Blackhumouristpress's Blog

June 25, 2018

The Gap Between Us

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Bob, like many Americans, came into a little money after Uncle Sam took his chunk.  Bob bought stock in things that ate up other things and got bigger and before long, he reasoned that his little 1950s starter home with low ceilings and a leaky basement, separated by neighbors on each side by about ten feet, was just too confining, too ordinary, too small.  One day Bob got off of the highway into inner city Detroit and looked at blocks and blocks of land that were gone.  What remained were streets, some sidewalks and foundations to where houses once stood.  Bob began to do some investigating and found that the land could be purchased for very little and so Bob bought up a whole once side of a street.  There were fifteen foundations total.  Over the course of a year or so, he built a tremendous house that would have fit in during the Victorian era.  A foyer with a 20 foot ceiling that looked up to a spiral staircase.  There were ten bedrooms, an indoor pool, several covered porches and gardens of flowers and produce for his wife who loved to garden.

“Susan… We are selling this place and moving to Detroit,” said Bob, off the cuff while reading the newspaper.

Susan pulled the newspaper down so she could see Bob’s face and asked him to repeat what he said.  It sounded to her like he said that he was selling the house and that they would be moving to Detroit.  Bob confirmed what he said.  Later that day, Susan cried all the way to Detroit from the northern suburban abode.  As they passed lot after lot, street after street of missing or abandoned homes, out of nowhere like a palace in the desert or the Motor City Casino which has a fabulous Las Vegas light show at night if you happen to be standing in any vacant lot within an eye shot in Detroit.  Susan sat up and took note of the beautiful home, a deluxe Victorian style home with a front porch and newly sodded lawn, a fountain out in front and gardens the length of a block.  Susan laughed and cried.  Bob held up a set of keys for her to take.  Everything was great.  Just great.

Now in these strange political times, Bob found himself on the other side of the invisible wall that had not been built yet by our president.  Susan found the president to be uncouth, brazen, foul, racist, xenophobic, sexist and emblematic of everything that a male could be that must be changed in our offspring.  Bob on the other hand, found that our current president was a breath of fresh air.  He liked the patriotism, he liked the America first attitude, he liked the there-has-to-be-rules credo that had taken hold.  Susan would watch MSNBC in one end of their large home and Bob would watch FOX.  Their politics began to cause a schism in their marriage and it got so bad that Bob and Susan could not talk to each other very much or very long without fighting.  They would look at each other and think-how could you be so naive, so stupid, such a goddamn door mat or how could you be such a racist, sexist, pig with no heart.

One day, Bob came home to find a family in his living room, eating ham, potatoes and pie at a coffee table while watching television.  They looked up at Bob but said nothing.  Susan came in with a silver platter full of more food.  The house guests seemed indifferent to the free food and not the least bit grateful.  Bob commented angrily.

“Susan!  Who are these people and why are waiting on them hand and foot, delivering them free food on a silver platter?”

Susan ignored her husband and passed out juice and more ham and desserts, one of the men asked for a beer.  Susan jogged to the kitchen.  As Susan began to open the door, Bob slammed it shut.  This angered Susan.

“We are rich and privileged people who have more than we deserve or need and these people just want a better life for themselves.  It is so wrong to share with others?  To let the have-nots have a little something?”

“Wait a minute!  I own this place.  I have legal title to live in this place with you and nobody else.  I pay for this food, I pay the taxes here, I made this place what it is and you just want to let anyone in here!?”

“You are heartless, selfish and a goddamn Nazi…”

“A Nazi!  What the fuck?!”

“Yes… A Nazi.  Rachel Maddow said that any of you people who blindly follow that man who is not my president, are nothing more than brown shirted thugs that are willing to do anything to support him.”

“Get these people out of my fucking house before I have them thrown out by the cops.”

“Oh yeah, that’s great.  Have the people who stomp on their rights come in and kick them out… Such a humanitarian.  Well I have news for you.  I am married to you… For now… And I will let in whomever I want, when I want.”

Susan came back with a beer and there were suddenly more people in the living room who were related to the people that were initially allowed in.  Susan needed to get more food.  Bob called the police.

Now when the police came, they listened to Susan and then Bob and they had to break the news to Bob that his wife had a right to guests as a home owner.  Bob asked the cops what if the people don’t want to leave.  What if they want to stay?  After all his home was much better and safer than where they came from.  The situation could not be easily resolved.  Bob was so angry about more and more people taking over his home and Susan felt it was humane to share what she had with those who had less.  Susan wanted to take care of them all and when Bob wasn’t around, she would tell them that they had a right to be there and that she would see to it that she share her “privilege” and ensure that they could never be sent away.  Bob would take their things and throw it out on the street and demand that they get the fuck out of his house but when he wasn’t looking or around, they came right back.  Bob wanted to build a wall with a moat and have alligators and big dogs to keep the people out and he told the undocumented residence such.  A bunch of them brazenly told him that they had as much of a right to live in the house as him and that a wall wouldn’t do shit to keep them out.  Things had reached a low point.  Bob hated Susan and Susan hated Bob.  Bob wanted to make his house great again and Susan wanted justice and equality for all.  Eventually this had to go in front of a judge.  The judge looked at both of them after hearing both of their sides and talked to them calmly.

“At some point, you will have to be reasonable people and come to a compromise…”

Bob asked the judge a question.

“And if we don’t come to a compromise?”

The judge responded.

“Well, you risk destroying what you have… And that would be ashamed.”

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June 23, 2018

Mommy and Daddy Voted For Trump- A Kid Book

Children I know you heard that once upon a time that momma and daddy voted for Obama back in 2008. Things then were not so great. Back when you were just a tadpole in dad’s bag and we were trying to secure Baghdad. Eight years of hope. Eight more? Nope.
Along came a man with a strange tan down an escalator. He told your parents that life could be better. Against all odds, against all predictions at 10pm eastern came the revelation. The American Brexit was born.
Now Aunt Tilly, the one married to Milly, both believe in freedom of speech and democracy as long as they agree. They told your parents that they were stupid and silly and yelled, “you are dumb… Racist, sexist and straight up deplorable.” For your parents the thought was unbearable the idea of Hillary as president. No borders and permanent illegal immigrants. Free college and a government job for all and no need for borders, passports, fences or walls. North Korean bombs headed for Guam, Syria feeling little like Vietnam with no hope or plan for ISIS or the return of the Tailban.
They probably would never admit this out loud but they are proud that as a boy, you wear blue and like firetrucks and they quietly believe it sucks that their values are the enemy of Hollywood, the press and talk show TV.
Russian collusion, Mueller commission fishing for obstruction and mom and dad are just so glad about the economy and their 401K and the prospect that Korean missles might go away. What do they do? What do they say? Nothing out of fear of being yelled at, belittled, attacked and driven away. Oh and by the way… You better hide this book today. Aunt Tilly is on her way. I shudder to think what she’ll think or what she’ll say and that’s just how it is everyday.

June 22, 2018

Detroit 67- The Love Story

Filed under: america,Detroit,Ethnicity,humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:25 am
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Felicia sat around the table of her parents Southfield home in suburban Detroit with her husband and two daughters. They had just finished celebrating Felicia’s 50th birthday and we’re sitting around the table talking about mundane, day-to-day things that families talk about when Sally the younger of Felicia’s two daughters, looked at her grandparents and asked how they happened. Sally looked at her smiling grandfather with faded freckles on his face, wearing his Detroit Tigers cap, sipping on lemonade with one hand and holding the hand of his wife beside him. The grandmother, a serene black woman with salt and pepper braids smiled at Sally as Sally looked back at her with the palms of her hands supporting her chin while her elbows rested on the table. Sally thought about the fact that she was 25% black and that her mom was 50% black and that her grandparents were both 100% white and 100% black. Sally had heard the story from her mom but wanted to hear the story from the people who lived it. Grandma Emma’s eyes lit up as she relived the days over 50 years ago.
“I opened the front door to my parents home to find this young man in a nice summer suit and a hat to match. It was late afternoon and just the day before there was a riot not too far away and my cousin was arrested with a whole bunch of people. My momma was down in Mississippi with my brothers and my daddy took off with a shotgun with my two uncles to stand guard over his small grocery store not far from 12th street to make sure it wouldn’t be looted once the riots broke out. The day before, I was at the Fox Theater to see a whole lot of local Motown groups when the show suddenly ended. My daddy waited until I was home and then took off for his store. He told me to stay inside the house and not answer the door. So what did I do? I answered the door…”
Elmer laughed, took a sip of his lemonade and began to give his account of that day.
“I grew up in a town called Fairbury in Nebraska…. I woke up one day and decided that my calling was to get people in this country to vote for Richard Nixon. I went to the state Republican office in Lincoln and they thought it would be a funny idea to send me to Detroit. I never was out of the state before. When I got to Detroit, it might as well have been Mars. In fact the man who sent me from the office in Lincoln, looked at me with his gray flattop haircut and horned rimmed glasses and said to me…. There are a ton of coloreds in Dee-troit that need to learn about the benefits of a Richard Nixon presidency. I got to Detroit and began to ask around where the coloreds lived. I think I musta looked like a Martian to them.”
Emma smiled and took over at a place she felt was right to cut in.
“So I look through the front window and see this young man with literature in his hands. I’m thinking he was one of them Jehovah Witness boys from Australia. I was really hoping it was. I liked their accents so much. I was seventeen at the time but I looked older. I believe your granddaddy was almost 21. He asked if the man of the house was there and then he asked if I was the lady of the house. Since my momma was down in Mississippi, I felt I was the lady of the house. I said I was and then invited him in. He took off his hat and began talking about Richard Nixon. I poured him a Coke on ice… It was so hot outside. He stopped to tell me how hot it was in Nebraska this time of year. Then he paused and told me that I was the first colored person he had ever spoken to in person before. I told him that he was the first and only white boy to ever come and knock on our door… A whole buncha firsts at one time. Now keep in mind my daddy was not going to leave his store until order in the streets could be restored. I asked your grandfather if he knew about the riots going on. The farm boy was oblivious to the unrest.”
Elmer shook his head and looked up at the ceiling as his wife spoke. Emma laughed and Elmer cut back in.
“Your grandmother told me she was 22 and that her fiancé picked up and left her and went to New York. She was 17 and there was no fiancé in New York. It made for a riveting story. She made me something to eat and asked if I would like a gin martini with my supper. I said that I would not have one unless she had one with me. I don’t ever think she had a drink before. So we had a few martinis with dinner and then the phone rang… It was your grandmother’s father checking to make sure she was home and okay. He told her that he would not be coming home until he was sure that his shop was going to be intact. I could hear this from where I was sitting. I offered to stay with your grandmother and protect her as long she was alone. She smiled and said she would like that. We finished eating and then your grandmother put so music on the Hi-Fi. It was mostly Motown dance music but then she put on a Smokey Robinson song called More Love. She came up and took my left hand and put her’s in it and then wrapped my right arm around her waist, put her head on my shoulder and told me to listen to the words. The lights were dimmed and it was close to 9:30pm in the Eastern Time Zone. In Nebraska it would have been dark outside but the sun was just setting. There we were…. Drinking your great- granddaddy’s liquor, eating his food, slow dancing in his living room at dusk with the sound of machine guns and tanks in the back ground and your grandmother asked me to listen to the words.”
Emma began to Sing the words to the song for everyone to hear.
“This is no fiction, this is no fact. I’ll always belong only to you each day. I’ll be living to make sure I’m giving you more love and more joy than age or time could ever destroy.”
Sally nudged her mother and sister Jeanette. The story was surreal. A white man and a young black woman fell in love in Detroit during the week that riots raged on the streets. Him a young Republican from nowhere Nebraska and her a teenaged black girl alone for three days playing house. This was the Prince Charming from every story she ever read. He was the knight on dark nights when unrest had reached it’s boiling point. They fell in love within a week while being alone. Emma’s father returned several days later with a shotgun in hand and found the young white man in his living room watching a ballgame on television. He stood dumbfounded at the site of a young white man sitting in his chair in his house. Elmer rose, extended his hand and told him what his purpose was in being there- discussing Richard Nixon with colored people.

“My daddy told your granddaddy to leave before he shot him. I was sure I was never going to see your granddaddy again. There is a special kind of crazy that happens when you are so in love that you can’t think about anything else except for that person. I was love sick and mopey for days and then about a week later, the most unexpected thing happened.”

Elmer returned with flowers and a ring. The tall black man looked at the young thin white man with flowers and invited him in. He reasoned that if he were to shoot him, it would be best to do it behind closed doors. Once the door closed, Elmer began talking rapidly and nervously.
“Sir… This might sound crazy to you but I have fallen deeply in love with your daughter and would like to ask your permission to marry her. In your absence, I was here with her making sure that no harm came to her. I have the means to take care of her and I aim to…”
“My daddy thought about shooting him and then looked at me. I’m sure I had a stupid in love look in my eye and I’m pretty sure he knew that the possibility of a baby within me was not only possible but probable and so it was… Here’s your momma 50 years later… And life is truly a wondrous thing…. Happily ever after? Mostly.”

 

June 2, 2018

Monday

Filed under: america,chicago,humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 4:36 am
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All things being equal, Monday morning on the highways in Chicago,
really suck. Everyone leaves home early wishing there was two Sundays
a week instead of a Monday. They leave with coffee, Monster or Red
Bull, maybe a Five Hour Energy or a plain old cola with a No-Doze- if
you don’t get the runs. Cars race 15 to 20 miles an hour faster than
the speed limit on their way to the highway and once on the freeway,
expressway or tollway, it slows fast. Tens of thousands of cars, tens
of thousands of cogs going into the giant wheel that propels the
American dynamo rolling and yet not many are happy people Monday morning.
At 7:32AM central standard time at mile marker 41 ½ of the north
bound lanes headed towards Wisconsin on the 294, Bill gets a text
message as he speeds up and slows down in the third from right or
second from left lane. It’s from his wife who went on a weekend
vacation with some female friends, when in reality it was a fuck
vacation with a man she met on the internet and had a rendezvous with in San Diego.
Picture seafood and fucking and dancing and fucking and a nap and more
fucking and both parties are pretty sure that there is an unmatched
chemistry and that they should figure out how they can make their
weekend paradise into a full-time suburban nirvana . On the long red
eye flight home, Jessica while pounding Chardonnay, while leading off
of third base, she was going to steal home while her husband Bill had
his back to her. They would sell the house, split the assets and then
the children. Oh shit… The kids. Well they’re nearly adults and all
statistics reason that young men need their fathers during their
adolescence. They can come to San Diego in summers and for Christmas
break.
“BILL- I’M NOT HAPPY. I HAVEN’T BEEN HAPPY FOR A LONG TIME. I NEED
MORE FOR MY LIFE. WE NEED TO END THIS AS AMICABLY AS POSSIBLE. IF
YOU WANT TO SAVE MONEY, WE CAN BOTH USE MARK TO REPRESENT US BOTH. WE
CAN TALK ABOUT THIS TONIGHT IF YOU WANT TO. – J”
Bill was stunned to receive such a text while driving a truck from
Indiana to Wisconsin. He was so taken back, that he did not pay
attention to the red lights ahead of him. He was travelling 35 mph
and the small Ford with Coexist, Resist, peace sign and Make America
Not embarrassing stickers on the back of her car that was about to made
into an accordion by the heavy approaching truck. Bill out of the
corner of one eye, happened to see the cars dead stopped ahead of him.
Bill jammed on the breaks and swerved the nearly 60 foot truck from
killing someone ahead of him. The truck’s cab hit the cement divider
between north and south and landed upside down. The trailer smashed
open and the contents were flung onto both sides of the highway like
candy being thrown from a man in a Santa Claus suit in the back of a
convertible. A twelve-inch blue dildo landed on the windshield of an
Asian woman who was visiting from Japan. She took out her cell phone,
snapped off a picture of the dong on the windshield. The translated
words into Japanese that went with the photograph went as follows
“This is my first day of work in the United States. I’m going to be
late due to a truck crashing on the highway. First day of work : ( There are “things” all
over the road and this landed on my car. Could any of you back home
use one of these? LOL : ) : O
Yes it was true. The contents of the truck driven by Bill were sex
toys that were made in China, shipped by boat from Hong Kong to Long
Beach, California. They were then put on trains and shipped to a
warehouse in Indiana, distributed onto semi trucks and shipped to
cities like Hoboken, Toledo and Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Bill’s shipment
would not make it to Sheboygan. The rubber sheep, dongs, vibrators,
creams, gels, thongs, French Maid outfits, cock rings and fake
pussies would all need to be collected by hand by the highway
authority. Meanwhile miles and miles of cars came to a complete halt.
Cars in right lanes queued up where there were exits, rolling over
latex and rubber items. Bill was held upside down by his seatbelt.
He was pretty sure that the worst moment of his adult life had
arrived. He was going to lose a job and a marriage simultaneously.
He wasn’t alone. There were people going into labor who feared that
they were going give birth on the highway. Speaking of birth, there
were several people who shit their pants unable to hold the stomach
virus that was circulating around. Several people dumped their coffee
and tried to fill their cups with urine without being seen. Several
people missed flights, missed appointments, were late for work and
surgeries. It was mayhem. Everyone except one man with sunglasses
was annoyed, angry, stressed and late. His seven-year old daughter
pulled out her pink kindle. The father went to Youtube and pulled up
W.C. Fields in “It’s a Gift”.
“This man had a bad day just like we’re all having… It’s very funny.”
W.C. yells for his help to open the front door of his grocery store
for the approaching blind man who is also hard of hearing that is
using a cane as a stick to aid the blind. The blind man puts his
cane through the glass of the front window. An impatient customer
yells at W.C. as he attempts to help the blind man from destroying his
store.
“What about my kumquat?!”
The little seven-year old began to giggle. The blind man wants
chewing gum and the stuffy man wants his kumquat. The blind man
attempts to find the gum himself. He stands up and picks up a light
bulb that are stacked naked on a table. The light bulbs begin to
crash to the floor.
“SIT DOWN, MR. MERKLE!”
The blind man leaves the store and crosses the street and almost gets
killed by fire trucks. W.C. Fields backs into a garbage can and falls
in. The little girl and her dad a both roaring with laughter. Nobody
else on that highway that morning were laughing. Pocket pussies and
dongs in the air? There should have been more laughter.

May 11, 2018

Forward

Filed under: poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:32 pm
Tags: ,

He wakes and sees himself in the mirror, squints like Clint
“I’m the boy I’ve always been… am I too old? I still feel young.”
Life’s a curious thing, miles of road in the rear view mirror and a
dead end up ahead.  It’s not what you heard or what I said. You’ll
soon forget the lunch bags and red roses. The mundane day-to-day
measured in minutes He kissed her lips on a sunny day drove the baby
to where she had to go.  Just trying to get it right.  He wakes when
they’re sleeping, says nothing.  I’m not leaving; it’s just a walk and
a quiet talk to the relatives gone before him letting them know others
are coming.  Fading, fading into a deeper fog of a mind stuck on
reset.  Life’s cruelty is to forget and lose comprehension of where,
what and why.   Life’s a struggle; life is tough but better than the
man with the cup by the freeway.  He’s lived a bunch of years, does he
get more? He thinks the deepest thing might be love.   Memories of
homes and hearts searching for the light switch in the dark.  It’s
there.  You will find it.

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.”

March 25, 2018

Coexist…

It was some time after 9-11 that Lars Bjornson left his home in Stockholm to discover America. He wanted to eat hot dogs, see sporting events of sports he knew nothing about. He wanted to be in the audience of a Jerry Springer show. He wanted to see where Michael Jordan played basketball and where Al Capone once ran around. Lars wanted to see the tall buildings of Chicago and he also wanted to see the ghetto.

Lars rented a car and asked the doorman of the posh hotel he was staying at on Michigan Avenue, where he could go to see the real ghetto. You know… Poor people. The doorman thought Lars was a bit nuts but then again he felt that all of those really white, white people of Northern European countries, were truly different than your run of the mill American whites. In reality, it was not unlike going on a safari in Africa or visiting a zoo. Lars wanted to see blight, hopelessness, drug addicts and the mentally ill hanging around on street corners. The doorman spoke frankly with him.
“Hey man, there’s shit in life you just should not do. You puttin your life in yo own hands…. It ain’t like round here, dude…. Shit…. It’s yo life. Tell you watchu do…. Take any one of these streets named after old dead white dudes that was once president. Madison, Washington, Adams…. Randolph…. I don’t remember no President Randolph in school but it coulda been one them dudes who was president fo like a day and then got shot. You might wind up like them but you welcome to go. Four miles that way. You cain’t git lost.”
Lars was excited in a sick way not unlike when people go online to view people getting beheaded or shot and watching the life drain out of them. Lars wanted to visit the most dangerous city in an area where the most people get killed every year in the richest most prosperous country in the world. Lars was hoping to actually see a shooting happen in the streets. He slowly drove up and down streets that were strewn with debris, high weeds, barber shops with men hanging out in front of them, boarded up storefronts and liquor stores on almost every corner. People looked back at Lars not unlike when animals make eye contact with humans at the zoo.

Lars saw a beautiful young black woman at a bus stop, eating something carefully out of a bag. Her young, perfect body and model like face attracted Lars. He parked the car and strangely pitched the idea of the woman getting into his car to go to dinner, talk to him and then later have sex with him. For $1,000.00. Asha ( pronounced ASIA ) thought about all the things she could do with $1,000.00 and hopped into the car of the tall blond man from Sweden. Asha went to an expensive seafood restaurant and then back to Lars hotel room to do the deed. Asha marveled at her strange day as she put her clothes back on in front of a floor to ceiling window that looked out at Lake Michigan and the high rises that lined the downtown. It was a glimpse into a life she had only seen on television. She concluded that to be white was truly a boost up the tree of life that black people rarely get unless they have some redeeming value to white people. Lars thought to himself while he showered with all his jewelry, cash and credit cards where he could see it in the locked bathroom, that it was a really cool experience and that having sex with someone of a different color was something that everyone should experience once. Sometimes weird moments and actions lead to something surreal. Well… It did.
Two presidents and sixteen years later, Asha’s son Lars was about to play in the state championship basketball game. Picture a tall caucasian looking child with a tint to his skin with sort of yellow hair with large rotini like curls. Around his ankle was a tracking device for those that should probably be in prison but are allowed back out in society. Lars was arrested for carjacking. Several times in the past, Lars had successfully secured a car, drove it around, smashed it up and abandoned it. In Chicago, things such as that are sport for underprivileged inner city kids who see the disparity between those that have and those that have not. The last carjacking backfired when Lars and his buddies tried to carjack the car of an off duty cop who had a vintage 1970 Plymouth Challenger. Upon pulling a gun on the officer and hopping in, they found that the car was manual transmission and none of the trio knew how to drive a car with a stick shift. Lars looked up to find a gun back in his face. Lars’ two friends had no redeeming value to society at this point in their lives- high school drop outs, gangbangers with criminal history but Lars intrigued the judge. The judge listened to the tall boy speak who looked like he could be white but also could be black, looked at his African American mother and asked the boy rhetorical questions. Do you want to go to jail? Do you want to die young? Do you want your life to amount to nothing? Do you want to become something? Asha told the judge that her son was a very good basketball player and that 6’ 7, he had a good chance of getting a college scholarship and possibly professional basketball. Asha handed a handful letters of intent from division one universities from around the country that were interested in having young Lars play basketball. The judge saw a letter from his alma mater and grew excited. The stern looking white judge looked at Lars and said that he wanted to see him, his mother and his attorney in his office. Once in the judge’s quarters, the judge picked up his phone on his desk and made a call to the president of his alma mater who happened to be a friend, a golf buddy, a drinking buddy to let him know that he should send someone from the athletics department to come to the championship game in Quincy, Illinois to sign Lars to their university. Asha and Lars were stunned by how the serious looking judge was talking so casually to them.
“You’re going to love this school. It is one of the greatest schools in the country. You’ll get a great education in a good environment and you could really help the school by being on the team. They came so close this year! Sweet sixteen! Hopefully you can help them win a national championship…. So listen. Lars will have to wear an ankle monitor for a while. You’ll come back in a few weeks and I’ll clear him. No record. You have to stop fooling around, Lars. You have a promising life ahead of you. Don’t screw it up…. Tell you what…. I think I can make that game in Quincy. I have nothing on my calendar. I will be there with your mom.”
Somewhere in Europe, there is a man with an American son that he knows nothing about. Lars Sr. would be so proud to know that he helped create hope for a woman who was destined to live a dismal, mundane life. Stories such as this make white people feel really good when they know their own kind are helping in some small an indirect way to create prosperity and equality. Even if they didn’t mean to.

January 17, 2018

The 2nd Opinion

Filed under: america,donald trump,humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 7:34 pm
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The press and a large part of the electorate was quite skeptical of
the results of a physical and mental exams performed by Dr. Ronny
Jackson so another physical was performed by a group of Doctors
ordered by the Democratic Party.  Think of Robert Mueller and his team
as physicians.  What they found was not unlike what Dr. Ronny Jackson
found.  All the clinical data came up very similar.  The press
conference following the second opinion became more frantic.  Dr. Hans
Gruber fielded questions.  What they did not know was that Dr. Hans
was an atheist, nihilist and an anarchist in his earlier days.  Dr.
Gruber was neither Democrat nor Republican.  He believed in nothing.

“Dr. Gruber…  Would you say that the president is on par with Putin
regarding his health?”

Dr. Gruber- I would say he is more on par with Rasputin.  To prevent
the possibility of being poisoned by anyone, he does not have his
kitchen staff prepare food for him.  He like most Americans pulls up
to a drive through and orders a number one.  Sometimes a number 7 with
a diet Coke.

“Dr. Gruber…  Do you believe the president is actually obese and in
danger of a heart attack or stroke given that he sleeps very little,
does not exercise except for golf and eats poorly?”

DR.  Gruber- There is what I’ve discovered based on tests and what I
believe.  Since you specifically asked what I believe, I will tell you
what I believe…  Genetically some people can eat …  pardon the word
but it has been quite popular lately… shit food and it has no affect
on them.  They can endure high stress with very little sleep and they
are no worse for the wear.

“Dr. Gruber…  Are you alluding to some sort of genetic master race,
Caucasians are superior sort of conclusion?”

Dr. Gruber- Ummm no.  Hitler was not looking for orange haired,
oranged-faced people to build his Reich.  It’s more like the luck of
the draw.  You sometimes bring to homely people together and create a
beauty.  Two right-handers give birth to a lefty.  Two brown haired
brown-eyed people create a blond with blue eyes…  These things
happened.

“Dr. Gruber…  There are a large number of psychiatrists who believe
that the president is no mentally fit.  How can we be sure that the
tests given are truly accurate at detecting the president’s mental
fitness.”?

Dr. Gruber- I don’t think I could accurately determine if someone is
mentally fit without putting that person, personally through an exam.
Has anyone found out the political leanings of these psychiatrists who
have never examined the president?  Am I allowed to ask questions
here?  No?  Okay…  Maybe a rhetorical question.”

“Dr. Gruber…  The country is perplexed by this second examination.
What would you suggest next?

Dr. Gruber- If collusion, obstruction of justice, mental and physical
fitness cannot unseat this president, you have two choices- acceptance
of reality or hope for a Democrat house in 2018 and a successful
election to trigger an impeachment Keep in mind there are large
questions right now in the minds of many Americans about the mental
fitness of the American press…  You asked me… I’m just telling you.

Looking For Love

Filed under: america,humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:12 am
Tags: , , , , , ,

Male late 30’s seeks compatible female under 30 for a relationship and
possibly more   Somebody that is hot but no so hot that I can’t deal
with you.  If you’re not into sex for whatever hang up or reason,
you’re not for me.  If you have to have Indian food, please do not do
it too often cause the smell of curry makes me ill.  You have to have
been born a woman and always considered yourself female.  I don’t want
anyone who was once a dude… Sorry, guys. No bi or tri, group sexers,
swappers or twisted types that want to put shit up my ass.  Please no
stupid tattoos or weirdo piercings.  I do have video game night with
my buds on Tuesdays, I like country music and do occasionally watch
wrestiling. I like long walks on the beach but I hope you don’t mind
if my dogs come with.  I don’t mind chick flicks if you’ll
occasionally see a good war movie with me.  I have a thing about going
down on a woman unless she is completely shaved and pristine.  If you
are- I’m amazing.  A true vagitarian ☺. Please don’t respond if you’re
taking medication for anxiety or depression. I don’t do crazy. I can
live with the basic monthly mood swings. If you have kids or are
“kinda” in a relationship, you can skip me.  I don’t want militant,
overly political or someone who lives their life on social media.  You
put down your phone to talk to me and I promise to look right into
your eyes ☺.

So let me tell you about me. I’m fit, good looking, intelligent, have
a good job, two good cars, a nice home and a timeshare in Mexico.  I
work out daily and never have less than 25,000 steps on my Fit Bit and
under 10% body fat.   I like to eat out.  If you’re caught up on
vegetarian, vegan or are a gluten Nazi,  I’m probably not your guy.
If you saw me out, you would look at me twice. I’m not religious but
consider myself Christian.  I love football- college, pro and
lingerie. I love craft beer and margaritas, the color red and know how
to swing dance if you’re into that.  I can play the guitar a little
and have 1970 Dodge Charger with a Hemi engine in cherry condition. I
know there’s a lot here but I don’t want to waste your time and please
don’t waste mine.  I think I offer something special to the right
person of interest.  Okay? Cool.

December 29, 2017

A little Different Than Detroit

Bill was a bad ass.  He was one of those sixty-year-old men that could
still kick your ass or make love all night without the aid of pills.
He could lift heavy weights and run many miles.  After receiving a
severance package and retiring early from General Motors in suburban
Detroit, Bill decided to take up his daughter Lulu’s invitation to
visit her in Seattle.
Bill liked Seattle but found it a whole other world different than
Detroit.  Bill liked Detroit and when he inherited his parent’s home
east of Telegraph at about 5 Mile, he stayed living in the city.  Bill
had his bar that he would frequent to watch Tiger’s games in the
summer and Red Wing games in the winter.  He had his ten-dollar a
month gym that played ghetto Rap on the Musak and Bill was fine.  In
Seattle, everyone was fit and trim but a little too waif like in that
they all were Vegan, had odd piercings and were militantly opposed to
the president.  Bill voted for Trump and was proud of it.  Bill
surmised early on that there probably was not one person within the
city limits of Seattle that voted for Trump and so he stayed in the
closet about his admiration for his president.
Christmas came and Bill gave Lulu cash and some gift cards to
Starbucks.  Lulu bought her dad a raincoat and told him he could ditch
the umbrella and then she handed him a certificate.  Bill looked at it
and thanked Lulu.  Lulu explained what it was.
“Daddy…  I have a really good friend who is a life coach and I think
the things he helps people with could really help you when you go back
to Detroit.  Try to keep an open mind to this.  It is for sure
something new for you and at your age, new things help you to keep
your mind fresh.  Your body is in great shape but I wonder if your
routine leaves your mind without a challenge sometimes.  Tomorrow my
friend Rolf will be here to begin to work with you.”
Bill was intrigued and so he graciously thanked his daughter and
awaited what was in store for him.  It came at 7 am the following day.
Standing at the door was a wide-eyed gay man with two dimples.  The
expression on his face made the person looking at him open their eyes
wide also.  Bill tried not to be wide eyed too but he couldn’t keep it
up.
“William…  Mondays for the next month, we will not be carnivores.  We
will eat things like lentils and tofu…  Have you had an exam
recently?”
“It’s been a few years…”
“Exactly what I mean.  You probably are eating steak for breakfast in
Detroit… Okay so no meat today.  Tomorrow and the rest of the week,
you will have a choice between rainbow trout, salmon and maybe tuna.
Lu has given me carte blanche to take over the kitchen and create what
you will need…  We will be having green tea with our steamed veggies,
soup and lentil pasta…  Okay next…  We will not be drinking our water
out of plastic bottles.  We do not do that here in Seattle.  The
amount of oil and water needed to make a disposable water bottle is
ridiculous.  Lu already has a purifier and we will be using glass
bottles and being really careful with them…  Okay next …  you probably
are used to eating chips and the like back home for snacks.  I will
provide you with the proper snacks.  I make great Kale chips that we
can have with nut butter and fruit…  All that I provide for you will
be come from fair trade farmers.  We do not need pesticides or to help
anyone looking to kill forests and little creatures that live in
forests just to farm.  We will be visiting the market together and I
am giving you this really awesome reusable sack with containers that
you can clean and reuse at the salad bar…  Okay…  So…  Any organic
waste, we can put in these bags and I have my own compost heap going
where I live in Redmond… And now for the exercising regiment…  Lu
tells me you’re relatively fit for an old timer.”
Bill followed all the things Rolf threw at him regarding saving the
planet and good nutrition.  When it came to exercise, Bill turned the
tables.  Bill could not be tired out by the things Rolf gave him to
do.  Rolf was a bit stymied by Bill.  Usually older men complained and
huffed and puffed.  Bill was barely winded.  Finally after a few
weeks, Bill proposed a change for Rolf.  Bill asked if Rolf would be
game to let Bill run a day from beginning to end.  Rolf smirked and
went along with it.
Bill picked up Rolf in Lulu’s yellow Smart car.  They stopped at a
Starbucks and had lattes with pastries and then drove to the gym.
Bill and Rolf ran two miles at an 8% grade, bench pressed 245 lbs, did
five sets of pull-ups, leg lifts with a 15 lbs. dumbbell and then swam
two miles.  They then drove to a Mexican restaurant outside of town.
Instead of listening to the weird space music with the sound of the
ocean waves crashing in the background, Bill had on the Rush Limbaugh
radio show.  Rush was talking about Trumps achievements and the
collusion between Mueller, Comey, and the former president Obama,
Hillary and a slew of others.  Rolf looked at Bill horrified and
demanded that Bill change the channel.  When Bill wouldn’t do it, Rolf
reached to do it.  Bill grabbed his hand before he changed the
channel.
“If you believe we still live in a democracy, there should always be
the things out there that you don’t agree with that must be accepted
regardless if you agree with the point of view or not.  For a month, I
listened to what you wanted, I ate what you made me eat, I drank what
you made me drink and I kept an open mind to it all.  Now today, it’s
your turn…  You don’t have to agree but you should permit it if you
truly believe in a free society…  Now with that said…  I found a
restaurant way out east with the NHL channel that will have the Red
Wing’s game on and has strippers.  We will be eating Mexican food,
drinking a pitcher of Margaritas and watching ice hockey and some big
tits…  Are we understanding each other?”
Rolf sat with his arms folded on the way to the restaurant.  Once
there, Bill ordered a steak with beans and rice and Rolf had vegetable
fajitas.  Rolf watched his first hockey game on television and
actually liked it as he got liquored up on tequila and watched women
spinning around poles attached to the ceiling.  Bill dropped Rolf off
at his home east of the city.  In the front yard was Rolf’s wife
gardening.  Rolf’s wife was a smallish man who was trying to keep the
bark inside the liner that went around a tree.  He stood to kiss Rolf
and could smell booze and cigar on his glassy eyed husband and
demanded to know what happened.
“Well darling…  I made a deal with a client from out east that I
would put aside the training for a day and live life the way he does.
It consisted of steak, Rush Limbaugh, breasts, ice hockey, tequila and
cigars after lifting weights, running and swimming with a right winged
geriatric hetero…”
“And I’m supposed to be cool with it all?’
Rolf giggled and kissed his wife on the neck, breathing nasty cigar
breath on him as he lead him inside their home.
“Lovely…  I learned today that we don’t need to agree but we should
tolerate…  Or something like that.  So you don’t have to agree with my
day but it would be really awesome if you just took it for what it is,
shut the fuck up and get into that bedroom because for one day only…
There’s a little bit of Detroit going on in daddy.”

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