Posts Tagged ‘Black humor’

Matlock Bitness College!!!

I, Matlock 61, am now offering a new service to you White People!

Yaay!

 

What is it, you may ask?

 

Matlock Bitness College—Earn your Master of Bitness Administration, so you can handle your bitness!!!

 

You see, “handlin’ yo’ bitness” is an important part of Black Culture, and I would be remiss in my duties as HNIC if I didn’t teach you this essential piece.

We are offering a series of classes that will help move you swiftly towards your MBA, such as:

Basic Ebonics–What the Heck Are They Saying? (Mandatory Prerequisite)

American Subcultures Culture 101: Black Wimmen, White Wimmen, White Mens, & Brothers–Why We Do The Thangs We Do.

Finance 101: Proper Techniques in Operating Without Proper Licensure 

 

Finance 102: Identifying Various Begging Techniques/Handling a Beggar With Minimal Liability

Tuition be free.

 

Attendance be mandatory.

(see why Ebonics is a prerequisite?)

 

No tuition? You’re puzzled and confused. The classes are free, but the After Parties following each class gonna cost you somethin’, trust me. You see, “handlin’ yo’ bitness” means to know which end of the cow the milk comes from.

And, of course, knowing how to extract said milk from the aforementioned cow. As Grandpa Matlock used to say, “If ya gonna milk a cow, make sho’ yo’ hands be warm!”

 

Anyway, in local news…

Sister Brown got something on Rev. Kimble!

 

Shhh!

 

She got……..pictures.

See, not too many people know about this, but Rev used to be a tomcat, running around with his tail hanging out, if you know what I mean. There was this high-yellow gal that joined church about 2 years ago, and Rev. was kinda sweet on her from day one. You could tell by the way he took a long time to join her up, patting her hand, and praying an extra-long prayer for her soul, but everybody knew it wasn’t her soul he was concerned with, it was them size 44 DD’s she had hanging out of her sweater.

 

Huh? Where was his wife?

 

Oh, she had joined sometime in between his 3rd and 4th wife.

 

Rev move quick.

Don’t interrupt.

Anyway, I don’t know why Rev. didn’t check around, he would’a found out this gal had a thing for preachers; some daddy issues she aint never worked out, and everywhere she go, she end up with the pastor. So, anyway, this girl is Sister Brown’s nieces, and she let it slip that her and Rev. was gonna hook up at the motel. Sister Brown, she one of those that always gotta see for herself, and, she carry her cell phone with her to snap pics.

She need to take a couple’s selfies, ’cause she fool around with Deacon Whitlock’s nephew Jo-Bee, and she think Jo-Bee keep it to hisself, but the boy stay on Facebook, and he keep a webcam on his nightstand. Sister Brown  don’t know, but she gonna make her FB debut next week. Jo-Bee says he might burn a few DVDs, make him some money!

 

Back to my story. Sister Brown went with her niece to the Crispy Sheet Motel, set herself in the closet and wait for ol’ Rev. ‘Bout fifteen, twenny minutes later there was a tap at the door, and in walk in Rev. Accordin’ to Sister Brown, “…he didn’t even say hello, he just started strippin’ off his clothes! He started strippin’, an’ I started snappin’!”

 

I aint gonna say what else she said, because it just aint fittin’ in polite company, if you know what I mean. Sister Brown says she gonna have a loooong talk with Rev, after Sunday’s sermon, dependin’ on what he preach about. She better hurry, ’cause Jo-Bee gonna put her bitness on the street in a minute. Between her, Rev, and Jo-Bee, in about a week or so, Sweet Home Full Gospel Baptist Church of the Nazarene Holiness Temple of Praise and Deliverance A.M.E Methodist African Episcopalian gonna be a mess!

Huh?

 

That aint the same name I said last week?

 

Child, they change the name of that church like Rev. Kimble change his drawers. Maybe more often….

 

Ha!

White People’s Children!

Okay, White people, this is a Public service announcement:

Raise your kids!!!

Wait, I may have been a bit vague. Let me restate:

White people, BEAT—YOUR—KIDS!!!

 

BEAT ‘EM!!!

 

Ahhhhhhhh!

Got that off my chest!

Some of you White people ought to be ashamed. Unruly, whiny White kids are one of my pet peeves.

Black kids, too, but that’s another topic.

Hood-rat-lettes make me want to believe in retroactive abortion. Wait until they’re about eleven years old, twelve, maybe. Give ‘em a chance to see if they gonna amount to anything. If so, fine, let ‘em stay.

If not…?

 

Take ‘em to the clinic. Tell ‘em they going to their Maw-Maw’s house, and drop ‘em off…….

 

“…Ray-Ray, if you don’t keep yo’ sticky-azz fangers outta my purse I swear, yo’ azz goin’ to the clinic! You aint made twelve yet! I’ll drop yo’ azz off in a heartbeat, you think I’m playin’? Stick a needle in yo’ azz, you’ll quit that schit, I bet!”

 

I was in Dollar Tree the other day, minding my own business, looking for some masculine products, you know, rim cleaner, tire black, clear coat wax…

 

Huh?

 

Hey, if you can say “feminine products,” I can say “masculine products.”

And I can use my stuff outside, you gotta sneak in the bathroom to use your schit, so be quiet!

Unless you want to trade off?

I wash yours, you wash mine…

 

I thought so! Now hush!

 

Anyway, (before I was so rudely interrupted), I’m walking in Dollar Tree, and suddenly I hear behind me, “Mommmmm—yyyyyyyy!!! I want a tooooyyyyyeeeeee!!!”

 

I turned, and, sure enough, a 5-year old White kid was pointing at some G.I. Joe-like toy that me and his momma both knew wouldn’t last 12 hours in his little masochistic hands, but, hey, it’s Dollar Tree.

Everything’s a dollar there.

 

Even a 5-year old White kid’s satisfaction and the resulting silence that, theoretically, was supposed to follow. So, she grabs it.

“Here,” she says, relieved that this whole episode was so easily resolved.

 

But, noooooo…..

 

“Mommmmmm—yyyyyy!!! Not thaaaaaaat oooonnneeee!!! Thiiiiissssssss one!”

“Grrrrr,” I said, to nobody in general.

The mother looked up at me, with Look # 77, I’m-A-White-Girl…Interested???

I responded with Look #15, You, Madame, Do Not Exist.

 

She smiled, and I knew I had to change aisles. Besides, Little White Kid wasn’t through just yet. “MOMM-MEEEEE! I SAID I WANT THISSSSSS ONNNEEEE!” he wailed.

 

It was time to move, before she could—

 

“Mister, can you reach that one?” she asked. “You know how children are,” she said brightly.

 

I gritted my teeth, and grabbed the little G.I. Joe off of the upper shelf.

 

“Not that one, Mister, that one!” He pointed.

 

“Kid,” I growled, “If you know like I know, you’ll take this one, and like it,” I said, giving him Look # 2, Don’t Push it, Little Bastid.

 

He opened his mouth to answer, but I growled, deeper this time, and he shut it.

“Take his azz to the check-out,” I said menacingly, in my best Shaft Just Left Africa, And He’s Highly Pissed Off voice, “and take him home and train him before you bring him back. Because if I ever hear him in this store again,“ I leaned closer, “I’m gonna eat him for breakfast, y’hear? Believe dat!”

“Oh!” she said, and grabbed his hand. “Come on, Trevor, let’s go!” She sprinted off, with him in tow, yelling, “Mommieeeee! He’s gonna eeeeeeeeeeaaaaaat meeeeee?”

 

I came to the check-out line, and noted with satisfaction the wide eyes of the clerk, a good-looking sister with dookie braids. “That was you who ran ‘em off?” she asked.

 

“Yep,” I answered proudly.

 

“I got three kids need man trainin’,” she said. “Interested?”

 

“Better call their pa,” I answered. “I done raised mine.”

 

She tore my receipt off, and scribbled her number on it. “Call me,” she said with a wink. I walked back to my truck, and handed my wife the receipt. “Your cousin said to call her when you get home,” I said.

 

Like I said, I raised mine….

 

Ha!

Proper Behavior Around White Folks

Guess what? 

White people didn’t know we had an Official Handbook. 

I aint lyin’!

 I think I’ve found the source of our problem between the races.

 

 White people don’t know that we have Standard Operating Procedure.

 

How they missed it, I have no idea. But, you know White people, unless we’re singing, dancing or otherwise acting the fool, they don’t pay any attention to us.

 

Why do you think they were so shocked when Obama won? Both times?

Remember, back in ’07, when Hillary was prancing around like she was Queen For A Day, smiling and grinning for the cameras like a chimp on crack? She just knew she had the nomination sewed up. Then here comes this big-eared junior Senator from Chicago, just one state away from Dan Quayle…

 

By the way, where is that sumbit, anyway? Probably in a library somewhere, looking up just who in the hell was John Kennedy!

 

Ha! 

 

But, as is the case so often in these pages, I digress. What was I talking about, anyway, Autumn?

 

Huh?

 

That’s right, Standard Operating Procedure. Just checking to see if you’re paying attention. White girls have trouble focusing, y’know. And, BTW, why is it that all the romance novels have pictures of White guys on the cover? Y’all know doggone good and well when you’re sitting at home, looking all misty-eyed, you got a brother on your mind.

 

Love’s Tender Fury, yeah right.

 

Brother’s Outta Kool-Aid, Get to Steppin’ is more like it…

 

 

Standard Operating Procedure.

We call it “sop” for short.

 

One of the beautiful things about BlackSpeak is that we shorten everything.

I don’t understand how in the world White people didn’t know about sop. We are always asking for and aware of any updates and changes to Standing Operating Procedure.

 

Let me explain: When two White people greet each other, they say, “How do you do?”

 

Not us.

 

When two Black people greet each other, the first thing we want to know is “Has there been any major changes in Standing Operating Procedure?’ But, that’s way too many syllables, so we just say, “Whassop?”

And, the usual response is, “Nothin’”, or any of the (at last count) 1,345 derivatives, such as, “Aint nothin’, man”, or, “You got it, Bro.,” or, one of the Old School responses, “Everythang is everythang,” all of which simply means, “Standard Operating Procedure is unchanged as of this moment, but be alert.”

 

You see, White people, Standard Operating Procedures are taught to Black children at an early age. While you were teaching your kids which fork to use, and how to separate the paper from the plastic, we were teaching them what was “sop”. For example, after church @ Sunday dinner, we’d say: “That Reverend Kimble, he think he slick! Nigga done raised the main offering, now he trying to raise one ‘for the po’ chirren in Haiti.’ Humph! Po’ chirren in Haiti, my foot! He done started foolin’ around wit’ Sister Brown’s gal, you know, the one with the watermelon azz! She be swishin’ ’round chu’ch in that too-tight usher uniform with the print of her drawers showin’, azz so big, she be swattin’ flies with it! Then, then, she always got to hand him some note, or a fan, or somethin’, bendin’ that big ass over right in the deacons’ face! Deacon Bellard, po’ thing, his wife died last year, he be watchin’ her, head be bobbin’ like a bulldog on a dashboard, then he caint stand up straight to pray! Well, anyway, Rev. just bought hisself a new car, and somebody gotta pay the note, but I be damn if it’s us! Chirren, when they pass that basket the second time, keep yo’ money in yo’ pocket, y’ hear? Haiti chirren that hungry, they can come over here to eat!”

 

Like I said, we teach our children “whassop.”

 

Ha!

Uncle Hime, Part 3

…cont…

See, I had known him all my life, as a T&T drinkin’, walk-around-town drunk. Never seen him with no woman, and I aint heard of no woman tryin’ to be with him. So for him to tell me about a wife, well, that was somethin’ I aint never heard of. I wiped my chin while he just looked at me.

He said, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t think I had no wife? Didn’t y-y-you hear me t-tell you ‘bout all them wimmen I knowed?”

Well, he had a point.

I said, “I’m sorry, Unc, just nobody never told me you was married, that’s all. Tell me ‘bout it, was she good-lookin’? Was she fine?”

He leaned back, meal finished, and started with his pipe again.

“One last smoke, then I’m gonna send you to the sto’.”

He puffed, and he says, “Pretty? Fine? Boy, lemme tell you, d-d-dat woman had the biggest set of titties you ever wanna see! You know ol’ man Bradford wife? Think her titties big?”

He spat on the ground, an’ say, “Sheee-it, boy, Bradford wife packin’ p-p-peanuts. Peanuts! My wife had big ol’ titties! Man, my wife’s titties so big, she sent ‘em out on errands! One at a time! She named ‘em, y’know. The left one was, le’ssee, Sally, yeah, that’s it, an’ the right one was, uh, Betty! She talk to ‘em too, just like chirren. ‘Betty, move out the way, you pinchin’ Sally!’ Boy, boy, boy….I used to love it when she strap ‘em up, y’know, make ‘em stand up like so’jers, yes, indeed! She had that little tee-tiny li’l waistline….I used to wonder how her food pass down. But then—“ he started movin’ his hands out—“she had them hips….man, them what they called breedin’ hips, them good shakin’ hips. And don’t talk about her azz! What!?! Her azz so big, it cast its own shadow! When I put her on the Greyhoun’ bus, I had to buy two tickets! Big ol’ marshmeller azz!

He look at me e’ry now an’ then, just to see how I was takin’ it. I know he addin’ on some, but that’s just how storytellin’ go. I mean, I knowed aint no wimmen titties bigger than ol’ man Bradford wife. Lessen she work for the circus.

You wimmen gets mad when we men talk about the way y’all is made. I don’t know why, it’s the way God made you.

Read yo’ Bible, in the book of Genesees, God had made all the animals with a mate. Fido, he had Fee-Fee;  Elmo the bull, he had El-see the cow; Billygoat, he had Nannygoat; y’know, e’rybody had somebody, well, e’rybody but po’ Adam. Adam sittin’ there with all the fruit trees around him, apple, pear, banana, persimmon, mango, I mean he got it made! He lookin’ ‘round, e’rybody got somebody to play with but him. E’rybody all coupled up, an’ Adam, he sittin’ there like a fifth wheel. God look down at him, an’ He shook His head, cuz that aint right. Adam sit there too long, he get to singin’ the blues. Caint be singin’ the blues if you in Paradise.

So God, He fix a big glass o’ wine, handed it to Adam.

Huh?

What you mean, the Bible don’t say that?
It say God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam. It didn’t say how He done it!

Okay, let’s see…okay, God slip him a Mickey, an’ knock him plum cold…

You happy now?

Where you come from?

Yeah? Well, you need to go back. Go on, let grown folks talk.

Anyhow, God put him to sleep, cut his rib out, and took it to his studio, started moldin’ an’ craftin’, stuffin’ here and there, you know, puttin’ the cushion where it go. So when God finish, He take what He made down to Paradise, see how Adam like it. Adam wake up, rub the sleep outta his eyes, and he notice what God got standin’ there nekkid in front of him.

What!?!
A big ol’ fine, sexy thang, 38-24-36, nekkid, with a bowl o’ fruit in her hand! Brown-skinned, long, curly black hair, with a big ole smile on her face.

Well, Adam got so excited, he started preachin’! He say, “For this cause…uh-huh….. shall a man leave…….well, well….. his daddy and his momma, yessir…..and the two…….shall become one…can I get a witness?”

That’s preachin’, cuz what Adam know about a momma and daddy? Adam aint had no momma nor daddy!
So he took a good look at that fine Black woman, sprung out a good foot or so, and he say “the two shall become one.” Shee-it, Adam was ready to do his thang!

So don’t get mad when we talk about the way you made. Use what God give you. Be proud of yo so’jers, make ‘em stand up. Walk like yo’ caboose is loose.

We men likes that.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, Hime look at me, to see how I was takin’ it. I’m noddin’ my head, goin’ with the story. I know good an’ well her titties aint that big, she fall over when she walk if they was.

He says, “And boy, was she pretty! She had that look, you know, like she know she was the p-prettiest woman in the room, but she warn’t payin’ it n-n-no mind. She smile, an’ the room j-j-just light up. I fell in love with her, dint take long, neither.”

He puffed on his pipe, and I wonder how much tobacco left inside. If he send me to the store, I was gonna tie him to the step, don’t ask me how. But I was gonna hear the end of this.

“Now, Neph, this was the time when I was drivin’ trucks, hustlin’, makin’ good money. Y’know, when you haulin’ cross-country, not e’rything in yo’ rig belong to the m-m-man on yo’ paper. I’m runnin’ to Miami with a load, my return load might have a coupl’a pound of smoke an’ powder, y’know? Oh, boy, back in dem days, I made mo’ money mulin’ than truckin’. Never got stopped, neither.” He nodded his head, thinkin’ about it. “But, you gotta remember, boy, that was back when it was okay, long as you dint try to stiff nobody, just haul an’ hand off to the man, an’ he pay you, give you a little taste fo’ yoself.

So, I’m makin’ good money, got a fine, pretty woman, life be good. I sets her up, buy her a nice little house, buys it, paid cash money fo ’it, put it in her name, cuz I’m on the road alla time, somethin’ happen to me, it be hers already.”

He stopped, an’ pointed his pipe at me. He says, “Boy, don’t ever do that. Always have you a place to lay yo’ head where nobody kin put you out. Stay with yo’ momma, momma get mad wit’ ya, she kin put you out. See? Buy yo’ house, make sho’ yo’ name on it somewhere.” He clench his jaw aroun’ his pipe, and for a second I thought he would snap it plum through. I could tell he was getting’ mad, just thinkin’ about it.

He says, “We livin’ good, bill paid on time, I mean we doin’ fine! An’ me, I’m happy, got this pretty, fine woman, shoot, when I’m home, I drop it on her twice a day, I’m happy, she happy…or so I thought.”

He looked up, and I followed his look. I had been listenin’ so hard, I hadn’t heard the sound of the engine. Momma had done drove up. Oh, doggone! Now I wouldn’t get to hear the rest of it, f’shure.

Momma slam her car door, come out with a paper bag in her hand. She walk down toward the porch, then, lo an’ behold, she peep our way, and start walkin’ towards the barn!

Hime snorted, then he say, “Now what in the worl’ she huntin’? Aint nothin’ but Zora done give her a call, cuz she don’ know w-w-what we talkin’ about. Well, let’s send this chicken to the n-n-nest.”

Momma came up quick, but the sight of a sober Hime kinda slowed her up. Took her tongue, too.  She stood there for a second, then she says, “Aint nobody gonna speak?”

Uncle Hime say, “We sittin’ here. Y-y-you the one come up. How you doin’?”

Momma look at me, and says, “Boy, what you doin’ here?”

I says, real respectable, “Talkin’ with my uncle. Got somethin’ good in the bag?”

She answer, “Just a thimble and coupl’a spools o’ thread.” She hesitated, then she ask, “What y’all talkin’ bout?”

Hime look at her, then he kinda growl at her,”What you say?”

Well, she look like she would druther eat soap, but she was stuck with it. She say, “W-what ya’ll talkin’ bout?” She try to stick her chin out when she say it, but she wouldn’a skeered a puppy.

Hime pointed his pipe at her, an’ say, “I-I’ma tell you like I tole yer Ma. Go inna house, the boy be ‘long directly. Go!”

Momma look at me quick, but I just shrug. She knowed better than that, anyway.

Hime spat, then stuck his pipe back in. “Wimmen. Now she goin’ in there, an’ her an’ Zora gonna cluck their tongue, prolly call Mary to try an’ shake ya loose. Anyway, one day, I’m in N-n-new Orlin, haulin’ dry ice from M-m-m-memphis. I thought I was gonna turnaround to Mobile, but the company c-cancel. I had told the ol’ girl,  Charlene her name, I was gonna be home Monday, but since my t-turnaround c-c-ancel, I figger I supp-rize her.

Well, Neph, the supp-rize was on me. It was about one o’clock inna mornin’, I never forget. I walk in, tippy-toe, gonna flip the light, jump in, y’know. Good thing I flip the light, cuz if fin I wouldn’t, I’da landed on two people! Yep, she all wrapped up wit’ a nigger, I dint know who he was! I could tell the way she was clownin’ dat he warn’t forcin’ hisself on her, naw, if anythin’ she was killin’ him! I says, I says…naw, never mind what I says, it’s what I done! I reach in my pocket, an’ pull out my pistol. She scream, but it don’t matter none, she can scream all she want, scream don’t stop no .38. I was always good with a pistol, shootin’ rabbits an’ s-s-such. I put two in her, swung it on him, dropped one daid in the nuts. ‘Now,’ I tole him, ‘that’ll learn ya.”

He tapped the pipe, then dropped it on the step. “Law came, they put me inna jug. But one o’ those jailhouse lawyers tole me to plea not guilty, lessee how he said it, heat o’ passion. He warn’t lyin, there was plenny heat. Went befo’ the jedge, jedge lissen to the po-lice man tell what he saw, jedge tap his gavel, an’ off I go.”

He laugh, kinda bitter this time.

“Nigger woman daid, don’ make him no never mind. Be a Whi’ woman, come All Saint’s Day, you be buyin’ whitewash.”

He handed me a dollar. “I try to forget, e’ry whichaway I kin. No matter what I do, I caint get Charlene outta my mind. All t-t-t-that blood…..”

He put his head in his hands and start to cry. He raise up, an’ he say, “I pray, an’ I pray, ast the Good Lawd to f’give me. An, y’know what? I b’leve He done did it.”

He stopped, tears just runnin’ down his face.

Mine, too.

 

“But, me….I jes’ caint f’give myself…”

I left the dollar there.

Man ought’a get a free bag o’ tobbacca once in his life, don’t’cha think?

 

 

 

Uncle Hime, Part 2

Cont…..

 

 

Muh said, “That’s enough weedin’ fo’ today, baby. I’m’a go on in the house an’ make some cornbread. Sound good?” She pointed to the pile. “While I make lunch, get rid o’ that, please?”

I says, “Yes, ma’am,” and I look around for a couple of old rice sacks to put ‘em in. Muh lived two, three blocks from the rice mill, right across the tracks, so we always had some sacks around to put stuff in.

About halfway through, and I hear some familiar footsteps. Sure ‘nuff, it was Uncle Hime, coming home after a morning jaunt. I figger he gonna close the door and climb in bed, but he fooled me. He just set on the barn steps and cross his legs.

Well, since he come up and set, an’ he was my uncle, I spoke to him. Where I come from, you speaks to people, especially if they older than you. Just good manners, is all. And, when you speak, put a handle on they name, Uncle or Auntie, or Cousin, or somethin’.

Kids nowadays wanna call old folks by they first name, like they shot hookey with ‘em. White kids, ‘specially, be callin’ they momma an’ daddy Sally an’ Bobby… an’ the parents answer! They do that in front’a me, make me wanna slap em’!

 Ill-mannered bastards.

I says, “Good mornin’, Uncle Hime, how you doing?”

He look up at me, and says, “M-mornin, nephew.” He kinda squint at me, and says, “Y-you-you’s Abbie’s boy, aint-aint ‘cha?”

I says, “Yes, sir. The youngest one.”

He nodded, then he started filling his pipe. I go back to pickin’ wine bottles, but I got my eye on him, cuz it aint too often I see him like that, y’know? He fish around in his pockets, then he point at me. “Boy-boy, you got a match?”

Well of course I didn’t, I hadn’t tried to start smoking just yet. Muh kept matches in the house, you know, to light the stove and the heaters, in wintertime.

I answered, “No, sir, but I’ll go get you some in the house. Hold on, I be back.”

I went in the house, and Muh had a skillet on the stove, and she had poured the first batch of cornbread batter in. It was just starting to sizzle and bubble, and, in about fifteen minutes or so, she’d have that first one ready. Man! I hated to go back outside, cuz there was nothing like watching hot cornbread come out of the skillet, but I was on an errand, and the sooner I finished, the sooner I’d eat.

I said, “Muh, Uncle Hime asked for a pack of matches.”

She pointed at the cabinet, then she looked at me. “Hime’s back, huh? What he doin’? He’s drunk?”

I says, “No, ma’am, he’s sittin’ on the steps, fixin’ his pipe. He ask me if I’m Helen’s boy, so he aint drunk.”

Muh look at me, kinda in surprise. “He talkin? With sense?”

I nodded.

She sat down, an’ put her head in her hands. “Lawd, please remember Hime. Give him his good mind back. Please.” She stood up, and started stirrin’ the bowl for a minute, kinda hummin’ a church hymn to herself. Then she look at me, an’ says, “Go bring him the matches, ‘fo he takes off. But whiles you out there…” she paused a bit, “Talk to him, please. Just…talk to him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, grabbing the box, and walking to the door. I looked at her before I walked outside, stirrin’ the bowl of batter, and singin’.

Precious Lord……take my hand

Lead me on…….an’ let me stand

I…I’m tired……I am weak

I…..am worn

Through…through the storm

Through….through the night

Lead me on

To the light

Take……take my hand

Precious Lord

And lead….lead me on

 

 

I handed Uncle Hime the matches, and walked back to the last few bottles. “Thank-thank ya, Nephew,” he said, surprising me a little. Not that he didn’t have good manners, Uncle Hime was one of the most well-mannered men I knew. Even when he was on top ‘o his wine, he’d still tip his hat at the wimmen folk. It was just that he didn’t just nod his head when I handed him the box, which is what he’d normally do.

 

I turned around and said, “You welcome,” and just kinda looked at him. He fished a match out of the box, and struck it, and lit his pipe, just as smooth an’ calm as you please. No, he wasn’t drunk, not at all. He puffed, and blue smoke billowed around his head. He leaned back on the door frame, just a-puffin’, and you’d swear he was Governor Rockefeller, the way he looked, all calm and dignified. He says, “Nephew, when-when you fin-fin-finish with that, I nee-nee-need you to run t-t-to the store to pic-pick me up some t’bac-bacca.” He held up the package. “I-I’m run-run-runnin’ low.”

 

I nodded my head. “Soon as I finish this, and eat lunch, I’ll go to Benoit’s and get you some.”

 

It was his turn to nod now. He took a deep puff on his pipe, and said, “Zo-Zorah cookin’ some co-co-cornbread, aint she?” It was more of a statement than a question, cuz he said right then, “I-I-I can smel-smel-smell it.” You know how people who stammer talk. It’s like the words is kinda bobbin’ and weavin’ in they mind, then it come out all of a sudden an’ surprise ‘em, like… Bam! and it come outta their mouth. But don’t make fun of ‘em. They can’t help it.

 

I looked at him. He was really talking, and with good sense. Now how in the world he could smell that cornbread with all that Virginia Extract pipe smoke comin’ outta his mouth and nostrils, you, me, and the Three Wise Men will never figger out. But, he said it, so–?

He pointed at the four sacks I had filled. He said, “Zo-Zora got you pic-pic-pickin’ up all’a my dead-dead friends, aint she?”

 

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

 

He laughed, a wide one, where I could see all in his mouth. I don’t mean no harm, but I could tell my uncle aint had no close fellowship with a toothbrush in a long, long time, no sir. Black and yellow, and most of ‘em broke off.

 

“How-how l-l-long them b-been down there?” he asked.

 

I looked around at the sacks, trying to hide my surprise. Uncle Hime an’ me aint never held a conversation this long before. I don’t know, I guess we aint never had nothing to talk about, ‘fo this time. Usually, when I picked up his friends, he wouldn’t be nowhere around. “Week-and-a-half, two weeks, maybe,” I answered.

 

I got kinda bold, since we was talkin’ and all, and, since he knew who I was, and, more important, since I had been spending the last half-hour bending my back in two picking up somethin’ I didn’t get a taste of, I felt like askin’ a question.

 

“Uncle Hime?”

 

He looked up. “What?”

 

I hesitated a bit. I wasn’t that bold. After all, he was more than just my uncle, he was my great-uncle, Muh’s last living brother, at that. I had to make sure I asked my question right.

 

“Uncle Hime…why you drink…all of that?” I pointed to the sacks.

 

He looked at me kinda sideways, and I leaned toward the house, ready to make a run for it. Fists or a switchin’, I didn’t know what was comin’ next. 

But, he surprised me. He crossed his legs back the other way, and re-leaned on the frame of the door. “Tha-tha-thass a goo-ood question,” he answered, bobbing his pipe in his mouth. He patted the step beside him. “Sit d-d-down, an’ I t-t-tell ya,”

 

 

 

Whaat?

 

 

Uncle Hime, Part One

Uncle Hime, Part One

 

 

“Look at all them bottles. That’s a sin and a shame,” my grandmother said sadly. We were outside, diggin’ weeds and pluckin’ worms in Muh’s tomato patch. Well, to be more precise, we were in the tomato section of Muh’s garden patch, if a hundred foot long and wide could be rightly called a “patch.” That’s what she called it, so take it up with her, when you get to Heaven. And, if you don’t make it that high, I guess it really don’t matter then, will it?

 

Anyway, we were diggin’ and pluckin’, the weeds went into a trash bag, and the worms went into a jar, ‘specially the green cutworms. Made real good bait for sac-a-lait and sheephead that ran in the creek nearby. Between the garden and the fishin’, not to mention the local cattle and pigs the farmers raised, we ate pretty good. We raised tomatoes, watermelon, peppers, okra and corn, chickens, too, and the neighbors raised root crops and such, and everybody traded one with another and sold the surplus. We went to the grocery store for what we didn’t raise or trade, stuff like sugar, flour, you know, what they call “staples.” Life was simpler back then, and I don’t have the foggiest idea how we got to where we are now.

 

Anyway, we had taken a break, kinda stretched our backs, and Muh had cast her eye on a pile of wine bottles on the side of the barn my Uncle Hime had gotten rid of.

I guess I have to explain about my Uncle Hime.

I say “my” Uncle Hime, cuz I claim him, he’s my blood and kin. Muh’s baby brother, he was disabled and Muh got a check every month to help take care of him. I don’t know if it was the VA or Social Security, I just know that Muh took care of him the best she knew how. It was kind of hard on her, because he had a bad drinkin’ habit. You know how some people drink social-like, sittin’ around a table chattin’, playin’ dominoes or some such, with a beer, or a fifth amongst friends?

 

Well, no, Uncle Hime wasn’t a social drinker, no sir. And he didn’t waste time with beer. Nope, Uncle Hime was a T&T man, and he didn’t believe in sharing the bottle. When he made a purchase, that bottle of White Port was his, and his alone.

He’d sit on the barn step and read the label, don’t ask me why. It wasn’t as if T&T made something a con-no-seer would be interested in. But he’d read it, then he’d hold the neck of the bottle in one hand, and turn it upside-down. Then he’d take the palm of the other hand and give the bottle a good smack! Then he’d turn it over and twist the cap of in one motion, snnicck! He’d throw the cap as far as he could, like he knew he wouldn’t be needin’ it no mo’, not in this lifetime, no sir!

Then he’d take that first cold sip, and then, real quick, he’d read the label again, like the clerk had sold him the wrong brand. Then, he’d sip again, a good long one this time. Aahhh! Yep, he bought the right one, baby.

After that, it was all over but the shoutin’. He’d lean back and get to pullin’ on that wine, and before the sweat done dried off the bottle, he done drained it dry. Yes sir, and you could be sittin’ right next to him, he wouldn’t offer you a drop. Not one drop. He’d throw the bottle in the pile, and lean back and scratch his belly, like he waitin’ on that wine to settle in. Then, he’d snatch his hat and take off. He’d walk all over town, just rubbin’ hisself and mumblin’, aint talkin’ to nobody, just rubbin’ and mumblin’, till that first bottle wear off, then he’d make his way to the nearest likker store, and buy him a refill. Sometimes he’d get to walkin’, and he end up in Church Point, or Jennings, and he can’t find his way back. No problem, he’d just sit on somebody’s porch steps, they call the cops, and, since they all knew him, they’d call Muh to send somebody to pick him up. Time they drop him off, he’d go into the barn and sleep it off. Next day, Muh would have something good for him to eat, and she’d offer him a bath. Nine time outta ten he turn it down, but sometime she get outdone with him an’ make him get in the tub. I’d try to hang aroun’ for that, make sure he didn’t get too out the way with her, cuz when he had that wine on his mind, a bath was just one mountain he had to move outta the way, if you know what I mean.

Once, we was having our Fourth of July bobbycue, and Daddy and my older cousins and uncles was playin’ dominoes around the brick pit. The wimmens was inside, makin’ custard for the homemade ice cream an’ frying fish. I was around 12 or so, so I hung around the menfolk, fetchin’ beer and ice, you know, while they pretended not to see me sneak a quick sip before I handed it to ‘em. They had a fifth of Johnny Walker on the back side of the pit, so’s if Momma or one of my aunties came outside, they wouldn’t see ol’ Johnnie.  Anyway, Uncle Hime was sittin’ on his step, with a fresh bottle of T&T, mindin’ his own bitness. Cousin Fetch said, “Watch this, Uncle Matt. Hey, Uncle Hime!”

Daddy said, “Leave Hime alone, man.”

Fetch said, “Hush, Uncle Matt,” and started laughing.

Daddy said, “Alright, smartazz, I aint tellin’ you nothin’. Hime aint botherin’ you none, why don’t you let him drink his wine in peace?”

Fetch had a few beers in him, cuz normally he would’a listened, but you know how Budweiser do, it put a plug in your ears, so nothin nobody says make sense. Fetch got up, and walked over to where Uncle Hime was, and tapped him on the arm and said, “Uncle Hime, why don’t you sit with us? We got some cold beer, an’ a fifth of Johnnie Walker Red, you welcome to drink as much as you want.”

Uncle Hime looked at him. We all got quiet, cuz we didn’t know how he was gonna take it. Uncle Hime was always a kind that kept to himself, didn’t bother nobody, y’know?

Hime looked at him, and Fetch told him agin’, “Come on, sit with us, and drink all you want.”

Hime picked up his T&T and put it to his mouth, and I’ll be dogged if he didn’t drain it dry. I mean dry, didn’t leave nothin’ behind! Then he threw the bottle on the pile, stood up, and said, “W-w-where-where at?” Uncle Hime kinda stammered when he talk, y’know.

Fetch led him over to where we were, set him down in a chair, and said, “Now we is actin’ like kinfolks, we all sittin’ together,” and he give Daddy a wink.

Daddy say, “Yo’ head too hard for yo own good.” Fetch just laughed, and slapped Uncle Hime on the shoulder, and he asked him, “You wanna play a round with us, Unc?”

Uncle Hime looked at him and say, “P-pas-pass me th-that-that bottle.”

Daddy snorted, and Fetch said, “What?”

Uncle Hime pointed at Johnny and said, “P-p-p-pass me that bottle.”

Well, now Fetch was in a fix, seein’ he was the one who invited Uncle Hime over in the first place, specially when Hime wasn’t askin’ to come over. Fetch looked around the menfolk, but he wasn’t getting no help.

Daddy said, “You the one brought him over here, now give him what he want.”

Fetch reached over to pick up the bottle, kinda slow, cuz him and Johnnie was real good friends, if you know what I mean. He picked it up, and hand it to Uncle Hime. Hime took it, and looked at the label.

Daddy reached in his pocket, quick-like, pulled out a ten-spot, and dropped it on the table. “Bet’cha he kill it ‘fo he put it on the ground,” Daddy said.

The two other guys, Homer and Cousin Billy, pulled out a few bills, but the tenner had some room left.

“What you say, Cuz? Want what’s left over?” Daddy asked Fetch, kinda laughin’ at him. Hime was still staring at the label, I dunno why, maybe cuz it wasn’t sayin’ what it usually say. Your guess is good as mine.

Fetch dropped a bill and some change. “Aint no way he could kill that. Not that much. He a wine drinker, not a Scotch drinker. He might hit some, but Johnnie gonna kick his azz ‘fo he finish.” Daddy looked at Hime, who was still reading the label. Daddy reach in his back pocket, pull out his wallet, and fished out a twenty, and he says, “How much o’ that you want, nigga? Hime gonna drain Johnny dry.”

My eyes popped, and I wasn’t the only one. Homer made a motion at his back pocket, but Billy reach over and grab his arm and says, “Don’t be a fool, man. Anybody that can drink as much’a that Scotch in one sittin’, it be Hime.”

Daddy says, “Hurry up and drop yo money, ‘fo he starts drinkin’ Once he unscrew that cap, all bets is off.”

Fetch rubbed his chin, tryin’ to decide. Uncle Hime was sittin’ calm, just lookin’ at that label, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Fetch reached in his back pocket, pull out a ten-spot, and says, “If I lose twenny, I have to shoot you and Uncle Hime,” and drop the ten on the table.

Daddy say to me, “Want some o’ this, son?”

I says, real quick, “Hell, no!” I wasn’t crazy, I had seen Uncle Hime in action. T&T or Johnny, brown likker or white, didn’t make no difference to him.

Daddy handed Fetch a five off the table. Fetch took it, and stuck it in his pocket. We all looked at Uncle Hime, who had braced the bottle on his knee. He scratched his head, just as slow and calm as you please. We watched, and the tension started to build up. Daddy was leanin’ back in his chair, just waiting to see what Uncle Hime would do. Daddy had told me once, “Son, once you put yo’ money on the table, jes’ pretend it aint yours. That way, if you win, great, and if you lose, it don’t matter none, it wasn’t yours anyway.”

Time passed a bit, and Fetch was just a-sweatin’. It started gettin’ to him, you could tell.

He said, “Come on, Uncle Hime, you can’t hold the bottle all day. Hit it, an’ pass it.” Hime never give him a glance. He bounced the bottle on his knee, an’ you could hear Johnny, just a-splashin’. Finally, it just got too much for Fetch, and he says, “Damn, Uncle Hime! Shit, or get off the pot!”

Daddy started laughing at him, Fetch, I mean. It was kinda funny, I guess, specially since I didn’t have no money on the table to worry about. Anyway, Hime reads the bottle again, then he reach for the cap, an’ I holds my breath while he twist it off. Sure ‘nuff, he throw it away. Daddy lean forward, but he didn’t say nothing. Uncle Hime took a sip, and look at the label with a surprised look on his face.

Fetch started laughin’, an says, “Ya see? He aint used to nothin’ like that.”

I says, “He do the same thing with his T&T,” and Daddy says “Hush, son, don’t give the play away.”

Uncle Hime took a second pull, longer this time.

Fetch says, “That got to knock ‘im down,” but Hime didn’t even blink. He took another draw on it, and he says, “Aaaahhh!” like he was drinkin’ a cold bottle of Coke. He smacked his lips an’ belch, then he swirled the bottle around a bit. Then he leaned the bottle back, and started puttin’ some heavy hittin’ on po’ Johnny. Gulp, gulp, gulp, glug-glug-glugg, and that was it. He held it up for a few more seconds to catch the dregs, then stood up and threw it in the pile.

Fetch said, “Damn!” Billy and Homer just shook their heads while Daddy pulled in the money.

Uncle Hime turned to Daddy, and he hold out his hand an’ says, “Five.”

Daddy said, “What?”

Hime says, “Giv-giv-gimmie five!”

Daddy didn’t say nothin’, just hand Uncle Hime a five-spot. Hime took it, and pointed at the BBQ pit. “You-you-gonna bu-bu-burn the chicken, you ain-ain-aint careful,” and he walked off, straight as a razor.

 

You know Uncle Hime. He stammer a bit…..

 

How to Get a Man To Fall Head-Over-Heels In Love With YOU!!!

I, Matlock 61, HNIC, Grand Poo-Bah of All Things Virile, make it a habit to frequent other blogs, in an attempt to mine their wit/wisdom, and, more importantly, to see what is on White People’s collective minds.

One really, REALLY good place for this is the Ask A Manager Blog

http://www.askamanager.org/

Ms. Alison Green runs it with an supple leather fist. She’s straightforward, and I lean a lot by reading her stuff.

One of her peeps, poor thing, expressed a desire to meet The One. Or, something like that.

It really touched me, right here (motions to NW quadrant of chest), and I realized that there are scores of females who are looking for The One.

So……

 

I, Matlock 61, Grand Pooh Bah of all Things Virile and Testosterone-Soaked, will perform a Public Service!

I will reveal the secret to Getting a Man To Fall Head-Over-Heels In Luv With You!

 

Yes, YOU! You can be loved, “til Death Do You Part” (Or Legally Separate)

 

But, I hear you say plaintively, “How, Dr. M???”

 

Step One: Get the plaintive out of your voice! Desperation to a man is like insect repellent; it runs us off!

Act like you got 100 mo’fo’s line up, just drooling for a chance @ your phone number!

 

Step 2–Dress like you got some dignity, please! We do not want to see your breasts on a first date!

Remember, for a man, there are two kinds of women: women you play with, and women you stay with!

Put that short skirt on, and that titty-huggin’ top on, and it instantly transforms you into a Woman to be Played With. Like a tennis raquet, or a golf club, to be used and enjoyed, and put up for safekeeping, for the next time for fun and games.

No Future There!

 

Dress with dignity and class, and you transform yourself into a Woman to Stay with. The kind that gets introduced to Momma.

 

Trick 3: Insist on first-class treatment. Expect doors to be opened, expect dinner to be paid for. He must be made to pay for the pleasure of your company, not the other way around. He’s not the prize, you are.

 

Keep your drawers on, and your feet on the floor. Make him  commit, and limit your conversations about sex.

 

Flies in the face of conventional wisdom, don’t it?

 

What you must understand is that men are hunters. They are after game. The harder it is ti obtain a prize, the more valuable it is.

Salami is common–you can go to the gas station and purchase some. Diamonds, however, have to be purchased at select stores. Piggly-Wiggly don’t sell diamonds, do they? So, don’t be available and common–be difficult to find and pursue.

 

And, finally, if you want a c-a-r-a-t, you better know what to do with a c-a-r-r-o-t! And a p-o-t-a-t-o! And a s-t-e-a-k!

Get the picture???

 

Ha!