Blackhumouristpress's Blog

September 28, 2016

The New House of Un-American Activities

In the year 2021 after the national elections that gave Hillary Clinton her second term, a committee was formed within the Democratic Party dominant House of Representatives called The New House of Un-American Activities. The committee was created to prevent racism, xenophobia, misogynistic and Islamicphobic behavior in the private work place.
Rutherford J. Mann, was hauled in after a questionable speech to shareholders. Mann, a former Marine who used the GI bill to get himself through college, excelled in the workplace and became a CFO of a major fortune 500 company. After a few too many drinks on a day when the stock price for his particular company under his watch, shot up, Mr. Mann spoke freely. He never refrained after that day. His candor lead to problems between he and the government. Why the antisocial behavior? Was it the fact that the stock tripled in a short period of time? Was it that this was the third time he laid his hand upon a struggling company and turned it to gold? Was it because he was an old, white male? Probably all of the above. His manic, plain speaking speech landed him in front of the New House of Un-American Activities.

Rep Jefferson- Good afternoon Mr. Mann… Do you understand why you stand before us today?
Mann- I have an idea why but I don’t think anyone who is forced before this tribunal ever knows for sure.
Rep Washington- Please clarify, Mr. Mann.
Mann- There are many agendas out there and something such as this witch hunt is born somewhere for some reason. Where it originates and why is probably unimportant as it is truly Un-American.

A few laughs from the press and the viewing gallery caused the gavel to be hammered by Representative Adams of New York.

Rep. Adams- Mr. Mann are you now or have you ever been subversive?
Mann- Please explain what that would mean exactly.
Rep. Jackson- One who would be unwilling to temporarily allow refugees from war-torn areas, shelter in one of their many secondary residences when the law specifically states that private property that is not of primary residence, must be made available to house refugees. This is a right afforded all refugees under the law who are in the process of becoming naturalized citizens. I believe it has come to light that you paid relatives to occupy your secondary homes in Maine, Florida, Hawaii, California and Aspen to skirt the law… We have emails regarding payments that were made to various relatives… I quote, “I would just as soon burn down these places than let recruits sleep in my beds.” Recruits? What would they have been recruits for exactly?
Mann- Um… The Democrat Party most likely…
Rep. Washington- The sums of money you have donated to what has been determined to be subversive causes is impressive. Racist, xenophobic fronts abound and as a wealthy donor, you must know that giving to these causes makes you a defacto bigot. A lot has been improved an eliminated over the years. Citizen policing boards to ensure no profiling of any sector of the public ever occurs again within the ranks of our police officers. The Common Access Act which provides that anybody of any gender can and must be allowed access to areas formerly reserved for specific genders… Men only. Women only… This is not much different from colored only. Reactionary subversion cannot be tolerated. We are a tolerant and educated people that take equality for all seriously… So with this said we will read off a list of your charges.
Rep. Harrison- “Stand and piss the way god intended men to do. Piss on the seat, the rim and floor. Let them all know a man was there and don’t apologize for being a man…” This was recorded April of 2018 at an airport in Dallas. “Women get all riled up over the word Cunt… You get a bitch hormonally unbalanced due to bleeding monthly or when the tap gets shut down and we should be able to read a situation at all times or we are oblivious… Is it any wonder dad always looked like a defeated veteran of a foreign war most the time? He went to war daily and lost. He couldn’t discuss it with you because you were idolized by the enemy… Where did women like Margret Thatcher go? You have this crazy cunt giving the farm away and letting anyone steal the crops and claims it’s owed to them…” Which crazy cunt would you be referring to, Mr. Mann? This was recorder June of 2020 in an elevator of your company.
Mr. Mann took a sip of water and winced as if it was cheap vodka going down hard. He ran his index finger around his collar and then replied.
Mann- my people were once farmers. I might have meant my grandmother was giving away the farm as the saying goes but I don’t recall the comment and quite possibly it may have been taken out of context. The urination comment was directed at a man who had disc surgery to his back and could not sit and urinate properly. The comment must be noted that the man to whom I was speaking was in great pain and had difficulty sitting and urinating as is now law but a law which is difficult to police for many reasons… Is that all?
Rep. Washington- Not even half done… Comments here which I must refrain from reading because they are so offensive. Comments about different races, religions, over weight people and the government. You believe and have publicly stated that the government is on the wrong track and that we are all being led down a path to destruction. All are very serious… I am going to recommend that Mr. Mann be added to the growing list of subversives that have already been identified and added to the list. Unless we as diligent Americans step forward and cut out these cancers that surround us, we will return to the way it was back in 2008 and I don’t think any of us in good faith could want that for this country.

So what became of Mr. Mann? He took his severance package and went to live out the rest of his days in Argentina. Years later a reporter for a television show in the United States found the former American on his ranch in rural Argentina. He was hunted down like a former Nazi doctor and questioned from the fence of his ranch as he sat upon his horse. “Do you have a comment for Americans at home that wonder what has become of you?” Mann rubbed his scruff, pushed back his silver hair and said, “If I lived in a house with no windows and only two doors leading nowhere… I’d get the fuck out of that house anyway I could.”

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July 30, 2016

Questions to a White Dad from His Black Daughter

Every dad, everywhere, is bombarded by questions by their young children.  Sometimes the questions are things overlooked by adults like why don’t we fly or why don’t we breathe water?  Are you the smartest man in the world?  Are you the strongest man in the world?  What were you doing in the bedroom when you pulled the covers up on you and momma, really fast?
At a commercial break on a kid’s show, this dad checked the weather, baseball scores and then put on cable news.  The screen flashed a sound bite from Hillary, her vice presidential candidate Tim Kaine and then Donald Trump.  Images of the murderers of a priest in a church in France flashed and then a Black Lives Matter protest.  The daughter got bored with the soup du jour of the political world.
daughter- daddy?
dad- hmm?
daughter- can we watch the Power Puff Girls again?
dad- of course…  I just get scared when you watch commercials.  I find myself going to Toys R Us too often then.
daughter- do you watch anything else except this stuff about Hillary and Donald Trump?
dad- you know I watch baseball and hockey…  I also watch shows on Cartoon Network with you.
daughter- do you like Teen TItans?
dad- they make me laugh.  Do you like politics?
daughter- nope.  Momma says that only an idiot would vote for Donald Trump.  Are you going to vote for him?
dad- if I vote for Trump, are you going to call me an idiot?
daughter- nope.
dad- if momma votes for Hillary, I wouldn’t call her blind.
daughter- blonde?
dad- yes…
daughter- how can momma be blonde?  She’s a black woman.  Black women don’t have blonde hair.
dad- I think there are black women that dye their hair blonde.
daughter- momma wouldn’t do that… daddy?
dad- yes…
daughter- what’s it like to be a man?
dad- wow…  that’s a tough question.  It’s like being a serious boy.  I still feel like a boy but I know I’m not anymore.
daughter- I would say you act like a boy still.
dad- thank you…
daughter- do you like being white?
dad- oh boy…  You got some deep questions today…  I like being who I am and being a man who is white is okay with me.  I like who I am.  I wish I was more handsome and taller.
daughter- the kids at school said that I’m black because I’m tanner than the white kids.
dad- your dad is white and your mom is black.  That makes you both.  People can say whatever they want but you will always be both.  You are one of the prettiest girls in the world.  I’ve seen a lot of girls so I know what I’m talking about.
daughter- some kids at school are mean.
dad- yes they are.  If you were to tell someone who happens to be white that they are ugly, fat or stupid, they’re feelings would be hurt.  You don’t need to say anything though.  You point the ones out to me when I drop you off at school and I can say it for you.  I’ll say, “Hey chubby-ob-avitch!  How many freckles do you have and do you have them on your ass.
daughter- you can’t say ass.
dad- I can say it to anyone who acts like one
daughter- how did I get blue eyes?
dad- someone in my family and your mother’s, had to have had blue eyes.  My parents were both right handed but I came out left handed.  Someone in my mom and dad’s family had to be left handed.
daughter- daddy?
dad- yes…
daughter- do black lives matter to you?
dad- this is like an interview today…  What happened to asking me questions like why a dog’s tail wags?  All lives matter to me.
daughter- I heard ladies at the hair salon say that if any white people say that all lives matter, then they’re racist…  What’s a racist?
dad- um…  a racist is someone who judges others based on the color of their skin, religion or where they are from…  Like all black people are like this or all white people are like that.
daughter- are you racist?
dad- I like to think that I’m not but someone might think that I am.  I can always say that I was once married to a black woman and my daughter is part black…  I could say like a lot of other white people who because I have a black friend, I couldn’t possibly be racist.  Do you get what I’m saying?
daughter- I think so…
dad- if I saw someone drowning or burning in a building, I wouldn’t be more likely to save someone because they were white.  Any life matters.  I wouldn’t want to die in water or by fire and would hope that my life matters to someone if they could help me.
daughter- did you know there used to be slaves and they were black?
dad- yes, I learned about that too.  It was wrong and sad and white people who didn’t agree with slavery, went to war with other white people who did want slavery.  It was a really bad war where lot’s of people died.  Even President Lincoln was killed over not wanting slavery.
daughter- if you could be an animal, which animal would you be?
dad- now that’s the sort of question I’m used to…  Today I would be a hippo.  I would go in the pool and cool off all day, then get up and eat, fart and go to sleep.
daughter- you fart a lot now.
dad- You do too.  You must get it from me.
The daughter got quiet and watched the television but she wasn’t really watching.  She was deep in thought.  She held one of her stuffed animals from the latest Disney movie in her hands and looked out of the window.  The father turned down the television volume and added one last thing.
dad- do you know what I wish?
daughter- what?
dad- I wish you could stay the same age you are now so that I always could keep you safe and know where you are.  I would never let boys try to kiss you and never let anyone try to give you drugs…  I know it isn’t possible to wish for that and have it come true so my wish is that you grow up happy and stay healthy and have a good job one day and find someone who makes you happy if that’s what you want and you come to see me now and then when I’m old.
daughter- you’re already old.
dad- yup… So don’t forget to visit your old man when you grow up.
daughter- I would never forget about you.
dad-  ok good.  Now we understand each other and the world completely.
daughter- yup…
The daughter curled up in the crook of her father’s arm and went back to watching her show.  The dad thought about being tired, what he had to get done during the course of the day, what bills he had to pay and things he needed to get done that day while his daughter reloaded.
daughter- daddy?
dad- yes, baby…
daughter- who are terrorists and where do you find them?
dad- Wow, wow, wow…I think we need to eat first before we answer anymore questions.  Would that be alright with you?
daughter- yes…  Well I am pretty hungry.  I’ll have more questions for you later.
dad- Yes…  More questions…  Of course…  Always.

July 4, 2016

240 and Counting

Independence- 240 years and the descendants celebrate with wings, malt liquor and parades.  Bill of Rights and the rights of the dead, a bullet piercing the side of the head somewhere on the west side, south side, Chicago’s apartheid red line zone where the tourists never go.  But I digress- this is a process of processed food, entertainment and education.  Back when we were all English and white, on paper the ideas seemed right- Liberty and justice for all… or maybe some or none.  Manifest destiny, all for you and me from sea to shining sea.  You’re free above this line and slave below this one.  A war between brothers and in the end freedom with an asterisk- there was a fix.  You give us the presidency and we’ll look the other way for nearly a 100 years til someone refuses to give up a seat, sit where they want when they choose to eat, vote, protest and integrate, separate but equal became the Civil War sequel.  Well I’ve jumped ahead again.  The Kaiser, Sarajevo, trench warfare, mustard gas the rise of the working class.  Comrades in a sea of red, the Czar was dead.  The treaty left them angry and needy after reparations of Versailles a charismatic character, a director, a rector sold the scape goat- many die and why?  A bomb to stop a war and within a few years a little more and a truce that lasts til this day.

Unbridled growth and prosperity, suburbs and the interstate, sock hops and roller skates.  We liked Ike and then came JFK, Bay of Pigs, assassins and then LBJ and the KKK.  Just advisors to advise those who love and cherish democracy, imperial imposition of freedom for Vietnam.  Baby killers, draft dodgers, free love, and women’s lib.  Drugs and Nixon, the fix was in.  Watergate, oil crisis, a cancer on the presidency, end the war with dignity.  Ford, Carter Reagan- morning again in America.  This aggression will not stand- draw a line in the sand, new world order, Perot, Clinton, stained dress, Clarence Thomas/Anita Hill congressional hearings on the hill.  W, 9-11, weapons of mass destruction, mission accomplished, quagmire, Afghanistan/Taliban=Vietnam, Obama, Osama, Arab spring, ISIS, crisis of confidence, we’ll build a wall for our defense, terrorists, xenophobia, first woman presidential candidate, with shadows of doubt…  Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot… Wait!  This just in…  Citizen Trump

April 16, 2016

Nothing To Fear Except a Lack of Fear Itself

                Mr. Illych, showed up as he always did.  That wasn’t really his name but his boss gave him that name because he was a little man who was completely bald up the middle and had sharp marsupial features.  Mr. Illych received that name because he resembled the George Washington of the USSR, Vladimir Lenin.  Illych’s name was something ordinary like Smith or Thomas. 

                                Citizen A, whose name was Alan, was an angry young man who collected baseball cards and listened to right wing radio shows until he wanted to kill people.  How could anyone want to ban people from a country?  How could anyone want to build a Berlin style wall on our southern border?  How could anyone want to punish women for sexual mistakes which took place whilst in the throes of passion?  Alan became militant upon stumbling upon a “progressive” radio program but saw an angle to make money.  Seeing that he was unemployed, living in his mother’s basement watching Mets games and listening to political radio shows, Alan devised a way to make a living. 

                Alan would write one liners on Facebook where he had thousands of followers and he would receive hundreds of thumbs up.  It was addicting to him.  He needed the adulation of his friends.  The silent thumbs up was like a thunderous ovation while giving a speech in the mind of Alan.

                “ANYONE WHO CREDIBLY THINKS TRUMP IS THE ANSWER, SHOULD BE GIVEN A LABOTOMY BY NURSE RACHET AND LEFT IN THE GOP LOONY BIN OF RIGHT WING, REACTIONARY FUCKS THAT WANT US ALL TO BE PROTESTANT AND ANGLO AGAIN.”

                “TED CRUZ IS A TELEVANGELIST IN SHEEPS CLOTHING.  READY FOR SEPARATE BUT EQUAL WATER FOUNTAINS, CLOTHES HANGER ABORTIONS AND SODOMY LAWS?  IT’S NOT JUST FOR THE SOUTH ANYMORE, Y’ALL.”

                “KASICH…  BY THE TIME I GET TO CLEVELAND, THEY’LL LOVE ME… 17 PEOPLE WANTED TO TAKE YOU TO THE PROM.  14 COULDN’T TAKE THE PAIN OF HEARING NO.  YOUR DADDY WON’T LET YOU GO TO THE DANCE WITH THE OTHER TWO…  I’LL BE WAITING IN THE CAR WHEN YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND.  YOU’LL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO DANCE WITH ME…  IN BEAUTIFUL CLEVELAND.”

                Maybe a dozen posts a day with hundreds and sometimes thousands of thumbs up, re-posted sharing of his wit and occasionally personal messages came to him on Facebook.

                “YOU SHOULD BE A COMEDIAN.”

                “YOU SHOULD RUN FOR OFFICE.”

                “YOU SHOULD PLAY A FLUTE.  PEOPLE WOULD FOLLOW YOU LIKE MICE.”

                “PLEASE LIKE MY COLLECTION OF POEMS FROM WHEN I WAS IN PRISON THAT I AM SELLING ON AMAZON.COM.”

                Alan thought that maybe people would follow him.  Maybe he did actually have leadership skills even though his dead father said that he would never be anything but a deadbeat sucking off his mother’s tit for the rest of his days.  One day a light went on in the attic of Alan’s mind- I could be an activist and an entrepreneur.

  Business was not going well for Alan’s enterprise.  It seemed nobody wanted to hire mercenary protesters until Mr.  Illych ran across his ad while looking through Craig’s List.  Mr. Illych met with Alan and things took off from there.

                “Listen…  There is a whole culture of bust outs who hate their parents for giving them a really good place to live, anything they ever asked for, fed them, kept them safe and then cast them into college just to get brainwashed by some fuck with a PHD who never even owned a car in his life, can’t find a wife, can’t accept hygiene and deodorant and only has possibly one friend who is equally marginally functional that feels Karl Marx was completely right and that the whole experiment was just a bit premature for the Victorian times.  These people protested when they were young against the establishment and now they’ve planted the seeds into young blank slates.  Maybe my parents are racist…  After all, we lived in an all-white subdivision except for the one Asian family but they were Baptist in the end.  My parents were relieved that I wasn’t gay…  They must be homophobes.  My parents think those people in the head scarves and beards might have bombs strapped to their person under all those shrouds…  Are you following me, Alan?  I get the feeling you’re of that mindset.  You believe in a liberal agenda, right?  We live in a republic, not a democracy, my young idealist.  Would a democracy have super delegates and unbound delegates pledged to a losing candidate even though the citizens voted for something else?  No, my friend, this happens in republics.  Republic of China, banana republics and these United States.  Think of yourself as the overseer.  Think of yourself as the middle man.  Think of yourself as delegator, puppet master or the pied piper…  Are you with me Alan?  We could wind up in bed together on this one and wind up very happy…  Here is what you have to do.”

                It started with a few dozen and then there were a lot more.  Maybe hundreds and soon to be thousands.  The word was out.  There is a rich dude named Citizen A, who pays people to express their anger at the right wingers.  All you have to do is be angry, unruly, and belligerent, fight the police and anyone who does not agree with the progressive agenda.  You follow your heart and if you find yourself arrested, Citizen A, will come to the rescue to bail you out and you will receive compensation either way for your time but a bonus for being arrested.  Butch looking lesbians, pasty looking white kids with dreadlocks covered in tattoos, angry outspoken young black and Latino people all showed up to Trump rallies around the country to extinguish, bully and belittle anyone thinking of entering a Trump rally or gathering.  Alan became rich as the middle man and what was there in it for Mr.  Ilych?  More money than you could imagine if everything pans out in the end.  Mr. Illych’s boss was a bit skeptical.  It was Mr. Illych’s job to make sure his boss stayed the course.  Hardly did he meet face to face with his boss.  Phone conversations daily were their briefings.

                “Boss…  Listen to me…  Have I been wrong yet?  This might seem like a negative thing and it is but trust me when I say this…  There is a silent majority sitting dormant in their easy chairs, watching this all on television, shaking their heads wondering what the world is coming to.  These people are now wondering if they turned the other cheek too much, have they softened up to the point where anything goes socially and guess what?  They’re about to be handed a bill for all the things they could care less about while the nation gets softer and more oblivious to the threats around the world.  They see these young people protesting and it makes them want to vote even more for you…  Steady as she goes, boss.  We have nothing to fear except a lack of fear itself…  Trust me on this.”

November 12, 2015

The 1932 Presidential Debate… In Germany

In early March of 1932, the president of Germany, Paul von Hindenburg agreed to have a debate with the other two major candidates, Adolf Hitler and Ernst Thalmann.  Those in the inner circle around Hindenburg thought that the old guy should take a pass on verbally sparring with the young man who sought to defeat him.  Hindenburg knew the Nazi Party was growing in popularity but he hardly took the Austrian Corporal from World War I seriously and so he agreed to face the competition in a debate.

“President Hindenburg, it is said that you are for the most part, apolitical, aloof and benign as a head of state.  You have claimed to be dedicated to democracy but hold a spot in your heart for the monarchy.  What are your thoughts on returning Germany to a monarchy?”

The dignified looking war hero of three wars, brushed back his large moustache, smiled and answered with a few short words.

“I think my running for a second term of office speaks for my dedication to the democratic process…  With a gun to my back.”

“Can you explain what you mean by a gun to your back, Mr. President?”

Hindenburg looked at young Adolf with his arms folded and tight face and tried to be light about their gathering.  Mr. Hitler patiently waited his turn.

“There are those among me that believe the only way to keep this Austrian corporal from the presidency is to continue on as president.  At my age, I am Germany’s last hope.”

Laughter in the room erupted.  The moderator turned to Adolf Hitler and asked him what he thought of the president’s comments.  Moderators love a good war of words between candidates.  Who doesn’t take notice of a good fight?

“In eight years, Bismarck was able to win three wars and in seven years our current great war hero has done what exactly for the fatherland?  Holding up a white flag while asleep in a very comfy chair is hardly progress.  I propose to make Germany great again like Bismarck.  Germany doesn’t win anymore…  We are not winning.  I pledge to you to cleanse the fatherland of elements that leach and suck from the tit leaving real Germans to want…”

Ernst Thalmann, the Communist candidate interrupted Adolf which only incensed him nearly to the point of physically attacking the distant third party candidate.

“I hope all reasonably intelligent people understand that a vote for Hindenburg is a proxy vote for Hitler and a vote for Hitler is a vote for war…”

Hitler brushed back his dark hair, smiled at the moderator and spoke over Thalmann.

“You dear dockworker, would be best of service to the fatherland if you were to fetch the president and I something to quench are parched throats as we discuss the direction one of us will be taking this country very shortly.  The idea of you marching the keys to Germany up to the Kremlin so that you might become a lap dog for Stalin, is sad.  Luckily for Germany your ideas are so obscure that you are one podium away from being on the street with a cup in your hand…  This is the crux of Germany’s problems- a tired old figurehead who thinks he is a monarch, who holds up the terms of Weimar as if it were the bible and then you have the Stalin’s cabin boy to my other side…  Germans are superior and unless we think of ourselves as superior we will never win again.”

The questioning and answering and interrupting went on for nearly an hour when the moderator asked each man to give a closing statement.  Thalmann’s closing statement came off as handwringing, the sky is falling sort of whining.  The president appeared to have nodded off twice during the debate.  He pledged to continue on with what was working for Germany.  Hitler threw out his pledge.

“If I become president, we will do something really special. We will make this country greater than ever before. We’ll have more jobs, we’ll have more of everything.  Think of Bismarck… We were discussing all sorts of things tonight, many of which will just be words, it’ll just pass on. I don’t want to say politicians … all talk, no action, but a lot of what we talked about is words and it’ll be forgotten very quickly. If I’m president, many of the things that we discussed tonight will not be forgotten. We’ll find solutions. The world will respect us, they will respect us like never before, and I have to say it’s a great honor to be here tonight.”

And well most of you know what happened next…

August 17, 2015

Winds of Potential Change

Filed under: humor,humour — blackhumouristpress @ 11:54 am
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Television blares images- the princess holding her baby is apprehensive, pensive look towards Calais

Knowing there is no way to change the ebb and flow of those who

Run from their kingdom- a mass of human destruction called Syria

Serious wringing of hands over construction of nuclear matter- does it matter?

You get a bomb, they got a bomb we have a bomb and the anxiety of what’s yet

To come.

If you conserve we preserve Federal Reserve and reservations for the indigenous and a

Prestigious candidate debating waiting for him implode to meet his fate propped by polls by those

Who see the holes in the road leading around the bend back to where we stand in the slipping

Sand- building Berlinish walls at the Rio Grande for the Grand Old Party going the way of Whigs

Stand tall and shake a big twig for the greatest country you never met- Tremendous debt and a genuflect towards a Chinese syndrome of the purchase of consumer not-so-goods

Come back to bed, dear- it’s only the wind of potential change in the age of climate changing back to the times of dinosaurs, pre-historic ingenuity- igneous, porous blind faith in the ability of the electorate to find the protectorate of this really great way of living- with liberty and justice for all… or at least some.

November 6, 2012

We Have Black Friends or For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge

Filed under: Ethnicity,humor,Mixed Race,obama,Oprah,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 11:00 am
Tags: , , , , , ,

The Thames, pronounced “temz” just like the famous river in England, was lying in bed in their bedroom, each watching their own television.  It was like watching television at an appliance store.  One would have to filter out the other sounds in order to focus on their own program.  A marriage counselor recommended that in order to preserve their marriage and spend more time together, that they purchase two televisions and watch television separate but equal…  I heard that term somewhere else.

Tim Thames was watching Monday Night Football while Tammy Thames was watching Dancing With The Stars.  Tim thought the show was stupid and he concluded that if he were coached eight hours a day, he too could prance about like Gene Kelly.  Dancing was for weddings.  Watching men in tight pants writhe around on freezing tundra, was much more to his liking.  Tammy didn’t hate football, in fact she would occasionally peek at this guy or that guy and marvel at how tight and round their asses were.  Some men looked as though they had canned hams strapped to their buttocks, under Lycra.  It never mattered to Tammy who won or who was playing.

Tammy received a text message while lying in bed next to Tim.  It was a commercial break and she had been admiring football player ass when the message came in from their friends The Whites.

William and Hilary White, were black and as much as people wanted to call them Bill and Hilary, William corrected people.  His name was William and not Will, Willy, Bill or Billy.  William was his grandfather’s name who came from Kingston, Jamaica.  William thought of himself as an English gent of the Caribbean, a modern day Sidney Poitier.  Hilary was an attractive black woman with a pretty smile and a fantastic ass.  How they became friends oddly enough was through the sport of ice hockey.  Their two sons who are now in college, played youth hockey together for many years.  For over ten years, they woke up early and drove their boys to practices and games and then drank in hotel hallways and lounges together.  The White’s son was always the one black player on the hockey team.  It made the other whites, not to be confused with The Whites, feel as though they were tolerant and accepting of other races and cultures by the mere fact that they had black friends; The Whites.  Tim and Tammy often threw that out among other whites.

“Our good friends, The Whites…  Who are really black…  I mean African-American, will be at the party too.”

And so on…

Hilary had sent a text inviting Tim and Tammy to their house to watch the election results and sip some red wine that they picked up at a winery in Germany.  The Whites took a vacation and toured wineries near the French border in Germany.  William had whispered to his wife while taste testing Riesling in Germany, “Hitler must be rolling over in his grave.  Two American blacks drinking prized German wine and being served like servants by members of the master race…  It doesn’t get any better than this…”

William and Tim were both very outspoken no-it-alls and alcohol and vast knowledge often led to fights.  William was a supporter of the president and Tim was a supporter of Romney.  Wine with opposing political views pointed towards an interesting evening.

“I see you’ve texted Hilary back.  Have you already committed us to going to their place again?  In 2008, you didn’t tell me that their extended family was going to be sitting around the living room, crying and hugging each other after Obama won.  I had to pretend like I was happy too and I wasn’t,” said Tim.

“Why?  Because it was the symbolic decline of the American white male?  An attractive black man becomes president and white men are threatened,” said Tammy.

“Denzel Washington is an attractive black man.  The president is not.  The president looks like…  A monkey.”  Said Tim.

“Now that is perfect.  Our president is a simian.  How very Klanish of you,” said Tammy.

“If he looked like a fucking aardvark, I would tell you that.  To me, he resembles a monkey.  I’ll agree that he is smooth and self confident but I don’t agree that he is attractive,” said Tim.

Strangely enough, once while having sex with each other for possibly the 10,000 times since the first time in the back seat of a car during college, Tim fantasized about being behind Michelle Obama and Tammy fantasized that the man behind her was the commander-in-chief.  Tim and Tammy were prone to a lot of talking during sex.  It was also the counselor’s opinion that they connect more with each other while having sex in the form of verbally relaying their pleasure with one another.  There would be rhetorical questions such as, “Who owns this pussy? Or who wants this pussy?”.  On a night when neither of them was saying much, they both had thoughts about fucking the first lady and the president while fucking each other.  Both Tim and Tammy had given thought to fucking William and Hilary but never discussed it with each other.  Both had accused the other of being a little too inviting in their body language, tone of voice and smiles with the Whites.

“George Bush was an unattractive man and you never said a word about how he looks.  Why is it that you have yet to come to grips with the fact that our president is black?”  Asked Tammy.

“I don’t care about how white he really is while appearing to be black.  Our president was raised by his grandparents just like most black kids are today.  The difference is that he was raised by white people in Hawaii and he went to Harvard.  He comes off as some native of Chicago and he is about as much a Chicagoan as he is truly black…  Be all that as it is, I don’t want to be around a bunch of gloating black people if Obama wins re-election.  I don’t want to pretend I voted for Obama too just so that I don’t appear racist.  Whites and I don’t mean William and Hilary; still make up 65% of this country.  If whites don’t vote for the president, he isn’t going to be president.  I’m tired of hearing how racist whites still are.  Nobody tried to kill the president and whites overwhelmingly voted for a blackish man,” said Tim.

“Blackish?  Like brackish?  You really are racist and have not come to grips with it.  We live in an all white neighborhood with a smattering of Indians and Koreans and you work with white people in another all white area and people of color make you uncomfortable.  Face it so you can begin to accept it,” said Tammy.

“That sounds like some kind of Oprah-esque brainwashing.  Unless you go out and hold hands with queers and people of all other colors other than your own, you’re racist and homophobic.  I have voted Republican since Reagan when I was a senior in high school.  I voted once for Perot and felt like an asshole after doing it so I will most likely vote Republican until I die.  Not because they are the white party as much as they are not the party to worry and cater to those who don’t wish to do for themselves, don’t care if queers want to fuck up their lives with marriage and hand out money for abortions.  Today if fags want to get abortions, nobody really cares.  People are worried about losing their jobs and homes.  Everything else is not important.  With unemployment still up and the housing market still flat, I don’t see what has happened in the last four years that would make me want to vote for Obama.  Call me racist or call me a realist.  I hope you’re not voting for him because Oprah told you to or because you think he is more attractive than Romney.  I hope you are not fearful of Mormons and for that reason voting for a man who might be a closet Muslim,” said Tim.

“If you don’t want to go, I will simply tell them we are staying home,” said Tammy with folded arms.

“No, we’re going.  They will totally think I made you not go.  I have a gun to my head on this one.  I will go and I will not boast and beat my chest if Romney wins but don’t expect me to cry and bring up Rosa Parks with their relatives if Obama wins.  I don’t want to argue with William either.  I cannot believe he would argue with me over the word fuck.  It most definitely means, for unlawful carnal knowledge and not fornication under consent of the king.  He still believes he is a subject of the queen because he was born in Kingston.  The queen doesn’t give a shit about Jamaica unless she’s looking for a bottle of rum,” said Tim.

Tammy flicked off the light and turned off both televisions.  She turned on her side away from Tim and did not say goodnight.  Tim felt bad and put his hand on his wife’s shoulder.  He kissed her softly on the neck and told her that none of that stuff really mattered to him and that finding the person best suited for his life was what really mattered most to him.  Tammy turned towards Tim.  The nice, unsolicited words just put her in the mood.  Tim wrapped his arms around his wife and he began to massage her cold and pimply butt cheeks while kissing her.  They made love as they had many, many times in the past.  Tim then rolled over and immediately began to fall asleep.  A good fucking for Tim was like giving a baby a bottle of milk.  Tim was ready to sleep.  Tammy on the other hand was wide-awake.  She could feel Tim’s hand getting heavy around her waist.  She thought that she should probably say something before Tim truly fell asleep.

“Honey?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Would you say my ass is as nice as Hilary’s or Michelle Obama’s?”

Tim didn’t want to come off as a liar or have his wife think that he was lying even though he was about to lie.  Michelle Obama and Hilary both looked like they had canned hams for buttocks.  Asses that could support drinks and so on.  Tim wanted to sleep and he wanted Tammy to sleep too.  He had to think quickly.  He leaned in and kissed his wife under her ear.

“In this age when men need Viagra.  I never need a boost when it comes to you.  You still give me a full metal jacket after all these years.  I still feel like an admiral of a beautiful ship when I get behind you…  I’d rather have your ass than any others.”

Tammy bought the nice words and Tim fell fast asleep.  They will be watching the election results with the Whites tonight.   How about you?

August 14, 2012

Nighthawks

Filed under: Ethnicity,obama,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 6:15 am
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Mathilde, a name she created for herself, decided when she opened up her Jazz club, that she would only speak French to her bartender, whom she was sleeping with on nights when she really wanted to have sex.  Jasper would then watch Mathilde light a cigarette, flick her wrist towards Jasper and say, “va t’en…”

Mathilde inherited money from the husband of her grandmother who had married the last of five husbands. George never had children and had saved well after serving in World War II.  Mathilde lived in Paris for a year and then returned to the states to claim her money and open her club.

Mathilde was into Film Noir and a look among women and men of days gone by.  She tried hard to recreate something that didn’t exist any longer.  Jasper wore a red sports coat and a thin black tie.  The television screens in the club were from the 1950’s and only played old movies.  Mathilde could speak perfect English but chose to only speak French upon returning from France.  The job description online for a bartender was that he not she, had to be fluent in French.  Jasper was born in Montreal.  Jasper was not French but had to learn French in a French-speaking city.  Jasper found Mathilde amusing.  He did not mind fucking the thin woman with tangerine shaped tits when the mood caught her.

“Sir, there are very few people in this day in age that would selflessly give to their country and join the armed forces.  I have chosen the infantry so that given the opportunity; I can send those Allah loving towel heads up to heaven to get their 72 virgins in the afterlife.  I feel very strongly about this sir.”

“How old are you, son?”

“21 today, sir.”

“Well thanks for that.  I forgot to check your ID.  I used to live in Los Angeles, West Los Angeles to be exact.  I used to take a number 2 Santa Monica bus from Westwood near UCLA down Wilshire Boulevard to where I lived.  The bus would cut through the VA and cemetery where thousands of boys laid silent.  Boys just like you.  I hope you make it back and go on with your life, kid.”

“Sir, it is what god has chosen for me.”

“Another mango rum, kid?”

“Better make it two.”

Mathilde sat on a stool in the center of the bar and listened to all the patrons speak to Jasper.  She would comment to Jasper in French.  Of course.

“Pourquoi?  Il est tres jeune et beau …”

“Right…  Like Rousseau said; a blank slate.”

“These Jazz dudes think they got it all figured out.  They all tend to play the same shit from a ten-year period where colored dudes were shooting heroin and turning Benny Goodman on his head.  This was the American classic period, man.  This is Beethoven, Mozart and Bach for Americana.  Miles Davis, Thelonius Monk, John Coltrane and these young white dudes play it and play it.  Don’t get me wrong, man.  I dig it.”

“Colored…  Now that takes me back to a simpler time.  Pay phones, UHF and Richard Nixon.  Say Mack… Why the Steven Segal look?  Nixon had a similar hairline to you.  He would never have pulled it back in a pony tail, had a vodka with a splash of cranberry and called a colored an African-American.”

“You’re right about that, Jasper…  It is sort of redundant, isn’t it?  I mean they all came from Africa so why always push that back in their faces every time you refer to one of them with the obvious?  Am I right, Jas?”

“Who could argue with that logic?  Another splash of cranberry with your vodka?”

“Easy on the ice and easy on the cranberry…”

“Doucement avec l’alcool…  la coute pour ca c’est trop cher.”

“Jasper…  You are an ageless creature.  You must be a half-century but look to be under the age of thirty-five.  How do you do it?”

“Well, I eat well, exercise and try to keep in mind that everything happening here is transitory.”

“Transitory…  I like that word.  It is a polite way of saying that everything doesn’t really mean shit, correct?”

“Righto mate…  Some slob stood in this bar 100 years ago and discussed the Titanic slipping into the sea and breaking up the huge monopolies like US Steel and Standard Oil.  Guys like you ordered a whiskey for under a nickel and guys like me made thirty cents a day and lived in a flophouse.  I live in an apartment and make…  not that much more than thirty cents a day and is it really living versus existing?  Le plus les choses changent, le plus ils sont le meme…”

“My exact words…  Another Hemingway, please.  Absinthe with a hint of champagne, please.”

“Tu gagne beaucoups d’argent et les autres chose sont plus important que d’argent, mon vieux.”

“Bien sur, madam…”

“Romney picked wisely.  I think the kid looks presidential actually.  So Romney takes a job that nobody should ever want.  One of these smelly punks who sit in parks, strumming guitars, worrying about the rich, suddenly becomes furious that their hope has changed and buys a gun from the same guy who is hooking them up with drugs and kills Romney.  This leaves the job to the kid from Wisconsin.  Mind you that this hippie assassin, this modern day Lee Harvey Oswald’s family is contributing to a Protestant church somewhere in suburbia and is also one of those families who gave  $250.00 to help Romney defeat the incumbent while also sending money to their bust out son who lives in a park somewhere, protesting  everything…  What do you think?”

“I think that any restaurant that only offers you two choices on the menu, cannot be too good.”

“That sounds very communist.”

“Freedom or the illusion of freedom is the heroin of the masses…  I think Marx said that, didn’t he?”

“Never mind…  Give me another one of those Belgian beers.”

“Of course.  That sounds very American.”

“Jill…  I don’t mind the whole French thing in front of the consumers but you don’t need to do that when we’re alone.  We both speak English as a first language.   Why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind just once?”

Mathilde spoke in a clear Midwestern accent while laying on her side, smoking a cigarette out of a holder while listening to Nat King Cole sing in French.

“Life sounds better in French…  Even if it is not even close to being ideal.”

Jasper lifted his eyebrows as he slipped on his pants and readied himself to leave Mathilde’s house for the night.

“D’accord…  C’est votre vie et j’habite etre avec vous…”

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