Blackhumouristpress's Blog

July 17, 2019

America- 2020 Poor Vision

America 2020- two visions one schism.

One part Racism one part socialism and stir to a boil.


Bubble gum bubble gum in a dish which candidate do you pick? Attack the president and hope it sticks before the electorate gets too sick.


Some salute the flag and some kneel… this is a free country do what you feel… Unless you don’t think or look like me. In that case you’re the enemy.


Children, I have to warn you

Because I’ve been to California.

Needles is not just a city and there’s a reason the parks are so shitty.


The woke spoke and want to build moats along Nevada and near Philly. Those fly over red states are just dang silly. Gun loving hicks chasing queers in big trucks.   I just can’t believe those xenophobic fucks. They don’t even like Starbucks.


There’s no reason for a border

Things will work out and we’ll keep order.

We are making preparations, free college and reparations. How could the middle class have reservations?


AOC- can you see? We’re on the cusp of anarchy. All the people you might reach are in favor to impeach the president, undocumented residents, in an unprecedented age devoid of decorum a la Jerry Springer. It’s okay to shout when they speak and give them all the finger.


24-hour news propaganda that overloads the subliminal. At a minimal it looks like a mushroom cloud that covers the sun. Nowhere near where we once begun. Where do we begin?

February 15, 2010

Leaving the Complaints Department… Peace, Out

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 5:00 pm
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Curt and Carl had been life long buddies.  Back in the old days, kids at school called them the Columbine Boys behind their backs.  Nobody really thought of them as closet homosexuals as much as antisocial, introverted, skateboarding wannabees, with possible homicidal tendencies.  They both had tight jeans with Van shoes and long hair that covered one eye at all times.  They spent most of their time trying to perfect the stuff they saw on MTV.  Neither one of them was bold enough or athletic enough to ride hand rails or try to jump a flight of stairs on their bikes.  They were just west coast, southern California boys trapped in the desert near Palmdale and Lancaster at the far northern tip of Los Angeles County, not far from the windmills near Tehachapi.  All houses looked about the same as the next house and sparse growth covered the mountain sides that looked more like the surface of Mars or the Moon that anything on Earth. 

            Somehow both Curt and Carl finished high school without killing anyone and made it through albeit with beat up self esteem.  Carl one day decided that he would move to England.  Curtis thought he was really full of shit and called him on it.

            “I’ve decided that I want to live somewhere other than this sterile fucking place filled with former Midwestern fucks that live in tract house fucking subdivisions and go to the fucking Vons to shop, In and Out Burger for dinner and get old and fat watching that one fucking tree grow that was planted by the city, in their front yard.  I’m not gonna beg you but we should just fucking go, man.  I mean where can you go where they kinda speak English that is totally not like this fucking place?  I wanna go to pubs and fuck chubby chicks and never learn their names.  I want to drive on the left with a wheel on the right and not worry about my fucking teeth.  Fuck Arnold Schwarzenegger, earthquakes, landslides, smog, diamond lanes and all of it.  Let’s go to England, man.  We can get a flat in London and live like fucking kings…” said Carl.

            “I really like In and Out Burger…” Said Curtis.

            “Yeah?  Well fuck you too then…” Said Carl.

            As shocked as Curtis was to see his buddy Carl go, Carl did take every cent he had and moved to London.  Carl found jobs at fast food restaurants and at a funeral home before he landed a job in customer service.  Carl was the foreman of a division that answered customer calls.  Ironically, Curtis worked at a company that was an answering service for apartment buildings and doctors.  Curtis was the complaints department and hated it.

            It had been four years of sending porn, jokes and one sentence emails to one another when Carl offered Curtis a job at his factory in London.  Curtis was intrigued.

            “Dude…  You gotta come to London.  I work for a company that sells Irish sweaters and quilts and shit.  I’m like the head of all the customer service calls.  It’s fucking great.  There are like three chicks I’m totally making it with right now who work for me.  I swear to baby Jesus that I go home to change fucking underwear only.  After work I go and have a few pints then go and a have a few more at another pub, throw some fucking darts and lay a new broad every night.  All you have to do is tell them you are from California and they immediately think like Beach Boys and surfing.  I’m like whatever.  Where’s your flat?  Oh and one big thing to sway your ass…  The fucking pound is the strongest currency in the world.  It’s like making one and a half times what you make in California.  I hope you’re done nursing your snatch and bring your ass out here.  You can shack up with me and trust me when I say that you will have more puss than you could shake a stick at.  Tell your mom that you’re going to learn to fly and move the fuck out here, bitch…  Peace out Carl.”

            Curtis agonized for a week about doing something so abrupt but then decided he would.  He sent Carl the good news and just wanted to clarify that there would be a job waiting for him.

            “Dude…  I’m so coming to England.  You do have a job waiting for me, right?  I don’t mind what it is; I’m just spending all I have to get there.  I can hardly sleep thinking about this.  The Trenchcoat Posse rides again!”

            Carl responded.

            “Bitch… Bring your sorry ass here.  I’ll fire a fucking Paki to give you a job.  Just get here…  Peace out.”

            Curtis responded.

            “Okay, man.  I’m coming.  I bought a ticket.  I stop in NYC and then on to London.  Pick me up on Saturday.  Just have to set the record straight here at work….”

            Now Curtis hated his job and hated the despondent, fat, angry people he worked among and hated the chronic complaints he dealt with frequently as an answering service dispatcher.  Curtis decided to set the record straight with everyone who irritated him before leaving.  First was a woman who lived in Santa Monica with two cats, no husband and a lot of time on her hands.  She was the president of a condominium association who called frequently to the answering service to have their Albanian janitor work hard for his money.

            Ms. De la Croix,

                                       Although we have never met since I am up in Palmdale and you are in Santa Monica, I just want to let you know what I pictured over the phone in my two years of dealing with your annoying bullshit.  You are probably 5‘2 to 5’4, thin with bleached blond hair.  You probably went to some Catholic grade school in Santa Monica, Catholic high school in Santa Monica and then attended Santa Monica City College.  You think that Santa Monica is the height of Los Angeles County and center of the universe. You probably buy bullshit art at  the Santa Monica Mall on Saturdays and attend all meetings for rent control.  Your cats probably got two stupid names like Tulip and Persnickety and you have more appliances in the drawer of your night stand than the janitor of your building has in his tool shed.  Mind you that this poor fuck lasted through a war where Serbians were trying to murder him because some fucking Ottomans forced his ancestors to convert to being a Muslims.  That poor fuck made it all the way to sunny California just to become a slave to you and a bunch of sexually dysfunctional males and females that love titles such as president, treasurer or secretary of a board.  Fuck you, fuck your board and all your complaints.  Kiss your fucking cats cause they might be the only ones who love you and that might only be at feeding time.

            Yours Truly,

            Curtis Crawford

            Curtis felt so exhilarated by writing to Ms. De la Croix and telling her exactly what he thought of her, now he would tell his fellow workers what he thought of them.

            “Dear Mr. Smith and all employees of Minute Men Ready Answering Service,                                                                                                                                        

 I would like to invite you to figure out fast what makes you happy.  Most of you are

twice my age and are twice as unhappy and twice as fat and at least twice in debt over me. 

Most of you make me sick and scare me.  I waited my whole youth to be an adult and

now that I’m surrounded by adults, I ask myself if this is what I wanted and expected. 

Did I want to be grayer, fatter, angrier, and more cynical than I am now?  Granted I was voted most likely to come to school and mow everyone down and yet I would be more likely to come and put all of you out of your misery as a mercy killing now.  My problem was that I never bought a gun.  I did buy a ticket to London, England and start my new job next week.  So fuck all of you and I hope you step aside and heed the shit I’m saying.  Your sorry lives are not worth living and I want to thank all the pompous fucks among you for forcing my hand.  Had it not been for you, I may have been complacent and stayed in this fucking job until I grew a paunch, lost my hair and got excited over coupons or whatever the fuck there is to be happy about beyond the age of thirty with an unfulfilled wife and bratty fucking kids.  So I’ll say this now; see you in hell and if you make it to heaven let me know how it was possible because I have not seen how it could have been possible thus far…  Your devoted employee Curtis Crawford…”

            Curtis hit the send button to all employees as he gathered up things that he wanted

to take with him from his desk in a cubical.  Curtis could hear gasps and laughing as he carried his glad bag full of stuff through the front doors into the midday sun.  He got into his Hyundai ready to collect what he really needed for his first trip to Europe when a text message from Carl came through.

            “Dude…  It’s a fucking calamity.  The fucking Brits dumped all the women in the center and moved operations to fucking New Delhi.  Those fucking Indians. Don’t worry if you already quit.  I can find us work here.  I got a few bones stored away.  Just come out, we’ll figure it out somehow… Peace out, Carl.”

            Curtis was at a red light in his Hyundai when the car behind him beeped hard.  The light had turned green.  The only thought that came to Curtis was; Oh shit!

July 30, 2009

Disney Still On Ice

Filed under: Disney,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 2:31 am
Tags: , , , ,

Disney still on ice

June 26, 2009, Anaheim, California 9:12 PM PST. Under the Pirates of the Caribbean.

“Mr. Disney? Mr. Disney?”

Walt looked up at the bright lights above his head and could not see anything but really bright light. Walt wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or if he was truly passing through the tunnel to the other side as they say.

“The lights are very bright and the temperature is close to 100 degrees in here to help bring your body temperature to where it should be, ” said Dr. Smith, with a soft baritone voice that was soothing to Walt.

Walt disney was led into a dark room where a film projector cast light on dust floating around in the air. The film began and standing off to the right of the screen under an amber light was short man in a suit by the name of David Gold.

“On behalf of all of us here at Disney, we would like to welcome you back, sir. My name is David Gold and I am the designated facilitator. My job since coming to Disney, has been preparing for the day when we would bring you back…”

Walt sat in a recliner and sipped hot tea. With the room temperature nearly 100 degrees and a layers of clothes and blankets, Walt was still fairly cold. The green tea with rose hips was helping.

“We, well… I… Well you see, sir… There has been a terrible mistake made, sort of a failure of sorts, if you will…” said David.
“How terrible?” Asked walt.
“Well there was an earthquake near Bakersfield and that in itself is not a problem… What is a problem is that we had a small tremor nearby that killed power and security did not alert us to the fact that the back up generators that were in place to ensure you would be frozen at all times… Well they failed, ” said David.
“So a small earthquake caused a power failure, the back up generator failed and the security guard failed to catch on that I was thawing? Is this where you’re going?” Asked Walt.
“Well yes… And we are very sorry and are making every effort to make you as comfortable as possible until we can refreeze you, ” said David.
“Well I might like to take a few days and see what changes have taken place in the last… How many years?” Asked Walt.
“Roughly forty three years, sir… We have prepared a film to show you the things that have taken place since 1966, ” said David.
“You’re going to fill me in on forty three years in how many minutes?”
“Roughly thirty minutes…”
“Seems as though everything is rather… Rough, isn’t it?” Asked Walt jokingly.

Walt Disney watched bombs fall in Vietnam, Hippies dance to the song, Revolution by the Beatles. He saw Richard Nixon bowling and shaking hands with Elvis and killings ordered by Pol Pot. Walt watched gas lines, the Iran hostages, Ronald Reagan getting shot, Ronald Reagan shaking hands with Gorbachev and the Berlin wall falling. Walt then saw Operation Desert Storm with burning oil fields in Kuwait that left the day time sky like night. He watched highlights from 9-11 and the inauguration of Barrack Obama. Walt saw men on the moon, computers, cell phones, rockets and so forth. He then watched a scroll of Disney holdings that seemed to go forever. When that was over, David then turned on lights. Dr. Smith and a few others in white smocks, stood quietly observing Walt Disney. Walt began to peel off layers of clothes and asked that the room be room temperature again. Walt stood up to stretch his stiff back and legs.

“So what’s the deal with cancer? Do we have a cure yet?” Asked Walt, while bending down to try and touch his toes.

“No sir… Science has made great leaps but no cure as of yet.” Said Dr. Smith.
“Okay… So I’m here… You people allowed me to be defrosted. No cure for cancer but you can land planes with little hand held computers and all… Hold a press conference and let the world know that Walt Disney is no longer on ice.” Said Walt.
“There could be an infringement with the Disney on Ice… We have to be careful how we’d word this because Disney on Ice is a company that has figure skaters act out Disney stories. It could be confusing to those who hold tickets for Disney on Ice and if they cancel then we could have a lawsuit on our hands… You understand, sir?” Asked David.

Walt shrugged and wiped sweat from his brow. He finished the tea, set down the cup and stared back at those staring at him.

“I would say that we just go ahead and parade you around for publicity to show the world that cyrogenics does work after all. You’re living proof, ” said David.
“But… I feel a but coming, son, ” said Walt.
“Well the economy is tanking, GM and Chrysler are in bankruptcy. North Koreans are getting ready to send a rocket over Hawaii for the Forth of July… Then there were a slew of famous people that became famous after you died, that have died today, that are now being covered by the press constantly. One was a famous pop singer, the other an actress with Anus cancer and then Ed Mc Mahon…”
“You mean… Here’s Johnny? That Ed Mc Mahon?”
“Yes sir…” said David, with folded arms.
“Anus cancer! Is that possible? Well at any rate, the republic is falling apart and famous people all died to day. You people goof up and thaw me out and you don’t think it would be wise to show me around a bit?”
“It could be really bad for our stock right now, sir… I think you can understand that…” Said David.
“Well… Okay… You get the power up and the crew in white here to put me on ice again?”
“Yes sir… Just until we can find a cure for cancer. When that comes, you’ll be front page news. We’ll thaw you out again quicker than you could say Jack Robinson. We’ll get that cancer taken care of so you can live a long and happy life… That is unless you have heart disease. That may shorten things up a bit…”
“Well son…” said Walt while trying to get the last few drops out of his Mickey Mouse mug. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, won’t we?”
“Certainly, sir…”

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