Blackhumouristpress's Blog

July 12, 2012

Romney Meets the NAACP

Filed under: humor,Mixed Race,obama,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 3:54 pm
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                As Mitt Romney took the podium in front of a gathering of the NAACP, the song, It’s Your Thing by the Isley Brothers blared through speakers throughout the auditorium.  Mitt smiled and waved as he waited for the song to stop while gripping the podium with white knuckles with his left hand.

                “ I feel a bit like Fidel Castro facing the John Birch Society, Jesse Jackson at a Klan rally or W in front of …  A room full of scholars.”

                There was a polite chuckle from the audience at Mitt’s attempt at easing into an uncomfortable situation.

                “There is the saying that one is damned if they do and damned if they don’t and really that is the boat I am in today.  Nobody likes to waste one’s time or waste one’s mind…  For that really is a terrible thing.  I thank you for the opportunity to speak to you today and I’m not really sure what I am here for except to provide cannon fodder for the press to exploit the fact that I am nervous and out of my element.  I don’t think there is one person in this room who will be voting for me and I can respect that.  I could explain to you the differences between me and my opponent but to beat a dead horse is silly really.  I believe in being frank and direct.  Call a club a club and a …  shovel a shovel…”

                Mitt took a drink of water and momentarily studied stern looking faces and folded arms.  He took a deep breath and waited for the teleprompter to illuminate the substance of what he needed to say to the conventioneers.  The teleprompter appeared to be off.  Mitt had no notes in front of him and the screen was black. No pun intended.  A sudden moment of panic caused his body to feel flush.  His heart pounded, his hands slightly trembled.  The words flowed from his mouth like water from a broken pipe or watery feces from an asshole.

                “The Republican Party started more or less due to the fact that we believed you people should not have been slaves and servants to anyone.  A white man or any other sort of man other than black or white…  It has been since the Great Depression that things have changed for people of color…  Your color that is and the Republican Party.  With us riding the crest of a second Great Depression, I believe it is time for you to return home…Like it was during the Civil War… In that I mean that the ties between Negros and Republicans was strong and could and should be again as I stand before you today.  Nearly four years of hope and change that has not arrived and I’m hoping you may change your minds or open your minds up to a change that could help keep hope alive and even flourish and prosper.  I still believe in this country where if you assert  yourself, you can be anything you really want.  Look at Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice and Clarence Thomas…  They should be shining beacons for all people and your race in particular.  They beat the Bell Curve and showed that you don’t need to be a misogynistic Rap artist to make it in this land…  You might not see it this way but among white people, Mormons are a bit of a pariah.  We were chased out and discriminated against going back to Joseph Smith.  There are still those that would rather vote for the other guy strictly over my religious beliefs.  I believe I understand what it is to be a minority and to be discriminated against…  the more things change, the more they really don’t change all that much…”

                Suddenly the teleprompter began to work again.   A light went back on in Mitt’s head as if there had been some sort of a juggling, bumbling comedy act  by candlelight that gave way to an awesome light show, with glamour, glitz and slight of hand.

“If equal opportunity in America were an accomplished fact, then a chronically bad economy would be equally bad for everyone, Instead, it’s worse for African Americans in almost every way…  And that is why I am going to eliminate every non-essential, expensive program that I can find — and that includes Obamacare.”

            And with that, the afternoon tea party with the NAACP concluded. Fait accompli.

February 29, 2012

Amigos in America


            The Ortega’s, no relation to Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua at least none that any of them know, came from a small town in Mexico.  The town that the Ortega’s come from in Mexico is not one that American vacationers would flock to overeat, over drink and generally over indulge in.  After the birth of his third child, Ronaldo Reagan Ortega, Javier packed up his family and crossed the Rio Grande and made his way up to the city of Chicago.

 The idea to move to the United States came to Javier when his wife gave birth to a sandy haired blue eyed boy that he named after the United States President that he admired so much.  Javier thought that it was fantastic that a man, who made pretty bad movies, could go on to be a governor of a state and then become president of one of the wealthiest and most powerful countries in the world.  Way back in Javier’s ancestry, there was blond haired, blue eyed German man who was his great-great grandfather who had immigrated to Mexico.  Javier took the recessive trait that surfaced in his son as a sign from god- go live with the white people in America.

Javier washed cars, drove trucks and cleaned tables as an undocumented illegal alien.  He did an outstanding job of saving money to help his children as they got older.  There was Socorro who was tall and thin with straight and long jet black hair with high cheek bones.  Socorro was the eldest and the rebel among the three children. Socorro had moved to Los Angeles and married a Low-rider gangster who gave up gangbanging to customize classic cars for other Low- riders.  Socorro had two children and lived in a small house not far from LAX airport in Los Angeles.  Nina was the middle child who was quiet and always there to help family at all times.  Nina bought a home with her husband in Chicago and moved her parents in with them.

Ronaldo was handsome and fair skinned.  He resembled those European actors in the  Spanish speaking novellas and had the ability to blend in with Anglo looking people without a second look.  Ronaldo was an outstanding student that finished medical school, became a citizen of the United States and had a birthday all in the same month. 

Ronaldo had a girlfriend named Jennifer who was a complete physical package in the eyes of most men.  She was pretty on an athletic frame with a nice set of breasts and perky posterior.  Jennifer was high maintenance among women who are considered high maintenance.  Jennifer had to have all the passwords to Ronaldo’s emails, Facebook account and cell phone.  Jennifer chose all of Ronaldo’s clothes, told him where to go to medical school, what car to buy.  Slowly over time, all of Ronaldo’s childhood friends were slowly phased out and those with money and title moved in to become Ronaldo’s newly sanitized friends.  Ronaldo’s family said very little about their concern that Jennifer, a rich sheltered woman was reinventing the pliable Ronaldo into something that was not Latino.  The family’s fear was that they were going to lose their brother and son.

Jennifer rented a coach bus to take Ronaldo on a tour of his thirty favorite places in Chicago with his newly adopted friends.  Jennifer had planned on renting out a banquet hall for the celebration of becoming a citizen, a doctor and having his thirtieth birthday.  Ronaldo asked Jennifer to have the party at the culmination of the six hour tour on the coach bus at his sister Nina’s house so that he could see his family for his birthday.

Nina and their parents didn’t feel slighted that Jennifer did not invite them to go along on the coach bus to tour places that she felt were Ronaldo’s favorite places.  Socorro had driven in with her husband for the celebration in a sharp 1964 Chevrolet Impala that was lowered three inches from the ground and painted a sparkly red color with spoke wheels and a hand painted sign on the back window that said, “Chavo Y Socorro”.  Socorro voiced her displeasure about Jennifer’s controlling nature to her parents and sister but promised to hold her tongue.

At a few minutes after six in the evening.  Thirty loud, drunk people filed out of the coach bus and into the home on Nina.  The crowd was mostly white and well to do.  The new friends of Ronaldo devoured all the food and drank more alcohol.  They were drunk, loud and obnoxious.  Nina, Socorro and their parents looked out of place in their own home among the partying people.  Jennifer, who was wearing a tight black dress, climbed on top of a coffee table in the living room and banged a spoon against her beer bottle until everyone stopped talking and listened to her.  Jennifer sucked in her quivering lips and put her right hand against her chest.  She began to cry as she gave her dedication speech to the entire room.

“I just want to say that I am so proud of the love of my life Ronaldo who has come so far from where he was to where he is now.  From a little town that nobody ever heard of in Mexico to become an American citizen just like all of us.  Very soon Ronaldo will do his residency at Children’s Hospital here in Chicago.  I want to thank all of you for being here to celebrate a special time for both Ronaldo and I…  I really love you all so very much…”

The crowd cheered and chanted Ronaldo’s name.  Friends raised shot glasses and bottles of Mexican beer.  The room had the feel of a frat party that was about to get out of hand.  Drunken urban professionals showed up at Nina’s home to eat and drink more.  Socorro could no longer hold back.  Socorro stood up on her chair and banged a fork against a bottle of beer.  A few men whistled as the shapely woman with blue eye liner stood up to say a few words to the group of friends.

“I want my brother to know that his family has always been proud of him and have always known he is special.  He is special not because he looks like Europeans but because he has a good heart.  I hope as he enters and is accepted into the world of Caucasian people, that he always remembers that little town he was from in Mexico that I have heard of as has my sister and my parents.  I hope my brother keeps in mind to be American does not mean to not be Mexican.  I hope my brother remembers that while blacks were once sent to the back of the bus in favor of white people during this black history month, Mexicans today weren’t invited or even allowed on the bus.  I hope you all enjoyed the authentic Mexican food you ate today and will be considerate and clean up your mess before you leave because these Mexicans who live here are not servants or busboys today.  I hope you all keep in mind when you leave here and are safely back in your safe suburbs among all the people who look just like you…  The day is coming when you will all have to recognize that we are here, we are growing and we are not going anywhere.  Every time you see a nice front lawn, every time you eat at a restaurant, think about the people who make that possible…  Think about that when you’re drinking your Coronas on Cinco de Mayo and think about that now that you’ve adopted my blue eyed brother as one of your own…  I ask you all to raise your glasses and repeat after me…  Viva Mexico, putas.”

And they lived happily ever after.  Separately.

November 2, 2011

Cleveland de Brasil

Mathew, Mark and Luke all lived in a gated community on a hillside that overlooked the Pacific Ocean.  All three of the men were part of the hated 1% of the United States that appeared to be flourishing off of the backs of those being displaced from homes and depleted of savings.
            Mathew and Mark had become friends with Luke and his wife Maria a few years back after Luke made a killing buying and selling real estate.  Luke’s name was actually Joao, which is John but decided to go with the middle name of Lucio or Luke. Understand?  Orange County in California saw home prices tank before the rest of the nation.  Luke moved from Ohio by way of Sao Paulo to southern California and quickly became a very wealthy man.
            Mathew and Mark’s wives, Martha and Myrtle were friends with Luke and Maria and really appeared to like them but actually were suspicious of them and wondered how it was that both of them could seem so in tune to one another and so happy and content and yet never speak to one another.  The quartet noticed that quite often, Luke and Maria would just look at one another without saying a word and it appeared as though they had a conversation with their minds.  Mathew finally said to Mark when Luke went to his wine cellar to get a bottle of wine that he had purchased at a small winery in Italy.
            “I think these two are aliens…  I know it sounds weird but how do two people look so perfect, act so perfect, never fight, never complain and yet look at you as if they know something you’re trying to hide something that they already know about.  Who comes from Cleveland and makes a fortune in real estate?  What’s their secret?”
            The three sets of couples sat eating and drinking wine in Luke and Maria’s backyard that had a magnificient view of thePacific Ocean.  It was warm as the sun began to set.  The wine flowed like water.  Luke had more alcohol than he had had in quite some time and could not contain himself any longer.  Luke was no longer the quiet observer as usual.  Luke went from being quiet to loud and aggressive yet maliciously playful all along.
            “Let’s play a game… Shall we?  A game of, ‘I know what you’re thinking’…  You all must agree to this first.  I want to make sure we are all on board,” said Luke.
            Maria grabbed her husband by the arm without saying a word.  Luke pursed his lips and held his hand up.  Maria blinked hard and took a seat with her arms folded.
            “This game is called Guess the Guests…Now then… One among us is sleeping with another among us while married to two others among us.  One among us has actually been set for life since birth and has set up a faux business to give the appearance of hard work while screwing the secretary while she shoves beads up his ass in his office.  One among us worried about insider information that they had knowledge of and is worried about the feds closing in on them.  One among us is fucking everything they can whenever the chance presents itself including with friends of their offspring.  One among is certifiably cuckoo and is on every sort of medication you could imagine to help this individual walk a straight line.  Straight enough so that nobody knows or suspects that something very wrong is going on inside their brain…  I’ll make this easy on all of you.  If you take me and my wife out of the running on this guessing game, that narrows the field to just the four of you.”
            “Luke! Nao… Por favor, pare.  Eles nao sabem que podemos ler suas mentes…”
            The guests were stunned that Maria could speak another language other than English.  She looked like them and sounded like them but then suddenly bust out in another tongue when the chips were down and out.
            “You see it for yourself tonight, my dear friends…  My wife and I are truly capable of disagreeing, of fighting, of disappointment in one another.  Here I am a Midwestern fly-by-night who happened to have that Midas touch… Like Goldfinger, right?  I make money hand over fist and you all wonder how.  How is he doing this?  How do these two manage to get along so well?  They seem plastic.  They seem fake.  They seem to be aliens who use some sort of telepathy to communicate with one another like some sort of weirdo Twilight Zone bullshit, right?  You’re goddamn right that I see it in your eyes and read it like a book.  I know your secrets…  I know your dirty little secrets and you can’t hide from Luke.  I  know when you’re being honest and that is far more than any of you know about yourselves…  So as they say in Brazil or shall I say Cleveland, after too many drinks; go fuck yourselves and cry or have another drink and dance…  I will be back.  I am going for more of the truth serum… A little of that Cleveland Indian fire water.  You either be gone or remain when I get back.  You have a choice.”
            Nobody left the table and nobody spoke while Luke was gone.  They were all stunned and shocked by the brash outburst of a man who had never said very much in the past.  Luke had never bragged or judged before. Loud Samba music accompanied Luke’s return.  Luke laughed loudly with a cigar dangling out of the corner of his mouth, holding four bottles of red wine.  He was singing along with the song in Portugese.   The guests all guessed it was Spanish.  They were wrong.
            Batom- a bala bate no meu coracao.  Dentes espalhados pelo chao- Natural- E a vezes social…  Vai la cou boi!
            Nobody in the backyard had ever really heard Samba music before or danced to it except Maria who had grown up with it long before they reached Cleveland.  They all drank and all danced and gave very little thought to the things Luke had said.  They may as well as have danced naked. Their inhibitions disappeared. The Mexican wait staff and the Vietnamese au pair joined in on the dancing as did neighbors adjacent to Luke’s property until the sun came up over Santa Monica Boulevard.
            At about two in the afternoon following the party, Luke stood and stared out at the water the way he had once done at the Atlantic Ocean as a boy and Lake Erie as a younger man.  He held a cup of coffee and suffered through a headache as he watched surfers off in the distance wading on boards, waiting to catch the right wave.  Maria approached Luke and without saying a word, spoke to her husband in Portuguese.  I could write what she said to Luke in Portuguese and it would really sound pretty.  In English, this is how it went;
            “You nearly let the cat out of the bag last night.  I really thought you were going to tell them how we know… They could never begin to grasp how we know things.  It would blow their minds.”
            Luke or Lucio, Joao or John, took a drink of his coffee turned to his wife and replied without opening his mouth with a big toothy smile.
            “Pessoas de Cleveland… pode ser estranho… 
             “The People of Cleveland… can be strange”

September 19, 2011

The Young Americans… In Canada

            Dion had decided at the age of twenty six that it was time to throw in the towel, lower the flag and wave the white drapeau that signifies giving in or giving up.  For women the announcement of marriage to other women sends voices up octaves, accompanied by hand holding, discussions about dresses and registries.  For men, especially young men, the news is received, processed and then there is a two second delay where the stone faces of other male comrades, brothers and friends appear to ask why with their eyes.  Once Dion’s friends and cousins accepted the news the first important question among men was asked.

            “When and where are we having the bachelor party?”

            Dion was born inRomania with his other Romanian friends and cousins and wound up of all places in Detroit.  Dion grew up to love all things Detroit; American cars, Lions, Tigers, Red Wings and Pistons.  Dion loved University of Michigan even though he never attended the school.  Trumpet playing of all things lead him towards his destiny of finding and falling in love with the minister’s daughter at a Romanian Pentecostal Church in Detroit.  It actually was a Missionary Baptist Churchfor the most part with a black congregation but atnoonwhen the black Baptists were having coffee in the gym, the Romanians would come in and have their service in Romanian and then when the Romanians took the gym, the Koreans took the sanctuary.  By the time the Koreans took the gym for their post church fellowship, the church janitor had well earned his day of rest which would have to come on a Monday.

            Dion was a band geek in junior high and high school and offered to play trumpet after his mother had prodded him to go back to church and play his trumpet with the organ player during the hymnal periods of the service.  It all worked out for Dion.  Dion met Dianna, the daughter of the minister of their church who was beautiful and detached at the time Dion met her.  Dion gave up drinking, swear, chewing tobacco, visits to casinos, and strip clubs.  Dion went to rough parts of Detroit with his girlfriend as inner city missionaries to try and work with teens.  Dion liked that idea a lot better than packing up and moving to Angola and so he willingly got together with his girlfriend to spend Friday and Saturday nights playing basketball and talking about the word of god with poor children that cared more about getting a nice car, a nice piece of ass and money in their pockets by any means necessary.  Speaking English in a Portuguese speaking country like Angola might have been easier than trying to convince poor inner city black teens in Detroit that leading a clean life, will lead to positive things.  Some bought into it and other showed up to the church gym to play basketball and eat coffee cake.  After a year or more of this sort of stuff, Dion decided that being with Dianna on a full time basis was his destiny in life and so be posed the question, Dianna cried and accepted.  A life of marital bliss was immanent if not terminal for the young couple.

            Theo, Dion’s cousin and life long friend, got their inner circle of friends together to do Dion’s last night as a single man the right way.  Theo knew that his cousin had played along with the no sex, no drinking, no dancing and no swearing rules of devout Romanian born again types but also knew that his cousin Dion was once quite the partier and cocksman.

            “Troy, Tommy, you and me are going to Windsor tonight.  I got the Fong Sisters coming to a private suite that I rented on the top floor of Caesar’sWindsor.  The Fong Sisters are lesbian and sisters.  Totally out of control, dude…  Where you can find sisters who are lesbian and would do each other in front of people?  That is extra special.  I met them at the casino last month inWindsor.  I’m telling you, they are smoking hot and will do anything.  They originally came from China but live in Ontario now.  Beautiful fucking faces, tight asses and huge fake tits on skinny frames.  They got a website where you can see them 69ing each other covered in chocolate syrup.”  Said Theo.

            “I would have been fine going to a strip club around here, getting a few beers and calling it a night,” said Dion.

            “Whaddya you like fifty now?  Fuck that shit…  You are going down but you’re going down in a grand style, bro.  Don’t sweat it, it will be mayhem.  Fully stocked bar in the limo, fully stocked bar in the suite, room service and the lesbian show… Oh and I paid for the happy ending shower with them both for you.” Said Theo as he high fived Dion.

            The foursome drank in the back of the stretch limo and blared music.  They opened up the moon roof, stood and yelled like little boys in the tunnel that went under theDetroitRiverfrom downtown Detroit to Windsor,Ontario in the country of Canada.  Once on the Canadian side of the river, cameras picked up the sight of four young men hanging out of the moon roof up to the waist, singing, yelling and hoisting drinks which spilled onto each other.  Constable Williams caught sight of this on his desk monitor while he ate a sandwich he had just purchased on Huron-Church Road at the Tim Horton’s which was on the south side of the street, not to be confused with the Tim Horton’s on Huron-Church on the north side of the street, less than a kilometer away from the Tim Horton’s on the south side of Huron-Church Road. 

            Yes.  Well then, Constable Williams was eating his sandwich and studying the monitor of unruly Americans in a limousine.  Pieces of the bread stuck to his bushy moustache.  Constable Williams lifted the cup to his tea and doused the tea bag several times before taking a sip.  He put the quartet on full screen and followed them all the way up to line three at customs.  Constable Williams got on the phone and called for the sniffer dogs to meet him at line three.

            The limousine queued up behind several cars.  The driver was an older black man that was listening to the Detroit Tigers game in his compartment, not paying attention at all to the frat boy activity going on the other side of his contained area.  The boys were mixing drinks and singing when the doors were thrown open.  Two German Sheppards accompanied four uniformed men who had just asked the four young men to step out of the vehicle.

            “Smart people you are in America, eh?”  Asked Constable Williams.

            Theo giggled and said, “yes, sir”.

            “You young Americans…  Just like in the David Bowie song.  You boys know that song, eh?  So smart in America that they spent millions to send men to the moon just so that they could say that they sent men to the moon and give em a ticker tape parade in New York City…  Yes, you Americans are so smart.  Only smart men would ride in the tunnel that have hanging signs that could decapitate them as they stick their heads out of an opening in the roof.  Smart, young Americans…  You smart men have anything you want to declare before we set the dogs to find contraband?”

            The four young men all sobered up enough to take Constable Williams seriously.  Three out of the four men had nothing worse than chewing tobacco on them.  Theo though thought that buying two joints from a guy at work would be the icing on the cake as the Chinese born sisters and lesbians did their thing in front of them.  Of course they were going to purchase Cohiba Cigars at the duty free store and take them up to their suite also.  Theo had forgotten about the two joints packed in a plastic bag that was in a small pocket on the sleeve of his Hollister sweat shirt.  The first German Sheppard found the joints in a matter of three seconds.  The dog put its front paws up on Theo’s shoulders as if they were going to slow dance together.  Constable Williams held up the discovered bag with two hand rolled joints and smiled.

            “We are about to get to know each other very intimately tonight, boys.”

           Dion stood up and day dreamed as his soon to be father-in-law conducted the wedding ceremony.  To Dianna’s eye, Dion looked to have been crying.  She had no idea that her betrothed had been drinking, smoking, detained by Canadian border guards and forced to do a full cavity check, naked in a bare room with a lot of lights.  Dion could only think about touching his toes and the Canadian guard flashing a light up his ass as the guard probed around with a gloved index finger in search of further illegal contraband.  They boys never made it to the hotel.  They were detained at the border until the early hours of the morning and then sent back to the United States without their joints or really good stories to share with their friends. During the ceremony, Dion turned and looked at his best man, Theo with squinty eyes and could only shake his head as he recalled the indignity of his night in Canada.  Call it bad luck of the draw or that God truly does work in mysterious ways.

David Bowie- Young American
I got a suite and you got defeat
Ain’t there a man you can say no more?

Ain’t there a pen that will write before they die?
Ain’t you proud that you’ve still got faces?
Ain’t there one damn song that can make me
break down and cry?
All night
I want the young American
Young American, young American, I want the young American

August 2, 2011

Obama’s Text Messages


His name was John Holmes but everyone referred to him as The Wad.  The Wad was a smallish British Man with bushy blond hair, horned rimmed glasses and a smirk on his face at all times.  The Wad expertise was getting information that seemed impossible to get.

            The Wad had the occasion to meet with members of the Republican National Committee.  While swirling a Scotch in his glass at a Washington DC gathering of top GOP, The Wad posed a question.

            “Wouldn’t the public really like to know what it is your president says and thinks?  None of the farce you see behind the podium, Hail to the Chief and all that rubbish.  What I’m talking about is lifting the rocks and watching the bugs scurry about.  You people here in the states stay glued to television watching grotesquely obese individuals lose weight, has-beens and almost-were individuals dance and so forth.  Don’t think for a moment that transcripts of your president’s text messages wouldn’t be for every inquiring mind… Because it would.”

            Several older men with furrowed brows listened with interest to the jovial Brit.  Nothing was decided that night but soon after, The Wad received a text message from a Republican mover and shaker.  This is what the Cryptic message said:




            Keep in mind that the American people voted for change in 2008.  This change most likely meant an end to war, lower inflation, lower taxes for working people who make a modest living and possibly more jobs.  By election year four years later, taxes were higher, there was still a war in a part of the world that 99% of Americans would never visit and jobs were difficult to find.  Very little had changed.  The one thing that the president had over the stable of GOP hacks was his personality.  Being able to expose the president as a fraud and fake might be the only thing that could put a Republican back in the White House. 

 Two million in United States currency was wired to The Wad in London.  The GOP officials read in giddy glee at the intimate text messages between the president, his vice president, secretary of state, his wife and the singer R. Kelly.  It was a perfect deterrent from real issues like two unfunded wars, the economic mess of Wall Street, lost jobs and vanishing job opportunities.  Reading text messages from the president and his inner circle would be perfect to get people’s minds of the fact that to pay off the national debt, each person living legally and illegally, would have to pony up close to $40,000.  For all the talk of deficit reduction, there really wasn’t going to be a reduction.  Text messages are more interesting and easier to understand than finance.  Here is how it went:


President- We yanked Osama too early.  I’m going to need to pull another rabbit from a

                  hat before the election.  Any ideas?


Secretary of state- I say you put the bloodhounds on John Boehner.  Expose him like

                              Jimmy Swaggart.  Leave him crying like Eliot.  The public wants

                              blood. I say shove it up his ass.


Vice president- I’m ready to do what is necessary.


President- Lol…  I like the picture of Swaggart.  The holier than thou crowd caving like a

                           A house of cards.  Do we have someone digging up the dirt on the

                           Republican front runners?  Get word to Anderson Cooper.  We  

                           need this exposed.  I know he’s sore about the gay marriage thing.  That’s his

                           thing.  I just don’t believe it is the next civil rights issue.  Too many people

                           still don’t give a fuck about gays.  I got enough fish frying to worry about

                           all that.  If we need to, get Sulu from Star Trek to do some leg work for us.


Secretary of State- Do you really think we have much to worry about?  Mormons?  Get

                               real.  Stay the course like Bush Sr. used to say.  We got this one 

                               in the bag.  The GOP is looking for the great white hope and it isn’t

                               there.  McCain came off looking like a crippled Beetlejuice and now

                               what?  Mormons?  Airheads from Alaska?


President’s wife- The girls want to know if there is still a chance we might visit Haiti. 

                            They really are not fond of their French tutor and would rather quit if

                             We are not going to France or Haiti.


President- With all I have going on at this moment.  Look, you tell them we all have jobs

                   to do.  They’ll learn French.  I don’t want to hear again that Americans cannot speak anything but

                   English and certainly not our girls. I would like nothing more than for the press to catch wind of our

                    girls parlaying Francais.


Vice President- I’m ready to do what’s necessary.


President- Cool, Joe.  I’ll let you know what’s up.


R. Kelly- Wad up, dog.  Got a gig in Baltimore.  Was wondering if you wanted to get a

                A game going.  Two on two.  Me and Shaq, you and Prince.Lol.  Lemme know.


Secretary of State-  This may sound a bit Nixon like but I think we set up surveillance of

                               What is going on at the republican headquarters.  We get pros for this

                                and then turn it over to CNN as if they had been on the trail all along.

                                This will detract from anything that has flatlined and stagnated.


R. Kelly- Yo I hope your old lady is cool with me stopping by.  Don’t want to start no

                stuff, dog.  Two Chicago boys thrown a little rock.  That’s all.


Vice President- Just say the word.  I’m ready to do what is necessary.


President’s wife- I just spoke to Oprah.  She said she can arrange for Justin Bieber to

                            show up and do a few songs for the girl’s party.  What do you think?


President- I am copying you all on this same text.  I am overwhelmed with text messages

                 right now and need to put some fingers on some dykes.  French- yes.  Justin   

                 Beaver okay but what will it cost?  Tell Oprah I said hello and thank you. 

               R.K- B-ball yes if you can get Prince and Shaq, I’m down with that fo sho.  Hill- have

                your people look into what can be found on people of interest and so on.  Joe-

                I need you to visit a VFW hall in Fergus Falls, Minnesota next Friday for their

                 fish fry if you can attend.  Gotta go.  Playing golf with Boehner.


            The GOP was ready to make the call to Fox News when the bomb dropped in Great Britain.  Rupert Murdoch’s stock dropped in British Sky and really that was the only thing that really scared people who were stock holders.  Somebody, some employees, had decided to hack into phone messages.  Hacking of the royal family, victims of the London bombing and dead British soldiers.  The GOP feared that handing over transcripts of text messages of the president, might back fire and might be illegal too.  One older gentleman twisted the scan that he printed off of his computer message from The Wad and lit the paper and then lit his cigar.  Several men watched the flames burn the transcripts.  The flames glowed in all of their despondent eyes.  One man among them spoke a few words.

            “Well, boys…  Let’s pray that a calamity arrives in time to save us.  We have to HOPE for a CHANGE at this point…  That’s all we have left.”

July 5, 2011

Karmalyzed Capitalism

            Molly was given LSD at her first party as a freshman in college and from that moment on, the world changed for her.  Molly became more aware of who she and was more in tune with the world around her and her senses.  Suddenly all that was right was wrong and wrong really seemed like the right thing after all. Things looked better, smelled better, sound better and tasted better than when she was living in a straight middle class life in America. The three bedroom bi-level in a post World War II suburb filled with men who belonged to the Masons, Moose, Elks and John Birch Society and women who ironed, shopped and watched soap operas by day and worked to please their men by night sort of life.  Suddenly the idea of aspiring to find a good candidate with whom she could replicate her species, seemed wrong.  A white, protestant, pro-Nixon, pro-Vietnam War, pro-women’s club, pro-monogamous, homogenous, nuclear family, with a man with a good smile and perfect hair, who would carry his lunch with him to the train station on his way to his desk job downtown, just seemed completely wrong and if given the right hallucinogenic drug, upside down can seem like the correct view of the world.  That’s what I’ve heard.

            Molly went on to take a lot of drugs, had a lot of sex, and became a communist and an activist for any and all causes that seemed anti-establishment.  While spending time in Oakland, California, Molly had fallen in love with several Black Panther activists.  One of the activists was successful at planting his seed within her while living together in a commune.  Molly gave birth to a mixed raced boy by the name of Huey Newton Washington.  Huey was named after the leader of the militaristic Black Panthers but carried Molly’s last name, the same last name as the first president of the United States and a slave owner; a true dichotomy.

 Molly loved Huey with all her being but found that Huey was cramping her ability to tap into her ability to find her “bag” and “do her thing”.  Having Huey was “groovy” and “beautiful” but it became necessary to really go to the Mecca of inner spirituality with a rebellious orthodox Jewish boy she was dating at the time, to India while Huey went to live with Molly’s parents for the rest of his childhood.

            Molly went through six marriages and lived on three continents and close to twenty countries but always made a point of sending her son postcards from all the places she visited and lived to remind him of how much she actually and truly loved her son.  From a great distance.  Most letters went something like this:

December 9, 1981

            “Greetings my one true love and reason for being in this life on my way to a higher level of human develop before I one day reach the pinnacle of understanding and knowing here on Earth.  My son, it is immanently important that you let your spirit soar.  That you become truly one  immersed in your spirit so that you can tap into your gifts bestowed upon you by God and come to understand that the only freedom truly in the world is that of total awareness in being and knowing who and what you are.

Currently I am in Hoboken right now which is in New Jersey.  I am working by day as nurse’s assistant in a hospital and a Yoga instructor by night.  I wanted to take the time to tell you that although I have not been there to witness ever little nuance a mother expects to experience in the development of their child, my love for you has never waned.  You are a part of my soul.  I gave birth to you and in doing so, gave you a part of me that will live on in your after I have departed this life for the next.

  On a separate note, John Lennon was killed yesterday and we had a slew of people come into the hospital who tried to kill themselves over his death.  One young man with a Mohawk and safety pins through his cheeks, tried to kill himself over a musician named Darby Crash who was in a Punk Rock band called The Germs.  Ironically he picked the same day to die as John Lennon.  I must say that I’m out of the loop on music these days and don’t quite get the Punk Rock phenomenon right now.  I do know that heroin is dangerous and hope that you are doing all the right things with grandma and grandpa and are saying no to drugs mostly.  They are good people and you are lucky to have them.  I will write you soon.

Love Mommy

            Huey played basketball and baseball as well as football and a little soccer but was run of the mill in all.  He was one of those black children that appeared to have been adopted by whites and in doing so, was stripped of his identity.  Huey did well in school, became an attorney, married a blond woman, had a family with children, and lived in a nice house with nice cars.  On the surface, all seemed well.  Huey was slightly paunchy and was too busy for regular exercise, ate fast-food, had a high stress job and was constantly on the go.  One day while arguing with a client on his cell phone, while sitting in traffic on the freeway, shaving and trying to eat a burger and fries, something tightened in his chest.  Fortunately for Huey, traffic was nearly at a standstill and so in the middle lane of a packed interstate, Huey put his car in park, opened his car door and faced on coming traffic with a look of horror and panic on his face while clutching his chest.  Motorists went around him while honking, flipping him off and yelling at him through open windows. Two black Ambulance drivers just happened to see him while coming back from meal at a Popeye’s Chicken.  Catfish was on sale with large fries and a 34 ounce soft drink.  The grabber, if you’ll pardon the expression was the special issue cups that were two ounces larger than a standard 32 ounce plastic cup and was tapered to fit into cup holders on both domestic and foreign vehicles.  They were left over special cups from black history month.  Bill, the ambulance driver, took sips of a soda from a plastic cup that had the image of a singing Paul Robeson.  Bill could have cared less about his special issue cup or Paul Robeson.  All he knew is that it was ethically wrong to pass up another man who might be dying and ethnically wrong to not stop and help out another brother.  Bill’s unselfish act saved Huey’s life and made it so that he and his mother could meet again after nearly twenty years.

            Death and funerals bring family together usually and although Molly was in Tibet at the time that Huey was married and was in Peru with the Shining Path Guerillas when both of Huey’s children were born, Molly always sent something like a card or a gift.  One year the kids received a hand made blanket from a Quechua Indian and another year was a Hugo Chavez action figure that still remains intact in it’s packaging in Huey’s garage.  It was the one item that was never sold in over four garage sales that Huey’s wife held.  In any event, the reunion between son and mother was interesting if not touching.

Molly- son…  This is a sign from God that the life you are living is not the life worth living.  Dilated pupils, high temperature, heart rate and blood pressure through the roof, insomnia…  It’s like a bad dope trip, son.  I’ve seen it happen many a time.  Capitalism kills.

Huey- Mother, I don’t take drugs.  I don’t even take the damn blood pressure medicine because it kills my ability to be a man.  I have to make some adjustments.  This is my body’s way of sending me a message.  I’m going to come out of this and become healthier.  I’ve always just said no as you always said I should in all your letters from around the globe.  You can’t fault me for trying to make a living and support my family.

Molly- Saying no to drugs is just the tip of the melting iceberg, son.  How bout saying no to poverty, greed and blinding capitalism that has lead you down this path of self destruction?  Your processed meals and need to get somewhere you think you need to be in order to fit in with something that someone else envies.  That’s what will kill, son, the need to keep ahead of the Joneses.  There is blood on my hands with all this.  I needed to find me at a time when I was young and unsure of my future and what it all meant. I cast you into my parent’s world knowing my roots and how you would not be of a clear enough mind to see past the finely manicured suburban lawns.

            Huey was about to rebut his mother who showed up as the victor and standard bearer for the true path in life necessary to take when suddenly a light fixture that was fastened to the ceiling became detached and hit Molly on top of her head.  Nurses rushed in and rushed Molly to the emergency wing of the hospital.  Molly was pronounced dead within an hour.  It was a sad freak accident that a twenty pound fixture had come detached from the twelve foot ceiling and came crashing down squarely onto Molly’s head. 

            A nurse phoned the hospital chaplain who was on his way up to break the news to Huey when something amazing and miraculous happened.  Molly sat up in bed, removed the sheet that covered her face and began to speak perfect Indian in a dialect consistent with inhabitants of Bangalore.  As time went on, Molly did talk shows with an Indian translator and although her mind processed her thoughts in English, Indian came from her mouth.  For those Americans who turned to transcendental meditation, Hinduism and Buddhism, Molly had become the reincarnated deity.

            It is difficult to say exactly what happened to Molly.  Was she reincarnated?  Did God put the Indian tongue in her mouth to help those on the path spirituality or just one of those freaky cases of Foreign Accent Syndrome?  Huey recovered and began to eat at Wholefoods and took up jogging.  Huey decided to go to New Jersey to visit his mother at her store front temple where people from around the world would come to see and hear words of wisdom from the odd woman who once spoke only English and could only speak Hindi. For a small fee of course.  Molly had become the Mother Theresa for crackpots.

  Huey spoke to his mother through the translator and told her that he had forgiven her for leaving him so many years ago and that he wanted to leave the anger behind and start new and fresh with a whole new way of living which would have meant trying to do away with pent up anger and resentment from unresolved things that he carried since childhood.  At the end of their meeting, Huey embraced his mother and they both became teary eyed.  Huey promised he would return to see his mother again soon and that he wanted a relationship with her.

            “Life is short mother and there is no need to carry the weight of things we both cannot change.  The past is the past,” said Huey.

            Through the translator, Molly said that she was pleased by Huey’s transformation and looked forward to getting to know her only child after nearly forty years.  As Huey was leaving, the translator stopped Huey to give him a card that had ten printed icons of the Hindu god Vishnu. Vishnu was holding a scepter in one hand and had the palm of his hand up in the other.  One of the icons was punched out by a card punch.  The translator explained the card’s significance as Huey studied it.

            “Your mother has opted to not charge you for today’s visit.  Your card has been punched today.  After nine visits, you can redeem this card and on the tenth visit, your visit will be completely free…  Thank you, please come again and may your spirit guide you and continue to grow.”

            Huey was truly speechless. 

October 19, 2009

Look Away, Part 2

Filed under: Apartheid,Ethnicity,Mixed Race,On Sale Now — blackhumouristpress @ 12:29 am

No doubt you are reading part 2 of this post first. I forgot to include the very fine cover art. I hope it compels you to take a look inside my new book.
Dixie Cover
Make the intellectual investment.

August 7, 2009

Menage a trois

Joe and Sara were high school sweethearts. Joe was four years older than Sara and so when Joe was in his last year of high school; Sara was graduating from junior high school. At 26 and 22 years of age, the difference between them was no longer and issue.

Joe and Sara married last year and at about the time of the honeymoon in Freeport, Bahamas, Joe suddenly had little interest in sex. Joe had never had never had a problem with impotence in the past but it was becoming increasingly obvious that his libido was not what it was. Something about marriage brought this about. Sara worried that the issue was that she was unattractive or not seductive enough. She followed all the directions in Cosmo Magazine on the six ways to make him scream. Joe’s Wang lay dormant against his right thigh with every new tactic. He was frustrated and angry at his own penis. Joe seriously thought he had a problem until he attended a wedding with Sara of one of her cousins in Akron, Ohio. It was at the wedding that Sara’s chubby cousin Abby, asked Joe to dance with her. Joe had always liked his thin framed wife who was a running fanatic. Sara had small breasts and thin hips and not much in the way of a buttock. Sara had a pretty face. Abby, who was the same age as Sara but lived in Akron while Sara lived in Cleveland, had always carried a little meat on her. Abby was active but was built like a female softball player. Abby had thicker legs and a round bottom with full breasts. After several glasses of champagne and wine, Joe found that while slow dancing with Abby, he had developed a full fledged erection. It was boner of the first order just like he had every morning as a boy and like he used to have upon kissing Sara on the neck. Joe held Abby close to him and was careful not to press up against her. Abby whispered something in Joe’s ear about how awkward one of the men on the dance floor looked with his gaudy tux and bad looking hair piece. There was no mistaking that Joe was rock hard. Abby was surprised at first and pulled back. She was impressed that she had that kind of an effect on Joe. After all, Abby had always considered herself second tier next to her cousin Sara. Sara was the one the guys always wanted to talk to at the movie theater or the mall when they were younger. Abby was pretty buzzed and was enjoying the night. She pressed herself against Joe and smiled up at him. Joe was slightly embarrassed until Sara teased him about it.

“Joey… It appears someone here has joined the military and is standing at perfect attention…”

Joe blushed a bit and tucked his lips in as he tried not to laugh. Abby kissed him on the cheek and rubbed her crotch against him and whispered in his ear so that nobody could tell what she was doing.

“Joey… That feels so good. If I didn’t love my cousin like a sister, I would take you out to the parking lot and fuck you raw… That sounds so crass, I’m sorry. I would take you out to the parking lot and make beautiful love with you. I’ve caught you over the years checking my tits and ass out. You’re not quick enough to look away before being caught… I’m right aren’t I, Joe?”

Joe just smiled. It was about that time that Sara came over, a bit concerned over what they were whispering back and forth. They both motioned over to the man with no rhythm with the crooked rug on his head in a powder blue tux and white shoes. Sara no longer suspected anything. Joe excused himself and went to the bathroom of the banquet hall. There was a black man hired as an attendant in a tux with tails who had a raspy voice like Louis Armstrong. He hummed Celebration by the Commodores that played loudly on the dance floor while he handed a man a paper towel and asked him if he wanted a squirt of cologne. The white man asked if the Louis Armstrong look and sound a like if he had heard the score of the Cleveland Indians against The Boston Red Sox.

“Well sir, I ain’t hoyd the radio since I come to work. I know they was winning in the thoid an that only is cause they have Sabathia pitchin. If they could pitch him and Cliff Lee everyday, they’d never lose.”

“Amazing isn’t it?” Said the stuffy man who wouldn’t normally talk to a bathroom attendant except for the fact that he was riding high on whiskey sours. “They have two Cy Young winners and not a damn guy who can hit. It’s sad. I love going to watch the Indians. It’s such a great stadium but the team stinks.”

While talk of baseball went on, Joe pulled his stiff member from his pants and jerked away at it. He closed his eyes and imagined Abby’s wide ass in the air and his hands wrapped around her, clutching her large breasts while and kissing her on the neck. He then imagined her telling him to slip it into her ass.

“I know you love my fat ass, Joey. Put it in my crapper…”

Joe came all over the wall. It took a little over a minute and the two men were still agonizing over the Cleveland Indians. Joe mopped up the cum that dribbled on the toilet seat and that was dripping down the wall. He stood there trying to urinate for a good minute. He zipped up, washed his hands and joined in on the conversation about the Indians. Joe then returned to the table where Abby and Sara were talking. They continued to drink and Abby flirted out in the open in front of Sara. As drunk as Sara was, she was taken back by her cousin. Joe’s mind was temporarily clear and so he did not engage in the flirting. About one in the morning, Joe hailed a cab to get them to their hotel. Sara barely got in the cab and closed the door before she started hitting Joe with questions.

“So you two have something going on, don’t you?”

“She’s just buzzed… She’s known me forever and just feels comfortable with me…”

“Yeah? She told me you had a fucking hard on while you two danced. Is that true? You were rubbing your cock on my cousin’s twat? You can’t fucking get hard anymore with me but with Abby, you’re ready to go, huh?”

The cab driver alternated between watching the road and the drama in the back seat. Both Joe and Sara were too drunk to notice. Joe was prone to be honest after drinking heavily and so he told his wife what was so appealing to him about Abby. That night Sara slept on the hide a bed in the living room of their hotel suite. Joe fell asleep pretty quickly but Sara stayed up thinking about the whole thing. In the morning she climbed into bed and kissed Joe until his eyes opened. Joe was surprised. He opened his eyes as he lay on his side and just looked at his smiling wife.

“I’m not mad at you, Joe. I thought about it and know that guys get bored and some times want a different flavor. I’m totally not cool with you having affairs and prostitutes but gave it some thought last night… I think Abby would be totally cool with a three some and I think that is something you would really want.” Said Sara.

“This is a tactic to get me to admit what I really think and want and then you’re going to scream and throw shit, right?”

“Absolutely not. I will allow you anything but fucking her. That is sacred between us… The caveat is that I have to be there in bed with both of you.”

Joe was excited. He wanted her to call Abby. He thought that they could have breakfast and then come back to bed and fuck all afternoon. He pictured himself eating Abby out and maybe even slipping his tongue up her wide ass and when the desire became overwhelming to put it in her, he would pop it in his wife who would be in the corner finger diddling herself. Joe then visualized giving it to his wife from behind and while she licked her own cousin’s cunt and tits. Joe was almost trembling with desire.

“Can you call her now?”

Sara had more class than that and her ultimate idea was to bring zest back into their bedroom. Sara discussed going to their grandfather’s cottage near New Buffalo, Michigan, right off the shores of Lake Michigan. Sara set it all up. Sara had started menstruating on Monday and by Friday; she was already for action again. Joe went into her bathroom to see if there was another X on the calendar in her bathroom. It was a calendar of various cats. Sara loved cats. The cat of the month was a Siamese. All Joe could think about was climbing all over Abby. It was going to be great. The only thing that might ruin things is if Abby had her period. Joe brought it up to Sara and Sara asked Abby. Everything was clear. Joe tried not to look too excited by that news but he was jumping up and down inside.

Joe and Sara picked up Abby on a day that had a clear fall day with a hot breeze. Joe took the top down to his Jeep and packed the cooler with sandwiches and beer. Abby got in and sat in the back and said barely a word as they headed west towards Lake Michigan on the Indiana Toll Road. Joe tried hard not to speed but if he could have gone a 100, he would have. Joe began to notice Sara and Abby were unusually quiet and feeling awkward. They both had their arms folded and were staring out of their sides of the Jeep. Joe saw signs for wineries and decided that he would hit a few of them with the girls. Both girls were happy to sample some reds and whites. They hit four in a five mile area and were beginning to get giggly. At the last one called Hickory Creek; the older man opened up a bottle and gave them all a healthy pour and then poured another for them and poured one for himself. The older guy with a gentle smile discussed the wineries he visited all over the world and was most satisfied in Michigan of all places. Joe bought six bottles of assorted red and rushed to the cottage. The girls carried in their back packs and Joe carried in the cooler and case of wine. They stood in the living room and looked at each other and laughed. It felt very junior high to them all at that moment. Joe attempted to down play the whole thing and he was buzzed enough to do it.

“Okay… We’ve all had sex before but just not with each other. I think we know one another to be cool with this…”

Joe went to one of the three bathrooms and washed his nuts, cock and armpits and popped some mints into his mouth. He emerged from the bathroom ready to go. Sara asked him to go down to the basement to get the extra pillows that her grandfather kept in storage. Joe pulled the light chain and jogged down the stairs. It was dark in one corner but it looked to him like there were people sitting on the couch. It scared him. He pulled the next chain to illuminate the entire basement. Sitting in the corner on the couch were two Indian looking men with large beards. These weren’t the Indians that Columbus found when he landed on the island of Hispaniola or modern day Haiti and Dominican Republic, these too were not the mini mart “hello my friend” Indians. They were Pakistani convicts that had lived two years in Guantanamo Bay Cuba. They had been Cricket players that had given large amounts of money to a mosque in suburban Detroit to help build schools in Pakistan. The money was placed in an account to help fund terrorist activities and training in Afghanistan. Amir and Amal had no idea that their money was being used to fund terrorism. They were born and raised in Pakistan. They had played professional Cricket for Pakistan and were supposed to marry identical twin girls who were also Pakistani in the states. They arrived at O’Hare Airport in Chicago to meet their future wives. There they were; two clean cut Pakistani athletes who happened to be identical twins, meeting their future wives who were also identical twins. As they cleared the door way, they saw the two women that were to be their wives. They wore different color head scarves to differentiate them just as Amal wore black and Amir wore white. The moment they stepped off the plane in Chicago, several white men in suits with ear pieces and sun glasses, hustled them away. They had a bag placed over their heads and when the hoods were removed they were in Cuba. For two years.

President Obama got the idea to close the base and scatter the prisoners all over the country. Amir and Amal wound up in a prison near Benton Harbor, Michigan. They were in charge of cooking and were helping the delivery guy load cheese and meat in through a service door. The guard responsible for watching them, was fighting with his wife on his cell phone when Amal and Amir, held a box cutter against the neck of the delivery driver. They tied him up and dumped the truck near Stevensville, Michigan before they stole a car at a gas station. They then parked the car and took off on foot, wearing surgical colored clothes. The luck of the draw brought them to the same cottage that Joe, Sara and Abby were going to have their ménage a trois. The give away that the place was vacant was the sign on the window to the mailman to have their mail diverted back to the girl’s grandparent’s winter home in Florida.

Joe stood there motionless in his Ohio State t shirt and Indians hat. The Indians hat had the ridiculous image of a big nosed smiling Indian in the center of the cap. It looked a lot like Amir. Amal laughed at the hat and told his brother in their language that he resembled the figure on the cap. He poked his brother with the shot gun barrel and told him to shut up.

“Take that fucking hat off your head,” said Amir.

“If you yell, I vill kill you. If you reach into your pockets, I vill kill you… Do you understand me?” Said Amir.

The two bearded men lead Joe upstairs into the bedroom where Sara and Abby were naked, kissing each other in the bed while drinking red wine from the bottle. They hadn’t stopped to acknowledge Joe or the other two men standing behind him. Amal yelled out.

“Put on your clothes… Now!”

The two identical twins had become more religious in Cuba. They had gone from rather secular people to believing that America and Americans were pure evil. Upon finding out that Abby and Sara were cousins, ready to partake in sex with Sara’s husband they were convinced that evil reigned supreme among the average American. Case in point; naked cousins, drinking and having sex with each other. While getting dressed, Sara pushed 911 on her cell phone. She coughed when the woman came on to address her. She started asking the men if they were going to kill them.

“Are you going to kill us? If so, just go ahead and shoot all of us. We just ask you not to cut our heads off and put it on Youtube. We don’t want to be part of some martyr crusade to kill innocent Americans. We just came to have a nice weekend at our grandfather’s cabin, Pete Miller who lives in Florida and comes here to New Buffalo for the summers. We don’t want to die… We have nothing against you people…”

The dispatcher quietly dispatched police to the cottage and listened as Sara spoke to the twin men.

“Shut your mouth… Shut up! You people, You people… Vat dee ell does you people mean. Terrorists? Vee grow beards and vee are obviously terrorists, right? Vell Vee are not terrorists and ve are going to get to Canada and find our way back to Pakistan. So as they say here; shut the fuck up, bitch.”

Amir and Amal duct taped the three of them to chairs and grabbed the keys to Joe’s Jeep and headed out on the highway. The two men’s beards rippled in the wind. Tire spikes popped the air out of the tires and the Jeep nearly tipped over. Michigan State troopers and local police swarmed to the scene. The two brothers were taken back to the prison. The official word was unofficial and the prison authorities fabricated a storey for the press. Nobody knew that accused terrorists were living on American soil. They knew that was the plan because it was being thrown around as an idea even though it was already being done. Luckily it was kept under wraps. Nobody knew about Amal and Amir. The cops cut the tape off of the three of them and questioned them for several hours. About midnight, they were allowed to go back to the cottage. Joe knew that the escapees had killed the mood. He was hoping that a glass or two of wine would bring back the feeling. Joe hugged both women at the same time and Abby pushed them both away.

“Look, I love you both and I was willing to do this more for both of you and whatever hang ups you both have… I really believe this was a sign from god to not do this. I mean, god sends us clues and this was a really big fucking clue. We could have been executed by those two freaks… I’m sorry but I can’t go through this,” said Abby.

Sara chimed in.

“You’re totally right, Abs… I really think this was a message to all of us. It’s just too weird and I’m sorry I suggested it… What do you think, Joe?”

Joe was too disappointed to say anything and knew that this whole episode would make his member turtle up for some time to come.

“I don’t know what to say… It’s definitely bad karma…”

At the same time, Amir and Amal thought the same thing. It was a day of dashed hopes for all by coincidence or possibly divine providence. It all depends on what you believe.

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