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
say.
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?

March 13, 2020

Common Sense

Paint this Trump’s Chernobyl

Watching stocks tumble Tesla, Amazon and Exxon/Mobil

This like everything else was made in China

By mistake or design to create a mob reaction causing the economy’s fast contraction

This has ruined my NCAA bracket- is this serious or just a racket?

Some hope its half-life lasts until November kill the economy and lead us to wonder if a geriatric with dementia could save us from the latest cable news crisis

If you’re old, fat and have type 2, ride around scooters at the stores, have trouble climbing stairs to second floors, use your fingers at the Chinese buffet and those exercise by scrolling through their phones eating garbage all day

There are things that are common and things that make sense. It’s not so common to have intelligence.

 

January 30, 2020

Naked Mole Rats Rule

Travis rationalized at a young age that school was really just a bunch
of bullshit.  He knew he wanted to be a hockey player and if he didn’t
make it to the NHL, he would do something with the sport somewhere.

Travis took French and so that if he were going to get a job one day
with a team, he didn’t want to rule out the Montreal Canadians and so
he did well at French.  Travis actually picked up CBC Francais and
listened to games in French.  It was the other subjects.  After gym
and French, Travis was barely hanging in above a complete failure.
Biology and Math were the driest of all subjects.  Travis’ math
teacher Ms. Cline let Travis know that as his mother’s friend, she
would be letting her know just how poorly Travis was doing.  Ms. Cline
didn’t have Travis’ mother’s number coded into her phone.  She read it
out of an old school book of numbers.  Poor Doris’ eyes were getting
bad in her middle forties.  No menopause yet but eyes were fuzzy.
Somehow Doris Cline was off on the numbers.  Travis’ mother’s number
ended with 7235.  Doris’ poor eyes read the 5 as a 6 and wound up
texting Travis.  Travis couldn’t believe his good fortune.

“Hey girl!  Hope all is well.  I haven’t seen you in a while at
Pilates.  Listen- junior is not cutting in class and he doesn’t seem
to care if he does well or not.  His attitude is poor and he is often
nodding off …  I know he’s a big time hockey guy but no college takes
people who fail.  He’s on the cusp of failure now.  I hate to come to
you with this but I know you care…”

“Oh wow.  I will certainly talk to him.  Thx for telling me.”
Minutes went on without another text.  Doris wrote back again.

“Okay…  Hope you’re not mad.”
“I’m cool.”
“I mean…  It’s all good.  I will handle.”
“Wow, Jill…  You sound like a teenage boy.  Are you getting pounded right now?”

The question stunned Travis.  He never thought of his mother, a
divorced woman of three as a sexual creature.
“Um Doris…  We make love, okay?”
“Um?  Since when do you use um?”
“When you make me sound like an animal.”
“What about your new toy referring to his cock as a naked mole rat
looking for his hole.  How about the night you made so much noise that
the Indians on the other side of your bedroom wall called the police
because they thought you were being killed.”
“OMG!  I’ll have to erase this.  What if my kids find my phone!  I
met another really nice guy on that one site.  He was so sweet but
this is the pic I took of him before I let him hit it with me.”
It was a picture of a grotesquely obese man in a thong, covered with
hair with his pinky pointing at the corner of his mouth.
“No fucking way!”
“Yes fucking way.  It smelled of skunk and ass.  He had more ball
cheese than the state of Wisconsin.”

The thought came to Doris that maybe possibly, she wasn’t
corresponding with Jill and that maybe, quite possibly, she was going
back and forth with Travis.

“Travis?”
“Yes, ma’am…”
“OMFG…”
“Yup…  I’m fixin to aks momma about the naked mole rat finding its
hole.  I can’t imagine what shade of white she will turn to.”
“Listen… Do not do that!  I think we can work this out.”

Now Travis took a few subjects pass/fail.  Math was not one of those
subjects.  Doris Cline had a hard time looking Travis in the eyes but
was floored by his T-shirt. Travis went to the mall and had a shirt
made at a kiosk of a bucktooth weasel holding his cock with one hand
and giving the thumbs up sign with the other.  The shirt read, “Naked
Mole Rats Rule”.  On the back it read, “Filling holes for a real long
time”.  Doris was horrified.  Travis somehow received an A in math
that quarter.

December 28, 2019

Re-gifting for Christmas

Joe had never met his girlfriend’s family. With work and all, who has the time to meet family of a girlfriend when she herself disliked her own family?

 

Jill’s mother Gwen had a husband and a boyfriend. The husband Don looked like Zeus not Seuss with a large beard. Gwen spent most of her time with her boyfriend inside a tent at a trailer park. Gwen’s boyfriend had a drinking and drug problem. Maybe I didn’t need to say that after writing that her boy friend Bill lived in a tent in a trailer park within the city limits of Detroit. At Christmas in Detroit, it is generally cold. This year it happened to be about as warm as San Diego.

 

Jill had twin brothers named Nat and Nate. Nat is the natural father of Nate’s son who was Nate Jr. In reality, Nate Jr. is actually Nat Jr. Nat had tricked Nate’s girlfriend one night. He got her drunk and inseminated her. Susan, the wife of Nate happened to do a DNA test and low and behold, Nat was the father. Well Nat fell on hard times and had to move back into the home he grew up in. Gwen was rarely home and Don walked his dog a lot and watched a lot of QVC. The house was filled with things purchased that were never opened. There were tunnels throughout the house and in the basement lived Nate, his wife and son. Living in the apartment above the garage in the back of Don and Gwen’s house, were Nat and his girlfriend. The whole clan drove in separate cars to Jill’s beautiful home in Royal Oak, A sensible suburb north of Detroit.

 

Gwen felt badly that her twin sons were underachieving, fat and balding in their early 30’s. She never had the heart to tell her sons and husband that her boyfriend in a tent in a trailer park was actually the twin’s father. It all made sense actually.

 

Now Nate was married to a woman who worked at the Ambassador Bridge that is the entry point to Canada. She would ask people where they came from, what they did in Canada, what they were bringing back and if she had an inkling that something was amiss, she had the right to ruin their day by having dogs and immigration police go through everything in a vehicle for hours. Nate’s wife was over 300 lbs. and had served in the Navy once upon a time about 150lbs ago. She would watch her husband from work taking care of their twin sons on a baby monitor. Nate would hear out of thin air things like, “Nate! These kids have plastic in their mouths! Goddamn it, pay attention!”

Nat and his girlfriend were taking a lot of speed and eating little more than bacon and going to the gym a lot. They used to be obese but had lost a lot of weight. Both twins had ADD and so Nat would soon get bored with working out and dieting. Eating the rich and tasty things that their older sister Jill was about to serve to them might just kill the diet.

 

Now Jill escaped the strange idiocy of her family life. She went to school, got a job, bought a house, sold it and bought a bigger home. She learned her husband was gay and he left just before last Christmas but her boyfriend Matt was making the holiday time less sad and they got along well.

 

Matt, a good looking and fit man was supposed to buy a few things for the gathering and had procrastinated. He looked at a bunch of things he received from other people in the office and grabbed a huge basket of exotic chocolates, a bottle of wine, cheeses and meats. It was a huge basket that someone who worked for him in the office gave to him wrapped in cellophane. Matt was sort of the office overseer. His job was to monitor the things people did on line and if people were shopping or looking at porn or doing online gambling, it was his job to rat out the guilty party in the office.

 

Everyone ate and almost got along. The twins hate each other and their significant others hate them. Gwen hates her husband and her husband hates her. The offspring of the twins do not get along and then there is Jill who was the smiling successful eldest child whose house was immaculate. It was a Norman Rockwell Christmas for misfits. Gifts were passed around and Matt handed Gwen the huge basket. Gwen ooed and ahhed over it. The wine was Bordeaux the cheeses were Brie and Gruyere, smoked meats, crackers and then the chocolates. Gwen took the foil off of one chocolate to find a dark chocolate penis with coconut shavings around the testicles. Dozens and dozens of chocolate shaped just the same. Nate Jr. grabbed one, unwrapped it quick and bit the circumcised tip of one of the chocolates. Gwen found a note tucked in the middle of everything and read it out loud.

 

“Matt- you are a dick and a lap dog for the man. You’re too stupid to do anything but snitch on us all. This job suits a dumb fuck like you. You sit among us in the lunchroom and then get people fired or threatened. We hate you and hope your holiday sucks a dick. So fuck you and accept this gift from all of us.

Sincerely and truly- the office.”

 

Jill’s family took pleasure in Matt’s embarrassment. Christmas is about many things and many times people lose sight of what it’s all about. Once you get past it all. The Belgian chocolates were actually quite good and that’s all that matters.

December 4, 2019

Happy Thanksgiving or A Deluge of Shi* in Buffalo

Benjamin was from Buffalo, New York. Upon graduation from high school, he knocked around Community Theater in Brooklyn and shared a studio apartment with other “starving artists”.

 

Benjamin met Bev while doing a production of Oklahoma with an all-homeless cast to raise money for the poor. Bev donated her time to make costumes. To this day you can still find cowboy looking homeless men panhandling around New York. Bev loved Benjamin’s passion and Benjamin loved that Bev was organized, a go-getter and willing to row the boat of life a lot harder than he. They married even though Benjamin detested the idea of a possible suburban existence with two kids and a mortgage. Bev suspected that marriage would eventually land them in a burg somewhere around the country with a scripted and wholly domestic life. Things went well at first. Their son Benny was born and then their daughter Daisy soon followed. Around that time they also bought two cats and a dog. The picture was complete and ready for stickers of the family on the back of a minivan- mother, father, son, daughter, 2 cats and a dog.

 

Benjamin and Bev opened a thriving fine arts center for children in Chicago. Benjamin carried his two children proudly around as tots strapped to his chest. Benjamin was half administrator and half choreographer. Bev taught dancing and French language lessons. Life was as it should be and as good as one could hope for when they decide to buy animals, have children and open a business with their spouse.

 

Now Bev suspected that Benjamin might be gay, bisexual or asexual. The amount of sex they had was at about the average it should be if you were 70 years of age. They both were in their early forties. As is often the case, someone in a relationship is unhappy. Benjamin ordered what he got but envisioned something else. Unhappy people who don’t like confrontation set themselves up to be caught. There it was on the computer just waiting for someone to wake it up from sleep mode. A short video of Benjamin having rough doggie style sex with the born again Christian mother who was hired to do voice lessons at the studio. Bev at first couldn’t see the face. All she could see was her husband and a really large ass. Benjamin commanded the woman to face the camera as he pulled her hair. As you could imagine, this discovery was not fit for a wife to see. It ruined their day, it ruined their marriage. These things happen.

 

The years passed and Bev got the house with the kids and the mortgage and the debt. Benjamin bought a yellow Volkswagen bug convertible and lived in a studio apartment again in a building of twenty something’s trying to make it in music or theater. The building was a practice space for loud and noisy bands that were going nowhere. Many of the musicians lived in their practice space that used to be factory back when there were a lot of factories. Those factories are now in China… Anyway, Benny and Daisy were now junior high age. They loved their electronic devices. Benny loved to kill things virtually and Daisy loved to make dancing videos. Once a week they were forced to have a meal and spend the night in their father’s apartment. For Thanksgiving they were invited to go back to Buffalo to celebrate the holiday. Benjamin’s mom footed the bill for the airfare. Benjamin hated the idea but it was a free trip.

 

There was the Thanksgiving meal at 1pm with Benjamin’s mother and her wife. Picture two women looking like Elizabeth Warren. One was called mom or granny and the other was called mommy or grandmother. The kids were confused and called them nothing. Their cousins knew each other since they lived in Buffalo but didn’t know them and so they ignored Benny and Daisy. At 4pm they went to pick up Benjamin’s father and go to the all you can eat buffet for Thanksgiving. Benjamin Sr. the first in a line of Benjamin’s asked about his ex-wife and made snarky comments about how it all works with lesbians and who might take the lead on things like sex and dancing. Benjamin couldn’t wait to get the fuck back to Chicago. His kids looked mopey, he hated his family and the idea of recreating a loving event by having a meal with them. Benjamin headed to the airport and if you know anything about Buffalo, it snows there. Guess what happened next? It snowed in Buffalo and it snowed a lot. It snowed so much that the national news showed feet and feet of snow in and around Buffalo along with a closed airport. Luckily for Benjamin, he found a motel near the airport and the three of them spent the next 36 hours watching cable television in a room that smelled like cigarettes and booze. Nobody spoke much to each other. They watched cooking shows and cold case mysteries until they couldn’t take it anymore. Finally the time came and they boarded a plane to go home to Chicago.

Benjamin texted his ex-wife and ranted as he did once when they were married.

“THIS SUCKED. I HATED IT. THE KIDS HATED IT. MY DAD IS STILL AN ASSHOLE AND MY MOTHER IS FUCKED UP. MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS HATE ME AND THE KIDS AND THEN IT FUCKING SNOWED BIBLICAL TYPE OF SHIT HERE. I WILL BE BACK SOON AND I WILL NOT BE TAKING THE KIDS UNTIL CHRISTMAS. JUST SO YOU KNOW.”

 

Sometimes things go bad now and then. Other times it comes in bits and pieces. For Benjamin it was a deluge of shit. Benjamin arrived at the parking lot at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. It was cold in Chicago but no snow. Over in the distance was his yellow bug with a wheel lock device around the front passenger side wheel. There was a large yellow sticker on the window letting him know that the city of Chicago had added up all his unpaid parking tickets and that if wanted to get his prized vehicle, he would need to go downtown and pay the tickets first.

 

Almost a week after Thanksgiving, there they were all together again in Bev’s sensible SUV. The kids were silent, Benjamin was silent and fuming but with her hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, Bev got quiet satisfaction in her ex-husband’s misfortunes. Many in a week. White Christmas by Bing Crosby came on the nonstop Christmas song station that Bev tuned into right after Halloween. Benjamin turned the radio off. Bev grabbed Benjamin’s hand and moved it from the dial and put the music back on. She smiled at Benjamin and simply said, “I’m listening to the song…”

November 1, 2019

Last Tango in Detroit

Rick asked Tony to watch his house for a few days, feed and let the dogs out and bring in the mail. Tony didn’t mind the idea of camping out at Rick’s house for a while. There was beer and food in the refrigerator and they had the Center Ice NHL package on Direct TV. Tony loved it. If he wanted to watch any game going on, he could- Vancouver, New York, Montreal Las Vegas… All of them.

Tony played hockey, sold hockey equipment, coached a youth hockey team and then more recently, a woman’s hockey team. Rick’s wife entertained the idea of being the women’s team goalie but hated the idea of being shot at, putting on so much equipment and having to stand in front of the net while everyone else got to skate around. Rick told Tony that his wife wasn’t too keen about many of the women on the team but one in particular who just happened to become Tony’s girlfriend since he became the team’s coach. Her name was Susan and she was tall with red hair. Susan liked to go to hockey games and listen to live music. She was a lot of fun but outspoken when it came to shitty goaltending. Part of why Rick’s wife Donna decided to quit was Susan’s comments such as Donna couldn’t stop a cock between her legs anymore than she could a puck. Tony shrugged it off. Hockey is not for everyone and everyone does not like everyone.

Tony had a men’s league game later one night. He boiled a pot of pasta and could only find butter to put on the noodles. The only television at Rick’s house was in the master bedroom. Tony put the television on by hand since he could not find the remote control. For about 5 minutes Rick stood there manually holding the button for the channel to go from 5 to 770-1 for high definition. Detroit was playing Edmonton. Edmonton was off to a good start and Detroit was about where they have been for the past five to six years- nowhere. Tony balanced the soupy plate of pasta while changing the channel to the Islanders against Carolina when the whole plate of pasta fell onto Rick’s bed with a black fitted sheet. Tony swore a bit and scooped the pasta back onto the plate and ate it without a thought. He fell asleep that night on one side of the bed while watching the highlights of the day’s games. Tony’s team lost earlier that night but he was a plus 1 and had two assists playing defense. At the next game, Rick thanked Tony for watching his place and taking care of the dogs. He had one question though for Tony- what the fuck did you do in my bed? Tony thought about telling Rick the truth but created a funny story instead.

“Susan is an old film buff and so she brought over a copy of Last Tango in Paris and we watched it in bed. I then went and got your Land O’ Lakes out of the fridge and rammed it up her ass while recreating the scene after watching Marlon Brando do it… I didn’t use the whole stick of butter. I put back about half in the fridge.”

Rick smiled but was a cross between shocked and jealous. He then thought about having toast that morning with the butter that went up a woman’s ass. He couldn’t remember tasting a difference.

At the end of season party, the boys on the team showed up to the apartment of one of the transplants from Boston. There they all were on the roof of a high-rise drinking and waiting for the lobsters to be boiled. Donna stood glaring at Susan and Tony who were talking quietly to one another and kissing a bit. Donna had just enough drinks to feel brave enough to confront the couple.

“You know what? I might have sucked as a goalie but you suck as a human… Both of you actually. What kind of a tramp allows a man to put a stick of butter up her ass, then fuck her in the ass of a friend’s bed, make a fucking mess and then not have the decency to take the sheets and simply wash them… That’s not enough! Then take the stick of butter and put it back in the fridge. It’s disgusting at a minimum. Kinky and exciting for my husband but repulsing for me…”

Susan studied Tony’s face while he nervously laughed and smiled. Tony had two women angrily looking intently into his face. Susan demanded an explanation.

“Babe… It was watery pasta that fell off the plate while I was watching hockey one night. That’s all it was plain and simple. I hate to pop Rick’s bubble but there was no anal sex… But I thought it would be a funny story. I can tell you this- Rick loses his man card for telling his wife something so lurid such as that. Somethings like that are better left untold between men…”

October 25, 2019

Make it Easier and Easier

Wilbur sat in living room of his apartment trying to watch METV on an old Zenith television that he had inherited from his mother before she died sometime ago. He also got a few bucks and a nice couch and Lazy Boy recliner too.

 

As a man of fifty years of age, Wilbur was a wreck.  He was morbidly obese; he needed medication for his blood pressure, for diabetes, for his enlarged prostate and his depression. He lived alone with three cats and a lot of mice. His apartment was nothing but tunnels from room to room. Once a year, the poor janitor would have to get a dumpster and clear out all the shit Wilbur collected so that he could pass Section 8, so that the owner of the building living off the board walk north of South Beach in Miami could get his guaranteed money from the government.

 

Wilbur called the Police to report that the new tenants above were constantly playing loud music, drinking and smoking weed. The compassionate dispatcher explained to Wilbur that all were legal now.

“I don’t know if you are aware that playing one’s music loudly is a culturally acceptable way to enjoy music today.  You may not enjoy it so loud but many do. It is no longer illegal to play loud music. Your complaining impedes on their ability to enjoy music in their own home the way they are accustomed to. Marijuana and alcohol is legal too. We will not send officers out for something like this. I suggest you get some ear buds and listen to whatever interests you… Okay? Have a nice day…”

Wilbur began to cry tears of frustration as all the glassware in his place rattled. He could hear all the lyrics to the song. It wasn’t quite Rap and it wasn’t quite singing. It was sort of whiny droning like a Gregorian chant with reverb, heavy bass and a pitch corrector.

“Bitch… How do I wanna kill you and love you jus the same. It a thin line between choking you and loving you, girl. You take my shit and I love you but I cain’t be with you and I need you… Yo pussy, you ass, making love an then sodomy, my homies say I need a lobotomy cause I love you girl, my precious dichotomy… Pain and ecstasy when you laying next to me… I jus might marry you after they arrest me…”

 

There was a knock at the door. It was his food delivery service. Two double Whoppers with Cheese, large fry and a large Diet Coke. The delivery guy was holding his nose while standing in the doorway of the apartment. The place was one big litter box and the pungent smell of cat urine was overwhelming. The cats cried as Wilbur ate his meal, watched Jerry Springer on mute while listening to progressive radio. The topics of the day ranged from three year olds declaring their gender identity as “Gender Fluid”, allowing profanity in public places and in the media for emphasis, the elimination of any presidents on money or the word god on anything in public. Wilbur thought about the time he ordered via Amazon some really large Victoria Secret lingerie and wore it for a while to see if it would make him feel pretty, attractive and possibly more positive about who he was. Wilbur walked around the apartment listening to music in peach colored fuzzy slippers, a peach robe, a peach brazier size 45 DD and matching thong. Wilber wore the outfit for days until he saw a bunch of females model lingerie in high heal shoes on television, hawking sexy lingerie and dongs. The pretty thing parading around in lingerie with her cute dimple holding a 12-inch black dong brought Wilbur to reality. They were so elegant and thin and Wilbur felt bloated. Wilbur reasoned that he might get some homophobic fireman unwilling to give him CPR someday because of how he was dressed and so he went back to wearing his Cleveland Browns jersey and a pair of sweat pants.

 

It was getting late. Wilbur spent a whole day doing not very much and tomorrow there will be about the same for him to do. He eased into his Lazy Boy chair and hooked up the catheter to a bag of peritoneal dialysis solution to cleanse his failing kidneys while he slept. He then hooked up CPAP device that helped with his sleep apnea. Leave it to Beaver was on. Wally and Beaver were called in from the garage where they were working on a soapbox car for a race. They sat down to dinner. Ward with his suit jacket off, slicked back hair with a hint of gray. June with pearls and bright lipstick and a smart dress with an apron on was doling out mashed potatoes. Wally and Beaver told their parents how “swell” the soapbox car was coming along. Wilbur fell asleep thinking that maybe way back then, that’s when things were really, really good. Nah… So many things to make life easier today and it keeps getting easier. After all easier is better, right?

October 9, 2019

Eluding Illusions

Filed under: america,elections,humor,humour,poem,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 4:17 pm
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Poll tax extortion truth abortion

Everything heard is a distortion.

Syntactical practical magical illusion

Pull the rabbit from the hat but it smells of skunk

 

What you think you thunk after reading

Subjective junk passed off as news of whatever slant of your choosing. Your side is pure, your side righteous while fighting the devious, oblivious, contentious opposition.

 

The latest sham, the latest scam rides the subliminal at a minimal. You think you understand, you think you comprehend. It’s designed to confuse you, program and use you… Thank you for your time… God bless you.

September 21, 2019

Hockey Men And Their Softer Sides

Filed under: humor,humour,Ice hockey,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 11:34 pm
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Jake worked late the night before, got home to a eat a beautiful pork chop with Italian bread crumbs, walked the puppy for the night and came up to bed to find his wife and daughter asleep in bed. His daughter had one leg and an arm over her mother who lay in bed like the letter X. Jake thought about sleeping in his daughter’s bed with it’s springs about to poke through the mattress or going back down to the couch and risk the crying puppy wanting out of the cage to be with him. Instead he climbed into bed with barely enough space to accommodate him on his side. He dozed off watching polar bears chase sea lions and penguins hatch eggs and protect their young from the cold. Shit… Speaking of penguins. Jake had signed up to play at 6am with some men who rented the ice before the figure skaters and the learn to skate kids. It was nearly 2am. He would have to be up by 5am, walk the dog, feed the dog, stop for coffee and a Kind Bar, get dressed and ready to play at 6am.

Jake dozed off and woke. He looked at his Fitbit and dozed back off to the soft sawing sound of his wife’s snores and his daughter’s mouth breathing. 2:53, 3:38, 4:12, 4:38 and then the alarm at 5am. The street was empty except for a few obsessive-compulsive joggers in the dark. The dog took a shit next to a minivan packed with shit from some travelling hoarder. Think of Jack Kerouac with some mental quirks requiring medication. The man slept in the front seat of his van on the passenger side with a surgical mask and the car covered in bumper stickers.

 

Jake caged the dog, got his coffee and dressed in time to get on the ice. The cool air and coffee jump-started him. He played defense with a guy with a Michigan University Jersey. He asked if he went or played there. He said his money was going there to pay for his daughter. Jake had several assists and was a plus 3. He got home before anyone was awake and took the dog for a proper walk. At the park, he ran into his hockey buddy by the name of Corey. He was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off from his girlfriend’s Yoga studio. Jake was wearing a T-shirt from his wife’s ballet studio. Jake and Corey’s eyes met. Nothing was said at first. Corey spoke first.

“We must look like two fucking bitches wearing chick shirts and walking our lady’s fucking lap dogs…”

Jake smiled showing a chipped tooth that was nicked blocking a slap shot a while back with his face.

“Um… I’m walking a Husky… You have a Poodle with puffs on his tail.”

Corey came to his own defense.

“This is the giant Poodle kind. Not the pussy types you could field goal kick. Namaste is a bad ass actually in the dog park.”

“The dog’s name is Namaste? What the fuck?”

Corey was covered in tattoos and had a good natural tan going on the first full day of fall. He was a fighter on the ice with a heavy slap shot. Jake was the wiry, slight built defenseman who saw the ice well. Corey had a fall out with the Saturday morning guys. He boarded an older guy who hooked him and then had a fistfight with two guys at once on the ice in the first ten minutes of a pick up hockey game. Corey was banned from most men’s leagues and drop in hockey in just about every rink in the area. He spent the morning playing one on one with a guy who was too winded to keep up at a rink in the city. The goalie went home after Corey wound up and hit the goalie in the cage. He called Corey a dumb fuck and went left. Corey asked Jake to try to get him back in the good skate with 20 skaters and 2 goalies.

I’ll try, man… But you have to take it easy. You know what I mean?”

“This fucking game is getting like basketball. You can’t touch nobody anymore…”

“Well… You might be right… I’ll see what I can do but really… No more fighting. Guys can stay home and fight with their wives. They don’t wanna drop the gloves at 6am.”

Corey hit the gym and then welcomed women into his girlfriend’s yoga studio that was having an open house. He walked around handing out Dixie cups of smoothies and green tea. Across town, Jake was an usher for the twinkle toe ballet recital for four and five year old students at his wife’s dance studio. Like most men everywhere- a little of this and a little of that.

September 5, 2019

From Hockey to Yoga

Ali sat in a massage chair at a mall waiting for the Lululemon store to open. The name Ali is short for Alistair and Ali was tired.   How tired? He played hockey late night and then went out to have one with some friends after their game. Ali never got mad a the dumb decision making of the once a week guys on the team who panic when they get the puck and dump it or fire a shot at your head instead of making a pass. The same type of player will look you in the eye when you’re open and decide that they have a better option- a 1 on 3 perhaps with stone hands that will assuredly end in losing the fucking puck… Sorry, the thought of that makes me a little crazy. Where was I? Oh yeah…

So Ali was parked at the Lululemon store Saturday on Woodward in downtown Detroit. He sat in the car as his wife took their twin girls inside to try on over priced yoga pants while he watched a parade of Tigers fans walk towards Comerica Park to catch a game. There were bars on wheels where a dozen people pedaled a device around downtown while drinking and listening to Salsa Music. That seemed like a good time to Ali. Ali got a text.

 

SO THE GIRLS ARE A SIZE TWO AND THEY HAVE BLACK. IT WOULD COME OUT TO ABOUT $160.00 WITH TAX FOR BOTH OF THEM.

 

Ali would have liked to sit in the bleachers for $10.00 but he was sitting in the car waiting close to an hour while stick figure twin daughters tried on over priced Lycra. He had a response for his wife.

FUCK THAT… WE FIND SOMETHING AT THE GAP.

 

Ali’s wife had a response…

 

HOW MUCH DO YOU SPEND BUYING YOUR BUSTOUT BUDDIES DRINKS AFTER HOCKEY GAMES? HOW MUCH DO YOU TIP THE CUTE LITTLE THING BEHIND THE BAR? I’M GONNA GUESS THAT WITH THE COST OF HOCKEY, DRINKS AND TIPS, YOU’RE PRETTY GODDAMN CLOSE TO A COUPLE A PAIRS OF YOGA PANTS.

 

Ali stood his ground. He said no to the girls and settled for headbands and scrunches for their wrists and not their hair. The twins were disappointed. He took his wife and the girls to Mexicantown. The ladies wanted to go to Greektown. They ate their Mexican food in angry silence. When they got home, their 3-month-old puppy had shit all over his cage and smeared it all over his fluffy coat. The house smelled… Well, like shit. Ali’s wife weighed in while he cleaned shit off of the cage and she hosed a howling puppy in the backyard.

 

“You will go buy those fucking pants tomorrow… Hockey last night, hockey tonight and hockey tomorrow. Summer league playoffs, right? And possibly stopping off for one. Isn’t that what you guys say to one another? Let’s stop off for one and then you close the damn place. I have to hear how tired you are and how sore you are. Bullshit to that… You either go back downtown tomorrow or go to the mall. The girls asked for one thing each for their birthday and even though Lululemon seems expensive to you, I can tell you that it is less money than the CCM triple XXX asshole stick with the 100 flex and Crosby fucking curve you sent me into buy… I’m supposed to know that you’re a fucking lefty too? And so I go back to get a righty for a mere $250.00. I saw the price of that and almost fainted. You pitch a fit over $160.00 for your daughters’ pants. I have news for you- those yoga pants will last a lot longer than your overpriced stick that Crosby gets for free after you pay the fucking ransom for it… Are we clear on this?”

Ali got into a fight at the night game early in the 3rd period, took a shower and waited at the bar for the guys. He wanted to punch his wife but found someone on the ice to take it out on. Ali told the boys at the bar that they needed to cover him because he needed to buy yoga pants in the morning. He got home at 1am. The puppy got excited in the cage at the sight of Ali and not only shit but pissed. It was about 2am when he got the cage cleaned up. He picked the pup up and let him sleep on his chest while watching the NHL channel until he fell asleep on the couch. About 7am, his daughters came down the stairs like it was Christmas morning. Ali, smelling a bit like gin, snapped at his daughters and told them that they needed to get to school and that there would be no opening presents until after school. The girls were nearly in tears and his wife stood above him on the top step with folded arms and tight lips.

Ali decided to get to the mall up north and buy the damn pants. Two pairs. He guessed that 9am would be opening time but was wrong. He sat in the massage chair while old people walked around getting exercise before stores opened at 10am. Ali knew he was in the doghouse and constructed a beautiful text.

 

I FORGET A LOT OF SHIT THAT I EXPERIENCED IN LIFE. IT’S SORT OF LIKE SEEING A MOVIE YEARS AGO. I SAW IT A LONG TIME AGO BUT FORGOT MOST OF IT. I WILL NEVER FORGET THE DAY WE MARRIED OR THE DAY THE GIRLS WERE BORN. I REMEMBER EVERY DETAIL OF BOTH DAYS. THEY ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT DAYS IN MY LIFE. I AM GETTING THE PANTS AND WE WILL GO TO MEDIEVIL TIMES TONIGHT… THEY WILL BE IN BED BY 9:30. I WILL OPEN THAT EXPENSIVE BOTTLE OF WINE WE BOUGHT IN NAPA. I WANT YOU TO WEAR THAT BLACK NIGHT GOWN WITH THE DENTAL FLOSS UNDERWEAR. I WILL PEEL THOSE OFF OF YOU AND FLING THEM LIKE A SLINGSHOT ACROSS THE ROOM. I WILL LIGHT THE CANDLES AND PLAY THAT MUSIC YOU LIKE… I HAVE TOLD THE GUYS THAT I CANNOT MAKE TONIGHT’S GAME EVEN THOUGH IT IS A PLAYOFF GAME. YOU AND THE GIRLS ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN HOCKEY TO ME AND THAT IS SAYING A LOT. I LOVE YOU.

 

Ali loved hockey a lot and it might have been a tie between hockey and the women in his life but he did the right thing and for that, he wanted a pat on the ass. And every man wants one.

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