gruyere, smoked meats, crackers and then the chocolates. Gwen took the foil off of one chocolate to find a dark chocolate penis with coconut shavings around the testicles. Dozens and dozens of chocolate shaped just the same. Nate Jr. grabbed one, unwrapped it quick and bit the circumcised tip of one of the chocolates. Gwen found a note tucked in the middle of everything and read it out loud.

 

“Matt- you are a dick and a lap dog for the man. You’re too stupid to do anything but snitch on us all. This job suits a dumb fuck like you. You sit among us in the lunchroom and then get people fired or threatened. We hate you and hope your holiday sucks a dick. So fuck you and accept this gift from all of us.

Sincerely and truly- the office.”

 

Jill’s family took pleasure in Matt’s embarrassment. Christmas is about many things and many times people lose sight of what it’s all about. Once you get past it all. The Belgian chocolates were actually quite good and that’s all that matters.

December 4, 2019

Happy Thanksgiving or A Deluge of Shi* in Buffalo

Benjamin was from Buffalo, New York. Upon graduation from high school, he knocked around Community Theater in Brooklyn and shared a studio apartment with other “starving artists”.

 

Benjamin met Bev while doing a production of Oklahoma with an all-homeless cast to raise money for the poor. Bev donated her time to make costumes. To this day you can still find cowboy looking homeless men panhandling around New York. Bev loved Benjamin’s passion and Benjamin loved that Bev was organized, a go-getter and willing to row the boat of life a lot harder than he. They married even though Benjamin detested the idea of a possible suburban existence with two kids and a mortgage. Bev suspected that marriage would eventually land them in a burg somewhere around the country with a scripted and wholly domestic life. Things went well at first. Their son Benny was born and then their daughter Daisy soon followed. Around that time they also bought two cats and a dog. The picture was complete and ready for stickers of the family on the back of a minivan- mother, father, son, daughter, 2 cats and a dog.

 

Benjamin and Bev opened a thriving fine arts center for children in Chicago. Benjamin carried his two children proudly around as tots strapped to his chest. Benjamin was half administrator and half choreographer. Bev taught dancing and French language lessons. Life was as it should be and as good as one could hope for when they decide to buy animals, have children and open a business with their spouse.

 

Now Bev suspected that Benjamin might be gay, bisexual or asexual. The amount of sex they had was at about the average it should be if you were 70 years of age. They both were in their early forties. As is often the case, someone in a relationship is unhappy. Benjamin ordered what he got but envisioned something else. Unhappy people who don’t like confrontation set themselves up to be caught. There it was on the computer just waiting for someone to wake it up from sleep mode. A short video of Benjamin having rough doggie style sex with the born again Christian mother who was hired to do voice lessons at the studio. Bev at first couldn’t see the face. All she could see was her husband and a really large ass. Benjamin commanded the woman to face the camera as he pulled her hair. As you could imagine, this discovery was not fit for a wife to see. It ruined their day, it ruined their marriage. These things happen.

 

The years passed and Bev got the house with the kids and the mortgage and the debt. Benjamin bought a yellow Volkswagen bug convertible and lived in a studio apartment again in a building of twenty something’s trying to make it in music or theater. The building was a practice space for loud and noisy bands that were going nowhere. Many of the musicians lived in their practice space that used to be factory back when there were a lot of factories. Those factories are now in China… Anyway, Benny and Daisy were now junior high age. They loved their electronic devices. Benny loved to kill things virtually and Daisy loved to make dancing videos. Once a week they were forced to have a meal and spend the night in their father’s apartment. For Thanksgiving they were invited to go back to Buffalo to celebrate the holiday. Benjamin’s mom footed the bill for the airfare. Benjamin hated the idea but it was a free trip.

 

There was the Thanksgiving meal at 1pm with Benjamin’s mother and her wife. Picture two women looking like Elizabeth Warren. One was called mom or granny and the other was called mommy or grandmother. The kids were confused and called them nothing. Their cousins knew each other since they lived in Buffalo but didn’t know them and so they ignored Benny and Daisy. At 4pm they went to pick up Benjamin’s father and go to the all you can eat buffet for Thanksgiving. Benjamin Sr. the first in a line of Benjamin’s asked about his ex-wife and made snarky comments about how it all works with lesbians and who might take the lead on things like sex and dancing. Benjamin couldn’t wait to get the fuck back to Chicago. His kids looked mopey, he hated his family and the idea of recreating a loving event by having a meal with them. Benjamin headed to the airport and if you know anything about Buffalo, it snows there. Guess what happened next? It snowed in Buffalo and it snowed a lot. It snowed so much that the national news showed feet and feet of snow in and around Buffalo along with a closed airport. Luckily for Benjamin, he found a motel near the airport and the three of them spent the next 36 hours watching cable television in a room that smelled like cigarettes and booze. Nobody spoke much to each other. They watched cooking shows and cold case mysteries until they couldn’t take it anymore. Finally the time came and they boarded a plane to go home to Chicago.

Benjamin texted his ex-wife and ranted as he did once when they were married.

“THIS SUCKED. I HATED IT. THE KIDS HATED IT. MY DAD IS STILL AN ASSHOLE AND MY MOTHER IS FUCKED UP. MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS HATE ME AND THE KIDS AND THEN IT FUCKING SNOWED BIBLICAL TYPE OF SHIT HERE. I WILL BE BACK SOON AND I WILL NOT BE TAKING THE KIDS UNTIL CHRISTMAS. JUST SO YOU KNOW.”

 

Sometimes things go bad now and then. Other times it comes in bits and pieces. For Benjamin it was a deluge of shit. Benjamin arrived at the parking lot at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. It was cold in Chicago but no snow. Over in the distance was his yellow bug with a wheel lock device around the front passenger side wheel. There was a large yellow sticker on the window letting him know that the city of Chicago had added up all his unpaid parking tickets and that if wanted to get his prized vehicle, he would need to go downtown and pay the tickets first.

 

Almost a week after Thanksgiving, there they were all together again in Bev’s sensible SUV. The kids were silent, Benjamin was silent and fuming but with her hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, Bev got quiet satisfaction in her ex-husband’s misfortunes. Many in a week. White Christmas by Bing Crosby came on the nonstop Christmas song station that Bev tuned into right after Halloween. Benjamin turned the radio off. Bev grabbed Benjamin’s hand and moved it from the dial and put the music back on. She smiled at Benjamin and simply said, “I’m listening to the song…”

November 1, 2019

Last Tango in Detroit

Rick asked Tony to watch his house for a few days, feed and let the dogs out and bring in the mail. Tony didn’t mind the idea of camping out at Rick’s house for a while. There was beer and food in the refrigerator and they had the Center Ice NHL package on Direct TV. Tony loved it. If he wanted to watch any game going on, he could- Vancouver, New York, Montreal Las Vegas… All of them.

Tony played hockey, sold hockey equipment, coached a youth hockey team and then more recently, a woman’s hockey team. Rick’s wife entertained the idea of being the women’s team goalie but hated the idea of being shot at, putting on so much equipment and having to stand in front of the net while everyone else got to skate around. Rick told Tony that his wife wasn’t too keen about many of the women on the team but one in particular who just happened to become Tony’s girlfriend since he became the team’s coach. Her name was Susan and she was tall with red hair. Susan liked to go to hockey games and listen to live music. She was a lot of fun but outspoken when it came to shitty goaltending. Part of why Rick’s wife Donna decided to quit was Susan’s comments such as Donna couldn’t stop a cock between her legs anymore than she could a puck. Tony shrugged it off. Hockey is not for everyone and everyone does not like everyone.

Tony had a men’s league game later one night. He boiled a pot of pasta and could only find butter to put on the noodles. The only television at Rick’s house was in the master bedroom. Tony put the television on by hand since he could not find the remote control. For about 5 minutes Rick stood there manually holding the button for the channel to go from 5 to 770-1 for high definition. Detroit was playing Edmonton. Edmonton was off to a good start and Detroit was about where they have been for the past five to six years- nowhere. Tony balanced the soupy plate of pasta while changing the channel to the Islanders against Carolina when the whole plate of pasta fell onto Rick’s bed with a black fitted sheet. Tony swore a bit and scooped the pasta back onto the plate and ate it without a thought. He fell asleep that night on one side of the bed while watching the highlights of the day’s games. Tony’s team lost earlier that night but he was a plus 1 and had two assists playing defense. At the next game, Rick thanked Tony for watching his place and taking care of the dogs. He had one question though for Tony- what the fuck did you do in my bed? Tony thought about telling Rick the truth but created a funny story instead.

“Susan is an old film buff and so she brought over a copy of Last Tango in Paris and we watched it in bed. I then went and got your Land O’ Lakes out of the fridge and rammed it up her ass while recreating the scene after watching Marlon Brando do it… I didn’t use the whole stick of butter. I put back about half in the fridge.”

Rick smiled but was a cross between shocked and jealous. He then thought about having toast that morning with the butter that went up a woman’s ass. He couldn’t remember tasting a difference.

At the end of season party, the boys on the team showed up to the apartment of one of the transplants from Boston. There they all were on the roof of a high-rise drinking and waiting for the lobsters to be boiled. Donna stood glaring at Susan and Tony who were talking quietly to one another and kissing a bit. Donna had just enough drinks to feel brave enough to confront the couple.

“You know what? I might have sucked as a goalie but you suck as a human… Both of you actually. What kind of a tramp allows a man to put a stick of butter up her ass, then fuck her in the ass of a friend’s bed, make a fucking mess and then not have the decency to take the sheets and simply wash them… That’s not enough! Then take the stick of butter and put it back in the fridge. It’s disgusting at a minimum. Kinky and exciting for my husband but repulsing for me…”

Susan studied Tony’s face while he nervously laughed and smiled. Tony had two women angrily looking intently into his face. Susan demanded an explanation.

“Babe… It was watery pasta that fell off the plate while I was watching hockey one night. That’s all it was plain and simple. I hate to pop Rick’s bubble but there was no anal sex… But I thought it would be a funny story. I can tell you this- Rick loses his man card for telling his wife something so lurid such as that. Somethings like that are better left untold between men…”

October 25, 2019

Make it Easier and Easier

Wilbur sat in living room of his apartment trying to watch METV on an old Zenith television that he had inherited from his mother before she died sometime ago. He also got a few bucks and a nice couch and Lazy Boy recliner too.

 

As a man of fifty years of age, Wilbur was a wreck.  He was morbidly obese; he needed medication for his blood pressure, for diabetes, for his enlarged prostate and his depression. He lived alone with three cats and a lot of mice. His apartment was nothing but tunnels from room to room. Once a year, the poor janitor would have to get a dumpster and clear out all the shit Wilbur collected so that he could pass Section 8, so that the owner of the building living off the board walk north of South Beach in Miami could get his guaranteed money from the government.

 

Wilbur called the Police to report that the new tenants above were constantly playing loud music, drinking and smoking weed. The compassionate dispatcher explained to Wilbur that all were legal now.

“I don’t know if you are aware that playing one’s music loudly is a culturally acceptable way to enjoy music today.  You may not enjoy it so loud but many do. It is no longer illegal to play loud music. Your complaining impedes on their ability to enjoy music in their own home the way they are accustomed to. Marijuana and alcohol is legal too. We will not send officers out for something like this. I suggest you get some ear buds and listen to whatever interests you… Okay? Have a nice day…”

Wilbur began to cry tears of frustration as all the glassware in his place rattled. He could hear all the lyrics to the song. It wasn’t quite Rap and it wasn’t quite singing. It was sort of whiny droning like a Gregorian chant with reverb, heavy bass and a pitch corrector.

“Bitch… How do I wanna kill you and love you jus the same. It a thin line between choking you and loving you, girl. You take my shit and I love you but I cain’t be with you and I need you… Yo pussy, you ass, making love an then sodomy, my homies say I need a lobotomy cause I love you girl, my precious dichotomy… Pain and ecstasy when you laying next to me… I jus might marry you after they arrest me…”

 

There was a knock at the door. It was his food delivery service. Two double Whoppers with Cheese, large fry and a large Diet Coke. The delivery guy was holding his nose while standing in the doorway of the apartment. The place was one big litter box and the pungent smell of cat urine was overwhelming. The cats cried as Wilbur ate his meal, watched Jerry Springer on mute while listening to progressive radio. The topics of the day ranged from three year olds declaring their gender identity as “Gender Fluid”, allowing profanity in public places and in the media for emphasis, the elimination of any presidents on money or the word god on anything in public. Wilbur thought about the time he ordered via Amazon some really large Victoria Secret lingerie and wore it for a while to see if it would make him feel pretty, attractive and possibly more positive about who he was. Wilbur walked around the apartment listening to music in peach colored fuzzy slippers, a peach robe, a peach brazier size 45 DD and matching thong. Wilber wore the outfit for days until he saw a bunch of females model lingerie in high heal shoes on television, hawking sexy lingerie and dongs. The pretty thing parading around in lingerie with her cute dimple holding a 12-inch black dong brought Wilbur to reality. They were so elegant and thin and Wilbur felt bloated. Wilbur reasoned that he might get some homophobic fireman unwilling to give him CPR someday because of how he was dressed and so he went back to wearing his Cleveland Browns jersey and a pair of sweat pants.

 

It was getting late. Wilbur spent a whole day doing not very much and tomorrow there will be about the same for him to do. He eased into his Lazy Boy chair and hooked up the catheter to a bag of peritoneal dialysis solution to cleanse his failing kidneys while he slept. He then hooked up CPAP device that helped with his sleep apnea. Leave it to Beaver was on. Wally and Beaver were called in from the garage where they were working on a soapbox car for a race. They sat down to dinner. Ward with his suit jacket off, slicked back hair with a hint of gray. June with pearls and bright lipstick and a smart dress with an apron on was doling out mashed potatoes. Wally and Beaver told their parents how “swell” the soapbox car was coming along. Wilbur fell asleep thinking that maybe way back then, that’s when things were really, really good. Nah… So many things to make life easier today and it keeps getting easier. After all easier is better, right?

October 9, 2019

Eluding Illusions

Filed under: america,elections,humor,humour,poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 4:17 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

Poll tax extortion truth abortion

Everything heard is a distortion.

Syntactical practical magical illusion

Pull the rabbit from the hat but it smells of skunk

 

What you think you thunk after reading

Subjective junk passed off as news of whatever slant of your choosing. Your side is pure, your side righteous while fighting the devious, oblivious, contentious opposition.

 

The latest sham, the latest scam rides the subliminal at a minimal. You think you understand, you think you comprehend. It’s designed to confuse you, program and use you… Thank you for your time… God bless you.

September 5, 2019

From Hockey to Yoga

Ali sat in a massage chair at a mall waiting for the Lululemon store to open. The name Ali is short for Alistair and Ali was tired.   How tired? He played hockey late night and then went out to have one with some friends after their game. Ali never got mad a the dumb decision making of the once a week guys on the team who panic when they get the puck and dump it or fire a shot at your head instead of making a pass. The same type of player will look you in the eye when you’re open and decide that they have a better option- a 1 on 3 perhaps with stone hands that will assuredly end in losing the fucking puck… Sorry, the thought of that makes me a little crazy. Where was I? Oh yeah…

So Ali was parked at the Lululemon store Saturday on Woodward in downtown Detroit. He sat in the car as his wife took their twin girls inside to try on over priced yoga pants while he watched a parade of Tigers fans walk towards Comerica Park to catch a game. There were bars on wheels where a dozen people pedaled a device around downtown while drinking and listening to Salsa Music. That seemed like a good time to Ali. Ali got a text.

 

SO THE GIRLS ARE A SIZE TWO AND THEY HAVE BLACK. IT WOULD COME OUT TO ABOUT $160.00 WITH TAX FOR BOTH OF THEM.

 

Ali would have liked to sit in the bleachers for $10.00 but he was sitting in the car waiting close to an hour while stick figure twin daughters tried on over priced Lycra. He had a response for his wife.

FUCK THAT… WE FIND SOMETHING AT THE GAP.

 

Ali’s wife had a response…

 

HOW MUCH DO YOU SPEND BUYING YOUR BUSTOUT BUDDIES DRINKS AFTER HOCKEY GAMES? HOW MUCH DO YOU TIP THE CUTE LITTLE THING BEHIND THE BAR? I’M GONNA GUESS THAT WITH THE COST OF HOCKEY, DRINKS AND TIPS, YOU’RE PRETTY GODDAMN CLOSE TO A COUPLE A PAIRS OF YOGA PANTS.

 

Ali stood his ground. He said no to the girls and settled for headbands and scrunches for their wrists and not their hair. The twins were disappointed. He took his wife and the girls to Mexicantown. The ladies wanted to go to Greektown. They ate their Mexican food in angry silence. When they got home, their 3-month-old puppy had shit all over his cage and smeared it all over his fluffy coat. The house smelled… Well, like shit. Ali’s wife weighed in while he cleaned shit off of the cage and she hosed a howling puppy in the backyard.

 

“You will go buy those fucking pants tomorrow… Hockey last night, hockey tonight and hockey tomorrow. Summer league playoffs, right? And possibly stopping off for one. Isn’t that what you guys say to one another? Let’s stop off for one and then you close the damn place. I have to hear how tired you are and how sore you are. Bullshit to that… You either go back downtown tomorrow or go to the mall. The girls asked for one thing each for their birthday and even though Lululemon seems expensive to you, I can tell you that it is less money than the CCM triple XXX asshole stick with the 100 flex and Crosby fucking curve you sent me into buy… I’m supposed to know that you’re a fucking lefty too? And so I go back to get a righty for a mere $250.00. I saw the price of that and almost fainted. You pitch a fit over $160.00 for your daughters’ pants. I have news for you- those yoga pants will last a lot longer than your overpriced stick that Crosby gets for free after you pay the fucking ransom for it… Are we clear on this?”

Ali got into a fight at the night game early in the 3rd period, took a shower and waited at the bar for the guys. He wanted to punch his wife but found someone on the ice to take it out on. Ali told the boys at the bar that they needed to cover him because he needed to buy yoga pants in the morning. He got home at 1am. The puppy got excited in the cage at the sight of Ali and not only shit but pissed. It was about 2am when he got the cage cleaned up. He picked the pup up and let him sleep on his chest while watching the NHL channel until he fell asleep on the couch. About 7am, his daughters came down the stairs like it was Christmas morning. Ali, smelling a bit like gin, snapped at his daughters and told them that they needed to get to school and that there would be no opening presents until after school. The girls were nearly in tears and his wife stood above him on the top step with folded arms and tight lips.

Ali decided to get to the mall up north and buy the damn pants. Two pairs. He guessed that 9am would be opening time but was wrong. He sat in the massage chair while old people walked around getting exercise before stores opened at 10am. Ali knew he was in the doghouse and constructed a beautiful text.

 

I FORGET A LOT OF SHIT THAT I EXPERIENCED IN LIFE. IT’S SORT OF LIKE SEEING A MOVIE YEARS AGO. I SAW IT A LONG TIME AGO BUT FORGOT MOST OF IT. I WILL NEVER FORGET THE DAY WE MARRIED OR THE DAY THE GIRLS WERE BORN. I REMEMBER EVERY DETAIL OF BOTH DAYS. THEY ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT DAYS IN MY LIFE. I AM GETTING THE PANTS AND WE WILL GO TO MEDIEVIL TIMES TONIGHT… THEY WILL BE IN BED BY 9:30. I WILL OPEN THAT EXPENSIVE BOTTLE OF WINE WE BOUGHT IN NAPA. I WANT YOU TO WEAR THAT BLACK NIGHT GOWN WITH THE DENTAL FLOSS UNDERWEAR. I WILL PEEL THOSE OFF OF YOU AND FLING THEM LIKE A SLINGSHOT ACROSS THE ROOM. I WILL LIGHT THE CANDLES AND PLAY THAT MUSIC YOU LIKE… I HAVE TOLD THE GUYS THAT I CANNOT MAKE TONIGHT’S GAME EVEN THOUGH IT IS A PLAYOFF GAME. YOU AND THE GIRLS ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN HOCKEY TO ME AND THAT IS SAYING A LOT. I LOVE YOU.

 

Ali loved hockey a lot and it might have been a tie between hockey and the women in his life but he did the right thing and for that, he wanted a pat on the ass. And every man wants one.

August 24, 2019

Raider Nation in a Green Bay Tent City

Wayne would watch the people traipse across his lawn during football season to the Mecca of NFL football stadiums- Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin. He wondered how he could extract some of that cash that was flowing freely on game days. Sell beer or peanuts? Allow people to park their cars on his front lawn? Sure that would be good for $20.00 and maybe two cars could fit over the sidewalk. The idea came to Wayne to put up a tent in his backyard and post it on Airbnb. Picture a tent, a big tent and then picture a house you would not want to go into.

Wayne was a Vietnam veteran who was 100% covered by the government for his exposure to Agent Orange. Wayne would walk through the jungle devoid of foliage after a plane would drop the defoliant. At the time, it was no problem. He was under 20 year of age and vibrant. As time went on, he had crazy mood swings, inability to concentrate and problems procreating. He lived in the house with a mail order bride who could not speak English. She could speak Thai. The house crawled with bugs and the bugs didn’t bother Daisy, the Thai wife of Wayne. She kept the house clean except for the room where Wayne slept with the three German Sheppard dogs. Wayne had a hard time sleeping and staying asleep so he slept in what would have been the family room if they had a family on a mattress on the floor. Wayne watched graphic porn and Westerns and slept with loaded guns under his pillow in the family room with the dogs. Daisy slept upstairs in a clean room with a clean bathroom. During the day, Wayne would rough fuck his wife who he could not speak with and then he would go to the gym. Oh he would scream things in English with the logic that if he yelled loud enough, she would understand.

 

Wayne was indifferent to football but understood that it was a religion in the area and thought to make enough money to pay for him and Daisy to go back to Thailand to see her sick mother.

There were blow up beds and beanbags and a black and white television that only pulled in two channels locally in the prestigious tent. There was a plastic pool in the backyard with a fire pit and he got Wi-Fi as the bonus for whoever decided to pay the $200.00 a night when all other options were not possible.

It was a beautiful August evening in Green Bay. The Packers were playing the Raiders. Jaime, who did jail time for offenses with an unregistered gun as a young man, learned automotive in jail and opened his own garage in Oakland. Jaime was that rare success story. He wore a black hair net under his Raiders hat with a straight brim cocked to the right. He wore a plain white tank top shirt under a starched white shirt with only the top buttoned. He wore baggy trousers and shiny black dress shoes. Jaime got a ticket to Milwaukee and hired an Uber driver for $200.00 to drive him 90 minutes north to Green Bay. There were no rooms to be had practically down to the Illinois border due to vacations and the Packer game. Jaime settled for the tent.

Jaime looked at the accommodations with his wife Teresa and made a declaration.

“Mother fucking pinchy Hillbilly motherfucker is charging $200.00 a night to fucking camp out in his backyard… And motherfuckers like him went to the moon? I say bullshit to this bullshit…”

Teresa was used to their small stucco ranch in Oakland that was kept immaculate. The lack of screens on the window and the barking of the dogs scared her. The naked lady magazines on the floor of the bathroom that had piss stains on the bowl, shit like concrete splattered on the bowl, whiskers in the sink and chunks of meat pulled from between Wayne’s teeth were stuck to the mirror.   Shock and horror.

After the game, Jaime stood in the backyard talking to his help at the garage back in Oakland. He was telling his guys to get right on one car and tell the old bitch with the Oldsmobile that they were waiting on a part. Wayne sat in the backyard in a lawn chair drinking a beer, glaring at Jaime, who was wearing a Ken Stabler jersey over his Cholo clothes. The Raiders won by a field goal. Wayne attempted to make conversation with his guest but it went wrong, as was often the case.

“Do you and your senorita come from Mexico or did you make the trek from Guatemala? You people all look the same to me. I went to Tijuana once back after the war. I got the clap down there banging the broad who starred in the donkey show… They still got the donkey show down there?”

The ridiculous stereotyping and ignorance incensed Jaime

“Motherfucker… Did I see your white ass in Deliverance? Where you the dude fucking that fat motherfucker in the ass? I was born in Oakland. I am as American as your white ass and let me ask you something, pendejo… How does a motherfucker like you land a 12-year-old bitch looking like fucking Beetlejuice? How much you spend on yo woman?”

Wayne laughed at his houseguest, excused himself and returned with a case of Wisconsin beer and a bottle of tequila. Over the course of six hours, Wayne learned what it was like to live on the mean streets of Oakland as a Mexican gangbanger who did jail time and then became an entrepreneur. Jaime learned what it was like to have served in a really bad war and what it was like to kill people, take drugs and just try to make it day to day in a foreign land as a teenager. Jaime learned what it was like for someone like Wayne to have done something for others that wasn’t appreciated or wanted. They found common ground outside an Airbnb tent in Green Bay… And lived happily ever after. The end….

August 3, 2019

New and Improving…

Motorized scooter headed fast towards me, grocery store jousting like Medieval Times towards the fat free, low sodium, stress reducing, diet drink with aspartame.

 

A moment of silence to reflect. A shot of Botox and a pill to get erect. You can wave like the queen on the float, trying to undo all the things you were thinking, last week when you were overdrinking.

 

Don’t let the bumper sticker define you, they might find you at a moment of weakness looking at your shoes giving crumbs to the birds.

 

You wanna know what I believe, what I think, what I’m doing? GPS my thoughts and interrupt it with an ad. “Take two of these with vodka when you get really sad…”

 

I’m virtually happy when I’m mad and smile with a frown with the ear buds in. It appears as though I’m talking to a friend, tread mill walking in lieu of progress until the end. Maybe Nietzsche could teach me, try to reach me and make sense of the modern day.

August 2, 2019

Saudade or BS in English

Elise waited for Bill for about an hour at the bar of a new gluten free, vegan restaurant in that hip new area of the city where anyone over the age of forty, looks out of place. She had two organic wines from a small winery in Oregon and felt safe knowing that there was no DDT, herbicides, pesticides or Agent Orange in her wine. She was rail thin with long, straight hair that she constantly put behind her ears as she read from her phone.

Bill posted pictures of himself on a dating site. Bill was not a thin mountain man looking guy. He was sort of a chubby man who loved to correspond with women he never met and had no intention in meeting. After hours of writing back and forth with Elise, poems and even a song he composed on his acoustic guitar, the time had come to meet. Bill forced the meeting when he descriptively described what he was going to do to when he got Elise in a bed. It went something like this-

 

I will cover the bed in rose pedals. Carlos Antonio Jobim will be playing softly. The aroma of lavender will fill the air from the candles that will alluminate the room just enough for you to see my face and I to see yours. Nothing will need to be said. I will start kissing your arms so gently that it will feel as though I’m hardly touching you. I will kiss your neck so softly while holding the base of your neck. I will gently kiss your top lip and then your bottom. We will become one. I will whisper sweet things in your ear in Portugues- É pau, é pedra,
é o fim do caminho
É um resto de toco,
é um pouco sozinho

 

Elise read and re-read the message that made her a bit moist every time she read it. Bill had no intention in showing. He knew no Portuguese, owned no candles and lived in the basement of his mother’s home. It was all just a game to him and he thrived on the correspondence. Nothing more. While she waited for Bill, he dropped the bomb on her. In Portuguese. Loosely translated- I found another woman. I ain’t coming.

 

Eu encontrei o amor da minha vida … tristeza profunda para lhe dizer.

 

 

The bartender who looked a little bit like the 1970’s relief pitcher, Rollie Fingers or Salvador Dali with a ridiculous waxed mustache. A skinny man with a healthy libido who saw an opportunity to land another good looking sad chick sitting at the bar having a melt down. He asked Elise if he could read what was written. Two more wines and beet salad on the house and the Uber driver whisked them away to the studio apartment of the bartender. He happened to play ac

acoustic guitar. He happened to know Jobim songs in English. His neighbor had a rose bush and he had one Yankee candle that he lit that smelled a bit like citrus that masked the smell of unwashed clothes. Was love found and nurtured from that day on? I would have to say no. There are many men who set the table just for other men to eat upon.

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