Blackhumouristpress's Blog

March 25, 2011

Ray of Life

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 4:21 am
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Lars Lindvistdagen was a life long student in Sweden and was commissioned by the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences upon achieving a doctorate.  The Swedish government became very interested in the effects of electromagnetism and so Lars took off for Lapland to understand what life was like in the pure darkness of winter and efflorescent lights.

            The Sami people primarily lived in Norway, but at the near northern most border of Sweden where the sun never seemed to set in the summer or rise in the winter was where Lars met Helga who was teaching the Sami language to Swedish children whose parents had to relocate to northern Sweden for work.  Lars was completely smitten with this carefree woman who was a hair under six feet tall, with blond hair, large breasts and a firm b


            Helga’s people had herded reindeer for centuries and with technology being what it is, there just wasn’t the need for so much reindeer husbandry as their used to be and so Helga taught her language to Swedish people who mostly spoke English anyway.

            Lars at the youthful age of forty eight, after being a student in the university system of Sweden, married a much younger Helga and lived in Bjokliden.  They married at midnight on the longest night of the year.  Something about that time of year made Helga feel more alive than at any other time of the year.  The sun set at about 12:24am and they made love over and over until the sun rose again at about 3:57am.  They slept, made love and got ready to move to Los Angeles, California.

            Lars and Helga spent there honeymoon at Disneyland and in Malibu and both agreed that the overabundance of humans in such a concentrated area would be perfect to study the effects of electromagnetism.  Lars and Helga had lived in a part of the world where there were very few people.  In the summer, they would walk through the forest of pine and rocky hills that were greener than the color green.  In the winter when the wind wasn’t howling, they would walk in the snow and marvel at the beautiful mountains and herds of reindeer, take deep breaths of clean air and then went back indoors to have sex.  Lars understood that Helga could get herself to cum if he was under her and really that was the best view of his young wife who wasn’t yet thirty years of age.  Her long blond hair and perfect smile and enormous breasts moving in perfect syncopation and his sunken chest with a few wispy hairs on his chest, thin face with horn rim glasses and a beard that made him look like Sigmund Freud.  The Royal Academy asked Lars to work in tandem with scientist at UCLA.

            Helga began to feel strange in a strange land.  Eating Del Taco, going to health clubs, drinking expensive coffee concoctions, driving long distances for a long time was all taking a toll on Helga who began to show signs of depression and unbridled anger. 

            One night while watching an Ingrid Bergman movie in Swedish, Helga became confused about what it was that she was thinking of doing.   She stood holding a bowl and began to cry and then scream.  She broke a leg off of their teak table and began to smash things until there was no sound and no light.  After several minutes of crying, Helga got into their late model Volvo and drove full speed down Santa Monica Boulevard.  She drove the Volvo through the front window of a Starbucks.  It was nearly ten in the evening and people were still drinking coffee, doing things on laptops and texting people.  At the moment the car came crashing through the front window, a Madonna song was playing softly Helga could hear subliminal messages like high pitched frequency sounds that only canines can hear.  Helga heard it earlier in the day when she was drinking a green tea and thumbing through the Los Angeles Times.  It was laced in Madonna’s song, Ray of Light.

            Faster than the speeding light she’s flying

            Try to remember where it all began

            She’s got herself a piece of heaven

            Waiting for the time when earth shall be as one

            Quicker than a ray of light

            Quicker than a ray of light

            While the music played and Helga looked around the room.  A fat young guy with a dirty t-shirt talked into a Bluetooth as he nervously bounced his legs and discussed a bet about which Hollywood star would freak out next as he scanned Popeater.  A woman in spandex talked loudly on a cell phone while she poured six packets of sugar into a caramel frappichino.  A little boy was glued to a hand held game while his Haitian au pair drank a coffee black, without milk or sugar and spoke in a patois to someone in New York about the weather and whether a relative had died yet of AIDS in Miami.  Suddenly everything seemed to speed up to Helga.  Cars moved faster, clouds seemed to zoom by and pedestrians seemed to be running.  A Pakistani cab driver came in and spoke on his cell phone in his native tongue and it sound like an auctioneer.  Helga could hear her own heart beat and the electricity in the room buzzed like high tension wires in a misty rain.  Helga was afraid to blink.  Helga was afraid to move.

            Faster than the speeding light she’s flying

            Try to remember where it all began

            She’s got herself a piece of heaven

            Waiting for the time when earth shall be as one… And I feel like I just got home

            Fucking speeding life is dying

            Try to remember a safer place

            She used to have a bigger land

            Waiting for moment when this will end… And I feel like I can’t get home

            As the Volvo smashed into the barista’s bar and sent people flying, Helga pulled out a double barrel, twelve gauge shot gun and began to shoot at lights, computers.  Carefully and slowly reloading the shells after each shot.  Patrons and workers scattered as if an earthquake was taking place.  Helga plopped down in a chair as the same Madonna song played.  Helga reached in the cooler and popped open a mineral water as the song slowed to the chorus.

            Zephyr in the Sky at night I wonder

            Do my tears of mourning sink beneath the sun

            She’s got herself a universe gone quickly

            For the call of thunder threatens everyone

            Laser surgery may be the answer

            For unwanted hair

            Six minutes a day to get the shape you want

            Buy info tapes today to get yourself out of debt

            Miller Lite or any light?  A ray of light? 

            Lights out, lightology, lighthouse, lightening

            Light my fire, you light up my life…  I am the way, the truth and the light

            Lars book became a best seller in Sweden when it became know what his wife Helga had done in Los Angeles and their well publicized deportation.  When interviewed on American television about the incident, Lars had good answers for his wife’s behavior.

            Not all compact fluorescent lights are the same and not all full spectrum

lights are safe.  There are problems with CFL that go beyond the mercury

problem. Some of these health concerns are namely that they can cause

irritability, depression, hyperactivity, fatigue, headaches etc.  Compact

fluorescent lights (CFL) produce radio wave frequencies. These frequencies

radiate directly from the bulbs and go on the electrical wiring in the home

or school causing poor power quality or dirty electricity. The closer you

sit to the bulb the greater your exposure. Because the high frequencies

travel along the wire you can be exposed in other rooms of your home as well

as the room that contains the CFL.

Many complain that they cannot be in a room

with fluorescent lights because they feel “unwell”. These people have

difficulty shopping in large department stores because of the lighting and

often go with list in hand and spend as little time in the store as

possible. Their cognitive functions diminish and some have difficulty

recalling where they parked their car…  My wife parked our car in the middle of a Starbucks in

Santa Monica, California… She couldn’t recall why.


February 15, 2010

Leaving the Complaints Department… Peace, Out

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 5:00 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Curt and Carl had been life long buddies.  Back in the old days, kids at school called them the Columbine Boys behind their backs.  Nobody really thought of them as closet homosexuals as much as antisocial, introverted, skateboarding wannabees, with possible homicidal tendencies.  They both had tight jeans with Van shoes and long hair that covered one eye at all times.  They spent most of their time trying to perfect the stuff they saw on MTV.  Neither one of them was bold enough or athletic enough to ride hand rails or try to jump a flight of stairs on their bikes.  They were just west coast, southern California boys trapped in the desert near Palmdale and Lancaster at the far northern tip of Los Angeles County, not far from the windmills near Tehachapi.  All houses looked about the same as the next house and sparse growth covered the mountain sides that looked more like the surface of Mars or the Moon that anything on Earth. 

            Somehow both Curt and Carl finished high school without killing anyone and made it through albeit with beat up self esteem.  Carl one day decided that he would move to England.  Curtis thought he was really full of shit and called him on it.

            “I’ve decided that I want to live somewhere other than this sterile fucking place filled with former Midwestern fucks that live in tract house fucking subdivisions and go to the fucking Vons to shop, In and Out Burger for dinner and get old and fat watching that one fucking tree grow that was planted by the city, in their front yard.  I’m not gonna beg you but we should just fucking go, man.  I mean where can you go where they kinda speak English that is totally not like this fucking place?  I wanna go to pubs and fuck chubby chicks and never learn their names.  I want to drive on the left with a wheel on the right and not worry about my fucking teeth.  Fuck Arnold Schwarzenegger, earthquakes, landslides, smog, diamond lanes and all of it.  Let’s go to England, man.  We can get a flat in London and live like fucking kings…” said Carl.

            “I really like In and Out Burger…” Said Curtis.

            “Yeah?  Well fuck you too then…” Said Carl.

            As shocked as Curtis was to see his buddy Carl go, Carl did take every cent he had and moved to London.  Carl found jobs at fast food restaurants and at a funeral home before he landed a job in customer service.  Carl was the foreman of a division that answered customer calls.  Ironically, Curtis worked at a company that was an answering service for apartment buildings and doctors.  Curtis was the complaints department and hated it.

            It had been four years of sending porn, jokes and one sentence emails to one another when Carl offered Curtis a job at his factory in London.  Curtis was intrigued.

            “Dude…  You gotta come to London.  I work for a company that sells Irish sweaters and quilts and shit.  I’m like the head of all the customer service calls.  It’s fucking great.  There are like three chicks I’m totally making it with right now who work for me.  I swear to baby Jesus that I go home to change fucking underwear only.  After work I go and have a few pints then go and a have a few more at another pub, throw some fucking darts and lay a new broad every night.  All you have to do is tell them you are from California and they immediately think like Beach Boys and surfing.  I’m like whatever.  Where’s your flat?  Oh and one big thing to sway your ass…  The fucking pound is the strongest currency in the world.  It’s like making one and a half times what you make in California.  I hope you’re done nursing your snatch and bring your ass out here.  You can shack up with me and trust me when I say that you will have more puss than you could shake a stick at.  Tell your mom that you’re going to learn to fly and move the fuck out here, bitch…  Peace out Carl.”

            Curtis agonized for a week about doing something so abrupt but then decided he would.  He sent Carl the good news and just wanted to clarify that there would be a job waiting for him.

            “Dude…  I’m so coming to England.  You do have a job waiting for me, right?  I don’t mind what it is; I’m just spending all I have to get there.  I can hardly sleep thinking about this.  The Trenchcoat Posse rides again!”

            Carl responded.

            “Bitch… Bring your sorry ass here.  I’ll fire a fucking Paki to give you a job.  Just get here…  Peace out.”

            Curtis responded.

            “Okay, man.  I’m coming.  I bought a ticket.  I stop in NYC and then on to London.  Pick me up on Saturday.  Just have to set the record straight here at work….”

            Now Curtis hated his job and hated the despondent, fat, angry people he worked among and hated the chronic complaints he dealt with frequently as an answering service dispatcher.  Curtis decided to set the record straight with everyone who irritated him before leaving.  First was a woman who lived in Santa Monica with two cats, no husband and a lot of time on her hands.  She was the president of a condominium association who called frequently to the answering service to have their Albanian janitor work hard for his money.

            Ms. De la Croix,

                                       Although we have never met since I am up in Palmdale and you are in Santa Monica, I just want to let you know what I pictured over the phone in my two years of dealing with your annoying bullshit.  You are probably 5‘2 to 5’4, thin with bleached blond hair.  You probably went to some Catholic grade school in Santa Monica, Catholic high school in Santa Monica and then attended Santa Monica City College.  You think that Santa Monica is the height of Los Angeles County and center of the universe. You probably buy bullshit art at  the Santa Monica Mall on Saturdays and attend all meetings for rent control.  Your cats probably got two stupid names like Tulip and Persnickety and you have more appliances in the drawer of your night stand than the janitor of your building has in his tool shed.  Mind you that this poor fuck lasted through a war where Serbians were trying to murder him because some fucking Ottomans forced his ancestors to convert to being a Muslims.  That poor fuck made it all the way to sunny California just to become a slave to you and a bunch of sexually dysfunctional males and females that love titles such as president, treasurer or secretary of a board.  Fuck you, fuck your board and all your complaints.  Kiss your fucking cats cause they might be the only ones who love you and that might only be at feeding time.

            Yours Truly,

            Curtis Crawford

            Curtis felt so exhilarated by writing to Ms. De la Croix and telling her exactly what he thought of her, now he would tell his fellow workers what he thought of them.

            “Dear Mr. Smith and all employees of Minute Men Ready Answering Service,                                                                                                                                        

 I would like to invite you to figure out fast what makes you happy.  Most of you are

twice my age and are twice as unhappy and twice as fat and at least twice in debt over me. 

Most of you make me sick and scare me.  I waited my whole youth to be an adult and

now that I’m surrounded by adults, I ask myself if this is what I wanted and expected. 

Did I want to be grayer, fatter, angrier, and more cynical than I am now?  Granted I was voted most likely to come to school and mow everyone down and yet I would be more likely to come and put all of you out of your misery as a mercy killing now.  My problem was that I never bought a gun.  I did buy a ticket to London, England and start my new job next week.  So fuck all of you and I hope you step aside and heed the shit I’m saying.  Your sorry lives are not worth living and I want to thank all the pompous fucks among you for forcing my hand.  Had it not been for you, I may have been complacent and stayed in this fucking job until I grew a paunch, lost my hair and got excited over coupons or whatever the fuck there is to be happy about beyond the age of thirty with an unfulfilled wife and bratty fucking kids.  So I’ll say this now; see you in hell and if you make it to heaven let me know how it was possible because I have not seen how it could have been possible thus far…  Your devoted employee Curtis Crawford…”

            Curtis hit the send button to all employees as he gathered up things that he wanted

to take with him from his desk in a cubical.  Curtis could hear gasps and laughing as he carried his glad bag full of stuff through the front doors into the midday sun.  He got into his Hyundai ready to collect what he really needed for his first trip to Europe when a text message from Carl came through.

            “Dude…  It’s a fucking calamity.  The fucking Brits dumped all the women in the center and moved operations to fucking New Delhi.  Those fucking Indians. Don’t worry if you already quit.  I can find us work here.  I got a few bones stored away.  Just come out, we’ll figure it out somehow… Peace out, Carl.”

            Curtis was at a red light in his Hyundai when the car behind him beeped hard.  The light had turned green.  The only thought that came to Curtis was; Oh shit!

Create a free website or blog at