Blackhumouristpress's Blog

October 13, 2014

A Reaction Formation or Nixon with all the Fixins

Filed under: humor,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 4:22 am
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“What in the hell is this world coming to?” Sheriff Terreblanche asked himself as he lay in bed sweating and staring at the ceiling fan that squeaked with each revolution. It had been days since Terreblanche had really slept. He laid there thinking about all of his birthdays going back to the age of four. After forty-four years, there were many he couldn’t remember. He thought about his own children’s birthdays and he couldn’t remember too many of theirs. He stopped to think about things that happened in his life and so much wasn’t clear. Things were fuzzy and distorted and all he kept thinking was that things were changing so fast in the world around him and more change would not be acceptable… Terreblanche would doze off and have bizarre dreams. He might find himself running a race against Charles Nelson Reilly for a cab in New York, spear fishing on an island owned by Marlon Brando but upon taking an anti-anxiety drug and grain alcohol, he found himself in the basement cell of the prison in Monroe County with former President Richard Nixon.

“Terreblanche… Terreblanche… Did anyone ever tell you what those two words mean in the French Language?”

“Yes Mr. President… It means Earth white.”

“You got it, kid. The French do all sorts of silly things with their language like having letters they don’t need or put things like Earth before white. If it’s a goddamn white Earth then call it such. You’re not softening things by a little bait and switch. Savoir Faire… To know and to do. That was I. I think I defined the political arena and when I walked away from it all, I took away American innocence. And really what is innocence? A stepbrother to ignorance. The Roman Empire came down just like the Greeks before them and they all had their reasons for demise. There used to be a show called All in the Family. You were probably just a lad when it was popular.”

“I remember it, sir.”

  • “ Well Archie was sitting there with his hippie son-in-law, married to the screwball daughter. The son-in-law apparently goes both ways. He’s obviously queer–wears an ascot–but not offensively so. Very clever. Uses nice language. Shows pictures of his parents. And so Arch goes down to the bar. Sees his best friend, who used to play professional football. Virile, strong, this and that. Then the fairy comes into the bar. I don’t mind the homosexuality. I understand it. Nevertheless, goddamn, I don’t think you glorify it on public television; homosexuality, even more than you glorify whores. We all know we have weaknesses. But, goddammit, what do you think that does to kids? You know what happened to the Greeks! Homosexuality destroyed them. Sure, Aristotle and Socrates were homos. We know that.
    You know what happened to the Romans? The last six Roman emperors were fags. Neither in a public way. You know what happened to the popes? They were layin’ the nuns; that’s been goin’ on for years, centuries. But the Catholic Church went to hell three or four centuries ago. It was homosexual, and it had to be cleaned out. That’s what’s happened to Britain. It happened earlier to France and this is no offense to your lineage… Let’s look at the strong societies. The Chinese. Goddamn, they root ’em out. They don’t let ’em around at all. I don’t know what they do with them. Look at this country. Homosexuality, dope, immorality, are the enemies of strong societies. That’s why the Communists and left-wingers are clinging to one another. They’re trying to destroy us. But, goddamn, we have to stand up to this… Am I reaching you, Terreblanche? What’s that you’re drinking and could you spare a little for me?”Sheriff Terreblanche went and got a tin cup and an unmarked bottle of alcohol from a moonshiner within the county and poured some for the president. Ex-president actually.“I call it the Madman Theory, sheriff. I wanted the North Vietnamese to believe I’ve reached the point where I might do anything to stop the war… Just like Truman. My thought was to slip the word to them that, for God’s sake; you know Nixon is obsessed about Communism. We can’t restrain him when he’s angry and he has his hand on the nuclear button and Ho Chi Minh himself would have been in Paris in two days begging for peace. This business of deposing a dictator before knowing what you’re getting is true madness. In Chile we had a plan. You remove one man for another who suits your purposes and continue on with an agenda… I ask you; does this shit keep the Chinese up at night? Protecting a Jewish state, fighting against a religious crusade for over a decade and meanwhile back at the ranch, sagging pants, mindless tattoos, marriage for gays so that they can adopt children … Again I ask about the Chinese… You fight force with force, aggression with aggression. You take the son of a bitch’s hostage long enough and they feel empathy for your cause and sympathy for your plight. A goddamn worldwide Stockholm syndrome. Any nation that decides the only way to achieve peace is through peaceful means is a nation that will soon be a piece of another nation… But here I am rambling on and on. You’re a small town lawman who isn’t faced with the idiocy of change. The world spins at 27,000 miles an hour but your hair never blows in the wind because it’s slower here. You don’t need to worry yourself about the world around you… Let me get another drop of that sauce… Damn good stuff.”

    Terreblanche looked at the president mop his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. He was afraid to ask what the answer would be of the president. He was afraid to ask why he was within the prison cell in a county jail in a town called Tranquil. The question itched within Terreblanche and so we asked; what is America’s role?

    “Just as America’s role is indispensable in preserving the world’s peace, so is each nation’s role indispensable in preserving its own peace. Together with the rest of the world, let us resolve to move forward from the beginnings we have made. Let us continue to bring down the walls of hostility which have divided the world for too long, and to build in their place bridges of understanding — so that despite profound differences between systems of government, the people of the world can be friends… Sounds good to you?”

    “Yes sir…”

    “Well it’s all just bullshit. Anymore of that moonshine?”

April 2, 2013

The Boy From Yorba Linda or The Second Coming of Nixon

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 10:16 pm
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In early 1974, Dr. Henry Kissinger while having drinks with a fellow German expatriate, got to talking about the content of the Nixon tapes, future of the Republican Party and cloning while having cocktails in a D.C. lounge of a hotel.

The two German men agonized over the future of their adopted land. If not Nixon than who could lead their party and nation into the future? Both men agreed that there was nobody as intelligent and suited for the political arena quite like Richard Nixon. Since the days of the Red Scare, Ike and unbridled American growth and prosperity, the Republican Party had floundered. Advanced minds had to ensure the survival of America as it should be and as the Republicans had made it.

“Vat vood eet mean ethically to clone someone? To allow someone to leeve twice een a sense… Vat do you think, herr Doctor?”

“Ethics? There ees no such thing as ethics, mein doctor. There ees thee thin veil of the appearance of somezing acceptable and palatable for zee common everyday slob who seets een front of a television and allows a talking head like Valter Conkrite to steer their emotions and sentiments… So een short, mein doctor… Fuck vat the people might think. This ees for their own goods. Intelligent people run the voorld. Intelligent people make things happen.”

So it was that the genetic physiologist who was content making duplicate sheep, set out to find a good candidate to house the seed of Richard Nixon. The woman they found was a tall woman who was interested in having a baby for the sum of $100,000.00 knowing that she would not keep the child. The baby was born in Yorba Linda, California, in a very rudimentary building that was in an industrial park next to small factories that made plastic toys for adult pleasure and duped super 8 adult films, the second coming of Richard Nixon had taken place. Baby Nixon was born healthy and whole and was taken across country to live with a rich Republican fund-raiser whose wife’s seed could find no purchase. The couple lovingly raised the homely boy as their own for a good six months before a horrible gun accident killed the couple in their own living room.

“I told you that I do not want fire arms in this house with the baby around. Everyday you read about people who get killed inadvertently by a loaded gun.”

“If I told you once, I told you a million times; the communists are hopped up and roaming the streets of D.C., do you want one of them to kill us and rob us? The communists have not been the same ever since getting the right to vote and the death of Martin Luther King.”

“You are a silly man. Why call the coloreds, communists? That’s your code word that nobody can figure out? I want these guns out today.”

And with that, the gun discharged and put a hole in her husband’s forehead and out the base of his spine the size a golf ball. She was so grief-stricken by what she did that she immediately turned the gun on herself. The Mrs.’s gay coiffure who came to the house weekly to do her hair, entered the house to find the baby playing on the floor alone, not far from two pools of blood. The hairstylist thought about what to do and decided that the thing to do was put on a pair of rubber gloves, collect all evidence of a child living in the home and take the child to raise as his own with his communist partner. Once again, fuck ethics.

The seed of Richard Nixon grew up with the name Martin John Lipshultz-Jefferson. He was named after Martin Luther King Jr., John F. Kennedy and then took the last name of his white and Jewish father and of his other black dad.

Young Martin John was bright and a talented piano player but aspired to be a lawyer and wanted to serve the people. Martin John applied to Duke University, received a degree in law, met a Quaker woman, bought a dog and named it Checkers and before long, Martin John was a promising congressman from Orange County California. It was in a D.C. hotel that Dr. Henry Kissinger and the infamous physiologist met the congressman and greeted him like proud parents. The only two people in the entire world who knew that knew that Martin John Lipshultz-Jefferson was in fact the second coming of Richard Nixon. Dr. Kissinger took Martin John’s hands in his own like a proud father and spoke softly and prophetically.

“Vee need you to run for president in 2016. Vee need you to resolve issues Weeth China and end thee vaars we have no business fighting. Thees man who ees running these country into the ground ees nothing but a criminal… Are you up to zee task of being president, son?”

“It’s so strange that you ask. I have wanted to be president ever since my two fathers signed me up for a pottery class. I can remember making clay pots on a wheel for my two father’s gift for Father’s Day and suddenly thought about being the president one day. It was during the impeachment hearings of President Clinton… It was at that moment in time that I decided I needed to one day be president. I listened to the president’s lies as a thirteen year old boy during the hearings and I told myself that people have to know that their president is honest. Well I can tell you the People have got to know whether or not their President is a crook. Well, I’m not a crook. I’ve earned everything I’ve got…”

And with that, the two German men began to cry tears of happiness. They hugged each other and hugged the young congressman who had at just that moment decided to launch his campaign for the presidency of the United States of America where all men are created equal… and some are created from DNA of other men. Amen.

June 15, 2010

My Black Wife and Family or I am Cuban

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 3:23 pm
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Lou had met his wife Gwen while they were in high school.  Lou was the high school football star.  You probably expected me to say that he was a leading quarterback, running back, wide receiver, safety or even a tight end.  Lou was none of those things.  After Lou’s father had studied popular American sports for years and years, he came to the conclusion that one of most necessary players on a team that is often over looked is the field goal kicker.  Lou’s father began to train Lou as a field goal kicker at a young age.

            Lou started on the varsity team his freshman year of high school and could damn near kick the football half the distance of the football field, into the wind, with complete accuracy.  His little private school north of Chicago and a mile or so west of Lake Michigan, had been so used to getting clobbered in football, season after season that they just went through the motions for football but really got behind the school basketball team.  After Lou arrived, the coach soon learned that if he could somehow play really good defense, Lou could win the majority of their games by kicking the ball five or six times a game.  In the four years that Lou played, his team only ran or threw four touch downs and one of those was a play where by the holder pitched it to Lou and he ran it into the end zone from fifteen yards away.  Lou had become the first and only athlete to receive a scholarship to play a sport from his tiny fine arts based high school.

            During high school, Lou’s stature was as high as could be.  Nobody laughed that all Lou did was kick a ball.  Lou had nerves of steel and three out of four years, his school had winning records due to Lou’s foot.  Lou’s face will forever be on the hallway of the main entrance to his alma mater.

            Gwen saw Lou as a winner and an achiever on top of being good looking and just a really nice guy.  Gwen was a type A personality who always had pursed lips, a wide eyed surprised look on her face, and quick way of speaking in a high pitched voice.  Lou liked that Gwen really liked to have sex.  Lou was amazed how much that his Gwen wanted to have sex.  As teenagers, Gwen came off as the do-gooder, the-girl-your-mom-approves-of type.  She was on student council and a cheerleader.  Gwen raised money at bake sales for poor children that she had heard about somewhere in those areas of Chicago that most white people never venture through.  When Gwen wasn’t doing all those really positive things that all parents hope that their daughter might do between the ages of 14-18, Gwen was devising a way to have sex.  Lou thought it was great because just about anything that Lou could come up with, Gwen was willing to try.  One day though Gwen drew the line as Lou became more and more risqué each day.

            “Louie…  No animals or feces…” said Gwen, with a perky smile as she lay naked on her family’s couch.

            “Um urine is okay though?”  Asked Lou innocently.

            “As long you don’t ask me to drink it and you don’t mind cleaning it up when we’re done,” said Gwen.

            For Lou it was the greatest thing in the whole world.  There he was a seventeen year old boy that was having sex with the prettiest girl in the school daily and sometimes several times daily, was the school athletic stud and was poised to play division III football on the east coast.  When you factor in that his parents were really rich and that he would one day inherit all their earthly possession since he was an only child, Lou had a great life.

            As time went on, both Lou and Gwen matured and their hormones evened out.  Lou found a job in a bank being a teller than a manager and then a vice president of the bank while Gwen played tennis, jogged, lifted weights, and raised money for poor children and so on.  Lou and Gwen must have had sex tens of thousands of times and Lou had to admit that his Gwen may not have been as tight as a drum like when she was sixteen but at thirty four, she sure looked good and although he had the same meal from the same menu all the time, the food was always good.

            Lou came home one day to find his wife crying and crying about the fact that after doing everything imaginable, there was no way that Lou could ever plant his seed in Gwen and hope to bear fruit.  It would be impossible for her to replicate her kind.  Gwen grew despondent and went through depression.  Gwen stopped exercising; she laid around in bed in the dark, got heavier but not fat and began to smell bad.  Lou had always marveled at his Gwen’s ability to smell as fresh as could be.  Gwen’s armpits, hair, vagina and ass came unflavored even on the hottest and most humid days that Chicago could ever offer in the summers.  Lou would joke that she should be that woman in a flowing white gown with the wind blowing against her with her eyes closed on those cliffs that they have somewhere in Great Britain.

            “You could be that woman to a T.  All you’d need to do is just stand there and smile with your eyes closed because you would know that there is never an occasion to question your freshness…  White gown and all.”

            That all disappeared and suddenly hygiene went out the window with just about everything that used to interest Gwen including sex.  Finally one day, Lou posed an idea that he was not fond of but was willing to go along with just to help her out of the dumps and be the bright, shiny, perky, sexy human being that she had always been since he met her.

            “You know…  We could always adopt,” said Lou.

            It was as if someone had opened the curtains.  Gwen’s face lit up and she jumped into Lou’s arms and kissed his neck.  She got on the internet and began to do her homework on adoption.  Gwen grew despondent once again but not totally.  Gwen was amazed to discover just how difficult it was to adopt a white child in the United States.  She thought about news reports of people locking children in cages for years or forcing them into prostitution or making them drink Budweiser while watching hockey games and not to mention those that were abandon at hospitals, truck stops, churches and police stations and dumpsters.  The truth was that there were millions of Americans who wanted children and could not have them and they all wanted white children first.  If not white then they wanted Asian babies or Hispanic babies and if none of those were possible within a reasonable amount of time, then black would be fine.  I suppose.

            Gwen was many things in life but she was not patient.  After reading up on adoption and networking with dozens and dozens of couples who had adopted, Gwen decided to take the advice of another wealthy woman from the woman’s club that she belonged to and go to Senegal in Africa to adopt unwanted black girls.  Not one but two.

            “Two…  I always wanted two and if I go all the way to Africa to get a child, I want two and I sure as hell don’t want to be going back to Africa twice for this…  There’s all kind of problems in Africa,” said Gwen.

            Truth to be told, there are all kinds of problems all over the world but in Senegal, many infant children were abandon due to rape of women in tribal and religious battles that were taking place across several countries in the region.  A few other women on the north shore had adopted children from a Belgian orphanage run by nuns.  Upon corresponding with the nuns for a period of one week, Gwen received photos of twin girls who were age five.  After discovering that the whole adoption process could happen rather swiftly, Lou and Gwen were on an Air France flight from Paris to Dakar within a week.

            Lou didn’t know how he felt about being a father and a father to not one but two girls who only spoke French and were black.  His first thought was of going to get coffee on Saturday or Sunday mornings and having all the patrons stare at them as they waited for their extra shot, one pump vanilla, skimmed latte.  The immersion happened suddenly and before he knew it, they were back home and his wife was speaking all the French she learned in two months, to her two new daughters.  Gwen spoke loudly and slowly to the girls as if they were deaf.


            The girls didn’t smile and didn’t respond.  They had a secret unspoken language between them and never left each others side.  They were trying to get used to the fact that all the children that they knew in Senegal, were gone as were the nuns and now they couldn’t understand anything anyone was saying.  Gwen had a plan.

            Gwen saw a sign on a building that said African hair braiding.  Gwen parked her car and locked her doors and scanned around herself in all directions before scurrying into the beauty shop for black women.  Once inside, there were several women getting their hair done by several women while a radio played in combat with a television.  Everyone stopped and looked at the pale, thin, blonde, smiling figure that stood inside the front door with clasped hands.  A heavy set black woman asked her if she could help her.  It was a polite way of asking, “What in the fuck could you possibly need all up in this place?”

            I’m so glad I found your shop…  I have two adopted daughters from Senegal who I would like to get their hair braided…  Now, I was thinking braiding through out and then have it come up into a bun… Now, they don’t speak any English yet as they are from a French speaking nation,” said Gwen.

            “You don’t need to worry bout that…  Monique here works on weekends washing hair.  You bring the girls round on Saturday and Monique will talk to them… You from Jamaica, right Monique?” Asked the owner.


            “That’s right… Why I say Jamaica?  Anyway, you bring the girls round Saturdays when Monique work here.  She cain speak to them no problem.  We gone take care them,” said the owner.

            “I’m so happy I came this way.  I usually never come to Evanston but needed to meet one of my girlfriends for tennis by the lake and well… Gosh, I’m sure glad I came down this way,” said a gleeful Gwen.

            It was a damn good thing that Gwen found the black women’s hair salon.  The two young girls were beginning to look like Buckwheat.  Gwen threw headbands over their hair that went everywhere and anywhere.  No matter what Gwen did to their hair, they cried and it just looked crazy.

            In time, Monique was hired to take care of the girls on a full time basis.  Her job was to speak to them in French and try to teach them English.  She also took them to ballet class, fed them, and washed their clothes and so on while Gwen ran, lifted weights, took spin classes and played tennis.  The girls really took to Monique and slowly warmed up to Gwen and Lou.  Lou understood that taking them to the park and to get fast food, was what they seemed to like most.  The girls liked Lou because he seemed indifferent and not at all frantic about having a relationship with them.

            All of Lou’s life, he had never really had any sort of relationship with anyone black.  His small school in Vermont had one guy from Africa that went to the school but Lou never interacted with him.  Lou had seen blacks in downtown Chicago who panhandled and played music in the subway but none worked in his office.  Other than the blacks he saw on television, in movies and on various athletic teams, Lou had no interaction with black people.  Monique was his first.

            Lou was struck by how polite and calm Monique was in general and with the twin girls; she was like a black Julie Andrews.  Those twins learned to sing all sorts of songs in French with Monique.  Gwen eventually grew despondent again over the fact that her adopted girls had taken more to Monique than her.  As time went on, Gwen grew more and more resentful of the girls and their relationship to Monique.  Gwen grew combative with Lou for the first time in her life and just about completely withdrew as a member of their family.  Gwen began taking trips for weeks at a time, leaving Monique to be with Lou and the girls fulltime.  Lou would take the girls and Monique out to dinner, to amusement parks, ice skating, the zoo and so on.  Lou began to notice that people would look at the four of them and smile.  There was the pretty young black woman with braided hair and the two young black girls with braids and the handsome young white man.  They were a handsome looking family albeit not what most people expected.

 Lou found himself becoming more and more attracted to Monique as time went on.  It was like playing house.  Lou would go shopping with Monique and the girls and eat with them and so on while Gwen traveled around the country trying to find herself.  Gwen had told Lou that she was going through a crisis and needed to find herself.  Lou never questioned it as he understood to be lost was not a fun thing and if Gwen needed to find herself, he wanted her to be found or discovered or whatever would bring peace to her soul and his life ultimately. 

As time went on, the sexual tension between Lou and Monique grew stronger and stronger.  They would sit on the couch after the girls went to bed and watch a movie together and came dangerously close to making contact physically.  Monique would get up to get a drink of water or something and would put her hand on Lou’s hand or leg before asking him if there was anything he may want.

“Is there anything you want?” Monique would ask while looking into his eyes.

“Um… Not right now.  But thank you for that…” Lou would respond.

Now the question and the answer had more than one meaning and they both knew it.  Lou was fighting the immense itch inside him that begged to be scratched with vigor.  Monique was completely drawn to the man who was fifteen years her senior who was as nice, calm and attractive.  She never had a thing for white men because most of them seemed really dorky to her.  They were stiff in their approach and seemed oblivious and selfish.  Lou was none of those things and she suspected that Lou was a hot bed of passion and could not wait to find out.

Monique was respectful of her role and did not cross the line while Gwen was still apart of their lives.  That was until one day that Lou shared an email that he received from Gwen.

Dearest Lou,

                     I had always believed you were my soul mate and life partner and as I grow older, I am realizing that this is not the case.  I thought adopting the girls would make us closer as a family and I see now that they have driven a wedge between us at best.  It’s my fault as I know that you never wanted children in the first place.  I see now how attached they have become to both you and Monique and I believe with Monique’s help, you will provide for them.  I have found what it is that I really want and need and as much as this may hurt you to hear, I have found a man that I met in San Diego who is a widower with two young girls.  I have fallen in love with this man and his girls and feel that fate brought me to them.  You may hate me for a while but ultimately understand that what I’m doing is the best for all of us.  I wish you all the best.

With love, Gwen

            Lou thought about being the one left holding the bag as the saying goes.  When he showed the letter to Monique who studied the words with a furrowed brow, Lou sat at the kitchen table looking out at his finely manicured backyard while the girls watched a video of Madeline in French in the family room.  Lou wondered what would be next.  Lou wondered to himself, “What in the fuck am I going to do?”

            Lou decided if he was going to change his life, he was really going to change his life.  He packed up his twin girls with Monique and moved to Miami.  In Miami Lou understood that nobody would look at him crazy like a circus sideshow when he drank a latte.  In fact in Miami, Lou told people that he was Cuban but that his parents only spoke to him in English and the Cubans accepted it even though they thought it was a damn shame to be Cuban and not speak Spanish. 

            For Lou’s fortieth birthday, Monique surprised Lou by inviting all of Lou’s new friends in their new city in the backyard of their new home on a hot humid night.  A Cuban Salsa band played in the backyard while a hired bartender crushed mint leaves for Mojitos.  Nobody at that party knew that only five years earlier, Lou was an average white guy, living in an all white suburb with no children and an overactive lily white wife.  One of Lou’s good friends, a Haitian man who owned several car washes and did very well for himself, lifted his glass to Lou as Lou watched his ten year old adopted daughters dancing with their adopted mother in their adopted city in their adopted state.  In a strong English accent, his Haitian friend said to Lou while lifting his glass and putting his arm around him; Life doesn’t get any better than this…

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