Archive for the ‘Chicago’ Category

Happy Birthday to the White Earth

May 9, 2017

Percy sat in the room with a smile, looking unlike all the others in the room.
Eloise didn’t want her father, who was an assistant to the assistant
to the director of the EPA to discuss the fact that he had voted for
Trump and in a sense, was working for Trump.  She wanted no political
topics, discussions or debates to take place during the party for
their child who was turning one year old.  Little Sarah Mordecai
Terreblanche-Arnofsky.  The name Arnofsky, Jewish and Russian in
origin was the last name of the father, but not the husband of little
Sarah Mordecai’s mother.  Terreblanche, a French name, came from
France, then in the Acadia region of Canada then all the way down to
Louisiana where Eloise was born and raised along with her parents and
their parent’s parents before them.  And the name in English
translates to “White Earth”.  Oh and Mordecai?  Eloise and her husband
did not want to steer their biologically female daughter towards
acceptance of female identity.   They both feel that one day, Sarah
Mordecai should choose what gender she wants to be.  The gifts were
all neutral, most homemade gluten-free and vegan sweets.  The cake was
not really a cake but a bowl of honey mixed with picked fruit and
granola.  One of the Moroccans in attendance brought the recipe over
from North Africa.  In fact three men were playing dissonant sounding
Arabic music in a room with a hookah.
Percy poured himself a glass of wine, went out to the balcony and
looked over towards San Francisco from the condo he paid for in
Oakland.  Percy walked into the living room where all the young people
with their toddlers were sitting on the floor with their children.  A
young couple with ratty, matted dreadlocked hair wore shirts that read
“Resist!” in large letters, their small child also had on an onesie
with the same word on it.   Rainbows, Black lives Matter, Oakland is a
sanctuary shirts.  The guests ate vegan pizza, smelled of some sort of
oil and body odor.  Music indigenous to the middle east played.
Everyone was young and very militant.
Percy went to Oakland Coliseum to watch the A’s play a baseball game
earlier that weekend.  He wore a green and yellow shirt with a green
A’s hat.  The television in the living room had no volume on a
baseball game was on.  Percy ate carrot sticks and watched the game.
A young man in a beard, who shook his head a lot up and down, pulled
down at his beard and decided to engage Percy in conversation.
“I’m guessing this whole things ain’t your scene, man…  Everyone was
on edge wondering who the square was.  Maybe ICE.  Maybe FBI”
“Oh, I don’t know, young man… Square things can be a little round at
times…  You’re close.  I’m with the EPA”
The young guy laughed at the levity and tapped Percy’s knee in
approval thinking that Percy was only joking about being from the EPA.
Percy wasn’t joking.
“I looked at your whole get up man, and I was intrigued.  I mean
like, I just needed to know where you’re coming from, your bag, your
perspective.  You’re wearing baseball stuff and all.  I’m looking at
you and I’m thinking you look like the type that might have voted for
Trump…  So did you?  Are you part of the NRA?  Are you against a
woman’s right to have abortions?  Do you deny global warming?”
Percy lifted his glass of wine like he was toasting the young man,
took a drink, tilted his head to the side, adjusted his horn rimmed
glasses and gave a cryptic answer that only drew the young man more to
him.
“  Sonny…  I’m working with a realtor as we speak.  I’m trying to
find prime land on the equator on Mars.  I want a warm spot like
Phoenix…  You know like a balmy minus 10… Did you know?  No, you
couldn’t possibly know…  Anyway…I was raised in a house by a black
lady back in the early seventies who did all the cooking.  She had a
wide space between her two front teeth and she had bout twenty cats
running round the place.  If you wanted to finish your food, you
didn’t dare give a crumb to the cats til you were done.  If you did,
them cats would be all over you.  I had a mom and several men that
were suitors of some sort that courted my mom.  We lived in a home
where everyone contributed something and we ate together and the
adults hated the war and Nixon…  Did you ever live in a house like
that?  These were real Hippies.  They fucked each other in a loving
way, took a lot of dope and shared.  The music was good and people
really hated the president, the government and the establishment.  Can
you dig that a square like me was raised like that?  When you were a
tadpole in your daddy’s nutsack, my mom wore no bra, slept with
colored men with real Afros and wanted equal rights for women…  Now
this is the truth.  No bullshit, young fellow…  If abortion had been
legal in Illinois in 1965, I would not be sitting here talking to you
right now.  Yes sir…  I’m the son of a true, died in the wool, love
child.  She was only 15 at the time, if you can fathom that deep
thought…  Remember that nothingness is an experienced reality and
existence is transitory and fragile.
The young bearded man forgot that he had asked Percy whom he had
voted for and went on to describe an upper middle class upbringing in
a gated subdivision.
“Wow, young man.  That is truly a white milk, middle class,
homogenous, vitamin D, insulated life you lead.  Do you remember the
first black person you saw in real life?”
“It was probably at Dodger’s stadium in third grade…”
“Far out, man… I grew up practically a poor black child although you
would not know it to look at me…I grew up listening to Smokey Robinson
and Sly and the Family Stone.  We had a thing going on not unlike
Jonestown in Guyana.   Very cult like not unlike what is happening
today.  Free speech is acceptable as long as I agree with what you’re
saying,,,  Color didn’t matter.  Status didn’t matter…  You know, man?
People dying in Afghanistan and Iraq since before you could grow
whiskers and nobody cares if those young guys trying to make to the
end so that they can get their dough and go to college.  Nobody
protests the fact that we’re in a state of constant war.  Trump is the
problem…  Right?”
“Right on, man…  You said it!”
“Let it be soon, don’t hesitate…  Make it now, don’t wait.  Open your
heart and let my love come in.  I want a moment to stop when I can
fill your heart more love and more joy than age or time could ever
destroy…”
“That is some deep fucking shit, bro…”
“Yeah?  You can thank Smokey for that one…  Thing is that once the
war ended and people came home, shit began to fall apart.  Everyone
was worried about their shit…  It’s cool to take a stand when you have
food and shelter.  When you don’t have that shit…  Well, now…  It’s
survival of the fittest.  Origin of species, only the strong survive
and so on…  That’s just how it is.  A fire breaks out in this condo,
who lives?  Those with the best fight or flight response.  There are
people dying of famine in refegee camps in Africa…  Children dying and
some chubby white dude trying to win a Pulitzer is snapping off photos
of a kid about to die…”
“You’re one deep motherfucker…  Really man.  I mean, you show up here
and I think you’re going to be about as flat as the wall over here and
you’re deep as the ocean…  Keep talking , man.  I dig your vibe…  Do
you smoke?”
“The young man lit a joint and held it out to share with Percy.
“Not anymore, son.  I only smoke salmon now…  Where was I?  Old
people have issues with short-term memory loss.  Could have years of
smoking doobies as a youngster.”
Percy paused to hug his daughter who walked by with the baby in tow.
The young bearded man begged Percy to continue to talk.
“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he
is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give life a
meaning.  Better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees and
that has nothing to do with submission or some homosexual
tendencies…  I’m cool with whatever you’re into, man… Freedom is
what we do with what is done to us… Putting your business in the
street, talking out loud… You better bring the chick around to the
sad, sad truth… The dirty lowdown.”
Percy mixed Boz Scaggs with Sartre and looked the young man into his
eyes like he was way out there.  The young man had no idea that the
old man was just yanking his chain, pulling his leg, putting him on.
After the Moroccan treat and ice cream, presents and singing, Happy
Birthday, Percy decided it was time to leave his daughter’s home that
he paid for.  Percy made it possible for his daughter to teach
philosophy at a junior college and still have a nice place to live
with her boyfriend whose job it was to try and stop ICE agents from
gathering up and deporting illegal aliens.  Undocumented…  You know
what I mean.
The young bearded man followed Percy out to a rented convertible car
and asked how he felt about President Trump.  Percy revved up the
engine on the rented eight cylinder Dodge…  A huge gas-guzzler.
“Son…  When you bought the boat and you’re rowing the boat, you’ll
take offense to those that will coast at your expense…  Just remember
this- Richard Nixon might have been the best suited man to have ever
been given the job of president…  Think about that and wonder why I
would say such a thing…  Some writers I know are damned devils.  From
them I say don’t believe the hype.  Their pens and pads I’ll snatch
coz I’ve had it…  Don’t … Don’t believe the hype… Peace be with you…
Man…”

When Barack Met Donald

November 11, 2016

Barack extended his hand to president-elect Trump as he entered the oval office. Mr. Trump put his hands across his chest, closed his eyes and took a deep breath and held it.
“I took my first Pilates class today. I promised my wife that I would work on my flexibility and thought Pilates would be the place to begin. My wife is always saying I gotta be more flexible… What? I’m the most flexible man you ever met. I came to learn that this Pilates guy was put in an internment camp in England during World War I and he came up with this stuff while in a jail cell… Maybe that will be my first profound message to those locked up for all sorts of illegal and wholly subversive behavior… Ask not what the government can provide for me in the form of entertainment but what can I do to pass the time and become more… Flexible. Yes, yes, yes… I do feel more flexible today and a bit taller. All that flexibility makes you feel taller…”
Donald took Barack’s hand and shook it firmly. He then patted his right shoulder and looked around the room and smiled.
“I want to make this as unakward as possible, Mr. Trump. I want to prove to the nation that acrimony is not what we’re about. We’re above all that. This is what makes us who we are… The ability to accept the results and ensure that the greatest democracy the world has ever known, continues and continues to flourish.”
Mr. Trump clapped his hands and wiped imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes and then put his right hand on his heart.
“That is a beautifully heart-felt speech… It’s a shame the press isn’t here to hear this. I only wish the bust outs around my home could have heard this last night. People around the country had to reassure their crying children that I’m not coming into their home to deport or jail them, say crude things and grab their mom by the pussy… Meanwhile, I gotta explain to my son that the paid political activists aren’t going to drag us out and do us like the Romanovs. A bunch of Bolshevik, bewildered Bernie supporters and their inability to think like you and me, Mr. President. They just don’t get the whole bit about accepting results and this is not who we are… Is this room bugged? I betcha it is. TMZ, Wikileaks, Richard Nixon? I bet there’s planted Nixon bugs in this place you’re still finding like World War I landmines in Belgium.”
President Obama gripped his chin with his thumb and index finger, closed his eyes and shook his head. Was the moment of incredulity because of the things being said by Mr. Trump? Was it the fact that half the nation voted for this modern-day carnival barker who beat the odds and won or that the next president was going to piss on his legacy with the help of the senate and house? The correct answer- all of the above.
The current president shuddered to think about the potential abuse of power by his successor. Undoing transgender bathrooms, Obamacare, institutionalization of misogyny… the grabbing of the nation by the genitalia.
“Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Trump?”
“Yes… When did you decide the election was over and that I had won? I’m thinking after Florida… Maybe North Carolina. I always knew… CNN, NBC, ABC… The whole lot of them. It was like watching someone die… so when was it?”
” After you finally admitted that I was born in the United states…”
“Very quick, Mr. President… I can only hope that when Air Force 1 takes you towards Chicago, that you don’t hijack the plane to Ottawa. I’m thinking the Canadians got a really big wall to build to keep you and half of Hollywood out.”
“sarcasm is a sign of inferior intelligence, Mr. Trump.”
The zingers flew rapid fire from man to man for the better part of an hour before The thought came to Trump- I won this. I fucking won this thing. I beat Hillary, Obama, the Democratic Party and the Republican Party. I told the establishment to get fucked and enough people backed me. I don’t need to keep this shit going any longer. I won. I can walk out of this fucking door the way an Italian does from a balcony after popping a virgin on his wedding night- hang the bloody sheets over the railing to a cheering crowd and let everyone know that the deed was done. I can put on my smoking jacket and just relax now.
“We gotta go out there and face the press… How’s this gonna go? We lay the bullshit thick and get through this or we can verbally spar. I think the nation needs a day off from that sort of thing, right Mr. President?”
“Yes… We can have our own armistice day… I’m warning you though- any crap from you and this can go a totally different direction… You ready to do this?”
The two men emerged to a huge gathering of the press. Photos clicked furiously as the present and future presidents emerged from behind closed doors. President Obama spoke first.

PRESIDENT OBAMA: Well, I just had the opportunity to have an excellent conversation with President-elect Trump. It was wide-ranging. We talked about some of the organizational issues in setting up the White House. We talked about foreign policy. We talked about domestic policy. And as I said last night, my number-one priority in the coming two months is to try to facilitate a transition that ensures our President-elect is successful.

And I have been very encouraged by the, I think, interest in President-elect Trump’s wanting to work with my team around many of the issues that this great country faces. And I believe that it is important for all of us, regardless of party and regardless of political preferences, to now come together, work together, to deal with the many challenges that we face.
It was Mr. Trump’s turn to speak. Was he going to be a loud mouth, trash talking winner and turn the press conference into some sort of WWF event? President Obama held his breath as the president-elect began to speak. This was going to go well or become a food fight. Which would it be?
PRESIDENT-ELECT TRUMP: Well, thank you very much, President Obama. This was a meeting that was going to last for maybe 10 or 15 minutes, and we were just going to get to know each other. We had never met each other. I have great respect. The meeting lasted for almost an hour and a half. And it could have — as far as I’m concerned, it could have gone on for a lot longer.
We really — we discussed a lot of different situations, some wonderful and some difficulties. I very much look forward to dealing with the President in the future, including counsel. He explained some of the difficulties, some of the high-flying assets and some of the really great things that have been achieved.
So, Mr. President, it was a great honor being with you, and I look forward to being with you many, many more times in the future.

The Emperor’s New Clothes or F#ck the Cubs

October 28, 2016

Gil and Gail packed up their deviled eggs and New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that they bought while in New Zealand and headed over to their friends Tom and Tam. It was a beautiful fall night more like summer than fall with a full moon. The event was a baseball game between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Chicago Cubs. Tom, a huge Cubs fan, set up a television outside in front of a fire pit and a trampoline off in the distance.
Gil was born and raised in Los Angeles and was a life long Dodgers fan stranded in the midwest. He walked past a teacher’s union lawn sign and three different lawn signs for Hillary Clinton and a giant blue W painted on a plain white background to signify a win for the Chicago Cubs on the way to Tom and Gail’s backyard. Gail and Tam really liked one another. They met at a Pilates class and became great friends. They watched the Kardashians together at different homes and texted about it at night. Their sons played youth hockey together and Gil was the hockey coach. Gil was quiet owner of an ice hockey pro shop who played hockey, sold hockey and played hockey four to five days a week. Gil and Tammy’s son was thin and good-looking, fast and capable at being a scoring threat at every game. Tom and Tam’s son had man boobs and hips wider than his shoulders. The bookish son of Tom and Tam was slow and had a weak shot. Gil took their son as a favor to his wife who really wanted a friend up in the stands to sit with at games. Tom was jealous that Gil was in good shape and was a good skater and coach. Tom couldn’t skate but was wealthy and had season tickets to all Cubs and Chicago Blackhawks games. Tom was a partner at a law firm and drove a Range Rover and a Corvette with personalized Cubs and Blackhawks Illinois license plates. One license said PWR PLAY 69 and the other said LUV CUB 69. Gil had no hair, was built and had a half missing tooth much like the hockey great Alex Ovechkin and a face full of scars from years of playing ice hockey without facial protection. Gil refused to wear a cage or a half shield while playing and looked like a rough neck. Tom wore black horned rimmed glasses and had looked like an LL Bean model in front of his $5000.00 built in backyard grill, 50 inch television exclusively for the backyard and excellent sound system. A band from the 1980’s called Haircut 100 blared through the speakers while the ball teams silently  took batting practice. Gil stood with a bowl of deviled eggs in a LA Dodgers hat and shirt. Tom wore a Cubs hat with a T-shirt that had a large W on it. He was cooking filet mignon, he offered Gil a beer. Gil declined as he was gluten-free. It irritated Gil when Tom would offer him a beer. Even though Gil had declined dozens of times, Tom would still offer a beer to Gil. Gil had Ceiliaks disease which prevented him from processing gluten properly.
“Tam remembered and purchased a gluten-free, lesbian safe beer for you from Trader Joe’s… You can be like every other man around this town watching this game tonight and start the night properly with a beer.”
Gil opened the beer, tapped it against the bottle Tom was holding and talked about their son’s hockey team. Gil was careful not to say too much and let Tom comment on the high and low points of the season.
“The goalie is brutal… It is truly a testament to your defense that we’ve been in every game. Do you put your best skaters on defense always?”
Gil took a drink of his beer and pondered the best answer to a question he didn’t care to answer truthfully. Gil felt that it was a good idea to be as cryptic as possible with parents when it came to playing time, position and lines. Gil played Tom and Tam’s son on the first line even though he was a slow, tentative, ineffective player. It was a political move to appease his wife who was considering her friend’s feelings.
“I try to find a balance…”
“That is a beautifully scripted answer, coach. People try to figure out where you’re coming from. They want to know if there is something deeper to your tactics. I think mystery comes off as deep but I think I have you figured out, coach…”
“Tommy… This is a night all about baseball. I’m ready to take the night off of hockey. A full moon, great fucking weather, good food, booze and the Dodgers poised to make a California boy proud…”
Beer turned to scotch and then to wine. Bottles and bottles. Blue cheese on choice steaks with gluten-free pasta. It was a night to remember. A clear, full moon and August like weather in October. The game turned ugly for Gil. The Dodgers tanked and were getting crushed by the Cubs. It was a debacle not unlike when Gil was young and the Dodgers would lose every year to the Yankees. It might have been a moment of hurt pride that caused Gil to change from a good-natured fan to a critical observer of the type of man he disdained- bragging, rich, unathletic, pudgy Chicago fan. The Dodgers were losing by a touch down when Tom lit a cigar and laughed at the score between innings. Gil told Gail that he wanted to leave. she was having a great time without having to watch her children and she did not want to cut the night short and return home yet. The game ended with a huge Cubs win. Tam put on a song that harkened back to Burt Bacharach buy a band called Cousteau. No relation to Jacques called, The Last Good Day of the Year.
There’s something there
Among the fallen fruit and flowers, won’t rest
Only minutes, only hours unless
Now the morning breaks in showers, I guess
We’ll remember this all of our lives
On the last good day of the year
Gil sat and looked at the full moon as a gentle breeze blew through the leaves in the trees that were ready to turn colors and fall. Tom was going on and on about the Cubs and then switched to politics. After a beer, a scotch and many glasses of wine, Gil was ready to speak freely, uninhibited or reserved. Tom was taken by surprise.
“Fuck you. Fuck the Cubs, fuck unions, fuck Hillary and fat kids who really don’t want to play ice hockey… Enjoy your win you fucking pompous asshole. I hope Hillary gets the same fucking treatment Nixon got for the minor shit he did compared to that cunt.”
Gil knew that his wife hated the word cunt and that most women had a thing against the word. Both Tam and Gail gasped and tried to get Gil to calm down. It only made him angrier.
“You want to let all the Mexicans in? All the Syrians? Every fucking moderate who makes their wife cover their whole fucking face like a goddamn Ninja? Fuck you and your W shirt and Hillary lawn sign… Your kid is going to wind up with heart disease by high school if you don’t discover the word no. No you can’t eat whatever you want and drink sugary bullshit. Your son has bitch tits… I know that might be harsh to hear but you can thank the Cubs and Hillary. Bitch fucking tits on a 10-year-old and why? Because you can’t say no to him? You wanna know why my kid is fast? Because he eats yogurt instead of gummy worms and fucking Doritos…”
” I think you’re angry Tom…”
“Yes, I am. When unathletic fucks like you gloat, I get mad. You don’t know dick about how to really win and it falls into your lap tonight and you’re like a fucking scientist about baseball. Yes… The fast capable kids play defense on my teams and really I believe your son would be happier with a hot dog and a drink up in the stands next to you than forechecking. You got season tickets and you want your little son of sam to play like Kane or Toews.”
Gail came up and hugged Gil and put her hand over his mouth. Gil pushed Gail away in a way that let her know that he was not done. Tom had enough drinks to stand up to Gil and he did.
“You’re mad that the Dodgers lost and that Trump is about to go down in flames. Too many people do not buy into the Hitleresque bullshit spewed by Trump. Mexicans are the paste that holds this country together. Who is going to do the shit they do for the money they make? Big strong, stupid, flag waving, tear-in-the-eye patriot who hates anything not white. You’re the big hockey coach but you weren’t quite good enough to make it so what do you do? You coach.”
Gil took a step towards Tom with the thought to give Tom a smack. Tom sneered and raised his chin as if to say, “smack me! I don’t give a shit.”
“You know something, fuckface? I won’t ever apologize for being white. I won’t ever apologize for not blindly trusting people who hate me. Vote for whoever you fucking want. Why do we all got to know who it is? Why not put up a lawn sign that says you need a little blue pill and porn to make it with your old lady? You know what? All I need is a little text telling me to get home fast and my dick hurts to be cramped up in my jeans knowing that it’s going between my old lady’s legs just as soon as possible. You like baseball analogies? I’m the fucking closer who doesn’t need a warm up pitch. Put me in cold and I’ll finish the game…”
The women left the two men alone who were about to come to blows. Tom was about to rebut Gil when the women put on a song from the 1980’s from their youth. It was a Sinead O’Connor song called The Emperor’s New Clothes. In the light of the moon, the two men watched their rather fit middle-aged wives sing and bounce on the trampoline naked slathered in coconut oil. The oil glistened off of their breasts. The men stopped fighting and looked on at their wives without saying a word. Tom poured a glass of wine for himself and Gil. The men stripped down to nothing and joined the ladies on the trampoline on probably the last good day of the year. The song played on repeat while they made love or something resembling love beside one another.
Everyone can see what’s going on
They laugh `cause they know they’re untouchable
Not because what I said was wrong
Whatever it may bring
I will live by my own policies
I will sleep with a clear conscience
I will sleep in peace
Maybe it sounds mean
But I really don’t think so
You asked for the truth and I told you
Through their own words
They will be exposed
They’ve got a severe case of
The emperor’s new clothes

They Got Your Number

September 2, 2016

Dirk’s phone rang while he picked his nose and read text message while standing and pissing over the toilet at work. Dirk had to roll up his sleeve and reach into his piss to retrieve the phone. The ring tone of a barking dog was what went off every time Dirk’s wife called. Dirk had the ring tone on high. When it rang, the bark echoed in the large men’s room at work. For others that were in that room at that moment, it sounded like a real German Sheppard in the bathroom. One puzzled pisser looked under the stall to find a guy kneeling and swearing over the toiler bowl. It was 9am and it already had the making of a bad day.
While Dirk was sitting on the red line, elevated train which ran parallel to Lake Michigan on Chicago’s north side towards downtown, he made a few phone calls and paid a bill over the phone.
“1776 1812 1942 911… expiration date 1-21… numbers on the back? 9000… zip code? 60203 and the name on the card should be Dirk P. Eller. E L L E R.”
Sitting next to Dirk was a chubby young man with a bike helmet on, holding a skateboard with a long beard like a relief pitcher in baseball, a post Civil War president or even a religious Jew. The young man had recently been deposed from his city of Chicago job for sleeping on the job. His job was to place the Denver Boot, wheel lock device on automobiles that had collect more than three unpaid tickets to the city of Chicago. The man’s name was Bill. Bill got off of work and played video games all day at home, on his couch until he noticed the sun was gone through the window. Bill got home from work, ate cold cuts and pizza crust that was two days old out of a box resting on the garbage, turned on his X Box and literally played until he had to return to work. Where did the time go Bill wondered to himself. He finished work at 8 am, got home by 10 am, ate, took a shit and then played until 10pm at night. No sleep. Not even a nap and it was time to return to work. A couple of No-Doze pills and a Red Bull gave Bill the runs quick and then he was alert until about 4 am. At about that time, Bill pulled behind a car that he was supposed to be placing the boot on and fell asleep until 9 am. When he opened his eyes, the world was fast at work. Cars everywhere, people walking and the sun was high in the sky. He had 24 missed calls on his phone which was on silent. This was the third time. Bill lost his job. Nobody feels pity for tow truck drivers or those that place the boot on autos or for sheriffs that need to evict people when they lose their jobs. All are well hated. Bill happened to be recording all the information Dirk was giving over the phone. Dirk was well dressed and looked like a smug, rich fuck. Bill was going to have a little fun with his ex-boss and charge it to Dirk’s card. Bill reasoned that the goods would be returned and Dirk wouldn’t actually have to pay anything.
Dirk’s phone in the toilet? Yes, it was Dirk’s wife who discovered a charge of almost $10,000.00 to an online sex toy outlet. A semi truck full of boxes addressed to Bill’s boss who had fired him, arrived at their city office off of Addison street, just west of Wrigley Field. Hundreds, maybe a thousand dildos crafted, pink tips painted with care by hand by genuine Mexicans in Mexico and imported to the United States. Wait until Trump hears about this!
When Bill’s boss went down to shipping and found a room full of boxes addressed to him, he became curious. He cracked open a box and pulled out one of the containers and found a 12 inch black penis. Others were white. Some had huge veins and were wide. circumcised and not. Some were double and triple dongs. Dirk’s wife looked at their statement and found that their was a huge purchase to an online sex merchandise company and jumped to the conclusion that her husband was a deranged sex fiend and a repeat offender. He had been caught skyping a Russian woman in the past. She was on the bed plowing herself with a cock that looked much like the one Bill’s boss received when Dirk’s wife Dawn woke up one night to find Dirk beating off and moaning in the basement. After marriage counselling and vows to give up such fantasies, the huge purchase put Dawn over the cliff. She jumped to conclusions. How could he spend so much on sex but I can’t get granite counter tops in the kitchen?
By the time Dirk got to the Apple store and replaced his phone, Dirk had received dozens of text messages from his wife.
“YOU SICK PERVERTED CREATURE. YOU BELONG WITH THAT WEINER GUY FROM NEW YORK. YOUR BOTH SICK FUCKS. I TRIED TO REVERSE THE CHARGES AND I CANNOT. THE BANK SAID THAT IT HAS BEEN OVER 24 HOURS SINCE YOU BOUGHT THIS SHIT. THE COMPANY WILL NOT TAKE IT BACK. WHO IS YOUR FRIEND AT THE CITY OF CHICAGO THAT ACCEPTED THIS SHIT FOR YOU? I DON’T NEED TO KNOW. I’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR HOURS AND IT GOES TO VOICE MAIL. THE OFFICE COULDN’T REACH YOU. I AM LEAVING THIS MORNING TO STAY WITH MY MOTHER IN MICHIGAN. I GOT THE NEXT FLIGHT OUT. I THOUGHT YOU TURNED THE CORNER AND THAT YOU LOVED ME AND WANTED TO WORK ON US BUT REALLY YOUR JUST A TWISTED LITTLE MAN. YOU BOUGHT THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS OF SEX TOYS BUT CAN’T EVEN TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER UNLESS YOU HAVE A GROUPON. FUCK YOU! WE’RE DONE!”
I want to tell you that the merchandise was sent back and the culprit was caught. I want to tell you that the money was put back in the Eller account and that Dirk’s wife believed that fraud took place. The bank told Dirk to check with the City of Chicago. Dirk talked to numerous people, explained what had happened only to be hung up on or put on hold. Nobody gave credence to such an outrageous story. The bank held Dirk responsible for the charge since he and his wife failed to contact the bank within 24 hours of the fraud. The bank suggested he go to his local police office and ask for a detective. Dirk went to the local police station next and was further frustrated. Dirk lost his cool with the woman behind the bullet proof glass at the police station after having had to repeat the chain of events several times.
“I’m speaking English to you… I shouldn’t need to repeat myself! Somebody bought $10,000.00 worth of dildos and charged it to my account. The bank won’t reimburse me and they suggested I go see a detective at the police station nearest to my home.”
The indifferent clerk behind the glass asked Dirk the wrong question which set him off.
“Sir… This isn’t a job for detectives… What do you want me to do?”
Dirk suggested to the woman that he would come behind the glass and insert every last dildo up her ass. That prompted cops within an ear shot of the conversation to come out and detain him. He was charged with a misdemeanor offense of threatening an officer of the law. He got out on bail. It really was a bad day for Dirk. And some days are like this.