Blackhumouristpress's Blog

June 14, 2011

Going to see The-rapist or X-Box Will Kill Your Marriage

Filed under: humor — blackhumouristpress @ 4:17 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

Lacey came out of her condominium with her toddler daughter in tow when she noticed her common law husband was asleep on the hood of her car.  Lacey swung the Hefty bag full of shit diapers from their daughter’s special poop container that they received at a baby shower which Lacey loved so that the dirty diapers would not stink up the kitchen garbage.  Instead it stunk up the child’s bedroom.  Lacey swung the garbage bag like a battle axe upon Jeff’s relaxed abdomen.  Jeff immediately sat up and looked bleary eyed at Lacey who looked pretty and smelled even better albeit furious.

            “You and I are going to go to a marriage counselor or you can get your things and move out.  It’s become hockey every night and drinking until dawn while I’m a single mother…  This is fricking poppycock, Jeff.”

            Jeff went into the apartment and slept for an hour before getting on with his day.  By noon time, Jeff had sent a simple text to Lacey.  He had decided to send the white flag up the flag poll.

            ALTHOUGH I DO NOT BELIEVE WE NEED TO SEE A THERAPIST, I WILL GO IF YOU WANT ME TO.

            Ten seconds later, Jeff received an angry text from Lacey.

            YOU WILL GO IF I WANT YOU TO!!!  YOU’RE DOING ME A FUCKING FAVOR?

            Ten seconds later, Jeff sent another text.

            I BELIEVE THAT THERE IS SOME MERIT IN HAVING AMODERATOR, THIRD PERSON, DETATCHED, GUN FOR HIRE TO LOOK AT OUR RELATIONSHIP FROM THE STANDS AND TELL US WHAT WE MIGHT BE DOING WRONG.  IN OTHERWORDS, I WILL GO.

 

            Jeff and Lacey showed up at the office of a thin woman named Marcy who had two cats that walked around the cushions of the couch and rubbed up against Jeff and Lacey.  Jeff hated cats and was suspicious of any man who would choose a cat over a dog.  Jeff looked around the room that had copies of French Impressionist paintings and some Asian art next to a smiling Buddha with a Bonsai plant and a tiny waterfall.  Marcy had pictures of her bald husband with a beard and moustache that was chubby and shorter than her with their two fat children that had their father’s toothy smile and mother’s close set eyes.  The space between Marcy’s eyes were so close, it actually looked like she was cross eyed sort of like Shaquille O’Neal.  Jeff thought the whole idea of therapy was a scam but did not want to fight Lacey who had been coached by her friends and Dr. Laura Berman that drawing out hidden, latent, simmering resentment, was the only hope to keep from an eventual break up.

            “Jeff, I think what I am hearing from Lacey is that you have trouble connecting and are caught up with things that do not include your fiancé.  Playing ice hockey, playing X-Box, playing softball, playing golf, putting together model airplanes in the basement are all things that are fine as an individual but what can you do as a couple that can help you connect?  What things do you think that you and Lacey can do together that would help you to be a strong couple again?”

            Jeff took a sabbatical from his hobbies and took up Salsa dancing, wine tasting, a pottery class and started seeing plays once a month.  On weekends, they would watch a movie together and bang around tennis balls.  They went for walks with the dogs and their daughter went to zoos and museums.  Jeff was father and partner of the year.  He was a role model of compliancy.  Lacey’s female friends thought that Jeff had become a renaissance man.  Their husbands thought he had been an emasculated wimp who let his testicles dangle from Lacey’s ears like chandelier earrings.

            Jeff got the call one evening that his old hockey team needed him to come out and fill in for their new goalie who had taken over for Jeff while he went through his reformation.  Jeff asked Lacey if it would be permissible to play a men’s league hockey game at 10:30pm on a Tuesday night.  Lacey was looking through an Ikea catalog and watching two gay Australian men on Oprah’s OWN network, redecorate a house in South Carolina.  Lacey had her back against the headboard and was nearly ready for bed.  Jeff had hoped Lacey would have just gone to sleep so that he could just sneak out, but Lacey had stayed up later than usual.  Jeff felt like a little boy again.  It felt as though he was asking his mother if he could spend the night at a friend’s house.  Jeff hoped to hell that Lacey would not oppose the idea since he had committed to playing the game in advance.

            “Jeffery, I am not against you playing ice hockey.  I think you need an outlet.  I just worry where I fit in when you’re playing five nights a week and then you are shot the next day and need to come home from work and sleep because you have another late night game the next night.  I need you and so does your daughter…  That’s all I’m saying, baby.  You need to keep balance.  Go ahead.  Have a good time.  If you win or lose, remember that goalies don’t win or lose games for a team.  They just try to help their teams.”

            Jeff kissed his wife carefully who had just slathered vitamin E all over her face and had her hair up in a scarf.  Jeff gathered up his gear and headed to the rink.  Jeff had a rough first period.  He allowed in the first three of four shots and then he became impossible to get past.  The team won and decided to go for the proverbial one drink.  Jeff had four.  Jeff had four drinks and fish tacos with sour cream.  At about two in the morning, Jeff took off for home.  Jeff began to sweat and it felt as though gerbils were running through his intestines.  It became urgent that Jeff find a bathroom before it became impossible to hold it in the diarrhea that was trying to get out the way the French once stormed the Bastille; with vigor and anger.

            Jeff got the key to the gas station bathroom that stunk of urine.  Jeff hovered slightly above the seat so as to not allow any strange microbes from entering through his asshole.  The angle at which he hovered allowed for projectile shit to hit the handle and wall behind him instead of the water below him.  Worried that Lacey was in bed, sleeplessly waiting for him, Jeff decided to text Lacey on the status of the situation.

            I’M AT A GAS STATION BATHROOM SHITTING MY BRAINS OUT.  THE SOUR CREAM MUST HAVE BEEN BAD.  I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO WORRY.  JUST A TOUCH OF FOOD POISONING, WILL BE HOME SOON.

            Before Jeff could hit the send button, the phone slipped out of his hands and into the abyss of brown water in the commode below him.  Jeff had to fish through his own excrement to retrieve his phone.  It was Jeff’s hope that the water did not reach the inner components.  The phone died a tragic death. Jeff swore and was tempted to throw the phone at the wall.  Instead he wiped it down and washed his own shit off of his hands before he headed out to his car.  Before getting to the car, the sinking feeling came over Jeff that he may have left the keys in the ignition and then locked the door.  Jeff could see the keys dangling from the ignition and the doors were locked tight.  The night became early morning and the light of day did not make things any easier.  Jeff came to on the hood of Lacey’s car.  Lacey did not have any dirty diapers to hit him with.  Instead Jeff got a face full of organic whole milk from the sippy cup belonging to his daughter.  Jeff was startled awake.  He leaned on his elbows on the hood of the car and whipped the milk from his eyes.  Jeff tried to plead his case but Lacey wasn’t interested in hearing what he had to say.  Jeff became angry after everything he had been through and began to yell at Lacey.

            “You know what?  I played hockey and then had a few drinks and while I was on my way home, I was abducted by tall beautiful red haired aliens who love to play X-Box, give oral sex and play fantasy sports.  They took turns on me and then dumped me on the hood of your car.  I don’t have a good explanation for why my cell phone smells like shit and that I have crap under my fingernails…  So if you want to tell Marcy that I have fallen off the wagon, so fucking be it.  I don’t give a shit right now.”

            Jeff received no text messages during the day and after work, he was a bit apprehensive to come home.  Upon coming home, Jeff was greeted with a beer and a deep dish pizza.  The baby was put to bed early and Lacey stayed up watching the Detroit Red Wings play the San Jose Sharks.  Jeff thought that he was being lured into something by Lacey the way male preying mantises lose their heads.  Jeff finally asked Lacey why everything seemed upside down.  Lacey kissed Jeff’s neck and looked into his eyes while twisting his hair around her index finger.

            “I was so turned on by the way you spoke to me this morning. It was so forceful and full of emotion.  All I could think about was getting you home tonight…  Finish your pizza.  Momma’s got some dessert for you.  In the other room.”

            And they lived happily ever after…  The end.

May 2, 2011

Boris the Greatest or The Ice Cream Socialist

            Boris’s father played ice hockey in the oldSoviet Unionfor ЦСКА Москва otherwise known as Красная Армия.  For those of you who don’t read in Cyrillic, it was the infamous Red Army team.  Boris’s father had told him many times about the exhibition games he had played against NHL teams back in 1976 and how his team had dominated theUSSRleague right up until the end.  It had always been Boris’s dream to play for the same team as his father.

            At the age of nineteen, Boris had entered the KHL and ripped up.  He led the league in penalty minutes, goals and assists.  Boris could stick handle in a phone booth, skate like the wind and fight with the toughest of the toughest.  It had not gone unnoticed by the NHL.

            The Detroit Red Wings grew tired of being a contender but not a team that could any longer win the Stanley Cup.  The Swedes were excellent but they just weren’t winning the way the Red Wings were when they had the Russians.  The Red Wings found success with Kozlov, Larionov, Federov, Konstantinov and Fetisov.  When all five were on the ice for a power play, it was quite and exercise for the announcers.

            Of course the Red Wings had the great Pavel Datsyuk but they wanted a similar player like Pavel who could be rough.  Big Boris was drafted by the Red Wings and started his rookie year at the age of twenty four.

            Boris made a good living inRussiain the KHL but the money the Detroit Red Wings were offering him was absurd.  The brash young Russian put on a red Detroit Red Wing jersey at a press conference with the number 0 on the back and only his first name.  The Red Wings had to get permission to use a first name only and the number 0.  The league granted both.  The first press conference went something like this:

Press- Boris, what is your last name?

Boris- Eet tiz Boris only.  Jus like Bono andCher.

Press- It was Sonny Bono…

Boris- Wat!  Stupid, man… Next question

Press- How do you think you will do in the NHL?

Boris- Cis league ees you know gut but Boris ees the greatest.  I’m like Mohammad Ali of hockey,      

          Man.  I’m gonna make hockey a sport in cis country like it ees eenCanada…  You see.

            Boris first year, he scored the most goals, assists and had more fights by himself than the rest of the team had in total.  Boris had a beautiful wife and a giant compound of a home within the city ofDetroit.  Boris bought up a whole city block and turned it into a villa.  He grew grapes on his villa and sold his fortified sweet red called, Five Buck Boris.  It was twenty percent alcohol and had a hammer and sickle under his smiling face with a missing tooth.  Boris could be found at casinos inDetroitmost nights and there were pictures of him in the papers with various black women.  Several black women claimed that Boris was the father of their children.  When questioned about siring so many out of wedlock children with black women, he innocently answered.

            “Zee womens love Boris and I loves zee womens.  All womens not jus black ones.”

            And that statement was untrue.  Boris’s beautiful blond wife returned toRussiato make films again and divorced Boris.  When that happened, Boris was like a child without parents. Boris gambled and had wild parties.  The Red Wings hired a Russian driver to be Boris’s personal nanny.

            Vlad was paid handsomely by the Red Wings to drive Boris to and from Joe Louis Arena to his villa just north and west of downtown.  Vlad’s mother came to Boris’s fifteen bedroom house and cooked her famous Baklazhanovaya Irka recipe and borscht.  Boris loved Vlad’s mother’s cooking and loved Boris like a brother.  It wasn’t long before Boris had corrupted Vlad.  Vlad’s job was to troll the casinos and dance clubs and invite beautiful black women back to his compound.  Boris would invite rappers and basketball players to party at his nightclub within the compound that was within his villa.  Boris had a ten thousand foot nightclub with lights, smoke machines and a fantastic sound system.  Boris reasoned that if he could not hang out at the clubs, he would create his own.  Black basketball players would show up to his parties with white women while their black wives were at home and Boris did the opposite. Boris was an underground hit with Hip-Hop culture inDetroit.  Before long, Boris made his own video called, Boris in the D.  The video was a Youtube sensation and aired occasionally on BET.  Snoop Dog did a cameo as did Kid Rock on the video.  The hook of the song went as follows:

            Boris in the D playing hockey…  Joe Louis Arena and the bitches love me.  Bullet proof Mercedes, lots of ladies, riches, bitches, 100 proof…  Boris in the D, gonna put you through the roof.  The roof, the roof, put you through the roof.  The roof, the roof, put you through the roof.

            Images of Boris scoring, stick handling and fighting flashed along with images of him lifting weights, running, swimming and then driving in a convertible Mercedes stuffed with young smiling black women in sunglasses and bikinis.  It wasn’t long before the highlife caught up with Boris and Vlad.

            Vlad was fired by the Detroit Red Wings and hired by Boris as well as a dozen other young men that were part of the entourage of body guards.  An average night for Boris was to play hockey, dress, visit the casinos, send Vlad out to invite women over to the compound.

            “Excuse me, missus…  Dat ees Boris dee Greatest over there.  He is not at leisure to speak to you at thees time because he ees with the daughter of the owner of the Detroit Red Wings but would like to know eef you vood be interested to join heem at he’s home not far from here to have a drink and get to know you gut…  You can bring you friend too.”

            Most women understood that it was just a romp for the night, a chance to ooh and ahh over a palace within the city limits ofDetroit, drink, have some sex and disappear again.  One particular woman decided that she was not going to be just like the other women in his life.

            Felicia was a tall black woman with high cheekbones and a dimple on her left cheek.  She wanted to be a singer and a movie star and did not want to be just another conquest for a celebrity.  Felicia was content being who she was for the most part. Felicia went to Boris’s compound and refused to get drunk and have sex with Boris.  Boris was stunned.  An unbelievably beautiful black woman with a voluptuous frame and pretty face had turned down Boris.  Boris took it as a challenge.  It was like finding a goalie that he could not score against.  He had to find a way to put the puck in the net to add to his statistics.  Boris had to find away to convince a beautiful woman with standards and morals to give in to his flashy temptations.

            “You know dare ees a lot of vimans thaat vood like to be where you are tonights…”

            “Boris, you are a handsome man with a lot of money and I have to say it was poor judgment on my part to come and have dinner with you tonight.  If you thinking you bout to get you a piece of ass, Imma tell you, you wrong.  I ain’t a bitch or a ho.  Imma beautiful Christian woman that got to go to bed with myself at the end the night and atone for my actions.  So I don’t know whatchu thought inviting me all up in yo Dee-troit Kremlin west.  You thank you the tsar and Jesus Christ all rolled up into one sharp suit.  I’m looking for a gentleman who appreciate me for who I am and willing to do some work to see the fruit of thy labor…”

            “Vat?  I don’t know vat you are sayink…  Eet ess a lot of sound but don’t having meaning for Boris.  You saying you vant to be the one woman een my life?  Come on…  There ees a lot of Boris the world ees needing.”

            Boris went on drinking and partying and fornicating as well as fighting, stick handling and scoring goals.  Things were going well for the Detroit Red Wings.  It looked as though they were going to cake walk into the finals and manhandle their opponent in the Eastern Conference for the Stanley Cup.  Boris seemed unhappy and bored with life.  Vlad asked him what it was that he could do to make Boris happy again: more cars, more women, more parties, a trip toMiami.  Boris responded by pursing his lips and banging his fist on the table.

            “Nobody weens over Boris.  Boris ees thee wiener at all times.  How can Boris be the greatest and still hear no?  I vill vin thees thing…  You vill see Vladi.”

            Felicia had received flowers to make a florist jealous, calls to have dinner and drinks but Felicia would not respond to Boris.  After dozens of phone calls, Felicia answered the phone to send Boris off once and for all.

            “Look you Russian Valentino…”

            “Who?  Thees ees Boris.  Who ees thees Valentino.  I vill beating heem like dog.”

            “No means no, Boris.  I want more than you can or want to offer.  I want a man who wants me and ain’t running around all over, planting seeds wherever he be allowed to.”

            “Seeds?  Vat ees seeds?”

            “You cain stop calling me now.  I ain’t going wid you now or never.  You got a whole lot of women takin in by your world.  Go send yo boy to find them.”

            After the Red Wings had won the Stanley Cup, Boris did not return toRussiaor take off for tropical places.  He hired a woman to teach Boris about the bible and Jesus and Christianity in general for about a month before he decided to show up at the Motor City Missionary-Baptist Church within the city limits of Detroit.  Boris walked into the church and took a seat in the back, wearing an off white suit with a pair of sunglasses.  His three Russian body guards stood in the back of the church with black suits and sunglasses on.  Many in the church had ideas on who the FBI agents were there to nab.  Even the minister of the church had some thoughts that the white men were there for them.  Nobody recognized Boris the Greatest, the best hockey player in the NHL and savior of white hockey loving people in theDetroitmetropolis. 

            The minister sweated as he began to give his sermon.  He decided to inquire as to who the visitors were to their black only church.

            “It appears as though we have some new folks that have joined us today… Brother, what’s your name and where are you from?”

            “My name ees Boris and I am fromMoscowbut leave right here eenDetroitnow.  I verk here een the city ofDetroitfor a team you are having called the Red Wings…  Maybe you are knowing them?”

           A laugh went up in the church as people suddenly recognized the face and accent.  They were stymied as to why a white, Russian, partying, hockey playing, brash young man, would enter a poorly air conditioned black church at8:30amon a Sunday.

            “Romans 2:1 says and I quotes, “You therefore, have no excusing, you who pass judgments on someone else…  Uh… You condemning youself because you passing judgments. John 8:7  as you are knowing says, “if any one of you ees without sinning let her picks up a rock now and throw eet at me.”

            Boris boldly walked up and took the hand of the ravishing woman who was singing in the choir and kissed   her hand as he kneeled before her.  It was a penalty shot, one on one with the goalie who had stoned him so many times earlier.  Boris pulled out everything he had for the shot.  The puck went in the net.

            Vlad goes to bars and drinks alone or with other friends and tells people in his heavy Russian accent how for a few years, he was the body guard and personal bitch fetcher for Boris.  Vlad told stories of driving drunk, bagging women and the number of celebrities that hung out at the compound.  The question at the end of the story was always the same and Vlad always had the answer.

            “Every man needs to learn that he can lose…  And sometimes ven you lose, you winning.  The von who made Boris losing von.  Dat ees the one he needed.  Dat ees the one he gots now…  So sad for me.  No more parties, just backyard barbeques and church.  My man sings in the choir… and is an ice cream socialist…”

December 5, 2010

I Love You, Dude or The Hockey Marriage

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 8:23 am
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The Ronnies are what Ron Taylor and Ron Fitzgibbons were called by everyone from grade school on who knew the two best friends.  The Ronnies spent nights at each other’s house as little boys and played on the same hockey teams all the way through high school.  They were voted the most likely to go Columbine on their own high school by their classmates.

            Ron T. never finished college.  He was a freshman for four years at a junior college and was fortunate to pass the drug test that UPS gave him before he got a job loading panel trucks in the middle of the night.  Ron T. sort of liked his job.  It was mindless and secure.

            Ron F. sold beer in the summers at Wrigley Field which was sort of funny since he hated the Cubs and thought baseball in general was sort of an out dated sport.  Most of the year he worked for a Korean man who owned an independent video store.  In the store on the shelves were the entire first rate Hollywood blockbusters like Iron Man 9, Spiderman 7, and The Flintstones meet Yogi Bear at the Phantom Ranch with The Globetrotters and Scooby Doo and so on.  Behind a wall of the store was the world of debauchery that 90% of the customers came in for but even those customers were getting most of their stuff off the internet.  Ron F. was able to talk his boss into buying the Center Ice package so that he could watch all the NHL games from work during the baseball off season.  And so between selling and renting DVDs to lonely men, Ron T. would sit behind the counter, glued to any number of NHL games. 

            Ron T. and Ron F. would play ice hockey every morning somewhere around the city of Chicago.  Sometimes it was at Johnny’s Ice House on Madison Avenue, some times Mc Fetridge on the north side of the city, sometimes Franklin Park by O’Hare and so on.  Usually the boys played everyday except Saturdays.  Saturday nights were reserved for going out to clubs to try and find love for the night with any women that would have them.

            Both Ronnies played juniors for a few years after high school and then hung it up when they realized that being third liners on a junior B team in the middle of nowhere, was a sign that they were not going to be scouted by the NHL.  They both came back to Chicago and became men’s league all-stars.  Any night of the week, they could both find a late night game with a team that needed a player and usually they did that in addition to playing pick up hockey each morning.  Days went as follows: Ron F. picks up Ron T. after he takes a quick nap after work.  They hit the 7-11 to get a Monster energy drink and donuts though most recently; Ron T. began to grow up a bit at 28 years age and began to drink coffee.  The clerk whom they called Habib yelled at the Ronnies almost daily for making a mess. They would then show up at a rink early and watch whatever was on television which was usually The View.  They would criticize the women and guests without listening to anything they were talking about while putting tape on their sticks and checking the blades of their skates for nicks.

            “Dude…  That one dude from Cheers was fucking Whoopie Goldberg until he found out she was a fucking bull dyke and was fucking around with Ellen degenerate…” said Ron F. in his pseudo surfer boy/burnout voice that he still maintained from high school.

            “That’s fucking bullshit, dude.  They just fucking broke up.  She’s as ugly as your asshole but she ain’t a dyke.  She’s fucking old and knows that she’s not fuckable anymore.  Most white dudes wanna fuck a black chick like Beyonce.  When they can’t, they go home and beat a woman that looks like Whoopie.” Said Ron T. while taping his $200.00 Easton one piece stick with 5.5 lie and a slight heel curve. 

            “Fuck it, dude.  I hope we get two goalies.  I don’t care if it’s a fucking St. Bernard or your fucking mother just as long as we have something to shoot at,” said Ron F.

            In the pick up games, the Ronnies always wore the same color.  It was a gray which was not white and not dark.  On the front was the name of one of their men’s league teams that they had pledge alliance to called The Pigs.  Their jerseys said in big letters, “The Pigs” and underneath that was a pig with a flat top hair cut holding a hockey stick in one hand and his penis in the other.  At the age of twenty eight, the Ronnies thought that was still hilarious.

            Ron T. was the passer and Ron F. was the scorer.  Ron T. was geared towards being defensive and Ron F. was most concerned with scoring and so they worked well together.  One day Ron T. took a slap shot from the blue line. It rode up the blade of someone’s stick and took out six of Ron F.’s front teeth.  The teeth exploded and left shards of porcelain throughout Ron F.’s mouth.  The Ronnies were sent to Cook County Hospital where they sat for close to six hours because Ron F. did not have health insurance and after six hours the duo grew tired of waiting for the free health care and went home. The bleeding had stopped but Ron Fitzgibbon’s mouth was a mess as was his swollen face.

            The cost to replace the three upper and three lower teeth for Ron F. was going to be over $10,000.00.  There was no way either of the boys had that sort of money.  Luckily for the boys, there was a way and a loop hole.  Since civil marriages between men and men and women and women were going to be legal in Illinois, Ron F. popped the question to Ron T.

            “Look man, you hit me in the fucking mouth.  I can’t talk or even smile cause I look like a fucking golf ball went through my fucking teeth.  We get this thing done and I get my fucking teeth fixed after you can claim me on your insurance and then we get a divorce or annulment or whatever it is you need so that you can still get married in a Catholic Church when you find the right person,” said Ron F.

            “Are you fucking cracked?!  You want me to marry you so you can get insurance?!  I’m not fucking doing it, dude.  I’ll find a way to get the $10,000.00,” said Ron T.

            “What the fuck do you care?  Being a fag is in style now, dude.  Nobody is going to say shit.  They’ll say those two dudes got married.  Who the fuck cares anymore?  Fucking Magic Johnson got AIDS, got rid of it and got fat and nobody cares that he’s probably fucking dudes.  We don’t gotta have a party and invite friends.  We just do this and I get my shit fixed and then we get this shit undone.  I think you owe me this much, fucker…” said Ron F.

            Ron T. thought about the idea and decided it was the fairest thing he could do considering he was the reason his friend was missing a mouthful of teeth.  Both Ronnies were too manly to wear a cage or a visor on their helmets.  They grew up idolizing Chris Chelios and Tony Amonte from the Chicago Blackhawks and decided after high school that they would never use facial protection again.  Both received a few stitches here and there as well as a black eye now and then but never a need for a dental overhaul. 

            Ron F. did all the leg work.  He got the marriage license and filed all the paper work so that on the first day of legal same sex unions, he could get legally married to Ron T. so that he could then add him to his insurance and get Ron F.’s teeth fixed. 

            The spring day happened and both men dressed in dark suits nervously sat waiting for their chance to approach the judge as they looked at honest to goodness same sex couples that were ecstatic that their day had finally arrived.  An older white man with a close kept gray beard and a young black man, young enough to be his son, held hands, giggled and snuck kisses as they sat next to the Ronnies who looked more like they were going to jail than to be united in matrimonial bliss.  The flamboyant young black man asked the Ronnies if they had plans to go on a honeymoon to celebrate.  Ron F. was disgusted and gave the most deranged answer he could muster.

            “I got a can of fucking Crisco, a gerbil and some PVC in the trunk of the car.  My fiance lost a bet we had on who would win Dancing with the Stars and so he will be the happy recipient of the rodent at the closest fuck palace we can find near this place.  We don’t have the time for Cancun…” said Ron F.

            The two Ronnies looked somber and embarrassed as they said their vows in front of the judge.  When the ceremony concluded, they hugged each other like two Soviet era diplomats and then walked out without any further contact.  They emerged from the court house with cameras and microphones in their face.  Ron T. was ready to just run on foot but Ron F. punched a camera man in the face who put the camera too close to him.  For that he landed in jail and in the paper and it soon became known to all who ever knew the two Ronnies that they were joined together in matrimony.  Some were genuinely surprised but most who remembered the inseparable pair said that they knew it all along. 

            If you go to open hockey some morning somewhere in Chicago, you may run into the Ronnies. Don’t mention the marriage if you can help it.  It makes them both angry. They most likely will be wearing Pig jerseys.  And full metal cages.

Blog at WordPress.com.