Blackhumouristpress's Blog

October 9, 2019

Eluding Illusions

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

July 17, 2019

America- 2020 Poor Vision

America 2020- two visions one schism.

One part Racism one part socialism and stir to a boil.

 

Bubble gum bubble gum in a dish which candidate do you pick? Attack the president and hope it sticks before the electorate gets too sick.

 

Some salute the flag and some kneel… this is a free country do what you feel… Unless you don’t think or look like me. In that case you’re the enemy.

 

Children, I have to warn you

Because I’ve been to California.

Needles is not just a city and there’s a reason the parks are so shitty.

 

The woke spoke and want to build moats along Nevada and near Philly. Those fly over red states are just dang silly. Gun loving hicks chasing queers in big trucks.   I just can’t believe those xenophobic fucks. They don’t even like Starbucks.

 

There’s no reason for a border

Things will work out and we’ll keep order.

We are making preparations, free college and reparations. How could the middle class have reservations?

 

AOC- can you see? We’re on the cusp of anarchy. All the people you might reach are in favor to impeach the president, undocumented residents, in an unprecedented age devoid of decorum a la Jerry Springer. It’s okay to shout when they speak and give them all the finger.

 

24-hour news propaganda that overloads the subliminal. At a minimal it looks like a mushroom cloud that covers the sun. Nowhere near where we once begun. Where do we begin?

July 3, 2019

The 4th Of July

 

Nike might be likely to incite thee.

Kaepernick the flag in the nick of time to celebrate independence. Mike Pence, polls twice a day and the electorate is on the fence. Toxic hate of illegal residents and on the other side against the president. I’ll take the fifth on the forth.

 

It’s legal now- take hit. Mellow out- that’s it. Drink, gamble and smoke. Now here’s the real joke- that skunky shit ain’t your granddaddy’s dope. You can deny the gateway as they search for the right way to balance the books and pay for it all. Want a preview? Here’s a clue of what they’d do for you- those that stood for the debate weren’t even second rate in the eyes that watched and glazed over.

 

Meanwhile over at the DMZ, Little Kim for a photo op, hoping a handshake might stop radiation over South Korea and Japan. Sweat trickles down my back, Iranian uranium is back on track. The time draws closer. It’s too hot, it’s too wet and maybe there is a problem at the border. Those poor people drinking water from a commode, while the nation angrily might implode like it did once back with Lincoln. It all just leaves me thinking. There will be a military review that’s not meant for you this 4th of July. A show of strength with troops and tanks like Red Square on May Day… May day… May day. We going down…

June 19, 2019

Going Against the Grain

Marsha wept as she rhetorically asked John where they went wrong with their son Gore. Gore seems like a crazy Goth name to give to their son at the time but actually he was named after Al Gore. Around the time of the 2000 elections, Marsha stopped dressing like Siouxie from Siouxie and the Banchees. She made John start dressing like a man who could make money instead of a over grown kid in ripped jeans and offensive Punk shirts from their high school days.

 

Marsha was a stay at home mom and the head of the PTO while John became a realtor. They had a swell home and every five years, they bought one that was even bigger and more expensive. They raised Gore to respect people of all colors and to not make fun of fat children or over the top effeminate men, not torture small animals ect… Marsha was way ahead of her time back in the early 2000’s. She explained that we are all equal in god’s eyes even though Marsha decided that there was no god. Marsha was raised Catholic but rebelled in high school. It was about the time she wore Doc Marten boots with her Catholic school skirt, died her hair jet-black and wore black lipstick. John met Marsha at a Black Flag show and fell madly in love with her. They had so much in common. They hated their parents, society, Ronald Reagan, Michael Jackson and Madonna. They were against anything that their post World War II parents were for but over time like most Americans- they had to get on board, become a cog in the wheel of the dynamo that is these United States.

Gore was against everything that his parents were for too. John and Marsha were Chicago Cubs fans and Gore liked the White Sox. John and Marsha liked their Punk Music from the 1980’s and Gore liked Country. John and Marsha got paunchy and sedentary and Gore ate healthy as a teenager and lifted weights until he was the biggest and strongest guy in the school. Gore wrestled, played football and ice hockey. John and Marsh had been anti-jock back in the day.

Gore had a graduation party with friends that were going off to the military or college. They hunted and owned rifles. They drove American cars and trucks. They all seemed more at home in Nebraska than suburban Chicago. Gore took off his shirt before jumping in the family pool. On his back was a tattoo the length of his back that had Donald Trump making the “OK” sign with a circle between the thumb and index finger. Trump is wearing a suit with a red tie and is winking. It read- Donald Trump 45th president of the United States of America. Made America great again.

 

Marsha was horrified. Her girlfriends from something called the “Fight Club”, a group of moms angry about the election and their husbands were in attendance. The members of the fight club sat drinking wine and eating chips with dip. They had been talking about mundane things until they could not help noticing Gore looking like an underwear model with his shirt off. He was a like a Greek statue with a six pack, strong arms and chest. What was tattooed to his back sent them heading for the exit. The moms protested the president by wearing cat hats downtown. They had lawn signs that said things like love is love and no human is illegal and science is real. There was no way they were staying any longer at the party.  Marsha was horrified and filled with anxiety of what might happen next.

Sitting in a lawn chair with a Fedora hat on, holding a beer was an old man. It was the father of Martha. The moms all left close to suddenly and said nothing to Martha other than they needed to go. Martha worried that one of them might go on an open forum of suburban moms and let everyone know that her son was a pariah, a xenophobe, homophobe, misogynistic racist, a Trump loving… Republican. Marsha was tearing eyed as boys and girls jumped into the pool listening to hillbilly music. Her father laughed. She turned to him and asked what possibly could be funny.

“Oh I was just thinking about when you brought John over for Christmas dinner way back when. He had a safety pin through his face and his Mohawk was orange. He wore a t shirt with cut off sleeves… I’ll never forget that shirt. It said Killing Joke and underneath it was the pope on a German military truck being given a Nazi salute by German soldiers on both sides. My mom, being a woman who never missed mass, cried for a month when John Kennedy was killed. She got up and left. She couldn’t believe that I let you date that guy. She told me that I had to stop you. How likely was that? Well you married him.”

“And what is so funny to you exactly? That my friends are going to make me wear a scarlet letter by posting shit on the internet?”

“Come now… You can’t control your kids entirely. They go against the grain… I think you should get a tattoo of Bernie Sanders shrugging his shoulders with the caption- What Hath God Wrought.”

March 13, 2019

The New and Improved Mayor

Guido Guiliana was known around his village just west of Chicago as “hizzoner”. Guido had been mayor for over twenty years and for years; he had a lock on things. The village pushed through a video gambling initiative and it just so happened that Guido’s friend Mel or Melsie happened to be a middleman for the leasing and operating of the gambling machines.

Twenty years earlier, the town was very blue collar and sort of old world white. There were union electricians, plumbers, police officers, firemen, builders and so on. Now it was becoming a place that millennials chose to move into to get away from city taxes. The Hispanics and blacks too were creeping in and low and behold, the upstart councilman who questioned the mayor’s collusion and steering on building contracts just happened to be black and an opposition mayoral candidate. This election was no longer a sure thing.

Now Guido was quite worried about losing that side money when a street needed paving or someone needed work done to their house and permits and shoddy work was passed while his shell company made money. The biggest cash cow was the video gambling.

Picture old women with oxygen tanks taking breaks from their addiction to smoke out in front of establishments with neon signs that read “gaming”. Yes, smoking with oxygen being piped into their noses. There were many patrons that fit that profile that were putting money into Guido’s pockets. Guido was making a penny on every dollar that was put into a gambling machine in town. It afforded Guido the money to buy cars and homes he didn’t need and to have side women.

Guido met a beautiful young thing at a nail salon run by a black woman whose clientele was primarily black. The mayor would go in to get his nails polished and glossed. For years, the woman who did his nails was a large and unattractive black woman, who smelled slightly of skunk, had wisps of facial hair and weazed when she exhaled. The new girl was truly smoking hot.

Felicity was young and had a young fit body. She was pretty and laughed at everything the mayor said. Felicity eventually went with Guido to fancy restaurants and clubs where other Italian mayors hung out and drank tropical drinks in a dimly lit lounge that was supposed to be Polynesian but was really Filipino. As time went on, Guido took trips all over the country with Felicity and put her up in an apartment that he could spend the night at periodically. Felicity began too look at the situation and wanted the full benefit of spreading her legs for the mayor. She wanted the house, the cars, the title and so on. What Felicity didn’t know was that the mayor was helped in many ways by his wife’s father who was a mob guy and so he could not dump his wife for a black chick, a young black chick, without drama or death. Felicity allowed herself to get pregnant and have a beautiful baby boy that was sort of a caramel color. Felicity also was smart and thought ahead at all times.

Mrs. Guido Giuliani or Luciana or Lulu as most called her, had a clothes boutique with a café attached that Guido had set up for her so that she would have a little something. She hired a pretty young black woman by the name of Sue. Lulu would come home and talk about Sue and how helpful she was and what a good and tireless worker she had. Guido was not putting two and two together as they say. One day he got the surprise of his life.

“Honey, the girl who works for me is going to stay with us for a little while. She had been living in one of those horrible places you rent by the hour with a small child. I thought we could give her the sub-basement where my mother lived…”

Sue… I mean Felicity walked in the house and extended her hand for the mayor to shake it while holding the toddler in her left arm. The baby pointed at Guido and said “dada”. Guido could feel his heart beat in his eyes and began to sweat. Sue corrected her young son.

“That’s not dada… He looks a little like dada but you know what they say… Y’all look a lot alike.”

The situation was tortuous for Guido. There he was trying to win a close election and keep his companies alive that serviced the village exclusively and now his side bitch had maneuvered her way into the house. There was very little Guido could say or do and Sue was masterful at playing the game. Sunday dinners were special times.

“I’ve always wanted to see the world… You know place like Miami, New Orleans and Hoboken.”

Guido had been at a mayoral convention in Hoboken. Felicity knew this because she was there. It was a game where Guido had to hide Anne Frank but the only problem was that Anne Frank was right out in the open, with a child and another name. Guido upon talking to his drinking buddies and other Italian small village mayors, decided to just roll with it. Frankie, the mayor of one town over, put into terms that made sense to Guido.

“Guido… You fucked up. No other way to put it… Waddya goanna do? Apologize and cry like a little bitch? You wanna stand at a press conference crying, your wife crying, your adult children crying and have the black chick standing with the press holding your baby like it was the fucking Maury Povich Show? Fuck it… She ain’t busted you out yet… Just go wid it. It’s a new era. Anything fucking goes… Just go wid it.”

If you ever go to Chicago and go a few miles west, you’ll find a really racially cool mayor in a village that used to be old school but is becoming cool, hip and cutting edge.   If you see the mayor, say hello. He’s really a good guy and one day, you might need him and he might need you. You never know…

December 29, 2018

We Like Ikes

Like the Amish, the Ikes were a mysterious bunch of people that people knew very little about. What they knew about the Ikes is that they wore nothing, watched nothing, and drove nothing, furnished nothing in their homes beyond the year 1960.

A rich man bought up the land on two small islands off the coast Florida on the Gulf of Mexico side and sold parcels to anyone who would submit to living as people did sixty years ago. No cell phones or computers and people drove old cars in pristine condition. The kids if they were part of the greasers, wore slicked back hair and listened to Rockabilly, drove hot rods and motorcycles. They terrorized the sochies or sociables as they were called. It was all pretty quaint. Each island had a high school and people had little shops and supported one another. They watched old movies in the one theater or the drive in theater near the ocean. There were popshops where kids ate burgers and had malts and danced. Life was simple and non chaotic. Like the Amish, at the age of 18, children on the island could go into the world and live for a period of six months and at the end of six months, they could either leave, never to return or they would return, start a family, find a job and live happily ever after.

Tom and Mary, brother and sister, twins actually, headed out in a 1951 Mercury convertible to Miami. They rented a room on South Beach in an old Art Deco Hotel on Collins. They ate at the Versailles in Little Havana, went and danced to Salsa music at night at Bayside, they took in a Miami Marlins baseball game and at night, found a bar that would let them in to drink even though they were underage. In the bar, women danced on the bar wearing barely nothing and music pulsated and was so loud. Tom kind of liked it and Mary kind of hated it. Mary wore a nice summer dress that went beneath her knee with a matching headband and saddle shoes. Tom wore a summer suit and kept his hair in a flat top. He had white shoes and a straw Fedora hat. Tom and Mary did the same things every day and nights for weeks. One night, a buxom Cuban girl danced with Tom. They sat down and had Mojitos at a table on the sidewalk. The woman had long nails and fake eyelashes. She split her time between talking to Tom and looking at her phone and answering text messages. A group of other young people came up and sat with them at their table. They convinced Tom and Mary to come with them to an all night party where they both drank until they passed out. They woke up with no money on them as the hot sun beat down on them on the front lawn of the Fountain Blue. They thought it was the alcohol but they had actually been slipped a date rape drug or a mickey as it was called on the island. Tom had enough gas to get them home and so they drove the three-hour trip back to the island. Tom and Mary went straight to bed and woke up the next morning to find their mother and father in the kitchen. Dad was reading the island paper and mom was making pancakes. The twins plopped down in the assigned kitchen chairs. Tom was wearing a Florida Marlins t-shirt and his frost tips caused his dad to stare at him with a furrowed brow as he puffed on his pipe.

“Gee Pop… I guess it’s just one of those things you have to see, touch and smell to understand…” said Tom, as he bit into his buttery, syrupy pancakes.

“They are unhappy people,” said Mary.

“Oh is that so, Pumpkin? Tell me why,” said father.

“They’re fat and loud and profane. They’re dumb by choice and lazy. They are glued to devises that they carry in their hands and rarely look at one another. They love to take pictures of themselves and want everyone to think that they’re happy and they’re not,” said Mary.

“Well now you know.” Said mother as she put out scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

“You know the guy who became president? We never hear much about him here except maybe the good stuff like unemployment and proud to be American and all. If you turn the television on out there, it’s incredible… I followed it on television like a soap opera…”said Tom.

“So what did you hear, sport?”

“It would take hours to really elaborate but it appears as though the president won the election and nobody thought it would happen and so those that didn’t like him, claimed the Russians helped him win and so the attorney general did something called recusing, which means he did nothing and they got the guy under him to assign someone to look into the president and Russian involvement. Two guys went to jail that did not do anything with the Russians but didn’t pay taxes and told some fibs to the FBI… The FBI meanwhile hated the president and the head of the FBI gave documents to a friend so that friend could go to the papers and let everyone know that the president tried to tell the head of the FBI to not go after this general who was on the president’s staff. So one of the FBI investigators was sending messages on one of those gadgets that they all have in their hands at all times, telling his girlfriend who also worked for the FBI, that he would stop the president from being president. Meanwhile, the president who has a really pretty wife, had relations with another pretty woman a long time ago and he gave her money not to talk about it… Well guess what? She talked about it… And now they say he used money to run for president to pay the girlfriend not to talk. Thing is that he has billions of dollars and probably just used lunch money to make her be quiet. Now those that hate the president, want to impeach him and those who love him, don’t care what he does. Everyone is so angry right now out there… It really is crazy,” said Tom.

Nobody said anything for a minute. They all just sort of thought about what Tom just said. Mother poured everyone some orange juice and asked them all a rhetorical question.

“Golly what a mess! Could you imagine any of this happening to Eisenhower?”

The question made them all laugh.

April 5, 2018

The Truth…

Reading all the news that’s fit to print like Pravda- It’s true, I believe distortion, verbal contortions and I resist reality. Where I live I pay the taxes and raise my fist against the axis of President Aprentice and the GOP because you all have a right to live with me- give me the bill- It’s your right! That’s what I get for being white…
I’m thinking of moving to soviet California and hold a sign at the lower border. “Welcome… sorry for the English… I never learned another language.”
The weather today… stormy with a chance of Daniels. A sexual collusion and the conclusion by Anderson Cooper? Consentual with no protection- Maybe we need another special prosecutor… I recuse myself myself from the fluff.
Oh you’re worried about a nuclear war? That is what the generals are for… A Marshall Plan for Little Kim… The president and Dennis Rodman are going to meet him. Picture Bjork singing with a lot of delay, blue jeans and Bourbon and cigarettes on a sunny day. Chinese winning a nobel prize. America strong! And Chinese wise! TMZ at the DMZ- sound bite news for the ADHD… Fuck it… Put on the Khardasians.
Angst a blue and red state of mind. All we want is the truth… Like a weird German once quoted- “Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.”

June 10, 2017

Covfefe

It’s a noun.  It’s an adjective.  This is my objective and subjective
covert midnight objective.  For those who think they know me- Covfefe.

In Pennsylvania I’m the steel, coal in West Virginia, in Michigan I’m
the wheel, in Wisconsin the cheese and the real deal. Rushing to try
to stop me or Russian to try and block me.  I’d like to say fuck you.
Instead I’ll say Covfefe.

Yes I’m the commander, the chief and El Jefe I can tweet-
lasejfldkfjalsd and tell you it’s Icelandic.  Anyone who tweets this
late is manic but I have plans for you so…  Covfefe.

Homey- You don’t know me or own me.  Trying to stop me by building a
wall with James Comey.  It won’t slow me on my way to infamy. What’s
the conclusion?  No collusion.  Democratic arsonists smell smoke and I
think it’s a joke.  They want to break me, bend me, ABC, CBS and CNN
me…  Bitch, get out the way- Covfefe

Paris ain’t Pittsburg, London or Hamburg.  I got news for the French,
Dutch and Merkle…  You’ll find I’m a little tougher than former
President Urkel.  I sleep well and what you think of me matters very little
to me…  So now you know… Covfefe.

May 18, 2017

Yelping Mr. Trump

Reince Priebius woke early and got to bathroom and plopped down to
relieve himself before anyone else in his family woke.  While sitting
on the commode, Reince scrolled through dozens and dozens of negative
Yelp reviews attached to President Trump.  It was explained to the
president that the people who run Yelp, had a love affair with the
previous president.  It was no mistake that Obama had 4 ½ stars and
that Trump stood at ½ of one star.  Reince, Ivanka and his son-in-law
Jared Kushner all tried to convince the president to ignore the fact
that all the negative reviews were readily available for the public to
read and that the positive ones were hidden from view.  What was the
reason for so many positive reviews hidden from sight?  The positive
reviewers were new to Yelp and to the political arena and so their
point of views were not taken into serious consideration.  The
president spent all day working, occasionally taking time to eat some
ice cream or play Golf a little, but mostly studying political shows,
reading papers, getting briefs and meetings after meetings.  Most
people’s heads would explode by the fact that at all hours of the day,
there were several things going on at once.  Picture a plumber fixing
a leaking pipe and with each repair, two or three more leaks surface.
A weaker person would rationalize that maybe someone else should do
the plumbing and beat their head against the wall trying to repair
only to be mired in a sloppy mess.  Late night when everyone or at
least most people were sleeping, the president would read up on his
Yelp reviews and would rebut in the wee hours of the morning.

I DIDN’T VOTE FOR THE PRESIDENT AND REALLY ANYONE THAT DID IS A
COMPLETE BACKWARD IDIOT.  IT’S PLAIN TO SEE THAT THIS MAN IS A PUPPET
OF THE RUSSIANS.  OUR ELECTION HAS BEEN HACKED BY THE RUSSIANS AND THE
CABINET HAS BEEN FILLED WITH LAP DOGS FOR PUTIN.  IT’S OBVIOUS TO
EVERYONE THAT THIS IS ANOTHER WATERGATE- RACHEL, WASHINGTON D.C.

IS THIS THE SAME RACHEL FROM MSNBC?  IS IT?  LET’S JUST SAY IT COULD
BE.  HACK?  YOU WANNA USE THE WORD HACK.  THE ENTIRE PRESS OF THE
COUNTRY SAVE VERY FEW OUTLETS IS RUN BY LYING, SLAVENLY HACKS WHO PASS
OF THEIR OWN AGENDA FOR NEWS.  COLLUSION?  ABSOLUTELY.  THE DNC,
CLINTONS, OBAMA, RICE, COMEY, CLAPPER, SLAPPER, BEATER AND WHACKER…
HAVE I LEFT ANYONE OUT IN THIS CIRCLE JERKING GOLDEN SHOWER OF HITS?
YOU GIVE ME ONE STAR?  I GIVE YOU A SINGLE FINGER SALUT.

Reince continued to sit on the toilet, toes tingling and his butt
cheeks nearly asleep as he scrolled over dozens of replies to negative
comments written nearly anonymously to the public.  Reince knew it was
cowardly and hard to combat.  Reince’s opinion was just to ignore it
all and go about the business of trying to fix the immense issues of
this country.

AFTER THERAPY AND LOOKING FOR A JOB AND PLACE TO LIVE IN CANADA, I’VE
DECIDED THAT THIS IS MY COUNTRY AND I NEED TO FIGHT FOR MY COUNTRY AND
STOP ANY AND ALL WHO BELIEVE THAT TRUMP IS THEIR PRESIDENT.  THE
PRESIDENT MUST BE STOPPED EVERYWHERE POSSIBLE AND THERE IS AN ARMY OF
TRUE AMERICANS LIKE ME WHO WILL ENSURE THAT IMMIGRANTS CAN LIVE AMONG
US, LGBT, PROGRESSIVES, PRO-CHOICE AND SO ON.  YOU WILL BE STOPPED,
SIR.  I CAN’T GIVE YOU NO STARS BUT I WOULD LIKE TO. TERRY, SEATTLE,
WASHINGTON.

TERRY.  I’M ENVISIONING A MAN AND A WOMAN ALMOST EQUALLY, HIDDEN
BEHIND A CARNIVAL MASK, PUNCHING VETERANS AT TRUMP RALLIES, STOPPING
CONSERVATIVE SPEAKERS FROM EXPRESSING THEIR CONSTITUIONAL RIGHT TO
FREE SPEECH ON COLLEGE CAMPUSES THAT RECEIVE GOVERNMENT FUNDS. WHEN
I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS WHOLE DOG AND PONY SHOW OVER WHETHER I SHOULD
BE IMPEACHED OR NOT, I’LL GO GET THAT FAT CHILD IN NORTH KOREA, PARADE
HIM AROUND WITH A BALL GAG AND THEN THROW HIM THE IN SAME PRISON
GENERAL NOREIGA LIVED IN SOME TWENTY YEARS AGO.  I HAVEN’T EVEN ROLLED
UP MY SLEEVES YET TO UNDO THE MESS DROPPED AT MY FEET.  DON’T GET IN
FRONT OF A TRAIN.  YOU CAN’T STOP IT OR SLOW IT DOWN BUT YOU CAN GET
MOWED OVER.  TRUMP IS  COMMANDER AND THE CHEF AND BELIEVE ME, YOU
WON’T WANT WHAT DADDY’S GOT COOKING.

“Good morning, Mr. President…  Yes, I should be in within the hour.
Tell me, sir…  What time did you go to sleep last night? 2:30 ish
eastern time?  Wow…  I don’t know how you do it, sir.  It’s not even
6am…  Sir, if you could mull this around before I get in and we can
discuss it further…  When you get back from oversees, we should really
plan an American road trip.  Visit the heartland.  Stir the base up.
Nuremburg style rallies with millions of supporters in cities like
Tulsa or Louisville.  Give it some thought, sir.  You’re at your best
when you’re surrounded by those that truly love you… “

May 12, 2017

Trying to Remember

I brought a photo album that my grandmother put together over to where
she now lives which is a waiting room for death.  Assisted living is
what they call it.  It was nursing and convalescent when I was a boy.
You walk in and a room full of old people look up to see if you are
the person that they have been waiting and hoping to see.  I’m not the
guy they been waiting to see.
So my grandmother has essentially been my mother my whole life and my
mom was kind of like a mom and not like a mom at the same time.
Anyone 16 years old, should never have a child and so I don’t totally
blame her for lapses.  I go to see my grandmother when I can.  Within
the last three years, her husband died, her dogs were put to sleep and
her house was sold.  Dementia has been taking hold of her and it get’s
stronger all the time.
“Did you see my mother wandering the hallway?  She’s got two guys
that she runs around with and if they ever catch her with the other,
there’s gonna be a fight.”
“No, grandma…  I didn’t see her…  I brought this nice photo album of
your garden and your dogs.”
She looked at it as if she had never seen it before.  She thought the
dogs looked cute.  A Bassett Hound and a Dachshund, both became
adopted pets which I initially purchased for my adult daughter when
she was a girl.  It got me to thinking, how will I chronicle my life?
Nobody takes pictures anymore and presents a slideshow on Christmas or
Easter.  You take pictures on your phone and upload it to social media
and when your phone falls in the shitter, those pics are gone forever.
The only thing I hate more than taking pictures, is being in pictures.
So putting together photo albums like my grandmother did going back to
her youth, World War II, the birth of my dad and uncle, my life and
then my children’s youth, won’t be possible.  I guess I’ll need to
write shit down and let one of my kids read this stuff back to me and
ask if this stuff really happened.  I’ve had an interesting life but
then again, a lot of people have also.  They can write their own
fucking blog.  This one is mine.
To look at me, you might not guess right off that I play ice hockey .
After a few minutes, you might notice scars on my face and a cracked
front tooth and wonder how I got so beat up around the face.  Some
people ask.  Most never do.  You might never guess that I have an
upright bass and play Ska/Reggae music, sing and write the music I
play.  I am fluent in French and have surprised a few people when the
French language is spoken and I join in.  I really don’t like French
culture, French people and I’ve never really wanted to go to France.
I’ve used it on visits to Martinique and Quebec.  I have three
children.  Two by a woman of African descent by way of Cuba and one by
the other by way of Jamaica.  I know you’re thinking… Ah yes.  Black
women, Reggae…  Of course.  The woman I’m with now is white and blonde
and I’m not liberal in my political views.  With that said, let’s talk
about hockey.
B texted me and told me that for sure there were going to be two
goalies at the rink near downtown.  He’s a cop on the night shift and
I own a restaurant/bar so we play pick-up hockey during the day time.
We usually play at a rink near the airport but I decided to meet him
out at the rink just west of downtown.  The Zamboni guy whose name I
never learned, recognized me and asked me where I’ve been.  I used to
play at the rink two to three times a week.  I found skates that were
more to my liking and so I stopped going to the downtown rink.
“Everyone is at J’s skate…  You know that.  Nobody comes here on
Wednesdays.  Just then M walked in.  M, is a bus driver and is black
and a goalie.  He is a virtual Rain Man with statistics of all hockey,
NHL and minor league.  He has a voice like the Chef from South Park.
He could sing, Old Man River, with his deep baritone voice.  Next
walked in B and his friend K.  K just finished playing midgets about a
year ago.  K has good hands and a quick shot.  I talked to him about
playing juniors in the past while sitting on the bench, waiting for
our shift.  K says that he just wants to get on with life and that he
doesn’t think that juniors will lead him anywhere.  One more guy
showed up and so I decided to stay.  Two on two half ice with a
goalie.  A good work out with a lot of passing and turning.  My game
is one of passing.  I believe that there can never be enough passing.
Good things come from passing.  There is a time when one should pass
and when one has to pass.  Those that know the difference are good and
smart hockey players.  K and I played against B and young guy wearing
a practice jersey from a USHL team.  He was young, average height, had
a good shot, good speed and good hands.  He was probably no better
than K.  I covered B and K covered the USHL kid.  I passed and dropped
down to create a cycle in the corner.  If you’re not familiar with a
cycle, picture that you have the puck and you’re skating towards the
goalie.  Rather than shoot the puck at the goalie, you make a right or
left turn and skate up the boards towards the blue line.  You then
look over your shoulder and drop the puck behind you along the boards
to your team mate that is coming up the boards behind you.  You make
that pass and then circle back so that you’re now following the guy
who was just following you.  He can drop it again or cut to the net
and get a pass on his way to the net.  I did this over and over and
scored a bunch of times.  I wondered how a kid from the USHL and B who
has played over twenty years since he was a kindergartener, could not
pick up on what I was doing.  We wore ourselves out doing this for
about an hour.  I looked up in the stands and little four and five
year olds were watching us.  I looked up to a small boy sitting next
to his mother and asked him if he was faster than me.  The mother
smiled and the boy nodded.
The weather was just warm enough to lay my equipment out in the
backyard.  Nothing is better to kill the stink and sweat of wet hockey
equipment better than the sun.  It’s not a fact, just my opinion.  I
walked over to a little Mexican restaurant with the newspaper and had
huevos rancheros…  The newspaper opinion section was down on Trump for
firing the head of the FBI.  The whole Democratic Party is calling for
a special prosecutor to look into Trump’s involvement with the
Russians and the Russian’s involvement with our election.  Interesting
to note that the same politicians who were astounded by James Comey’s
firing, were all calling for his head back when he was investigating
Hillary Clinton’s missing emails, use of a private server with
government business.  Today, Trump is painted to be just like Nixon.
Nixon wanted the special prosecutor fired and had to fire someone who
refused to do the firing on his behalf.  Nixon found a man named Bork
who fired the special prosecutor.  Bork was shot down as a supreme
court justice nominee due mostly to being the hatchet man for Nixon.
So Trump fired a man the Democrats felt  had done too much and that
the Republicans felt had not done enough.  Sometimes when you’re a
nice guy, it backfires and everyone hates your and finds you inept.
Better to be respected than loved.
I finished lunch, went back to the restaurant and got ready for the
night.  Washed left over dishes from the night before, bar and dinner
dishes.  Washed the floor, set tables and then went upstairs to my
apartment and practiced the bass in preparation for a gig Friday night
at my own place.  I had a rather quiet Groupon night.  Two young Asian
girls as cute as could be.  They’ll need to be carded for the next
thirty years since they look like junior high girls now.  They had a
charcuterie plate and a few empanadas and giggled a lot through their
chatter.  Another couple sat at the bar and agonized over which wine
to buy.
“What can you tell me about this wine?”
I make up plausible bullshit.  Truth is that 95% of the people who
come in cannot tell the difference in any of the wines.  They sniff,
they swirl and it’s all something they learned in Napa.  The husband
was chubby and kind of pushy.
“What do you have that’s a special?”
I’m always ready for that question.
“Everything on the menu is really special to me…”
I know what he meant.  Looking for something for next to nothing with
his Groupon.  His hips were wider than his shoulders and he was sort
of a whiny bitch.  His wife talked to him about the fact that he stole
her pillow a few times during the night.  I’m behind the bar and feel
compelled to ask at least one question.  His wife answers while he
studied his phone.  She seemed nice and genuine and out of his league.
That happens a lot.
The last table was a chubby woman across from a MILF.  The MILF
looked like she just got done with a yoga class.  The chubby woman
looked frumpy and looked at her friend while ordering instead of
making eye contact with me.  They ate a little, drank a little, paid
their bill and then sat for an extra hour.  I often wonder what  women
can talk about one on one for over two hours.  I was just happy as
hell that it wasn’t a Thursday because Thursday night I go to play
hockey after closing up and two women loitering for an extra hour is a
definite hockey cock block.
They left and I turned off all the lights to the bar and put on the
Anaheim/Edmonton game and ate and had some wine.  When one of the
Anaheim skaters skated in front of his net, in front of his goalie and
the Edmonton forechecker shuffleboarded the shot past the Anaheim
goalie who was just standing their like a scare crow, I thought
Edmonton was on it’s way.  On paper, they have almost what Edmonton
had beck in the eighties with Gretsky, Messier, Coffey and Grant Fuhr.
The Ducks woke up and crushed Edmonton in the second period and
stymied them in the third…  Dommage.  I’m hoping for Ottawa but feel
like Pittsburg is going to repeat.
Slapshot line of the day- Maurice, you make sick when you talk like that..
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