Blackhumouristpress's Blog

August 27, 2009

Truth and Reconciliation

In the year 2013, after the re-election of President Obama and an even greater Democratic control of the House of Representatives and the Senate, came the Truth and Reconciliation Committee.

The idea initially came from South Africa where former prisoners who were tortured under the apartheid regime prior to 1994, could confront the perpetrators. The perpetrators would receive amnesty but have to face the shame of what they did.

The Truth and Reconciliation Committee in the United States forced some big fish to confront those accused of terrorism in an attempt to win over moderate elements within terror organizations. George Bush and Richard Cheney showed up and listened when subpoenaed. George W. Bush looked at his watch frequently as his father had once done in a debate. Rather than risk jail, both former heads of the United States government showed to hear stories of torture and humiliation. The hearings were broadcast on Spike TV in between Ultimate Fighting bouts. The hearings were not on a delay as they were being broadcast in real time. The apologies were numerous and appeared to be sincere until they got to Ambrose Ambrister.

Ambrose Ambrister had been a POW for two years in Vietnam before escaping into Thailand. He went to work for the CIA and was directly responsible for a torture manual that was referred to as the New Testament.

On the panel were two Republicans and six Democrats. The questions came rapid fire. Ambrose Ambrister was living happily and peaceably in the Bahamas until his mother of ninety years of age grew ill. When Ambrister returned to the United States to attend to his mother, he had no choice but to face the committee or face jail time. Ambrose Ambrister spoke freely.

“Ambrose Arthur Ambrister, born April 20th 1948 in Pontiac, Michigan, graduated West Point, served two tours of duty in Vietnam, was a prisoner of war from February 1970 to June 1972 before escaping. He received the bronze Medal of Honor and became general a major before retiring from the Army in 1979. He served in the Reagan, George Herbert Walker Bush administrations and was responsible for conducting interviews of potential terrorists… Is this all correct?” Asked an older middle aged woman as she read from a piece of paper in front of her.

“Yes except that I was actually born in Waterford, Michigan… My mother went into labor at home and the car broke down in the driveway and my father had to deliver me in the back seat of a Pontiac… Fortunately there was good weather that day. So it was actually in a Pontiac rather than in Pontiac… Otherwise the facts are all correct.”

Laughter broke out in the hearing room, lined with photographers and reporters. Ambrose chewed at his nails while listening and studied the manicuring job he did with his own teeth. Twice he spit away pieces of his nails.

A spectacled man of Arab descent stepped forward and with the aid of an interpreter, explained the direct contact he had with Ambrose Ambrister.

“I was taken into a room… After being hosed down with a high pressure hose used to extinguish fires… Mr. Ambrose would smile and offer me a plate of pork sausage and beer with a large German woman on the label with exposed cleavage. The temperature in the air was very cold and my teeth chattered… He would ask me if I was ready to discuss where I was trained and by whom. I told him that I was no more than a citizen of my country. I then was forced to eat the sausage and drink the beer even though I was on a hunger strike. I was then lead to what they called Waikiki Beach… It was small pool where the water was heated to a temperature that would not kill you but would burn you so badly that one would have no choice but to scream and cry. I begged them to stop and they would tie me up and soak me while I screamed. All the while they forced me to listen to a song called The Candy Man by a black man whom they claimed was a Jew. I then would be dried off and a young woman in a bikini would come in and shave all the hair on my body except my face. On my face they would twine my moustache with wax so that it stuck up in the air like Salvador Dali. I don’t know who that is but they would make me scream over and over in Spanish, “Yo soy Salvador Dali”. Then they would attach a rubber band to my penis and force my genitals up towards my buttocks until my front appeared to be that of a shaved vagina. The woman in the bikini would then use a marker to draw a slit where my penis would normally be. Mr. Ambrose would only come once a week but when he came, this sort of treatment would go on for hours…”

The former prisoner accused of terrorism had submitted to the tactics and signed a confession that he had wired a road with explosives that maimed several American soldiers and destroyed a truck. The truth was that the prisoner had done it and there were witnesses who saw former prisoner just minutes before a convoy came down the street. The former prisoner was put up at the Waldorf Astoria free of charge, with food and a round trip ticket to and from New York City. It was believed by most on the committee that showering hardliners with gifts and forcing those responsible for the humiliation to confront victims, that moderation would flourish. It never really happened. After twelve months and millions of dollars, the Truth and Reconciliation hearings were stopped. Ambrose Ambrister was the last to face the committee.

“If I could clarify a few things… I personally loved Sammy Davis Jr. The man had a great voice. As a young man in Vietnam, Sammy Davis Jr. took a picture with me and Bob Hope as part of the USO. They risked their lives to sing and entertain. Those were unselfish Americans who appreciated the job we were doing…” Said Ambrose.

“Is there more that you’d like to clarify?” Asked a Republican member with a southern drawl.

“Yes… The Salvador Dali thing was not my idea. It was one of my men actually. I wanted him to say Rollie Fingers…” Said Ambrose.

“Sir… Rollie Fingers?”

“Yes… Mr. Fingers was a pitcher for the Oakland Athletics back in the seventies who actually invited me as his own personal guest to see the World Series in Oakland, California after escaping a prisoner of war camp… His moustache was more similar to Rollie Fingers actually. It curled at the ends… Oh and Waikiki Beach was just a hot tub, nothing more and nothing less,” said Ambrose.

“How do you explain the other claims?”

“Well I’m going to level with you; I learned from masters in North Vietnam. They were some cruel bastards. They were all trained by the Chinese actually and it’s no mistake that terrorism does not occur in China. The Chinese would hunt them down and torture them until they begged to be killed. Knowing that we couldn’t torture prisoners to death, I used all at my disposal to extract the proper amount of regret for atrocities and what have you.”

“Were you ordered by the president of our nation or any cabinet members, chiefs of staff or others, to carry out these sorts of strategies in order to gain compliance?”

“No ma’am. I was given carte blanche to do what was necessary to get prisoners to cooperate,” said Ambrose.

“How do you explain the humiliation of tying up his genitals and drawing female parts on him?”

“I’ll level with you… This was an old West Point hazing ritual we would do with the young guys. We’d shave them down and hike their equipment back and make them walk the locker room. They had to walk with one hand on the back of their heads like Mae West and repeat “How you like me now, big boy”… This was just a little light hazing. Let’s be honest with each other here…. This sort of stuff goes on in fraternities all over the country and nobody has to come in front of congress to face hardened criminals who are dead set on destroying us. You people put the prisoners up at the Waldorf and I’m staying at the Days Inn on my own dime. Sometimes you get an innocent person here or there, that’s part of life. Think about all the people who go to a hospital and die of malpractice. You could fill a jumbo jet daily with the number of people dying each day and crash that plane into a side of a mountain. How bout the bankers and investors that nearly killed our financial system?”

“Okay, thank you Mr. Ambrister… You may step down.”

“What about those of you that take kick backs from lobbyists and then go to bat for whatever their cause is? How many of you are cheating on your taxes and your wives? As long as we got this tribunal, let’s clean the slate. If were purging each other of past sins and crimes, let’s hear everything… Cold water, hot water, Sammy Davis Jr, Salvador Dali, Rollie Fingers, Pontiac and Pontiac, Michigan… What are we doing here? This is the best exploitation show that ever was. You should be getting those who you lent money to, to buy air time and make a few bucks back for the tax payers…”

“Thank you again, Mr. Ambrister…”

People from all over the country showed up at the Days Inn in Queens and chanted his first name over and over again. The crowd grew so large that cops had to be called in and then a riot squad. Ambrose was soon put on a plane with his mother and flown to Freeport in the Bahamas on a military jet. The next morning, Ambrose sat on a lawn chair next to his wife and mother looking out at the ocean. Ambrose’s mother read the transcripts of what his son had said to the Truth and Reconciliation Committee. She studied her son’s picture and set the paper down on her lap and stared straight ahead. Ambrose asked his mother what she thought of it all. After careful reflection, she spoke.

“This is the first time I ever thought this, son… But after reading this article and seeing your picture, I have to say you look a lot like Ted Kennedy.”

“Thanks mom, I knew you’d understand.”

August 7, 2009

Menage a trois

Joe and Sara were high school sweethearts. Joe was four years older than Sara and so when Joe was in his last year of high school; Sara was graduating from junior high school. At 26 and 22 years of age, the difference between them was no longer and issue.

Joe and Sara married last year and at about the time of the honeymoon in Freeport, Bahamas, Joe suddenly had little interest in sex. Joe had never had never had a problem with impotence in the past but it was becoming increasingly obvious that his libido was not what it was. Something about marriage brought this about. Sara worried that the issue was that she was unattractive or not seductive enough. She followed all the directions in Cosmo Magazine on the six ways to make him scream. Joe’s Wang lay dormant against his right thigh with every new tactic. He was frustrated and angry at his own penis. Joe seriously thought he had a problem until he attended a wedding with Sara of one of her cousins in Akron, Ohio. It was at the wedding that Sara’s chubby cousin Abby, asked Joe to dance with her. Joe had always liked his thin framed wife who was a running fanatic. Sara had small breasts and thin hips and not much in the way of a buttock. Sara had a pretty face. Abby, who was the same age as Sara but lived in Akron while Sara lived in Cleveland, had always carried a little meat on her. Abby was active but was built like a female softball player. Abby had thicker legs and a round bottom with full breasts. After several glasses of champagne and wine, Joe found that while slow dancing with Abby, he had developed a full fledged erection. It was boner of the first order just like he had every morning as a boy and like he used to have upon kissing Sara on the neck. Joe held Abby close to him and was careful not to press up against her. Abby whispered something in Joe’s ear about how awkward one of the men on the dance floor looked with his gaudy tux and bad looking hair piece. There was no mistaking that Joe was rock hard. Abby was surprised at first and pulled back. She was impressed that she had that kind of an effect on Joe. After all, Abby had always considered herself second tier next to her cousin Sara. Sara was the one the guys always wanted to talk to at the movie theater or the mall when they were younger. Abby was pretty buzzed and was enjoying the night. She pressed herself against Joe and smiled up at him. Joe was slightly embarrassed until Sara teased him about it.

“Joey… It appears someone here has joined the military and is standing at perfect attention…”

Joe blushed a bit and tucked his lips in as he tried not to laugh. Abby kissed him on the cheek and rubbed her crotch against him and whispered in his ear so that nobody could tell what she was doing.

“Joey… That feels so good. If I didn’t love my cousin like a sister, I would take you out to the parking lot and fuck you raw… That sounds so crass, I’m sorry. I would take you out to the parking lot and make beautiful love with you. I’ve caught you over the years checking my tits and ass out. You’re not quick enough to look away before being caught… I’m right aren’t I, Joe?”

Joe just smiled. It was about that time that Sara came over, a bit concerned over what they were whispering back and forth. They both motioned over to the man with no rhythm with the crooked rug on his head in a powder blue tux and white shoes. Sara no longer suspected anything. Joe excused himself and went to the bathroom of the banquet hall. There was a black man hired as an attendant in a tux with tails who had a raspy voice like Louis Armstrong. He hummed Celebration by the Commodores that played loudly on the dance floor while he handed a man a paper towel and asked him if he wanted a squirt of cologne. The white man asked if the Louis Armstrong look and sound a like if he had heard the score of the Cleveland Indians against The Boston Red Sox.

“Well sir, I ain’t hoyd the radio since I come to work. I know they was winning in the thoid an that only is cause they have Sabathia pitchin. If they could pitch him and Cliff Lee everyday, they’d never lose.”

“Amazing isn’t it?” Said the stuffy man who wouldn’t normally talk to a bathroom attendant except for the fact that he was riding high on whiskey sours. “They have two Cy Young winners and not a damn guy who can hit. It’s sad. I love going to watch the Indians. It’s such a great stadium but the team stinks.”

While talk of baseball went on, Joe pulled his stiff member from his pants and jerked away at it. He closed his eyes and imagined Abby’s wide ass in the air and his hands wrapped around her, clutching her large breasts while and kissing her on the neck. He then imagined her telling him to slip it into her ass.

“I know you love my fat ass, Joey. Put it in my crapper…”

Joe came all over the wall. It took a little over a minute and the two men were still agonizing over the Cleveland Indians. Joe mopped up the cum that dribbled on the toilet seat and that was dripping down the wall. He stood there trying to urinate for a good minute. He zipped up, washed his hands and joined in on the conversation about the Indians. Joe then returned to the table where Abby and Sara were talking. They continued to drink and Abby flirted out in the open in front of Sara. As drunk as Sara was, she was taken back by her cousin. Joe’s mind was temporarily clear and so he did not engage in the flirting. About one in the morning, Joe hailed a cab to get them to their hotel. Sara barely got in the cab and closed the door before she started hitting Joe with questions.

“So you two have something going on, don’t you?”

“She’s just buzzed… She’s known me forever and just feels comfortable with me…”

“Yeah? She told me you had a fucking hard on while you two danced. Is that true? You were rubbing your cock on my cousin’s twat? You can’t fucking get hard anymore with me but with Abby, you’re ready to go, huh?”

The cab driver alternated between watching the road and the drama in the back seat. Both Joe and Sara were too drunk to notice. Joe was prone to be honest after drinking heavily and so he told his wife what was so appealing to him about Abby. That night Sara slept on the hide a bed in the living room of their hotel suite. Joe fell asleep pretty quickly but Sara stayed up thinking about the whole thing. In the morning she climbed into bed and kissed Joe until his eyes opened. Joe was surprised. He opened his eyes as he lay on his side and just looked at his smiling wife.

“I’m not mad at you, Joe. I thought about it and know that guys get bored and some times want a different flavor. I’m totally not cool with you having affairs and prostitutes but gave it some thought last night… I think Abby would be totally cool with a three some and I think that is something you would really want.” Said Sara.

“This is a tactic to get me to admit what I really think and want and then you’re going to scream and throw shit, right?”

“Absolutely not. I will allow you anything but fucking her. That is sacred between us… The caveat is that I have to be there in bed with both of you.”

Joe was excited. He wanted her to call Abby. He thought that they could have breakfast and then come back to bed and fuck all afternoon. He pictured himself eating Abby out and maybe even slipping his tongue up her wide ass and when the desire became overwhelming to put it in her, he would pop it in his wife who would be in the corner finger diddling herself. Joe then visualized giving it to his wife from behind and while she licked her own cousin’s cunt and tits. Joe was almost trembling with desire.

“Can you call her now?”

Sara had more class than that and her ultimate idea was to bring zest back into their bedroom. Sara discussed going to their grandfather’s cottage near New Buffalo, Michigan, right off the shores of Lake Michigan. Sara set it all up. Sara had started menstruating on Monday and by Friday; she was already for action again. Joe went into her bathroom to see if there was another X on the calendar in her bathroom. It was a calendar of various cats. Sara loved cats. The cat of the month was a Siamese. All Joe could think about was climbing all over Abby. It was going to be great. The only thing that might ruin things is if Abby had her period. Joe brought it up to Sara and Sara asked Abby. Everything was clear. Joe tried not to look too excited by that news but he was jumping up and down inside.

Joe and Sara picked up Abby on a day that had a clear fall day with a hot breeze. Joe took the top down to his Jeep and packed the cooler with sandwiches and beer. Abby got in and sat in the back and said barely a word as they headed west towards Lake Michigan on the Indiana Toll Road. Joe tried hard not to speed but if he could have gone a 100, he would have. Joe began to notice Sara and Abby were unusually quiet and feeling awkward. They both had their arms folded and were staring out of their sides of the Jeep. Joe saw signs for wineries and decided that he would hit a few of them with the girls. Both girls were happy to sample some reds and whites. They hit four in a five mile area and were beginning to get giggly. At the last one called Hickory Creek; the older man opened up a bottle and gave them all a healthy pour and then poured another for them and poured one for himself. The older guy with a gentle smile discussed the wineries he visited all over the world and was most satisfied in Michigan of all places. Joe bought six bottles of assorted red and rushed to the cottage. The girls carried in their back packs and Joe carried in the cooler and case of wine. They stood in the living room and looked at each other and laughed. It felt very junior high to them all at that moment. Joe attempted to down play the whole thing and he was buzzed enough to do it.

“Okay… We’ve all had sex before but just not with each other. I think we know one another to be cool with this…”

Joe went to one of the three bathrooms and washed his nuts, cock and armpits and popped some mints into his mouth. He emerged from the bathroom ready to go. Sara asked him to go down to the basement to get the extra pillows that her grandfather kept in storage. Joe pulled the light chain and jogged down the stairs. It was dark in one corner but it looked to him like there were people sitting on the couch. It scared him. He pulled the next chain to illuminate the entire basement. Sitting in the corner on the couch were two Indian looking men with large beards. These weren’t the Indians that Columbus found when he landed on the island of Hispaniola or modern day Haiti and Dominican Republic, these too were not the mini mart “hello my friend” Indians. They were Pakistani convicts that had lived two years in Guantanamo Bay Cuba. They had been Cricket players that had given large amounts of money to a mosque in suburban Detroit to help build schools in Pakistan. The money was placed in an account to help fund terrorist activities and training in Afghanistan. Amir and Amal had no idea that their money was being used to fund terrorism. They were born and raised in Pakistan. They had played professional Cricket for Pakistan and were supposed to marry identical twin girls who were also Pakistani in the states. They arrived at O’Hare Airport in Chicago to meet their future wives. There they were; two clean cut Pakistani athletes who happened to be identical twins, meeting their future wives who were also identical twins. As they cleared the door way, they saw the two women that were to be their wives. They wore different color head scarves to differentiate them just as Amal wore black and Amir wore white. The moment they stepped off the plane in Chicago, several white men in suits with ear pieces and sun glasses, hustled them away. They had a bag placed over their heads and when the hoods were removed they were in Cuba. For two years.

President Obama got the idea to close the base and scatter the prisoners all over the country. Amir and Amal wound up in a prison near Benton Harbor, Michigan. They were in charge of cooking and were helping the delivery guy load cheese and meat in through a service door. The guard responsible for watching them, was fighting with his wife on his cell phone when Amal and Amir, held a box cutter against the neck of the delivery driver. They tied him up and dumped the truck near Stevensville, Michigan before they stole a car at a gas station. They then parked the car and took off on foot, wearing surgical colored clothes. The luck of the draw brought them to the same cottage that Joe, Sara and Abby were going to have their ménage a trois. The give away that the place was vacant was the sign on the window to the mailman to have their mail diverted back to the girl’s grandparent’s winter home in Florida.

Joe stood there motionless in his Ohio State t shirt and Indians hat. The Indians hat had the ridiculous image of a big nosed smiling Indian in the center of the cap. It looked a lot like Amir. Amal laughed at the hat and told his brother in their language that he resembled the figure on the cap. He poked his brother with the shot gun barrel and told him to shut up.

“Take that fucking hat off your head,” said Amir.

“If you yell, I vill kill you. If you reach into your pockets, I vill kill you… Do you understand me?” Said Amir.

The two bearded men lead Joe upstairs into the bedroom where Sara and Abby were naked, kissing each other in the bed while drinking red wine from the bottle. They hadn’t stopped to acknowledge Joe or the other two men standing behind him. Amal yelled out.

“Put on your clothes… Now!”

The two identical twins had become more religious in Cuba. They had gone from rather secular people to believing that America and Americans were pure evil. Upon finding out that Abby and Sara were cousins, ready to partake in sex with Sara’s husband they were convinced that evil reigned supreme among the average American. Case in point; naked cousins, drinking and having sex with each other. While getting dressed, Sara pushed 911 on her cell phone. She coughed when the woman came on to address her. She started asking the men if they were going to kill them.

“Are you going to kill us? If so, just go ahead and shoot all of us. We just ask you not to cut our heads off and put it on Youtube. We don’t want to be part of some martyr crusade to kill innocent Americans. We just came to have a nice weekend at our grandfather’s cabin, Pete Miller who lives in Florida and comes here to New Buffalo for the summers. We don’t want to die… We have nothing against you people…”

The dispatcher quietly dispatched police to the cottage and listened as Sara spoke to the twin men.

“Shut your mouth… Shut up! You people, You people… Vat dee ell does you people mean. Terrorists? Vee grow beards and vee are obviously terrorists, right? Vell Vee are not terrorists and ve are going to get to Canada and find our way back to Pakistan. So as they say here; shut the fuck up, bitch.”

Amir and Amal duct taped the three of them to chairs and grabbed the keys to Joe’s Jeep and headed out on the highway. The two men’s beards rippled in the wind. Tire spikes popped the air out of the tires and the Jeep nearly tipped over. Michigan State troopers and local police swarmed to the scene. The two brothers were taken back to the prison. The official word was unofficial and the prison authorities fabricated a storey for the press. Nobody knew that accused terrorists were living on American soil. They knew that was the plan because it was being thrown around as an idea even though it was already being done. Luckily it was kept under wraps. Nobody knew about Amal and Amir. The cops cut the tape off of the three of them and questioned them for several hours. About midnight, they were allowed to go back to the cottage. Joe knew that the escapees had killed the mood. He was hoping that a glass or two of wine would bring back the feeling. Joe hugged both women at the same time and Abby pushed them both away.

“Look, I love you both and I was willing to do this more for both of you and whatever hang ups you both have… I really believe this was a sign from god to not do this. I mean, god sends us clues and this was a really big fucking clue. We could have been executed by those two freaks… I’m sorry but I can’t go through this,” said Abby.

Sara chimed in.

“You’re totally right, Abs… I really think this was a message to all of us. It’s just too weird and I’m sorry I suggested it… What do you think, Joe?”

Joe was too disappointed to say anything and knew that this whole episode would make his member turtle up for some time to come.

“I don’t know what to say… It’s definitely bad karma…”

At the same time, Amir and Amal thought the same thing. It was a day of dashed hopes for all by coincidence or possibly divine providence. It all depends on what you believe.

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