Blackhumouristpress's Blog

December 1, 2018

Teachers Have Bad Days Too

Filed under: america,humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 9:54 pm
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Terry had an absolute miserable day teaching. She was hired to teach guitar and keyboards as an elective to high school children in an impoverished area of the city. The pay was good but it was nothing more than babysitting. Her classes consisted of Hispanic and black gangbangers with neck tattoos, some with ankle bracelets to monitor their every move by the police, some pregnant, most high and all profane.

“Eh eh Ms. Bitchtits… This motherfucker ain’t got all it strings. How my bout to learn this shit when y’all done gave some defective shit. I don’t see Pedro motherfucker over dere wit his leafblower on his motherfucking back missing no strings on his shit… That discrimination, Ms. Bitchtits.”

Pedro took offense to the leaf blower comment as he tried hard to form a G chord without cramping his fingers.

“The only one with bitch tits all up in this bitch is yo fat ass, motherfucking Fat Albert motherfucker. What kind of crazy bitch mom names their kid Sirarthur? Yo momma was cracked out when she gave you that bitch name.”

A fight broke out. Two guitars were casualties. The school security separated them and took them out. A string of other outbursts occurred through out the day. Run of the mill swearing, playing music on their phones, eating in class, sleeping in class and general disrespect for the Terry brought her to tears on the way home.

 

Chris was a private school teacher in a really rich suburb where there were eight students in the class. The kids spent most of the day on social media or skyping friends in other schools. Kids ignored most of what Chris was trying to teach the children. Chris had a student named Floyd who dressed in black with died black hair and a safety pin through his bottom lip. He wore shirts of death metal bands you never heard of and hated everything. His parents were divorced and the dad had an older Costa Rican woman taking care of him while travelling the world on business. Floyd was in prep school but got thrown out of so many that they brought him home. His stepmother detests him and the dad just gives his kid more money to placate him. The assignment was to read allowed what the perfect day would be. Floyd read his in front of the class.

“My perfect day would be to tie up my parents in their fucking sauna and turn the temperature up to about 150 and leave them in there for a good while to ensure their reproductive organs were officially shot. I would then come to school with a dozen large sows and let tear gas off in the school. I would sit out front with a six-pack and a lawn chair on the school’s front lawn while the pigs and girls squealed like pigs and then I would probably take target practice on the knees of those running from the mayhem. No murder, just a little maiming. Of course this is just a fantasy, you see… For I have no sows at home.”

Chris dialed the police and the police showed up before Floyd could finish his essay. The police hauled Floyd in. His father was in New Zealand and the stepmother was fucking an Internet buddy in San Diego and so the Costa Rican au pair had to sort it all out. The father, who donated thousands, maybe tens of thousands to the school on top of tuition each year, pledge to see that Chris would be fired when he returned. Chris drove home crying.

Chris met Terry through a friend of a friend. At the time, they were both dating men but went on to become partners. They were once really romantic but Chris began to gain weight and Terry had become a health nut. It was just a few days ago that Terry had to break the news to Chris that the funky smell in her vagina was due to all the shit food she was eating and a little bit of poor hygiene. Love had been on the rocks and now they both had a really bad day. They walked in to find that their cats were fighting and had broken porcelain figurines that had belonged to Chris’ grandmother. The gloves came off the moment they both got home.

“I hate these cats… I hate them, I hate them… We couldn’t get fucking dogs because we live in a building that won’t allow them. So these destructive little fucks have ruined something of mine once again that can’t be replaced. I have had a day from hell and I don’t have room in my life right now to be dealing with destructive fucking cats,” shouted Chris.

“Fuck you… You teach at a country club. Try one day in my goddamn shoes and you need more therapy than you’re getting now,” said Terry.

“How dare you use that against me… You are a hateful bitch… When your parents get here, I will be staying at a hotel. I am not putting up with your criticism and theirs together. You are all unhappy people and then you shit on me. Your parents raised you to be a mean combative bitch. You’re just like them. I’m outta here.,” said Chris.

“Yeah… Will you be sending the what are you doing tonight text to your old boyfriend?” Asked Terry.

“What are you talking about? We’re just friends. I don’t hate Paul. It just didn’t work out.”

“I get all the neurotic bullshit and he gets to buy you a few drinks, slip you the genuine article and you both go on with life. I’m not blind,” said Terry.

“I’m not having this tonight. I had that weirdo kid talk about tear gas, wild pigs and shooting people in the legs today and now his rich dad wants my head for calling the cops…” said Chris.

“Welcome to modern teaching, sister. Yo this Motherfucking, bitch, niggah, bitch, niggah, motherfucking bitch ass mothefucking motherfucker… Now that’s commonly used just for description… Every minute of everyday. So you got a rich Goth psycho. You must be stressed.”

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

In the lobby of condominium were the parents of Terry who had difficulty coming to grips with their daughter’s change of life but were ready to shrug it off and wish them all the happiness in the world. The button to the intercom had stuck. Chris had pressed the button with maple syrup on her index finger earlier that morning when the Amazon man arrived with a package and that darn button never released. For a great while Terry’s parents just quietly stood in the foyer and listened to domestic car crash taking place. The parents quietly agreed to each other that they were really no different than any other couples. And that’s just how it goes on really bad days.

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October 4, 2018

Genetically Modified Men

I thought maybe it was just me. I thought maybe it was just my age and that I didn’t understand that things change and people change along with them. I began to notice that some men just disappeared and then others made a dramatic change from who they were. When the NFL banned tackling and the NHL banned body checking, I began to wonder what was going on. How could so many men change at once and others just vanish?

 

As A medical doctor, I began to examine men who went through big personality changes and found that most grew center punch man buns and beards. They began to develop breasts and discussed things that were less than manly.

“My wife and I found a lovely little town in the country that is basically a strip of antique shops. We found some fabulous deals and stayed at a really charming bed and breakfast that they claimed that Ulysses Grant once stayed at during the Civil War… If you would like information on this, let me know, doctor…”

This was coming from a man who once drove a truck for a living and now works in the children’s section of the local library.  Words like “lovely”, “fabulous” and “charming”, were never part of his lexicon in the past. Every other word in the past was profanity such as, “My fucking back hurts and I’m having a really hard time taking a shit, doctor.” It was quite a change. I’m not a particularly political person but I began to bring up the president to men that I felt had lost their masculinity.

“That man is not my president. He is a horrible man and he needs to be stopped by any means necessary!”

“What about our GDP or unemployment or Wall Street going through the roof?”

“And what about those poor children ripped from their mother’s arms and sent around the country like it was Auschwitz. What about that? No human is illegal, doctor and borders are not who we are…”

“Really? Hmm… Fred… Let me ask you about playing hockey recreationally. How is that going? Are you still playing several times a week?”

“Well doctor, my wife and I take ballroom dancing and Pilates together and go for nightly walks now…”

“Interesting… Can you tell me who you believe will win the Stanley Cup this year?”

“Doctor… I really don’t have time to follow that stuff. I have a list given to me by my wife that I need to complete of things that need to be done around the house. I’m happiest when doing those things rather than sitting in front of the television all night.”

What could it be? What was going on? Why wasn’t I falling victim to this mass transformation? One day I thought I would treat myself to $5.00 latte and went into a Starbucks. The counter girl had a nose ring and a rainbow shirt with a big button that said Resist. I was taken back by her question.

“The usual, sir?”

“Usual? I haven’t been to a Starbucks for years.”

“Is that so… Well, then this one is on us, sir and we hope to see you everyday going forward.”

I drank the coffee and had an overwhelming desire to have another. For no reason I put on the View and asked my wife if she was interested in seeing a romantic comedy rather than playing softball with my team and drinking until the bar closed. All day long I sweat and fought back the desire to leave and get another latte. All night I sat on the couch rocking and thinking about having another latte. When I woke, it had passed. I felt myself again- I ate, dressed and went off to work. I began to loiter at a local Starbucks and noticed the same people coming in over and over again. Men who looked like androgynous hipsters who once looked like frumpy fat men. Weeks later I examined a man who appeared to be examining me.

He eventually couldn’t refrain from telling me what he discovered once he was sure that I wasn’t one of them.

“I’m a garbage man by trade. My job is to collect refuse and take it to a dump sight. Nothing unusual, right? Well I noticed a pig farm next to the dump and wondered what was going on at 4am. I walked through the mire to a fence where they had lights lit up enough to play baseball by. I noticed body bags on the back of trucks… Hundreds of dead bodies and a conveyor belt of old, dead white men. Their nutsacks were being cut from their bodies and dumped into buckets and then fed to pigs. The bodies then went into a crematorium. The people doing the castrating were all large women. I imagine them to be lesbian but maybe just large European types. I was amazed. I wondered where all the old white men were going. I found it, doctor. Tell me you’re not with them! Please tell me!”

I wasn’t one of them and I had to see it for myself and it was just as described. I began to notice that everyone except Eddy the garbage man had become like them and I didn’t know what could be done. I woke this morning to find a latte next to my breakfast cereal. My wife was smiling as if waiting to watch me swallow arsenic. I refused to drink the latte, grabbed my things and headed for the door.

 

“ Someday you will want it. All men want it. They need it. They live for it and when you do get it, it will come at a price, love.   You will pay for who you are.”

“What am I?”

“You know who you are, I don’t need to tell you…”

“I’m not that sharp, Susan. What am I?”

“A man who is white… And you know what that means.”

 

I ran out and began speeding towards the office. I was stopped two blocks from home by a female police officer. She approached the car and never asked me why I was going so fast. She put two hands on the door and looked at me dead in the eye and asked me if I had my latte this morning. I panicked and took off. Here I am at my office with the door locked. I can hear them through the door. Women with sweet, calm voices trying to convince me to unlock the door.

“You have to come around, doctor. All the others are changing and you will change right along with them… It’s futile to resist… Resist… Resist.”

 

I woke up sweating and looked over to find my wife sleeping. It was a dream but it was so real that I sat there for a moment wondering. Just wondering.

August 27, 2018

Make Believe

 

Kurt ran the plates of the young woman who was swerving while texting in an old Buick.  The car’s registration was expired, the driver’s license was expired and she had no insurance.  She cried as he explained to her that she would be ticketed and the car towed.

“If I had the money for insurance and to get the license tag renewed, I would have done it.  I am flat broke right now until I get my first check.  If you would find it in your heart to let me park here and take the bus home, I will get someone to take me in and register the car…”

Kurt, a police officer used to dealing with so much gang violence on Chicago’s west side, actually felt bad for the young lady.  It did not hurt that she was fit and pretty, dressed well and her car was clean and did not smell of booze or weed.

“Okay Ms. Tonisha…  I will let you get this automobile home without towing or ticketing you.  You have to get everything in order.  The next cop you come across will not be so kind…  I have a favor to ask of you and you do not have to say yes.  There is no gun to your head figuratively speaking of course…”

Now Tonisha felt that white people were the devil and those they were all of privilege, responsible for slavery and for all the misfortunes of the black community and the world.  Only thing worse than a white man was a white male cop.  She saw them as predatory profilers.  Kurt while driving his beat, thought that many blacks were animals that preyed on each other and pointed everywhere except at themselves over problems in their community.  Like most people, Kurt didn’t see himself as racist.  He has a black friend he drinks with that also is a cop and a former soldier.  Every white person has a black friend and they often begin a sentence while speaking to black people by saying- I have a black friend…  Kurt was never drawn to black women particularly but saw how beautiful Tonisha looked and thought hanging with her for the night would be fun and really amusing. The thought came to Tonisha that he was going to ask for a sexual favor.  She hit the record button on her phone.  The question was weird but there was an opportunity to make some money.

Kurt showed up at the banquet hall in a convertible Jeep in a suit, Tonisha in a tight fitting black dress, with pearls to contrast against the tight velvet dress.

“All you have to do is roll with me…  I want to have fun with this all tonight,” said Kurt.

Kurt was fit for a man of nearly 50 years of age.  Kurt had not been to his previous 10 and 20-year reunions but told some old friends that he had lost contact with that he would come. Kurt didn’t believe in Facebook or Twitter and nobody really knew much about him.  He had attended a high school in a northern suburb north of Chicago, joined the military and then became a cop.  He grew up a hockey playing Punk Rock kid with a bald head, tight jeans, Doc Martin Boots, plain shirts with suspenders and hated the world.  He hated his mom for marrying a man he hated back then and the anger of Skinhead Punk Rock, appealed to Kurt.  Thirty years later, Kurt was still playing hockey, was divorced from his wife and living away from his children in another state.  Kurt had a great disdain for the people he went to high school with.  They made fun of the culture he had adopted and didn’t accept him in their circles of friends.  Even the guys on the hockey team felt he was a weirdo albeit a good player.  Kurt put his nametag on and one for Tonisha.  Kurt gave Tonisha his last name on the tag.

“Do you like Champagne?”

“Um…  Hell yes.”

A group of men who used to be on the hockey team were sitting at a table together with their wives.  Kurt walked up and pulled the chair out for Tonisha and then pushed the chair in.

“Wow…  Thirty years…  My god, where has the time gone?  Toni…  These are all guys I told you about that I played high school hockey with…  Lester, Tom, Jim, Horse…  You don’t wanna know why we called him horse…  Bill the goalie.”

Tonisha could feel all the eyes of people old enough to be her parents, burning into her.  The men were thinking that he had managed to land a very pretty, young, black woman… Black woman.  They knew that Kurt was one of those bald kids who hated everything and everyone back in the day.  The Skinheads hated everyone who was not like them and thirty years later, their star defenseman married a black woman?  No way.  After drinks and more drinks, some dancing and then dinner, the questions started coming.

“Toni was driving fast…  I mean really fast.  Texting, swerving, changing lanes without signals, blowing red lights just to get away from me…  Because I’m a police officer, not just some crazed white dude after a pretty African-American princess…  Naw…  I’m just kidding.  She has a thing for ice hockey players and white dudes in general and she happened to be at the rink watching another white dude that she broke up with to be with me.  After a few years, we married and have… two girls…  Twins.”

The women looked at the young woman with a waist the size of a neck and wondered how she got that figure back.  The women there were older, lumpier, wrinkled and Kurt looked like the fountain of youth with a shapely and pretty young thing that would jump-start any man’s libido.  When the night was over, Kurt stopped at a pizza place that never closes in Berwyn and in fancy clothes; they stopped to have a slice of pizza each.  After hours of dancing and drinking, they had worked up an appetite.  Tonisha talked about mundane things with Kurt as they laughed and ate but she had to know why Kurt went through such an elaborate lie with people he used to know.  Tonisha stood to earn $100.00 and keep the clothes he purchased for her and yet she had to know his reasoning for such a bizarre night.

“Those people all live in a Facebook world.  They might take forty pictures of their annoyed wife and kids but they post that one where everyone smiles and looks happy to be together on vacation somewhere.  I’m so happy for you that your kid got a trophy or that you’re at the Grand Canyon…  That’s fantastic…  Why should I give a good goddamn?  It’s not real.  You never hear that their lives are fucked up and that they are stressed out, maxed out on credit cards and suicidal.  They want each other to think everything is fabulous.  I was interested to see if I look as bad, better or the same as those fucks.  I’m trying really hard to fight the effects of aging.  It was purely scientific.  I appreciate your help with this whole make believe night.  I know it’s silly but I really wanted to put on a show for these people tonight.  What are they saying to on another on the way home?  Wow, she is so young, so beautiful and so… Not white.  I may never see them again in my life but I left them wondering…  Come on, I’ll take you home.  Your mom is probably waiting at the window to make sure the cop didn’t kill you…”

Kurt flipped channels as he pet his dog that was sleeping on the couch beside him.  Baseball highlights, hurricane footage from Hawaii.  Kurt was drifting off to sleep when his cell phone buzzed.

I HAD A GREAT TIME TONIGHT.  MAYBE WE ARE FROM DIFFERENT WORLDS AND MAYBE THAT’S NOT BAD.

 

YER WELCOME.  YES.  DIFFER WORLD NOT A BAD THING

 

After close to a half hour a response from Tonisha came in.

I WOULD NOT MIND GOING OUT AGAIN IF YOU WOULD WANT.  I CAN GET BABYSITTING FOR THE TWINS ANYTIME ; )

 

Kurt responded immediately.

 

I WOULD REALLY LIKE THAT.  REALLY I WOULD : )

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August 17, 2018

Let Them Eat Beets

Wonder drugs are really wonderful except when those darn side affects take affect. You know- hives, bleeding gums, swollen pancreas and feet, insomnia, sensitivity to light, night sweats, day sweats, heart palpitations, loss of libido, a hard on that never subsides that could service a harem… You get the idea.

 

The Millers were some large white people. The father, wheezed when he breathed. His neck was hidden between a half dozen chins. He would roll into the local 7-11 to buy those nasty tacos and wings under the heat lamp, a bag of chips, a double big gulp and that candy bar. I’m sorry, two candy bars.

“Vun for 69 cents, two for a dollar,” the Indian proprietor who announces as Bill the patriarch would get ready to slip his card into the reader.

The children were the American version of Hansel and Gretel. Middle school age cherubs that wore adult clothing. They sweat in cool weather and their eyes disappeared whenever they smiled. Hamburgers, frozen pizzas and ice creams were their staples. Their parents would cruise the aisles of the local grocery store in motorized scooters while their children waddled behind them begging for extra snacks. Very little fruit, very little vegetables and a plethora of artery clogging garbage to stuff their faces in front of their phones and the television. Bill outweighed his wife by fifty pounds and both of them were over 300lbs. When the four of them would get in the elevator on the way to the doctor’s, they would quietly do the math in their heads. The four of them were dangerously close to the maximum weight allowed by the fire marshall. Bill had a terroristic beard with a man bun that went up into a cute fountain like a center punch in the middle of his head. They would pull up at the local buffet on Mondays and smile at the register girl and Bill would always say, “You’re about to lose on this deal.” You get the idea. They were the archetypical fat Americans. They were sloppy, slovenly, sloths completely content with obesity until Bill happened to be reading about a man who looked like him and lost 250 lbs. He thought that he might just be a handsome devil under all that fat. The thought of working out hours a day and yanking fat and sugar from his diet seemed a life not worth living. Bill needed artificial will power or something to overpower his laziness.

 

Bill knew of a woman at work who lost an amazing amount of weight but appeared to have developed Tourette’s. The woman looked amazing but she had no filter. To prevent herself from saying too much, she would cover her own mouth and mumble through her fingers. Bill approached the woman in the parking lot and offered her a large sum of money if she would hook him up with the non-FDA approved drug from Mexico. The colleague agreed to the deal. At first, Bill felt nothing and after about a week he noticed that things began to change. Bill had a taste for salads with lemon instead of dressing, No burgers or pizza. He wanted to walk and lift weights instead of sit in the lazy boy and read his phone. After a month, Bill was running and doing a stationary bike, rowing machine and elliptical at the gym for hours at a time. No junk food at all and he walked around shaking a plastic container filled with a protein shake. It was an amazing transformation. Before long, Bill’s wife and kids were all taking the same drug. They became fitness machines and testimonies to clean living and exercise. Everything was great, right? Oh, yes… The side affects. The family did not lie down at the end of the night and sleep a solid eight hours. They did not sleep even half of that. They would periodically collapse and take a twenty to thirty minute nap here or there. Some times it would hit them at work like narcolepsy and they would involuntarily fall deeply asleep for fifteen minutes and feel refreshed and ready to take on any task at 110% effort or more. None of them realized that their resting heart rate was over 100 and that they were shortening their lives by racing their hearts at all times. The other side affect was brutal honesty and an inability to lie.

Bill weighed in at 185 lbs. at about six feet in height and about 6% body fat. He walked around wide-eyed with tense jaws and said the wildest things out loud. At home, it was astounding the things the family would say to each other. It didn’t matter much until they got together for dinner with their good friends, The Quentin’s. The Quentin’s were nice people. All of them had red hair to the point of orange. The kids had whitest of white skin and freckles on top of freckles. The Quentin’s had a rainbow flag in front of the house with a lawn sign that said, “Black Lives Matter” and “Hate has No Home Here” and “No Human is Illegal”. The Millers kept quiet that they voted for Trump and liked Trump and were really happy about their tax cut, their improving 401K and that Bill’s company kicked back $1,000.00 to him recently. They knew the Quentin’s were really liberal and were frantic about the changes that they could not control. They would always make off the cuff comments about Trump and Trump lovers such as ignorant, backward, fascist, Nazi, xenophobic, homophobic and so on. The Miller’s would politely listen and then try to change the subject to vacations or sports the kids were playing. The Quentin’s made ribs with a bean dip and potato chips, coleslaw and then cookies and chocolate cake. Bill and Tammy showed up with a beet salad and some sort of bland tofu. The Millers ate it like it was the greatest thing and the Quentin’s sort of snarled at it. Julie Quentin jokingly made a comment, which opened the door to brutal honesty.

“That looks like punishment, not a meal.”

Bill wiped beet juice from his chin, smiled and spoke first.

“You’re gonna eat all the calories you need for a week in one sitting? Your temple is a bank and I can tell you that you are putting way too much in the bank if you know what I mean. You have to be fatter than the last time we got together. If you’re not fatter, you certainly look fatter”

“What the hell, Bill!”

“I mean that all that shit you’re eating makes you feel like shit inside and then you think shitty things about the government and the whole world and then you go back and have a piece of cake and think, gee… I wanna kill the president…”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Bill?”

Tammy jumped in to continue where Bill started.

“Julie, Julie… Listen… You’re unhappy because you’re fat and fat because you’re unhappy. It stems from your inability to accept reality. Your resist sticker on the back of your car tells it all. You are resisting reality; you’re resisting happiness and a better life. You think getting a “No Hate” tattoo in Arabic makes you not hate? No, you hate great and I know you hate hearing the truth. We sit here and listen to you both go on and on about everything you hate and you assume we are with you and we’re not.”

Julie stood up and placed her palms on the table and began to yell in the face of her good friend Tammy or former good friend.

“What kind of mind controlling Nazi shit has happened to you? You lose the equivalent of a whole human being and now you get preachy with us? How dare you!”

Julie’s husband took a drink of his beer and said nothing. Bill winked at him and took a sip of his lemon water. The women went back and forth, yelling and pointing until the Miller boy looked up from his phone where he was watching a steroidal man discussing how to make muscle fast. The lean 13-year-old boy, made a statement.

“Adults are always talking about hoping and praying for things… You know what I hope for? Aliens… Not the illegal ones…   I pray they come down and put you all in zoos. Aliens can watch you do all the crazy, sick shit you do sexually on the Internet and maybe they’ll throw a steak in your cage… If not a steak, maybe a beet salad.”

The fighting ended really quickly after that.

March 25, 2018

Coexist…

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.

January 17, 2018

Looking For Love

Filed under: america,humor,humour,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:12 am
Tags: , , , , , ,

Male late 30’s seeks compatible female under 30 for a relationship and
possibly more   Somebody that is hot but no so hot that I can’t deal
with you.  If you’re not into sex for whatever hang up or reason,
you’re not for me.  If you have to have Indian food, please do not do
it too often cause the smell of curry makes me ill.  You have to have
been born a woman and always considered yourself female.  I don’t want
anyone who was once a dude… Sorry, guys. No bi or tri, group sexers,
swappers or twisted types that want to put shit up my ass.  Please no
stupid tattoos or weirdo piercings.  I do have video game night with
my buds on Tuesdays, I like country music and do occasionally watch
wrestiling. I like long walks on the beach but I hope you don’t mind
if my dogs come with.  I don’t mind chick flicks if you’ll
occasionally see a good war movie with me.  I have a thing about going
down on a woman unless she is completely shaved and pristine.  If you
are- I’m amazing.  A true vagitarian ☺. Please don’t respond if you’re
taking medication for anxiety or depression. I don’t do crazy. I can
live with the basic monthly mood swings. If you have kids or are
“kinda” in a relationship, you can skip me.  I don’t want militant,
overly political or someone who lives their life on social media.  You
put down your phone to talk to me and I promise to look right into
your eyes ☺.

So let me tell you about me. I’m fit, good looking, intelligent, have
a good job, two good cars, a nice home and a timeshare in Mexico.  I
work out daily and never have less than 25,000 steps on my Fit Bit and
under 10% body fat.   I like to eat out.  If you’re caught up on
vegetarian, vegan or are a gluten Nazi,  I’m probably not your guy.
If you saw me out, you would look at me twice. I’m not religious but
consider myself Christian.  I love football- college, pro and
lingerie. I love craft beer and margaritas, the color red and know how
to swing dance if you’re into that.  I can play the guitar a little
and have 1970 Dodge Charger with a Hemi engine in cherry condition. I
know there’s a lot here but I don’t want to waste your time and please
don’t waste mine.  I think I offer something special to the right
person of interest.  Okay? Cool.

December 29, 2017

A little Different Than Detroit

Bill was a bad ass.  He was one of those sixty-year-old men that could
still kick your ass or make love all night without the aid of pills.
He could lift heavy weights and run many miles.  After receiving a
severance package and retiring early from General Motors in suburban
Detroit, Bill decided to take up his daughter Lulu’s invitation to
visit her in Seattle.
Bill liked Seattle but found it a whole other world different than
Detroit.  Bill liked Detroit and when he inherited his parent’s home
east of Telegraph at about 5 Mile, he stayed living in the city.  Bill
had his bar that he would frequent to watch Tiger’s games in the
summer and Red Wing games in the winter.  He had his ten-dollar a
month gym that played ghetto Rap on the Musak and Bill was fine.  In
Seattle, everyone was fit and trim but a little too waif like in that
they all were Vegan, had odd piercings and were militantly opposed to
the president.  Bill voted for Trump and was proud of it.  Bill
surmised early on that there probably was not one person within the
city limits of Seattle that voted for Trump and so he stayed in the
closet about his admiration for his president.
Christmas came and Bill gave Lulu cash and some gift cards to
Starbucks.  Lulu bought her dad a raincoat and told him he could ditch
the umbrella and then she handed him a certificate.  Bill looked at it
and thanked Lulu.  Lulu explained what it was.
“Daddy…  I have a really good friend who is a life coach and I think
the things he helps people with could really help you when you go back
to Detroit.  Try to keep an open mind to this.  It is for sure
something new for you and at your age, new things help you to keep
your mind fresh.  Your body is in great shape but I wonder if your
routine leaves your mind without a challenge sometimes.  Tomorrow my
friend Rolf will be here to begin to work with you.”
Bill was intrigued and so he graciously thanked his daughter and
awaited what was in store for him.  It came at 7 am the following day.
Standing at the door was a wide-eyed gay man with two dimples.  The
expression on his face made the person looking at him open their eyes
wide also.  Bill tried not to be wide eyed too but he couldn’t keep it
up.
“William…  Mondays for the next month, we will not be carnivores.  We
will eat things like lentils and tofu…  Have you had an exam
recently?”
“It’s been a few years…”
“Exactly what I mean.  You probably are eating steak for breakfast in
Detroit… Okay so no meat today.  Tomorrow and the rest of the week,
you will have a choice between rainbow trout, salmon and maybe tuna.
Lu has given me carte blanche to take over the kitchen and create what
you will need…  We will be having green tea with our steamed veggies,
soup and lentil pasta…  Okay next…  We will not be drinking our water
out of plastic bottles.  We do not do that here in Seattle.  The
amount of oil and water needed to make a disposable water bottle is
ridiculous.  Lu already has a purifier and we will be using glass
bottles and being really careful with them…  Okay next …  you probably
are used to eating chips and the like back home for snacks.  I will
provide you with the proper snacks.  I make great Kale chips that we
can have with nut butter and fruit…  All that I provide for you will
be come from fair trade farmers.  We do not need pesticides or to help
anyone looking to kill forests and little creatures that live in
forests just to farm.  We will be visiting the market together and I
am giving you this really awesome reusable sack with containers that
you can clean and reuse at the salad bar…  Okay…  So…  Any organic
waste, we can put in these bags and I have my own compost heap going
where I live in Redmond… And now for the exercising regiment…  Lu
tells me you’re relatively fit for an old timer.”
Bill followed all the things Rolf threw at him regarding saving the
planet and good nutrition.  When it came to exercise, Bill turned the
tables.  Bill could not be tired out by the things Rolf gave him to
do.  Rolf was a bit stymied by Bill.  Usually older men complained and
huffed and puffed.  Bill was barely winded.  Finally after a few
weeks, Bill proposed a change for Rolf.  Bill asked if Rolf would be
game to let Bill run a day from beginning to end.  Rolf smirked and
went along with it.
Bill picked up Rolf in Lulu’s yellow Smart car.  They stopped at a
Starbucks and had lattes with pastries and then drove to the gym.
Bill and Rolf ran two miles at an 8% grade, bench pressed 245 lbs, did
five sets of pull-ups, leg lifts with a 15 lbs. dumbbell and then swam
two miles.  They then drove to a Mexican restaurant outside of town.
Instead of listening to the weird space music with the sound of the
ocean waves crashing in the background, Bill had on the Rush Limbaugh
radio show.  Rush was talking about Trumps achievements and the
collusion between Mueller, Comey, and the former president Obama,
Hillary and a slew of others.  Rolf looked at Bill horrified and
demanded that Bill change the channel.  When Bill wouldn’t do it, Rolf
reached to do it.  Bill grabbed his hand before he changed the
channel.
“If you believe we still live in a democracy, there should always be
the things out there that you don’t agree with that must be accepted
regardless if you agree with the point of view or not.  For a month, I
listened to what you wanted, I ate what you made me eat, I drank what
you made me drink and I kept an open mind to it all.  Now today, it’s
your turn…  You don’t have to agree but you should permit it if you
truly believe in a free society…  Now with that said…  I found a
restaurant way out east with the NHL channel that will have the Red
Wing’s game on and has strippers.  We will be eating Mexican food,
drinking a pitcher of Margaritas and watching ice hockey and some big
tits…  Are we understanding each other?”
Rolf sat with his arms folded on the way to the restaurant.  Once
there, Bill ordered a steak with beans and rice and Rolf had vegetable
fajitas.  Rolf watched his first hockey game on television and
actually liked it as he got liquored up on tequila and watched women
spinning around poles attached to the ceiling.  Bill dropped Rolf off
at his home east of the city.  In the front yard was Rolf’s wife
gardening.  Rolf’s wife was a smallish man who was trying to keep the
bark inside the liner that went around a tree.  He stood to kiss Rolf
and could smell booze and cigar on his glassy eyed husband and
demanded to know what happened.
“Well darling…  I made a deal with a client from out east that I
would put aside the training for a day and live life the way he does.
It consisted of steak, Rush Limbaugh, breasts, ice hockey, tequila and
cigars after lifting weights, running and swimming with a right winged
geriatric hetero…”
“And I’m supposed to be cool with it all?’
Rolf giggled and kissed his wife on the neck, breathing nasty cigar
breath on him as he lead him inside their home.
“Lovely…  I learned today that we don’t need to agree but we should
tolerate…  Or something like that.  So you don’t have to agree with my
day but it would be really awesome if you just took it for what it is,
shut the fuck up and get into that bedroom because for one day only…
There’s a little bit of Detroit going on in daddy.”

December 15, 2017

The Bully Problem…

Filed under: america,bullying,humor,humour,Ice hockey,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:32 am
Tags: , , , ,

Dedicated to my Nephew Brendan…

Otto played pick-up, drop-in, shinny hockey every afternoon with a group of guys that were third shifters, unemployed, underemployed or lucky enough to have a woman who didn’t care if they worked.  Otto kept looking at the clock on the wall during his 15-minute marathon shift and decided that unless he wanted to smell like ass, he needed to get off the ice and shower before retrieving his children from school.  Otto pulled up and his two children were about the only two students left.  All others had been picked up.  Otto’s cute little first grade daughter raced to the minivan first and whispered a breathy secret to her dad.

            “A big boy in the eighth grade knocked Clint down and shoved his face in the snow…  He was crying really bad.  If you had come on time, you would have saw him.”

            “Okay…  Don’t repeat that to your mom about me being a few minutes late.”

            Otto knew that if his wife got wind of the fact that the kids were waiting in front of the school and everyone was already gone, she would be really pissed that ice hockey, pick-up ice hockey was the reason for tardiness.  Otto’s little daughter Adelaide was as cute as a button but a horrible ratfink.  All Otto could do was hope that Adelaide would forget.  Sometimes little kids forget things.  Otto looked at his fourth grade son who did not like fighting and wondered if next year when body checking begins, if his son Clint would quit the sport.  The thought scared Otto.  What would he do come September?  Take his son to-everyone-gets-a-trophy-soccer-and-we-don’t-keep-score out in a field?  Maybe basketball or football both of which he knew nothing about.  Otto decided it was time to step up and prevent his son from becoming a pussy.  If something happens on the ice and a referee fails to catch it, a fight occurs.  It is the unwritten law of ice hockey and this offense was the unwritten law of life.  Otto drove up and down the streets until little Adelaide yelled into Otto’s ear from the back seat and pointed… “That’s the boy there!”

            Otto exited the minivan with gritted teeth.  The eighth grader was Otto’s height but as formidable as Bambi.  Otto got close enough for the thirteen year old boy to taste his breath.  Spittle hit the boy’s face as Otto yelled at him like a drill sergeant.

            “Did you fucking push my kid face down in the snow?”

            “Yes…”

            “I’m gonna tell you what…  You better fucking stand there and not move…  Like a fucking statue.  If you do move, I will beat your ass…  Do you understand me?”

            The boy nodded.  Otto yelled for Clint to exit the minivan, make a tight ice ball and smash it in the face of the aggressor.  Clint got a running start and jumped a bit to ensure he reached the 8th graders face.  With ice dripping down the boys face, Otto gave his parting warning.

            “If you ever touch my kid again, I will come over to your house and beat the shit out of you and then beat the shit out of your pussy dad and you, you little pussy…  Do you fucking get me?  Don’t fucking forget because I won’t.”

            Later that evening, Otto met his wife with the children for dinner.  Remarkably his blabbermouth daughter only spoke about her day at school.  There was no mention of Otto being late to pick them up, an eighth grade boy pushing Clint face down in the snow or the sentence imposed by Otto.  As they entered the house after dinner, the game plan was to get the kids to bed early, pour the wine, start the music and be ready for love.  Otto put away some groceries his wife had purchased after work and had not noticed the flashing button on their antiquated answering machine that was connected to the landline that nobody used except to order pizza.

“MESSAGE ONE  TUESDAY 4:14 PM…  Mrs. Calhoun…  This is principal Smith from Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering…  I need to talk to you about an incident between your husband and an eighth grade boy at the school.  It is a serious matter and I ask that your husband not be anywhere near the school property until we’ve had a chance to speak with you and the family of the boy.  Please call me at your convenience.”

            Mary looked at her husband who put away peanut butter and bread and did almost anything not to turn around and look at his wife.  She asked what happened and little Adelaide gave her account of the whole event.

            “Okay…  So after school, this big boy knocked down Clint and rubbed his face in the snow until Clint cried and then the boy left…  And then all the people left and we were the last to be picked up.  Cars drove by slow but we didn’t talk to any strangers or get in their cars.  Like a half hour later or maybe just ten minutes, daddy came and then we went looking for the boy and then we found him and then daddy told Clint to push snow in his face and then daddy told the boy that he would beat his ass and his dad’s ass and called him a pussy for beating up a little boy…  And that’s what happened…  Daddy?  What’s a pussy?”

            Mary pushed her young daughter towards the bathroom to start her bath and responded to the question in a way that she couldn’t understand but that her husband could hear.

            “A pussy is something your dad will not be able to have tonight because he was a naughty boy and naughty boys do not get treats.”

            “Will daddy have to go to his room and go to bed?”

            “No…  Mommy will be doing that instead.  Make sure you wash everything well.”

            And eventually, they lived happily as a family could live given these angry times… The end.

November 26, 2017

Breaking the Man Code

Jake loves hockey as much as a person could love something that does
not breathe and live.  Jake sold hockey equipment by day and broke
away from his sales job to play hockey and then at night he played
league hockey and coached youth hockey.  When he wasn’t doing all of
that, he was watching NHL hockey on television.  He also loves his
pit-bull named Daisy and to play acoustic guitar and sing in Brazilian
Portuguese even though he could only speak English.  Jake learned at a
young age that Portuguese and guitar gets women in the mood fast.

Jake loved meeting new girls.  The thrill of hello, how do you do?
What do you like to do?  Where have you gone? Would you like to come
home with me?  The life span of a female in Jake’s life was about 6o
days.  The end was near whenever he began to hear, “where do I fit
into your plans?”

One day Jake walked from the parking lot of the ice rink towards the
front entrance; standing in front of the doors was Jan’s mom.  She was
a tall Polish woman who wore skin tight Yoga pants and had a beautiful
face.  Beata smiled at Jake and asked if she could talk to him a
moment.  First thing Jake thought was that she was going to ask if Jan
could play defense.  The defensive position was the prize for Jake.
The best, fastest, most capable players went to defense.  Jan was slow
and had stone hands.  Jake wondered what the pretty woman was going to
ask.
“I wanted to know if maybe you might want to go out for a drink some time.”
In Jake’s head he heard, “I wanted to know if you might want to go
out for a drink some time and then fuck the shit out of me…”
Of course Jake said yes.  They went to a Polynesian bar where eastern
European women dressed in Hawaiian skirts.  Jake and Beata had a
Zombie and then Scorpions and then a mai tai each before returning to
Beata’s apartment.   Jan was spending the weekend with his father.
Things followed the course that they were following and before long,
Jake was spending many nights with Beata and Jan.  People on the team
began to notice that the coach was bringing Jan to games and practices
when Beata was busy.  They began to notice that Jan was on the power
play and the penalty kill and centering between two really good wings.
Parents smelled something not right in the woodpile.

Jake is a good coach.  He fundamentally teaches the kids to play well
together.  Jake also had the good fortune of having several really
good players that played well together.  How well?  Undefeated with
only a few goals against them.  Their goalie had to stay focused by
watching the game in between making snow castles with his goalie
stick.  Oh sure the goalie would raise his arms every now and then for
an icing but their zone was a lonely place.  Rather than make the kids
work harder when it came to off ice training, Jake introduced a game
to them that they had never heard of before called Cricket.  Unless
you’re from a country with the Queen on the money, drive on the left
with the wheel on the right and stop for afternoon tea, you’re not
familiar with the sport.  It is a lot like baseball but then again it
is not.  Right outside the ice rink was a large field with artificial
turf.  Jake had learned to play the game with Jamaicans and
Indian/Pakistanis and so the kids played for 3o minutes after they’re
on ice practices.  All the players took it for what it was except Jan.
On the first bowl or pitch as they say in baseball, the large center
creamed a boundary or a home run and got six runs!  Think of a home
run with the same amount of points as a touch down.  Jake was the
official bowler for both sides.
“This game blows and the sides totally suck.  Jack promised money to
his brother to pick all the worst players on our side.  We’re gonna
get creamed,” whined Jan to Jake.
Jake looked at Jan and wondered if he was for real.  Baseball and
football was too competitive among the players so Jake chose Cricket.
Who could get mad about Cricket?  Jan did.  The score was 42-0 since
the side in the field had not come to bat yet.  They would bat after
next practice.  In the car ride home, Jan critiqued the hockey players
Cricket skills.
“Scott is afraid to catch the ball with his hands for sure…  We all
kind of are.  Why don’t we use mitts?  Its cold out and that ball
hurts to catch.”
“Cricket isn’t played with a mitt.”
“It’s a dumb game and nobody likes it or plays it.  I think you just
made the whole thing up”
“Really?  They were all fighting over who bats first.  Tell you what…
I will let you be one of the captains next time and you can pick who
you want and there should be no problems…  How does that sound?”
“Fine…”
Jake put his gear and Jan’s around the radiator in the room that
nobody uses and closed the door.  In one hour everything would be dry.
Jake ate dinner with Jan and Beata.  Beata said nothing and Jake was
watching the Montreal Canadians playing the Boston Bruins without
blinking while stuffing pasta and chicken into his mouth.  Beata asked
Jan about homework and told him to take a shower and go to bed.  Later
that night, Jake was horny.  Jake was often horny and since Jan was in
bed and it was not too late and it looked like there was no rain outs
due to menstruation or headaches, Jake took a good shower and slipped
into bed next to Beata.  Her shirt barely covered her ass and her
tight under pants made Jake’s John Thomas stand erect and at attention
without even so much as a kiss.  Jake brushed his stiffness against
Beata as she read something on her tablet while lying on her side,
faced away from Jake.  Jake pressed himself against Beata and kissed
her neck.  She turned around and straight armed Jake, looked into his
eyes and said the words no man wishes to hear before attempting to
throw himself into the throes of passion.
“We need to talk…”
The talk left Beata with a cold shoulder and Jake with blue balls.
The next afternoon, it was Jake’s job to pick up Jan from school, get
him a snack and take him to hockey.  Jan walked towards the car glued
to a little electronic tablet.  He threw his pack back in the back
seat, got in the front without ever taking his eyes from the screen.
Jan said nothing to Jake and Jake said nothing to Jan.  At a red
light, Jan asked Jake what they were going to do at hockey practice.
“I have new things I want to work on…”
Later that night at the ice rink, Jake quietly but sternly spoke to
all the boys getting ready in the locker room.  They stopped talking
to listen to him.
“How many of you have seen a naked woman on the internet?”
A few raised their hands and looked at one another and laughed.
“I bet most all of you have Googled some strong shit…  Am I right?
I’m sure you all have seen things I’ve never done.  I would be willing
to bet my whole kingdom on that and I’ll bet that if you haven’t been
caught whacking off to the stuff by your mom who innocently entered
your room to collect your dirty clothes… Unless you’ve been caught,
your mom would have no idea.  At the end of the night, I don’t see any
of you telling your mom that you had a great day, learned a lot of
shit at school and just happened to find a website featuring goats and
blonde chicks.  I’m sure that doesn’t come up…  Am I right?  With that
in mind, there is a man code.  Things that happen in this locker room
are not discussed with momma at the end of the night.  I should never
hear things that I am saying being repeated back to me.  There should
be no complaints about Cricket teams or who is on the power play or on
what line or at what position or anything.  If I cared what your
parents thought, I would ask them.  I don’t ask them because if I do,
I elevate them up to my level…  in their minds… And…  I really don’t
give a fuck what they think.  I don’t ever tell them how to work at
their jobs and they should not feel free to tell me how to coach… So I
can’t say who it is but one of you is a leaker.  A tattletale.  A
fink.  A stool pigeon.  A blabbermouth… We will for go the usual
practice and exercise out of you like a poltergeist, the desire to
discuss private things with your parents.  After today, I don’t think
we will have this problem any longer…  I dunno… We’ll see”
Jake set up a trashcan in the middle of the ice as all the skaters
stood on the goal line.
“If you feel the need to vomit, you are free to use this garbage can
here.  If you hurl chunks of oatmeal on the ice, you will be cleaning
that up and then going back to skating…  Do we understand each other?”
The boys skated until their faces were red and they looked as if they
might collapse or vomit.  A few fought back tears.  A couple grabbed
their asthma inhalers but none of them complained or got off the ice
early.  When ice was finished, they all did sprints, push-ups and
sit-ups rather than the jolly old game of Cricket.
Upon returning home, Beata put Jan to bed after dinner and came down
stairs with a glass of wine for her and Jake.  Beata turned off the
Vancouver/Los Angeles game with two minutes to go in the second
period.  Beata wore a skimpy outfit, lit some candles, put on  Bossa
Nova Music, put the dog in the other room and right there on the
imitation bear rug, Jake and Beata made love, if you believe in love.
If you don’t, they fucked and then lay against one another on the
couch.  After leaning against one another for a few minutes, Beata
turned the television back on.  The third period was about to begin
(talk about rhythm method).  Beata nuzzled Jake’s neck as he watched
the game.  Beata asked if she could tell him something.  Jake said
yes.
“I really appreciate you coaching Jan.  It really is a special thing
that you share with him.  He loves hockey as much as you and that’s so
cool…”
“Hmm…  Well thanks for that…”
“I don’t know what happened at practice today but he told me that it
was probably the best practice he ever had and that it was so much
fun.  He specifically asked me to tell you…  Is that cute that he
wanted me to tell you or what?”
Jake smiled, took a sip of his wine, kissed Beata on the forehead and
agreed that it was very cute.  Jake kept smiling and agreed with
himself that devising a plan for the power play at home and scoring is
a really good thing too.  Like a Gordie Howe hat trick- a goal, an
assist and a fight.

November 2, 2017

The New Halloween

Terry and Terry met in college.  Terry was from suburban Milwaukee and
Terry was from suburban Chicago.  One was male and the other female.
When they became a couple, everyone thought it was so cute.  The
Terry’s were cheerleaders at Marquette University.  The female Terry
became a dietician and the male Terry became a dentist.

The couple moved to an insulated burg north of Chicago where the
Republican Party is strong despite being mired in a county dominated
by crooked machine politics.  Where as many areas of Chicago and the
suburbs struggled with obesity, cookie cutter strip malls filled with
mattress shops and fast food, the small town they lived in had very
little of that.  Families had large Land Rovers or Suburbans with
magnets or stickers of the hockey, soccer, Lacrosse and baseball teams
that their children belonged to.  Nobody had fewer than three children
and everyone appeared to attend the Episcopal Church in town.  Mothers
were fit and trim and had personal trainers and au pairs that usually
spoke Spanish but occasionally Polish and they drank protein smoothies
out of paper straws at the local café/wine bar and life was very nice.
This kids all looked nice and very fit and the dads looked very Ivy
League like they might be posing for an LL Bean catalog.  You get the
idea.

Now Terry and Terry felt that processed anything was bad for them and
their children, ten-year-old twins- the boy Nixon and the daughter
Reagan.  At Halloween, they would panic about the twins awakening to
sugar.  They had an awakening at the age of nine.  They learned about
sex and that there was no Santa Claus all at the same time.  While
wrapping presents on Christmas Eve, Terry had a tongue in Terry’s ass
while the other continued to wrap presents.  Both had their pants
around their ankles while listening to a Bing Crosby CD.  Imagine how
the children felt to learn that there was no Santa and that
occasionally even Republicans will lick each other’s ass.  Horrid.
Ever year they took their twins to pick apples or do a hayride and
finish by eating kale chips and free range chicken at a very healthy
local restaurant near home.

The twins came to their parents and demanded that they be allowed to
go around the neighborhood with their friends.  The Terry’s tried to
talk the neighborhood into having a block party with a bonfire and
only bring out healthy snacks but the interest was not there.  The
parents nixed the idea of the twins roaming the neighborhood without
explanation and sent their children off to their private school where
candy was not exchanged for fear of allergies.  The Polish au pair
named Agnieska or Agnes as the kids called her could not find the
children after school.  Agnieska didn’t panic at first.  She went to
the school office to see if possibly they were bobbing for organic
apples in a vat of La Croix or something similar but the school was
empty.  At about 4pm, Agnieska had to make the call she hoped she
would never have to make.
“Meesees Terry…  I am having some bad news.  Thee tweens deed not
come out of the school like usuable.  I am not knowing where they are
being right now.”
Within an hour, Terry left his dental office in high pursuit in his
four-door family Porsche and Terry left her Pilates class in her GMC
Suburban and with Agnieska in the minivan. The three of them went up
and down the streets.  They searched until dark and began to truly
worry.  They took their Nextel walkie-talkies out of mothballs during
the hunt.
“Terr?  Do you read me?”
“Yes Terr…  I read you…  What’s your 20?”
“I am at Eisenhower Park right around the corner from Goldwater
School…  What did they dress as today?”
There they were, Nixon dressed as Bernie Sanders and Reagan dressed
as Hilary Clinton.  They sat under a light in the park drinking a cola
each, throwing back Pop rocks and miniature Heath bars.  This was
something they had never tasted before.  It was so good to them that
they could not stop to talk to one another.  They tried something new
and then quietly shared with the other.  Terry and Terry ran across
the ball field and found their twins surrounded by wrappers to candy.
They gasped at what they saw.  Terry began crying and saying over and
over again- why?  Terry rubbed his wife’s shoulders and sternly
demanded that the twins get into their car.  Nixon stood to confront
his father.
“Dad…  I hear you talk about fake news all the time.  How could you
lie to us and tell us that this stuff would kill us.  We have been
eating candy for an hour and we’re still alive…  Is it possible that
you were giving us fake news dad?  Just like Christmas time… Huh?”
Terry grabbed his twins and began leading them back towards the car.
He was very agitated by the events of the day and the prospect that
their bodies would eventually reject the sugar overdose in ways that
they could not imagine.
“Wait to see what happens to you next…  You have no idea what is
coming.  Vomit, diarrhea, stomachaches…  You’ll both regret this
soon.”
Reagan stopped walking and looked at her parents and her brother and
boldly stated something most children would echo.
“There’s a really good chance that maybe I won’t regret this and then
what will you do?”
Good question.

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