Blackhumouristpress's Blog

November 29, 2011

Etienne’s Etouffe

Filed under: Detroit,humor,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 2:57 am
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“It comes with a heavy heart and my hat in hand that I must unequivocally declare that I will need to abrogate and hereby retract the covenant previous agreed upon by all parties.  I am savvy to the verifiable fact that the brick and mortar which have most likely been derived during the reign of Napoleon are in need of a formidable amount of preservation but at this time it behooves me to choose the plumbing over the mortar as it is eminently more important and hygienic to dispose of waste in the most proper of ways possible…  Please accept this mea culpa and know that within a reasonable amount of time, all deficiencies will be addressed.  As you know my father and I are on the very brink of pauperism due to his severe maladies that appear to have the upper hand at this point.  You being a fair-minded woman should be able to comprehend our quandary.  Getting blood from a stone will not be possible.”

Rachel played the message for Steve as they sat outside eating a beignet at Café du Monde in the French Quarter of New Orleans.  Rachel immediately got on the phone and called her Uncle Chaim who had been contracted to come down from Brooklyn, New York with his crew of day laborers and change the dilapidated storefront into classy restaurant called Etienne’s Etouffe.  Steve learned cooking as a trade while serving time in the Wayne County Prison in Detroit, Michigan.  Steve was unemployed and took to small time stickups in and around Detroit.  While in prison, an old black man from the Deep South in Louisiana took Steve under his wing.  Steve liked Sir Leopold’s manner of speaking and ability to cook tasty stuff that hardly anyone had ever heard of in Detroit.  Sir Leopold claimed to a descendant of a man by the name of Cadillac.

“Dee people of Day-twah want to drive dem a Cadillac.  I am hare to tell you mon vieux, that Sir Leopold right chair before your eyes eeze a di-rect descendant of a man by the name of Antoine Laument de la Mothe, Sieur de Cadillac.  The city and the car have my great grandpere ten times back to thank for the name of the city and auto.  You must know dat dere dat at a young age, pussy will make you do things you should not do.  Dare I was, a man from deep down whare eet would take a journey jus to git you to Nawlins.  Dem Cajuns knowd dat I was a true Cajun from Acadie, Acadia from my great grandpere and dat when eet was time to eat, they come to see Sir Leopold.  Leopold ain’t gone live for all days and I must pass on dem secrets to one who gone carry on dem technique of making true food de Louisianne.  First you gotchu a great nom en Francais.  Dem name Steven est Etienne in the French.  Use Etienne, learn dem ways of Sir Leopold and go to vieux carre and open up a restaurant.  People gone to flock to eat down home food wid out making dem pauvre for wanting dem food.”

So it was that Steven became Etienne and masterfully learned how to cook deep down Cajun cuisine from a relative of a French explorer who might have been one of the original Cajuns and gave his namesake to a luxury automobile and named the city of Detroit what it is still called to this day.

Rachel met Steven who was a Barista at a Starbucks near Wayne State University in Detroit.  Rachel was a defector from an orthodox Jewish family who decided that she was going to live like everyone else lived and fuck Christian boys if she wanted to and she did want to.  Rachel tasted Steven’s concoctions and decided that they needed to relocate from Detroit to the French Quarter where mostly northern tourists could come in and get a good meal at a reasonable price and believe that they were getting the food from authentic Cajuns.  Rachel had family from Montreal that spoke French and so she learned during her extended summer visits how to speak enough French for common, English only speakers to believe that she was the real deal.

Rachel and Etienne had found a great little place on Dauphine Street that was owned by an elderly former Lawyer and his son who was a substitute English teacher in the New Orleans School District.  The elder Clement Dupuis was supposedly dying of cancer for over ten years but never really saw a physician for his maladies.  The elder Dupuis declared that he had bone cancer when all he really had was gout.  The gout was both hereditary but fueled by heavy drinking of Bourbon and eating shrimp.  Elder Dupuis’ red, throbbing big toes caused him to hobble when he did attempt to walk.  The younger Dupuis wore a droopy moustache and tried to speak in ways that he felt would impress people with a limited vocabulary.  More than anything, it was pretentious and annoying.

After Rachel let Etienne hear the message from the younger Dupuis, she called her Uncle Chaim to relay the news that the Dupuis were trying to renege on the contract to fix the broken bricks on the building that was initially constructed in 1800, three years before the Louisiana Purchase.  Uncle Chaim was a nervous little man with a potbelly that claimed to be tied to elite Israeli intelligence and was wary of everyone and anyone who did not see the world in the exact same way he did.  Uncle Chaim got on the phone and called the younger Dupuis to explain to him that if he wanted to void the contract, he would have difficulties.

“The problem with the fucking south is that they are always about thirty years behind the fucking times.  I know you people don’t consider yourselves like the rest of the south because you watch people fuck in bars and listen to Jazz on Bourbon Street.  Well I’m here to tell you that all you fucks could have never won the Civil War cause you’re so fucking stupid.  You think you can just call my niece and tell her that your old man is deathly ill and you ain’t got any money and so the deal is off, right?  Wrong!   The fucking Mossad will come down to New Orleans and take you and your lame father and drop you off on the streets of Baghdad with a sign around your fucking necks that reads, “Infidels” in fucking Arabic.  You have no idea who are fucking with.  At a minimum, I will send your fucking asses to work at Mc Donald’s to pay me my money…  Is this getting into your backwoods, livestock fucking head?  I do the work or you will regret ever fucking with me, got it?”

The younger Dupuis paraphrased all that Uncle Chaim threatened to a group of building inspectors that were still sifting through condemned homes from Hurricane Katrina some five years later.  A large man by the name of Marcel, who had sideburns and a nearly third trimester gut on him, listened to the younger Dupuis.  Marcel believed with all of his being that Jews killed Christ.  What Marcel never stopped to think about was the fact that Jesus was Jewish.  Marcel spit tobacco into a cup and shook his head in anger as the younger Dupuis shared the conversation with the men he knew as friends and fellow card players.

“He said what?!  Sommabitch Jewboy got some goddamn nerve comin down here thinking he gone run things.  Put his ass on the phone.  Sommabitch ruined my suppah.  I ain’t even the appetite no mo to eat now dat I’m so hoppin mad.”

Marcel leaned forward in his seat and spit once in his cup before asking Chaim Saul if he was the person he was speaking to on the phone.  Chaim acknowledged that he was indeed that person.

“Son, imma tell you now, man to man dat if that money ain’t re-turned in the manner in which you received it, we gone send our own people up north to bring yo fat ass down hare an feed you to dem gators.  You thank I’m jus talking, test me, boy.  In this day of GPS, you cain’t hide.  Let me break it down for you- money tomorrow, no money, kidnap yo fat ass, gator buffet, comprenez vous?”

Within twenty-four hours, the FBI was interviewing all parties on what was agreed upon and discussed, what was threatened and promised.  The city building inspectors were worried about things like pensions and jobs in a town that had extraordinarily high unemployment.  Marcel thought that maybe an apology and a handshake could begin to sort out the misunderstanding.  It took an inordinate amount of ass kissing to keep Chaim from pressing the issue legally.  How was it that the contract was honored and Chaim wound up making twenty percent more than initially agreed upon?

“Listen to me, Eliot…  Send me two fucking guys who look the part and I can get them some bogus ID…  I know the job I took is only worth $20,000.00 but now it is a matter of principle.  I can’t let these backward fucks back me into a corner.  You send me the guys.  I fly them in an out of New Orleans in a day to put the fear of Jesus into them and then this is done… Come on, you owe me.”

And so they lived happily ever after…

March 24, 2010

A Republican Answer to Health Care

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 5:37 pm
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Guillaume Launtandresse was about as handsome a man as one could ever find in politics.  He was a cross between Richard Gere and George Clooney.  Guillaume went to Tulane as an undergrad and then received a law degree from the same school.  Guillaume was a party boy of the first order and could be found just about anywhere in the French Quarter most nights.  Guillaume had a knack for doing well with a minimal effort and breezed through law school without really trying.  Guillaume served on the city council of Breaux Bridge, Louisiana then moved on to state and then onto national politics.  Guillaume was well aware of his uncommonly good looks and his folksy way of speaking to the common man.  It did not go unnoticed by reporters around the beltway that Guillaume had modeled himself strongly after Huey Long.  And like Huey Long, the United States was ready to listen to a down to earth, tell it like it is type of candidate that seem to understand the common man more than anyone else around

            “Now recently I have been hounded like a coon inna tree bout the health care bill.  I been aksed back home…  Guillaume, boy, watchu thank bout the health care re-form?  And I tole the good people of my die-rect parish in Lou-see-ana how I see it…  Y’all ready?  Shore we got many Americans without health care at this minute and I hear the cost of health care rising bout three times as fast as inflation.  Now y’all want what I call post office health care?  You want the government to come in and do foh health care what they doing for every othah thang they involved with?  Who here can tell me how many zeros they is in two trillion?  Yo mind cain’t fathom the idea of numbers so dang high.  Ain’t nothin in our everah day lives where you got to thank in terms of trillion.  Now the government gone need at least that when that fully implemented.  This gone drive private health care intah the grave and you left with post office health care.  Who here trust the post office with they life?  We live in the land of the free and pride our selves on freedom of choice.  You bout to lose yo choice on this hare bill.  Who hare love taxes?  Come on y’all raise ya hands.  They got to be one y’all out thare you love taxes.  Now you must if y’for this hare bill.  How you thank this gone be paid?  Y’all wanna no how Imma vote?  I thank you know, I thank you know well nuff.”

            Guillaume had an approval rating of nearly 72% in his congressional district which is outstanding considering that republicans were held in such poor esteem by the nation as a whole.  Guillaume had a wife and four children but was a supreme womanizer and that was well understood by those close to him.  With midterm elections rapidly approaching, a former member of Guillaume’s harem stepped forward.

            Susan was a young and impressionable girl as she had not yet turned of legal age when she had sent a picture of herself to Guillaume with a letter stating that she believed that he could one day be president of the United States.  The young woman wasn’t as beautiful as she was youthful and vibrant.  Guillaume was attracted to her innocence and her tight physique.  What started out as listening to Susan’s political aspirations of making a difference in the world, eventually led to sex in limousines and adjoining hotel rooms and health spas in the New Mexico.

            It was around 2004 that Susan became disenchanted with the Republican Party due to the fact that one of her cousins lost two legs to an IED in Iraq.  Her cousin’s proud moment was going for a jog with President Bush on the two springs given to him in place of legs.  Over the years, Susan began to not relish being the other woman or other, other woman as it were, in the life of Guillaume Launtandresse.  Finding a female sexual partner that she was compatible with and adopting her liberal ideas ran counter to the patriotic, I believe in America, view point that Susan had been raised with.  Martha, the partner of Susan had gone to Iowa twice for the straw poll in hopes of landing Dennis Kucinich in the White House.  Martha actively petitioned people to have George W. Bush impeached.  It was in Washington DC that Martha met Susan in front of a coffee shop.  Martha had a Dutch Boy hair cut and political buttons all down her jacket as well as two earrings around her lower lip, painted on eyebrows, fishnet stockings stuffed with bowling pin legs inside Doc Marten combat boots.  Martha’s hair was dyed bright orange.  Susan had never met anyone quite like Martha in southern Louisiana.  It wasn’t long before Susan and Martha moved in with one another and Susan became vehemently against the Republican Party, President Bush and Guillaume Launtandresse more that even Martha could muster.

            Susan had told Guillaume off in an email that gave Guillaume a good chuckle.  To Guillaume it was a lot of idealistic bullshit that was probably stuffed into her head from some college professor that was also banging her on the side.  The gray bearded professor from the Vietnam era was probably explaining to her how Marxism could still work in the western world, while helping her off with her panties.  Guillaume shook his head and hit the delete button and decided that when she was younger, tighter and less militant, she sure had been a swell gal.  A few years passed without ever hearing from Susan and Guillaume had nearly forgotten all about her.  Honestly.  The email from Susan to Guillaume was devised by Martha after some frank discussion with Susan.

            “Okay…  You were fucking this asshole.  This fucking pompous asshole with the perfect hair and smile.  It makes my skin crawl to think that you and he were ever together.  I don’t hold that against you because you were totally young and naïve.  The thing that astounds me is that this asshole knew you had Lupus and kept fucking you without a rubber?”  Asked Martha.

            “I was on the pill and at the time I didn’t think the reactions I was having was from his penis.  My body was rejecting his penis and I didn’t know it.  We tried rubbers and that was even worse…  Anyway, what’s your point?”  Asked Susan.

            “My point is that it is a fucking midterm election is coming up and that asshole looks like the next president to any yahoo that cries during the national anthem and believes that we are actually bringing democracy to places like Afghanistan.  You contact that son of a bitch and tell him you need him to find a kidney donor quickly with his ties or that we will go to the Washington Post with the steamy details between him and a young girl seventeen years of age in bumble fuck Louisiana.”

            “I dunno…”

            “Fucking call him!”

            Guillaume sat at his Washington DC desk looking out towards the Washington Monument and called in one of his advisors, a man named Saul from New York City who was as sharp as could be.  Saul saw that Guillaume could really be the populist candidate to ride into the White House in 2012 and offered his services.  Guillaume liked the shrewd little Jewish man with a strong Brooklyn accent.  Guillaume dropped the dilemma at the feet of Saul.

            “I’ve told you on more than one occasion that cameras are everywhere and it’s a matter of time before you’re gonna be crying in front of the goddamn cameras like Jimmy Swaggart.  Pussy is an essential thing for the male species but pussy should never make you go blind?  Am I reaching you, Billy?  You have fucked your way into a corner.  As things stand, you could die and still beat the Democratic candidate provided that your constituents believe that you are above board and honest.  Now this nouveau bull dyke has come out with a gun to your head… Do you have a kidney to lend her in your closet?  Do you, Billy?  I don’t think so and now what?  You’re gonna tell her that you don’t know anyone at the Mayo Clinic and she’s shit out of luck?  No, Billy…   We’ll be shit out of fucking luck.  You are so goddamn close to being the next president without declaring it that it isn’t even funny.  You are the Great White Hope.  The country went with anything but that cadaver the Republicans put up in 08 but now you have emerged as the voice of the people.  The only thing keeping you from the select few men to have ever run this nation is your goddamn pecker…”

            Guillaume sat with his head in his hands listening to the small man with a nasal like voice; beat up on him for his indiscretions.  Guillaume took his verbal beating like a man.  Suddenly Saul stopped talking and smiled as if he had a vision of Jesus and that would have been something since he did not believe in Jesus.  Guillaume looked up and saw Saul snapping his fingers and smiling.

            “I’ve got it…  I’ve fucking got it.  You can thank me later with a cabinet position to Monaco… Here’s what we’re going to do…” said Saul.

            Now Susan was happy to receive a kidney and not face death and dialysis indefinitely.  Saul was able to smooth things out with the donation of Guillaume’s kidney and a few dollars in exchange for keeping quiet.  Susan and Martha both agreed to hush.  A beaming Saul stood off to the side at the press conference after the kidney donation.  Guillaume handled it beautifully.

            “Now many y’all thank that us Republicans are uncaring and selfish when it comes to this hare health care dee-bate.  A woman wrote to me who was originally from my own parish in Lou-see-ana and tole me bout her necessity to find a kidney donor.  Now this was a woman without health care nor a glimmah of hope of finding a kidney in time for her needs…  I was touched by her story and got to thanking bout what we all kin do as Americans to help one another out in a time of need.  We did it during the Great Depression and desperate times call for extreme sacrifice.  Today this young woman in our nation’s capital lives and thrives with my kidney inside her.  I don’t advocate that we all go giving our organs out to each other but ask what it is that we can do for one another so our dang country don’t try to step in and do it for us…  God Bless America.”

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