Blackhumouristpress's Blog

April 2, 2020

6 Feet From Insanity

The Uber man drives around in a Toyota, carrying a sandwich.  People
are afraid of public places now. Can you blame them?  I often thought
about what was on my hands long before others gave thought to the
things that they could not see… A thin foreigner who thought a better
life would be to drive around the mean streets of Detroit making sure
that people get a sandwich.  Are you hungry, sir?  I have a sandwich
for you.  Something to take your mind off of your stomach.  Perhaps
your stomach is turning, sir… Have a sandwich.  How bad does a country
need to be before you run away to deliver food in Detroit?  A
rhetorical question not meant to be answered.

It makes People feel safe to know that when they queue up behind
someone at the Wal-Mart, they have a mask for their protection.
Picture Disneyland with no fun but we’re all being taken for a ride.
We all wear masks metaphorically speaking, don’t we?  But what comes
next?  Meanwhile somewhere in our nation’s capital, the Ubermensch
faces the press to discuss this invisible menace that kills minute by
minute.  The numbers of dead world wide.  The Italians, the Spaniards,
Koreans and in China the eel chases the weasel in the wet market while
the market on Wall Street fluctuates.   The pollution must be better
in China now with nobody working. We worry about that and climate
change.  Boy didn’t the climate change fast in these United States in
a matter of speaking. A sunny day and then just clouds of ominous
disaster in hours… It’s 2pm…  Time for a set of push-ups and the Ab
Roller.  A new commercial… Say, did you know that you could get life
insurance right now for $9.00 a month even if you’re over sixty?  Yup…
Fat, smoker, diabetes taking a cocktail of medicine?  No problem and
on top of this all, you might get this virus…  virus… I’m  going to go
play the stand up bass.  I’m playing scales while reciting homemade
poetry as if it were a Psalm.  This one was entitled Federal Form XIV
in Triplicate
The wind and the rain
Inner storm, inner pain
Distain for it all and after all
It goes where it will and against your
Will and you won’t be able to open that door
The only door given that day you were born
You have the key with all your brilliance
Strength and resilience but in the end…

I love that riff in G.  Nice and deep.  Goes well with my voice.
Wearing a Fedora and a Wife Beater with shorts and Doc Marten Boots.
What a sight I must be that see in the mirror…
Looks like rain but I think I should go for a run before I have to
hop on Zoom and discuss with 18 year olds what they think they know
about truth.  It is truly exhausting as it is amusing.  If they get
high enough, I can say things that lead them to think and then forget
that they are even thinking.   Something like this…
If Every word becomes a concept not intended to remind of an original
experience to which it owes its birth, but must at the same time fit
innumerable, more or less similar cases—which means, strictly
speaking, never equal—in other words, a lot of unequal cases. Every
concept originates through our equating what is unequal.
Stuff like this is imbedded in my memory like my own poetry or a
Psalm.  Semester after semester the same young minds of mush have to
take philosophy 101 on their way to manage a Jimmy John’s or possibly
a shoe store wearing a referee’s jersey.  I will be spewing these
things out but my mind will be in Cape Verde…  The trip I took back
when all was fine.  The drinks, the food, the woman with the large
breasts singing in Portuguese… Quêl mudjêr cú quêm m’ encôntra…
Will the truth matter?  Is the lie more important?

I open the door and my Detroit is as rural as Kansas.  No homes
around.  All were torn down after being torched on Halloweens.  I run
along the roads and there are driveways to cement pads where homes
once stood. I’m working on an 8 minute mile just south of 8 Mile…
Looks a bit like Dresden after World War II.  I don’t mind the peace
and solitude.  I don’t mind the serenity. On days when the world is
functional, I navigate my way down Woodward to Wayne State.  Well not
right now.  I am social distancing within a two-mile radius.  I have
my provisions. Wild salmon, chicken without hormones… Hopefully.
Peanuts, peanut butter, eggs, rice and the vegetable and fruit frozen
so that I can throw them in the Ninja and try to protect myself
naturally.  Fight the invisible foe with things that should save you
and your colon.

A scary thought came to me.  I’m old enough to remember back two weeks
ago when we had the freedom to go anywhere and do anything and then we
were told we couldn’t go anywhere or do anything… Just like that. How
harrowing it was to navigate the aisles and to stand in line at the
Meijer.  I was behind a man in a motorized scooter next to a woman who
needed a motorized scooter.  Their cart filled with processed shit
sure to ensure further unhappiness and inflammation.  They moved at
the pace that would make a sloth impatient.  I calculated that they
might have been gathering like hunters in the Meijer all day.  They
were in no rush to get home to watch mindless fluff just to pass the
time until it’s time to eat or sleep or shit.  And they were not
alone.  There were many more just like them.

I’m back home now… Another commercial.  Time to do more pushups and
roll out my abs.  Things are not getting better but I am trying to
improve myself and if everyone improved themselves, we might improve
things.  The commercial… A very Semitic young lawyer in a smart suit
is leaning over a good looking young thing at a desk as if they are
discussing something important while a voice tells me that he is in my
corner if I used talcum powered, had a mesh implant put in for a
hernia or was corn holed by a scoutmaster back in the 1960’s.  He is
there to get justice…  For a small percentage.  The sixties…  I miss
the sixties really.  Good music, a lot of fucking and nothing hurt on
my body back then…  We did turn the world upside down, didn’t we?
Sure… We told old people that they fucked things up and that we would
fix them.  Guys like me went on to teach while others found Jesus and
Amway.  You got Nixon and then Ford and then Carter…  Well I don’t
need to tell you. Today a bunch of young people want to go down to
South Beach for spring break and my generation shakes their fists- You
fucking kids are gonna kill me with the virus!  Quit drinking and
fornicating and get indoors and watch CNN!  Sure, pops…  Whatever you
It’s been 14 days since I’ve seen a live human.  My mail goes to the
university.  I have to say that for all the disdain and annoyance by
humanity there is a chance that I might need them the way you need to
hear sound.  If you go without sound the sound of no sound gets so
loud that you think you might go deaf…  Fuck! My thoughts are
scattered from something deep to mindless dribble.  I was born alone,
I will die alone…  What a nice view… A room with a view of things
outside.  I’m inside for protection from the outside but the outside
appears so pretty from here.  A room with no windows forces one to
look within.  I listen to Cal Tjader loudly on my Bose while the noise
of the day inaudible like a silent movie.  Think of the Aurora
Borealis with a sound track.  A beautiful mess turned down low. The
apocalypse is coming to Detroit and I’m sad that I will miss it live
in real time.
…  27,000 steps by 4pm and really what does that matter?  I’m more
than six feet away from everyone.  At what point will I risk death to
be by them again?

January 3, 2012

Love’s Reward

Filed under: Ethnicity,humor,Short Story,walmart — blackhumouristpress @ 9:51 pm
Tags: , , , ,

            “Yo dude…  I got the call to help you cause you was checkin out.  My job is to put suitcases on this cart and talk to you bout stuff like the weather or whether the Jets or the Giants gone do something…  Y’see?  I engage people in small talk so that when it comes time to give me a few dollars, they do ahead and do it.  I could be the angry black man who hates the world cause y’all white folk got so much money that you cain ford to stay all up in a hotel that overlook Times Square…  I cain tell you that you busted up a window that up near a grand to replace and I don’t know if you an acrobat but I cain’t even stand near the dang window much less stand on no tiny ass ledge…  Watchu thinking bout doing?”

            Trenton had never been to New Jersey but was named Trenton because his father once lived in that city after Vietnam.  Trenton had just gotten back from Iraq and at the age of twenty four, he had seen a lot of bad things in just under six years of service.  The reality of home life appeared more dismal to him than he anticipated too.

            “I called for you because I want someone to hear what I got to say before I go.  I could have written what I wanted to say down and what good would that have done?  Who would have seen it?  The Spanish speaking women who clean rooms?  They would crumple that up and throw it out and I’d have died as nameless and faceless as thousands of other people who died fighting terrorism for this country.  My dad fought communists and I fought terrorists and meanwhile nobody gave a shit over here.  I go away and come back to find that my mom is engaged to one of my friends from high school, my dad is scuba diving off of some island in the Philippines where he is being waited on by underage, poor girls and my fiancé has run off with some other guy to another state.  I’m going and I hope Dick Clark and Lady Gaga get a good look at me when I’m splattered all over the sidewalk.  I hope all the networks get a good look at me and wonder why it all happened.  Hopefully some producer hears about my plight and decides to do a Sunday night movie of my life.  Hopefully I don’t die nameless and in vain…”

            “Baby…  You know I go by the name of LR.  Everyone one call me LR.  I grew up thinking my parents didn’t have enough sense to give me a damn name.  They jus give me damn initials and then I come to find out that my name is really Love’s Reward.  Can you dig some crazy ass 1960’s stuff like that?  People was landing on the moon and others was burning up they cities and two young people had them a baby and gave him a crazy name like Love’s Reward.  They loved each other and me so much that they was ready to give my ass to the state cause neither one them was fit to watch a damn dog.  Luckily I had grandparents on my father’s side who was normal church going people who took me in and treated me like I was theirs.  My mom married four other men and had god know how many other babies and my dad became a skid row bum.  Every now and then he’d bring his ass to my grandparents home talking bout how he was gone ride the wagon and then he’d be cool foh awhile and then you’d see him in the park again, glassy eyed, mumbling stuff to himself, drinking out a bag.  Don’t you think that made me an angry young man?  I never once thought about killing myself foh things other people did or did not do right by me.”

            Trenton stood paralyzed with fear on a crumbling limestone ledge that was easily eighty years old.  He stood fifteen stories above the street.  People on the street could see a figure in the shadows but couldn’t make out if it was a human being or not.  Trenton was disappointed that women weren’t shrieking and begging someone to keep the sad human being from killing himself.  Nobody paid much attention.  Most thought someone had stuck a mannequin out on the ledge or possibly a Santa Claus as a joke.

            “Sad enough story but you didn’t sign up to help your country just to find out that your country wasn’t really helping you.  For oil or for strategic interests we were in Iraq.  There are terrorists in the United States.  Who did we really flush out?  Did we really do those people any favors by getting rid of Saddam?  The only thing they all seem to understand is a heavy hand and we got rid of the one man who could keep them all in line so that they could now have a civil war.  I come home and nobody cares that I served.  There’s no tickertape parade or recognition from anyone in my town.  People want to know if my head is all fucked up more than anything else.  They want to know if I’m going to show up at the Wal-mart and just start wasting people because I have been conditioned to kill and keep myself alive…  Well, just for the record, I never have been to a Wal-mart and maybe that is the safe thing for people like me…”

            LR walked close to the window and leaned against the wall close to where Trenton was standing.  He was hoping to reach through the jagged window and grab Trenton and somehow pull him through the window.  Trenton kept a close eye on where LR was standing.

            “I always wondered why it was that white people always killing they selves.  Here I am a 46 year old man with two adult children and I may have to work the rest of my life because I ain’t got enough money saved up to retire.  There’s a thought and a half foh yo ass…  Work til you die so you ain’t got to worry about starving or living in the park when you old.  You served and you cain go to school on the GI Bill and do something with y’self.  So yo momma crazy and want to sleep with young dudes and yo daddy doing something even worse.  Yo girlfriend up and left you…  So what.  She done saved you the trouble later cause her ass was destined to do that to you at some point.  You served in the military and nobody cares?  Shit…  Ain’t nobody care bout nothing but theyselves anyway.  I carry people’s bags and place them in cabs and limos and people talk to me and never make eye contact.  I ain’t spit on the sidewalk to them.  I carry they stuff and they give me a few dollars cause they would be too embarrassed to get in the car and walk away without giving me something foh a small job of convenience.  I make people’s lives easier in some damn small way and ain’t nobody give a shit or a fuck and still they ain’t no reason foh me to jump out no damn window.”

            Trenton had always been afraid of heights and afraid of drowning.  His two worst repeat nightmares were of falling from great heights or drowning.  The more LR spoke to him, the less Trenton was resolved about ending his life and the more fearful he became of just falling.

            “I’ve gone this far now and if I turn around, I’ll just look like a coward.  There I’ll be on the news, a guy who comes back from Iraq who is whacked out but not enough to really kill himself…  I just don’t see any other way now.  I think I’ve gone past the point of no return…”

            “Look man…  Ain’t nobody but you and I know you standing out there.  We been here some half hour and ain’t nobody come running in.  They ain’t no shrinks, cops, or priests all up in this room begging yo ass to come the fuck back in this room.  It just me and I ain’t gone say shit.  You come in and we gone come up with a reason why that window broke.  They got insurance.  You won’t have to pay you a damn dime…  Come on now and quit being crazy.  Gimme yo hand and Imma help you back in…”

            Trenton began to cry and felt weak for considering giving up and in.  He thought that it would have been a sad but heroic way to end it all.  Trenton didn’t want to end up an old man at a veteran’s hospital one day, being taken care of by people young enough to be his grand child, a survivor of a forgotten and meaningless war to those of the following generations.  He also didn’t want to die young despite the fact that he planned a suicide.

            Trenton went back to Ohio where he was from.  A fire investigation was done after the initial claim of an electrical fire in the wall, necessitated the hotel guest to break the window.  A stern looking white man with a bushy salt and pepper moustache told LR what he discovered to be the cause of the fire.  The fire investigator suspected a cover-up.  LR rubbed his chin and smiled before speaking.  He then leaned forward and looked hard into the fireman’s eyes.

            “Sometimes when we young, younger than you and I, we make decisions that could ruin or end our lives. Part of being young is making hasty choices that ain’t been thought out clearly. You cain only hope that occasionally an old wise goat like you and me cain be there to help save them from theyselves…  Hope you cain understand what I’m trying to tell you, sir.”

July 19, 2011

Ali/Babar and the Wife Thief

Filed under: Detroit,Ethnicity,humor,Oprah,Short Story,walmart — blackhumouristpress @ 5:15 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Ali was born a full six minutes ahead of his twin brother Babar.  Mother decided that her boys would be A and B and so it was.  A and B’s father decided when they were young that there was a land of great opportunity and diversity where immigrants were accepted and could find work, this land was Canada of course.

            Ali and Babar were as identical as identical could be.  Their parents could only tell them apart as infants and toddlers by a small birthmark on Ali’s left butt cheek.  As time went on, Ali was the quiet, thoughtful and a methodical young boy that would construct buildings with Lego’s and Babar was the loud, busy child that would deconstruct things his brother created.  As time went on, Babar suspected that his parents favored his twin brother at every turn in the road.  When it came to time to find them each a wife, Babar was convinced his parents held Ali in higher esteem.  Babar was matched up with a woman nearly the same height as him who carried more than a few extra pounds who had to shave the hair on her rotund stomach.  She wheezed, chortled and drooled in her sleep and always smelled like salami.  His wife’s mother had accompanied her only child to Canada fromPakistan and so Babar had a package deal that he did not care for on top of all the quirks.

            Ali went to Queen’s University in Kingston,Ontario and landed a job with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  Babar often joked with his brother that he wanted to come toOttawato see his brother on a strong black horse, dressed in a red suit.  Ali was not offended.  Ali’s wife had been a runner-up in the Miss Pakistani World contest in Mississauga,Ontario and was beautiful among beautiful women.  Babar was upset that his brother had a good government job and a hot wife who maintained her shapely physique despite having two children, while his wife appeared to have swallowed furniture after having just one child.

            Babar actually loved the freedom of being a cab driver.  Like most Canadian boys, Babar was hockey crazy.  Babar loved watching the sport and playing it.  Babar kept his goalie equipment in the trunk of his cab and would not take customers who needed the trunk for suitcases.  Babar played shinny and league games all overTorontoand in nice weather, he could be found playing cricket at a park here or there.  Having a smaller home and less prestigious job was the trade off for Babar who loved the freedom to do what he wanted at anytime.  Babar could live with all that.  Having a less desirable wife than his brother was something that was hard to absorb and after close to seven years of marriage, the reality that his wife was plain and heavy and his brother’s wife was stunningly pretty and fit, still was something that overtly bothered Babar.

            Babar was more Canadian than he was Muslim or Pakistani and so it came as a surprise to Babar’s extended family when he had made the announcement that he was going back toPakistanto become a better Muslim than he had been up to that point.  Babar made friends inPakistanand grew to hate the Americans like the rest of the world.  A persuasive older man had convinced Babar that he was the best candidate to go to Afghanistan to train to be a terrorist.  It sounded like a good idea at the time.  Train to do god’s work of stopping infidels who occupy the land of Allah and his messenger Mohammed. 

            Babar got into the best shape of his life running around in a part of the world that looked more like the moon.  Babar was sent back toPakistan and ordered to wait in a hotel room.  Three men picked up Babar and covered his head, whisked him away in a hot van to a room without windows where an intense older man with a beard, instructed Babar in English what it was that he had to do.

            “Have you been to Chicago in the United States, my brother?”

            “No sir, but it has an attractive lake front with a food festival in the summer that would be worth checking out if I had a week or so to spend away from home…”

            “Yes…  Well that can be arranged.  You will be picking up a Ford Flex at Pearson Airport that will be registered to you with Ontario plates.  We will need you to drive to Chicago and put the vehicle through the basement of what they now call the Willis Tower.  Most still refer to it as theSearsTower.  Same difference. It is on a South Wacker Drive.  You have to navigate your way to the lower Wacker in order to get to the parking structure that supports the entire building”

            “Am I to leave this car in the parking lot of the building?”

            “You are to drive this automobile at top speed into one of the supports of the building…”

            “And when do I bail out of the automobile?”

            “There is no bailing.  Thus shall it be.  You shall be paired with companions pure, most beautiful of eye.  In the gardens will be mates of the modest gaze that have never been touched…In other words, you get the virgins when you’ve completed the mission.”

            It was sort of a tough sell for Babar.  He undoubtedly felt that the talent in the afterlife had to be better than what he had at home.  One in seventy two had to be hot or at least beautiful to the eye.  Babar convincingly accepted the task of picking up a new Ford Flex stuffed with explosives and caesium-137 that had been purchased by a Russian cab driver who was actually Ukrainian but spoke only Russian because back in the old days, that is what everyone spoke.  This Russian cab driver used to be a scientist in the formerSoviet Unionand was able to steal enough of the radioactive material stored in lead cases to sell to crackpots for a good price.

            While Babar was on a long flight from Pakistan to Toronto, he thought about how he could get out of committing suicide.  After all, Babar didn’t hate Americans anymore than other Canadian citizens.  Americans were loud and fat and felt that they were the standard bearers of freedom and had won the Cold War through their brand of democracy and capitalism tinged with strategic economic imperialism.  Babar really wasn’t passionate about felling the largest building in the world that represented American greatness and strength.  Babar was just not that passionate about donating his life to the cause.  The wheels began to turn in Babar’s head and before long, Babar had devised a way to complete his mission and get his brother’s beautiful wife all at the same time.  All he would have to do is convince his twin to drive the Ford toChicago.  And rig the automobile to detonate from Toronto with his brother in the vehicle in Chicago.  Technology is wonderful.

            “I have never asked anything of you in my whole life.  All I am asking is that you drive this automobile for me toChicago.  Someone will meet you in downtown Chicago who is interested in buying this vehicle that I won in a hockey raffle.  I don’t need the car, I need the money. I cannot afford to make this trip right now.  You have the vacation time to do this for me. You park it in a parking structure and wait for my instructions.”

            Ali opted to do this for his brother.  Besides, he really wanted to visit Chicago to hear some Blues and eat some really good pizza.

  Ali had crossed the border at Windsor without much questioning just as the skies grew dark and angry.  Before Ali could change his Canadian currency into American greenbacks, it had begun to storm.  The wind was hurricane force and the sky was as dark as night.  Ali pulled off the highway in Detroit as the windshield wipers could not keep pace with the rain that came down as if he were in a car wash.  The streets in Detroit resembled rivers.  Ali had decided to pull off the highway until the rain let up when he hit a hole in the road that was caused by a Detroiter who had stolen the sewer cap to sell as scrap metal.  The scrap yard accepted the sewer cap even though it had stamped on it in clear letters, CITY OF DETROIT.  The new vehicle had extensive damage and made a wheezing sound like Babar’s wife as it chugged along at about 10 miles an hour or 6.2 kilometers per hour.

            Ali drove past many abandon homes and streets that had no homes as the sky began to clear up.  Off in the distance was a Walmart unlike any he had ever read about in the middle of nowhere Detroit.  This Walmart was the Disneyland of Walmarts.  There was daycare, eye care, auto care and a petting zoo within the building that stretched over a length of a city block.  Ali passed thousands of parked cars as the Ford Flex limped up to the auto center.  Upon lifting the auto up in the air, it was discovered that the shocks were shot and the frame was twisted. 

            Ali walked to a motel that rented by the hour or night.  The beds took quarters and the ceilings had mirrors.  Ali watched the BBC news on public television and drifted asleep.  It was early in the morning when he returned to the Walmart. Ali drank coffee in the waiting room of the Walmart auto service center watching re-runs of the Oprah Show when the explosion occurred.

             One of the mechanics took a torch to the shock and a frame support that had gotten crushed when the front wheel on the driver side fell inside a large hole.  Ali had been speaking on the phone when he hit hole at thirty miles an hour.   Ali nearly bit off his own tongue as his head hit the roof of the vehicle.

            The explosion was the loudest thing that anyone had ever heard before except for those that had served for their nation in places like Afghanistan or Iraq.  The sound was familiar to them and they knew that it wasn’t a gun shot or a back firing truck.  It was a homemade bomb.

            Babar took a train up to Ottawa and hung around a coffee shop until the news broke that there was terrorist act against the world’s largest Walmart.  The CBC showed pictures of stunned people crying and consoling each other while fire fighters tried to extinguish the smoldering mess that was once the grandest department store ever erected.  Babar wondered what had happened and what had gone wrong.  It made no difference to Babar either way.  A few Detroiters were interviewed near the scene.  One was a man who went by the name of Yates.

            “Itta damn shame actually…  You know how hard it was in the first place to get any kinda grocery stoh, dee-partment stoh and automotive stoh and what have you right here in inna city Dee-troit?  Shhh damn…  Come on, now.  Who gonna wanna come back now aftah this?  Terrorist don’t like no success.  Dee-troit was coming back.  People was working again and buying cars and now this.  We all gone hafta go north of 8 Mile again or buy all important stuff at liquor stores…  Ain’t right.  It like roaches, you think you got them all an then some somehow git into yo box of cereal. Bin Laden waddent the end.  He die and someone else grab the wheel and drive. I’m saddened by this today.  Damn shame….  Ain’t nothin else but a damn shame.”

            Now Babar had gotten a tattoo of a mole on his left ass cheek and purchased clothes that he knew his brother would wear.  He walked into his brother’s house with out Ali’s wife or kids batting an eye.  The dog knew his master by scent and snarled at the imposter.  Babar had to give the dog some treats just to calm him.  The wife clung to who she thought was her husband and tried to console him over the possible loss of his brother.

            “It is a shame really.  To think your brother, playing hockey, drinking and watching porn and he turns around in a short period of time to become a fundamentalist.   They say he is in intensive care and has no hearing and cannot remember who he is…  So sad.”

            Babar was hopeful that his brother might die or remain incapable of knowing who he was.  Babar rolled with it.  He made love to his sister-in-law five times the first day and four the next.  She had to leave home to shop just to keep who she thought was her husband off of her.  Everything was working out as planned until Monday morning came around and Babar arrived at work and showed his name tag and had to hold his hand over a scanner.

            “This crazy thing has been acting up lately, Ali…  Just go ahead, we’ll have this checked, eh?”  Said the guard.

            Ali worked in forensics for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  In fact Ali or Babar was studying finger prints and did not have a clue what he was supposed to be looking for or what he had was supposed to have been working on the Friday prior.  Ali’s co-workers thought he was a bit out of it but understood since his brother had been part of a terrorist plot to destroy an American institution like Walmart.

            When Babar returned home that Monday evening, the land line rang.  His wife or sister-in-law answered the phone and had a look of relief and happiness as she listened to a doctor report’s that Babar or Ali actually, would live.  They suggested his twin come to Detroit to spend time with him in hopes of getting his memory back.  Ali’s heart sank but really it was Babar’s heart.  He wondered if he would wind up in a Canadian prison or an American prison or if the terror cell that paid him and trained him, would catch up with him and kill him.  Ali/Babar looked at his beautiful wife/sister-in-law and told her what he thought would be best given the situation; more sex.

            “I will go to Detroit to help my brother…  It is the best thing I could do now.  I think before I go though that we should probably…  Well you know…  One last, I mean more time before I go.”

            The beautiful woman became suspicious.  The unquenchable appetite for sex, the politeness, the indifferent attitude towards their children and the dog who constantly growled and snarled at Ali/Babar all indicated that Ali was not Ali actually.  An idea came to the beautiful woman.

            “It has been quite a long time since I’ve allowed you to have anal sex with me… I think since we may be apart for some time, anal sex would be best for both of us.  Would you enjoy that, my love?”

            The real Ali had confided in his wife about his brother Babar’s fascination with having anal sex.  Ali on the other hand was never interested in engaging in that sort thing.  Ali/Babar’s eagerness revealed who he really was.

            “Okay my love…  I’m going to freshen up.  Why don’t you hop into bed and I will be there momentarily…”

            Within minutes, the RCMP had surrounded the house and came through the bedroom door and windows where Babar anxiously waited with an erect penis that pitched a tent under the sheet while he clasped his hands behind his head.  It became a very interesting story to all that heard, watched or read the details.  A man trained to be a terrorist sends his twin brother to bomb the largest building inNorth Americawith a vehicle packed with explosives and nuclear material, while moving in and assuming his brother’s life. 

The two Mounties and FBI agents burst out in laughter when Babar told the story of laying in bed waiting to have anal sex with his wife or the woman who was supposed to be his wife.  One of the FBI agents, a large African-American man, shook his head and put his hand on Babar’s shoulder.

            “You should have gotten up and ran at that invitation…”

            “Why do you say that?”

            “What beautiful woman asks her husband to perform anal on her…?  Shh damn… Come on, now.”

June 21, 2011

Trip to Walmart

Filed under: humor,poem,Uncategorized,walmart — blackhumouristpress @ 4:30 am
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            Larry the greeter from an era gone by when men held open doors and always wore ties.  Smiles to the all the patrons of the WalMart wondering just what hath god wrought?

I want to live in America.  Everything is good in America.  I saw it late on satellite.  What I see has got to be right.

Single mother- three children of different fathers.  Half brothers and sisters with steps and others.

I want a guest spot on Jerry Springer, late nights at Taco Bell.  I want to give the president the finger.  I want to be fat as hell.

Smart pharmacist in surgical blue. Old woman  knows not what to do. Buying a plethora of drugs and Maalox too.  Pharmacist yells so that she can understand.

“Your Medicare only covers a fraction in this plan.” 

Big blonds and beer.  Big tits and atmosphere.  Chase queers in big trucks.  A grande latte at Starbucks.

You who talk so loudly on a cellular phone, spinning rims from a pay day loan.  Looking for sharp sunglasses, left the kids at home.  Long white t shirt hides a stomach which has grown.

I wanna be a member of a health club.  Tongue piercing, lap dancing and romancing at cool bars.

Hefty man with a brass knuckle tattoo, Confederate flag shirt and a missing tooth.  Buying a windmill for the grass at the trailer park.  Plumber’s crack in faded jeans.  Abandoned cars, stray dogs and ripped up screens.

The motorized scooters and the oxygen tanks.  Lotto tickets and Marlboro Lights.  Have a coupon for the chips on sale.  Partially hydrogenated heart will fail.  Good health warnings like wind in sails.  Muslim women shopping behind veils.

Mulatto children and blond women.  Gang bangers in Elmo shirts.  Doddering elderly and the grossly obese.  Fertilizer, CDs and Cheddar Cheese.

It is all here in the biosphere, on a trip to Americana.

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