Blackhumouristpress's Blog

June 5, 2019

From Canada to England

Tell my secretary to call Pierre. Tell her that I am going up there. I want to be courtside like Jack Nicholson to watch some hoops and rip the president.


“I want to apologize for everything…”

Pierre stopped Barack

as the woman began to sing, Oh Canada for the first time at an NBA final.

“Our people know all the words be it French or English.”


Speaking of English- Across the pond, carrying tariffs like a well armed sheriff.

“I like what you’ve done with this place, your majesty… You want to see a real palace? Come visit me… Nah, not that place in DC.”


The people on the streets stressed with the thought of Brexit. The British Trump looks poised to fix it. The mayor and various MP’s joined in with protest of the modern anxiety of this right winged Wehrmacht rolling across Europe from over seas.


Somewhere today on a beach far way, old men remember a truly hard day. They secured freedom and democracy. Nobody thinks to ask the elderly what they think of where we were and where we are today. And maybe it will always be that way.

March 25, 2018


It was some time after 9-11 that Lars Bjornson left his home in Stockholm to discover America. He wanted to eat hot dogs, see sporting events of sports he knew nothing about. He wanted to be in the audience of a Jerry Springer show. He wanted to see where Michael Jordan played basketball and where Al Capone once ran around. Lars wanted to see the tall buildings of Chicago and he also wanted to see the ghetto.

Lars rented a car and asked the doorman of the posh hotel he was staying at on Michigan Avenue, where he could go to see the real ghetto. You know… Poor people. The doorman thought Lars was a bit nuts but then again he felt that all of those really white, white people of Northern European countries, were truly different than your run of the mill American whites. In reality, it was not unlike going on a safari in Africa or visiting a zoo. Lars wanted to see blight, hopelessness, drug addicts and the mentally ill hanging around on street corners. The doorman spoke frankly with him.
“Hey man, there’s shit in life you just should not do. You puttin your life in yo own hands…. It ain’t like round here, dude…. Shit…. It’s yo life. Tell you watchu do…. Take any one of these streets named after old dead white dudes that was once president. Madison, Washington, Adams…. Randolph…. I don’t remember no President Randolph in school but it coulda been one them dudes who was president fo like a day and then got shot. You might wind up like them but you welcome to go. Four miles that way. You cain’t git lost.”
Lars was excited in a sick way not unlike when people go online to view people getting beheaded or shot and watching the life drain out of them. Lars wanted to visit the most dangerous city in an area where the most people get killed every year in the richest most prosperous country in the world. Lars was hoping to actually see a shooting happen in the streets. He slowly drove up and down streets that were strewn with debris, high weeds, barber shops with men hanging out in front of them, boarded up storefronts and liquor stores on almost every corner. People looked back at Lars not unlike when animals make eye contact with humans at the zoo.

Lars saw a beautiful young black woman at a bus stop, eating something carefully out of a bag. Her young, perfect body and model like face attracted Lars. He parked the car and strangely pitched the idea of the woman getting into his car to go to dinner, talk to him and then later have sex with him. For $1,000.00. Asha ( pronounced ASIA ) thought about all the things she could do with $1,000.00 and hopped into the car of the tall blond man from Sweden. Asha went to an expensive seafood restaurant and then back to Lars hotel room to do the deed. Asha marveled at her strange day as she put her clothes back on in front of a floor to ceiling window that looked out at Lake Michigan and the high rises that lined the downtown. It was a glimpse into a life she had only seen on television. She concluded that to be white was truly a boost up the tree of life that black people rarely get unless they have some redeeming value to white people. Lars thought to himself while he showered with all his jewelry, cash and credit cards where he could see it in the locked bathroom, that it was a really cool experience and that having sex with someone of a different color was something that everyone should experience once. Sometimes weird moments and actions lead to something surreal. Well… It did.
Two presidents and sixteen years later, Asha’s son Lars was about to play in the state championship basketball game. Picture a tall caucasian looking child with a tint to his skin with sort of yellow hair with large rotini like curls. Around his ankle was a tracking device for those that should probably be in prison but are allowed back out in society. Lars was arrested for carjacking. Several times in the past, Lars had successfully secured a car, drove it around, smashed it up and abandoned it. In Chicago, things such as that are sport for underprivileged inner city kids who see the disparity between those that have and those that have not. The last carjacking backfired when Lars and his buddies tried to carjack the car of an off duty cop who had a vintage 1970 Plymouth Challenger. Upon pulling a gun on the officer and hopping in, they found that the car was manual transmission and none of the trio knew how to drive a car with a stick shift. Lars looked up to find a gun back in his face. Lars’ two friends had no redeeming value to society at this point in their lives- high school drop outs, gangbangers with criminal history but Lars intrigued the judge. The judge listened to the tall boy speak who looked like he could be white but also could be black, looked at his African American mother and asked the boy rhetorical questions. Do you want to go to jail? Do you want to die young? Do you want your life to amount to nothing? Do you want to become something? Asha told the judge that her son was a very good basketball player and that 6’ 7, he had a good chance of getting a college scholarship and possibly professional basketball. Asha handed a handful letters of intent from division one universities from around the country that were interested in having young Lars play basketball. The judge saw a letter from his alma mater and grew excited. The stern looking white judge looked at Lars and said that he wanted to see him, his mother and his attorney in his office. Once in the judge’s quarters, the judge picked up his phone on his desk and made a call to the president of his alma mater who happened to be a friend, a golf buddy, a drinking buddy to let him know that he should send someone from the athletics department to come to the championship game in Quincy, Illinois to sign Lars to their university. Asha and Lars were stunned by how the serious looking judge was talking so casually to them.
“You’re going to love this school. It is one of the greatest schools in the country. You’ll get a great education in a good environment and you could really help the school by being on the team. They came so close this year! Sweet sixteen! Hopefully you can help them win a national championship…. So listen. Lars will have to wear an ankle monitor for a while. You’ll come back in a few weeks and I’ll clear him. No record. You have to stop fooling around, Lars. You have a promising life ahead of you. Don’t screw it up…. Tell you what…. I think I can make that game in Quincy. I have nothing on my calendar. I will be there with your mom.”
Somewhere in Europe, there is a man with an American son that he knows nothing about. Lars Sr. would be so proud to know that he helped create hope for a woman who was destined to live a dismal, mundane life. Stories such as this make white people feel really good when they know their own kind are helping in some small an indirect way to create prosperity and equality. Even if they didn’t mean to.

May 6, 2014

For Whom the Bell Curve Tolls or WARP- White Anglo Racist Protestants

Filed under: Ethnicity,humor,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 11:22 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

A man by the name of Alouis A, was devising a test to determine the true thoughts of all owners of the NBA in order to expose racism that he felt still exists in the United States. It started with his own radio show and then talk shows, then rallies until CNN gave Alouis A. a forum. Was Alouis A. incensed by the comments of Donald Sterling? Not really, in fact he suspected most NBA owners were of the same mindset. Alouis A. wore horned rimmed glasses and wore an Afro. He would most definitely be perceived by white America as an educated and angry African-American. What could he possibly be mad about? He graduated with several degrees, lived in a nice house in the suburbs where his kids went to exclusive schools. Alouis A., had a great disdain for stereotypical African-Americans who personified all of white America’s fears and jokes. It was Alouis’s quest to change that mindset in anyway possible. Donald Sterling made it possible for a person like himself to become prominent and a voice a new voice for a new era of the black struggle.

“76 percent of the league is being propped up on the backs of African-American men that line the pockets of some very rich men in the third, arguably second most profitable professional leagues in America. Who but a plantation owner and an owner of human beings would say something like “I support them and give them food, and clothes, and cars, and houses. Who gives it to them? Does someone else give it to them? … Who makes the game? Do I make the game, or do they make the game? Is there 30 owners, that created the league?” … Come on now. This didn’t come out of the mouth of Thomas Jefferson. This is a current thought by a respected man in our society. I think every owner should have to willingly agree to a list of questions given while a polygraph is being administered so we can better understand the sentiments of those that really are some of the puppet masters of our economy. If you are not a racist, prove it. I’m calling on the president of the NBA to force this upon the ownership. I am not alone in the sentiment and will call for a boycott of every African-American NBA player until every owner submits to a list of questions with a polygraph. I suspect Donald Sterling is not alone. As of now, I do not have a list formulated. But rest assured… I will “

Alouis A. happened to be at a DC bar discussing a list of potential questions with other black activists when a tabloid gun- for- hire sat at a booth behind them and let his recorder record the list of potential questions to the NBA owners. The final list hadn’t been agreed upon. Alouis A. soon scrapped the idea when the graphic list of offensive questions was published in various tabloids and on of all things- TMZ. The potential questions were as follows.

1. Are you uncomfortable when you see an African-American man with a white woman?

2. If the white woman is fat and ugly are you less offended than if she were an attractive white woman?

3. Do you perceive African-Americans as lazy?

4. Do you believe that African-Americans have become more equal at the expense of white people?

5. Have you ever experienced anxiety over two or more African-American men walking towards you?

6. Have you used the term “colored” or “negro” in the past thirty years?

7. Does it bother you that Michael Jordan is an “equal”?

8. Do you see Michael Jordan as an equal?

9. Do you think racism exists?

10. Do you think the percentage of incarcerated African-Americans is justified?

11. Is Nelson Mandela the greatest leader of our modern age?

12. Did you vote for Mitt Romney?

13. Do you think the Republican Party is racist?

14. Have you ever told a black joke?

15. Have you ever used the N word?

16. Does the N word offend you or do you just claim to be offended because it is expected of you to be offended?

17. Do you believe that IQ differences are genetic and racial?

18. Did Apartheid offend you?

19. Did you ever visit South Africa prior to 1994?

20. If your daughter came home with an African-American man, would you be disturbed?

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