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Storyteller

The Naked Drunk

I never saw crack-heads on the island. Mainly drunks, some people love their fire water, but if you ask me, they are just as stupid and equally as dangerous. I was on the beach chilling, watching some kids play football – soccer to some of you. I saw a drunk in ragged old shorts and no shirt. That man was the skinniest person I ever seen. He looked like the rum was drying him up. He was using a cutlass to open a green coconut, but he was swinging it recklessly, becoming a danger to those closest to him. One of his friends tried to take the cutlass away from him and he became belligerent. More of his friends tried to reason with him, but he began swinging the weapon wildly.

Call Babylon!” someone shouted, and the melee escalated. The drunk was not swinging at anybody who came close to him. He was screaming something about the devil and evil angels.

The police arrived but even they could not control the raging drunk. They shuffled around as if doing some kind of voodoo dance, then the drunk broke free and ran for the ocean. He splashed into the emerald-colored water, still holding the cutlass. He swam or waded until he could not stand, and then he started sinking. The police had no choice but to go after him. They reached him, grabbed the cutlasss and dragged him back to shore. When they got to the shore and laid him on the sand, laughter erupted when the people on the beach realized that he had lost his pants in the struggle. His little Dexter was exposed for all to see. That made the drunk furious. He started to fight again. He broke free and began running down the beach with the policemen in hot pursuit, followed by the crowd, laughing and shouting. They finally caught up with him when one of the policemen dropped him with a perfect football slide. But now that they had him down, they hesitated, not wanting to touch his naked body. They finally had to when he tried to get back up. You have never heard such cursing and screaming in your life as they carried him off the beach and to the police station.  

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Pics with verse Storyteller

The Divalicious Feline

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!

“Hey hey, what is all this loud meowing out here?”

“What in the hell is that human doing, why are they holding him by his ankles upside down and there is a tube in his mouth?”

“Ohh you new comers, don’t you know anything?”

“What do you know, you are just a dog.”

“Ok Miss feline queen, listen, you are living in a house full of college students now, this is what they do every damn night, get used to it.”

“Oh hell no, I need my cuteness sleep, I am not having none of this.”

“Oh please stop being a drama queen.”

“Look at this mess, how can I live in this filth?’

“Look at this mess, how can I live in this mess. Chill out, you lick yourself to get clean,”

“Hey you do the same damn thing.”

“Yeah but am a dog remember.”

“Shut up, these humans are quite uncivilized, I am way to divalicious for this.”

“Oh dear lord, you are one of those cats.”

“Oh gross, he is hacking up a fur ball, oh yuck its a liquid fur ball, oh dear lord it stinks.”

“Ohhhhh there goes one, down for the count, man them humans sure know how to abuse their body.”

“:Stop that loud barking, you barbarian mongrel. Oh dear, why is that one taking his cloths off, Oh oh excuse me, I did not need to see that. I am  dainty cat, this debauchery is reprehensibly.”

“See, see? There is nothing to see there.”

“Oh stop your howling dog, this is no home for a feline. Oh its getting louder, what are they doing now? Oh dear, did that human just hit the other human. Oh take me back to the pound, this is just horrid.”

“Woooooooooo party!”

“Oh shut up dog, you make us four leggers look like animals. Wait, wait what is he doing. Oh no, oh no, someone get that human a litter box.”

“Yeeeeaaaahhhh drop it sister, wooooooo,”

You are such a barbarian, have some dignity dog, you are just like them humans.”

“Twerk it twerk it, oh yeah, oh yeah!!

“Ok thats it I am going back to the pound.”

“Hey cat where you going”?

“Never you mind, I am going back to where its at least clean and very few humans.”

“Hey hey watch them claws. Oh you really going leave huh. Ha, you will be back, oh yeah, they always come back.”

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Storyteller

The Village Drunk

I never saw crack-heads on the island. Mainly drunks, some people love their fire water, but if you ask me, they are just as stupid and equally as dangerous. I was on the beach chilling, watching some kids play football – soccer to some of you. I saw a drunk in ragged old shorts and no shirt. That man was the skinniest person I ever seen. He looked like the rum was drying him up. He was using a cutlass to open a green coconut, but he was swinging it recklessly, becoming a danger to those closest to him. One of his friends tried to take the cutlass away from him and he became belligerent. More of his friends tried to reason with him, but he began swinging the weapon wildly.

Call Babylon!” someone shouted, and the melee escalated. The drunk was not swinging at anybody who came close to him. He was screaming something about the devil and evil angels.

The police arrived but even they could not control the raging drunk. They shuffled around as if doing some kind of voodoo dance, then the drunk broke free and ran for the ocean. He splashed into the emerald-colored water, still holding the cutlass. He swam or waded until he could not stand, and then he started sinking. The police had no choice but to go after him. They reached him, grabbed the cutlasss and dragged him back to shore. When they got to the shore and laid him on the sand, laughter erupted when the people on the beach realized that he had lost his pants in the struggle. His little Dexter was exposed for all to see. That made the drunk furious. He started to fight again. He broke free and began running down the beach with the policemen in hot pursuit, followed by the crowd, laughing and shouting. They finally caught up with him when one of the policemen dropped him with a perfect football slide. But now that they had him down, they hesitated, not wanting to touch his naked body. They finally had to when he tried to get back up. You have never heard such cursing and screaming in your life as they carried him off the beach and to the police station.  

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Storyteller

The Naked Drunk from I am a Dirty Immigrant

I never saw crack-heads on the island. Mainly drunks, some people love their fire water, but if you ask me, they are just as stupid and equally as dangerous. I was on the beach chilling, watching some kids play football – soccer to some of you. I saw a drunk in ragged old shorts and no shirt. That man was the skinniest person I ever seen. He looked like the rum was drying him up. He was using a cutlass to open a green coconut, but he was swinging it recklessly, becoming a danger to those closest to him. One of his friends tried to take the cutlass away from him and he became belligerent. More of his friends tried to reason with him, but he began swinging the weapon wildly.

Call Babylon!” someone shouted, and the melee escalated. The drunk was not swinging at anybody who came close to him. He was screaming something about the devil and evil angels.

The police arrived but even they could not control the raging drunk. They shuffled around as if doing some kind of voodoo dance, then the drunk broke free and ran for the ocean. He splashed into the emerald-colored water, still holding the cutlass. He swam or waded until he could not stand, and then he started sinking. The police had no choice but to go after him. They reached him, grabbed the cutlasss and dragged him back to shore. When they got to the shore and laid him on the sand, laughter erupted when the people on the beach realized that he had lost his pants in the struggle. His little Dexter was exposed for all to see. That made the drunk furious. He started to fight again. He broke free and began running down the beach with the policemen in hot pursuit, followed by the crowd, laughing and shouting. They finally caught up with him when one of the policemen dropped him with a perfect football slide. But now that they had him down, they hesitated, not wanting to touch his naked body. They finally had to when he tried to get back up. You have never heard such cursing and screaming in your life as they carried him off the beach and to the police station.  

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Storyteller

From Father’s Shadow

Andre walked into the basement party. Justine sat at a table with some of her friends. He walked up behind her and touched her on the shoulder. She turned around, stood up, and hugged him, he squeezed her for a second, she smelled like lilac. She motioned to an empty chair next to her and he sat down. No sooner had he sat down the DJ began to play Digital Underground,

            “Do the Humpty Hump!!”  She said, “That’s my song!” she screamed and grabbed Andre’s hand and pulled him to where a small group of people were dancing. .Justine was pushing her butt back on him when another girl walked up to them.

            “Who is she?” the girl asked, snapping her fingers at Andre,

            “Who is you?” Andre retorted,

            “Don’t play dumb with me Andre,” she screamed,

            “Who is she?” Justine asked,

            “Don pay no mine to she,” Andre tried to keep dancing, but the girl persisted,

            “Boy you had better not act a fool in here, now tell me who is she?” Andre pushed the girl away. She stumbled back bumping into some of the other partiers. She walked up to Andre and pushed him. He back handed her then stood looking at his hands, surprised at what he did,

            “Now dats what a man should do, put dem omen in dey place,” the shadow shouted above the music. Justine turned and ran up the stairs. Andre followed her. She went into the bathroom and locked the door,

            “Justine, Open de door!”

            “Go away,”

            “Come on talk to me,”

            “You are nothing but a man whore,” Justine screamed,

            “What you say?”

            “Go away!”

            “Hey yuh go let dat oman talk to yuh like dat?” The Shadow asked,

            “Shut up, let me handle dis,” Andre said, then stopped himself when he realized that everyone looked at him like he was crazy.

            “Come on Justine,”

            “Screw you!”

            “Boi, she disrespecting you for so, everybody looking at yuh”             “I said shut you bloody mout!” Andre yelled at the shadow. More people filed into the narrow hallway. Andre kicked the door,

            “Come babe, open de door,”

            “Go screw yourself!” Justine screamed,

            “Dam boi, she have a filthy mout real bad,” the shadow said, “I tink she need a box in she mout yuh know,” the shadow persisted. Some of the onlookers were laughing.

            “Boi, she making you a papishow, look how dey laughing at yuh,” the shadow said. Suddely the door flung open and Justine reached out and slapped Andre. His whole body felt hot as laughter filled the hallway. Before she could close the door he jammed it with his foot, and forced his way into the bathroom.

            “Gul don act stupid, I told you Ah don know who she is.” Justine punched him in the stomach. Andre reached out and grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall. A bowl with tooth brushes fell to the linoleum floor.

            “Look here bitch, don embarrass me like dis you hair. I is the man in this relationship and I go do what I want damn it.” Justine began to gag, but Andre squeezed harder.

            “From now on don ever talk to me like dat and don put you dam hands on me either, you hear me,” he said, getting close to her face. She struggled until he let go then bent over gasping for breath. The flimsy door shook as someone banged on it.

            “Justine, you O k?” one of her friends yelled.

            “Mind your own business bitch!” Andre screamed back,

            “Dats how yuh do it,” the shadow said. “Put dem bloody bitches in dey dam place.”

            “Now lets go have some fun and don make an ass ah youself,” Andre said, took her hand and dragged her out of the bathroom. She escaped his grip and ran out opf the house, he chased after her but she was gone when he got outside. Andre stood on the sidewalk. His hands were shaking, sweat ran down his face, his eyes felt like hot lava had settled in them. He turned and looked back at the house. Several people stood at the Iron Gate looking at him, they were just burs with sound. He looked down at his hands,

            “I hit a woman!” he mumbled to himself. A car drove by, it must have lost its muffler because the sound of the engine was deafening. Andre’s heart raced up, fear, confusion, disgust, feelings he had felt before but not all in one rush,

            “I may just be my father’s son,” he muttered

            “And wah wrong wid dat?” The Shadow said, “Embrace it, its your legacy, its yuh fada’s legacy. Dat bitch should have known she place, yuh did noting wrong boi,” The shadow reflected off the road, its dark form surrounded by the florescent glow from the street light.

            “I hit a woman,” Andre repeated, turned and walked back towards his house.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Giant On the Dancefloor( Don’t grind on my Knees) From I am a Dirty Immigrant

I stopped going to bars, not only because of the fighting, but because the atmosphere was so much different from the island. For one, the dancing was too sexed up for me. Booties flying everywhere, people faces contorted with sexual pleasure. Being seven feet tall was not consummate with slow dancing. No woman wanted to slow dance with their face pressed up against my crotch, nor was it any fun to do all that grinding and gyrating on the back of some woman’s head. Yes, being seven feet sucks on the dance floor. I remember one time I was standing against a wall in a club, looking at all the people going wild on the floor. Suddenly, I felt a bump on my knees. I did not think anything of it, but became a little annoyed when the bumping persisted. I looked down and there was this short blonde girl grinding against my knees. Her blonde hair was whipping from side to side, her drunken eyes glazed with pleasure. I gently bumped her with my knees, but soon she was back at it again. I shook my leg as if trying to stop a dog from humping me, but she was relentless. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I don’t know about you, but you grinding on my knees is not doing anything for me. Now stop attacking my bum knee.” She looked up at me, rolled her eyes and stomped off into the crowd. When I went out back home, I always danced by myself. I would park right next to the speaker and just sway to Bob Marley, or Denis Brown, or whatever cool runnings music that was playing.

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Storyteller

Date or Red Flag

Attempting to date for me was like collecting an assortment of crazies. Here it is 2013 and I am still a magnet for them. It was about eleven at night when I got a message on Facebook. It read, “Hey buddy.” I was puzzled as to why she was contacting me. I knew her. She was a manager at one of the places I worked. I wouldn’t have answered but she seemed stable enough, so I asked the deadly question, “How are you doing?”

She embarked on a tirade of misfortune. She had cancer, her mother was dying of cancer, her boyfriend dumped her four days earlier. I was taken aback. What the hell? I had never really spoken to her at length before, but I thought maybe she was just having a bad month. She told me where she lived and it was a block or so from my apartment, so I suggested that we should go for a walk so she could vent. I know, I know. It’s the nice-itis coming to the surface again. Anyway, I gave her my phone number and she called. That was when the conversation turned strange. She asked me if I saw her model pictures, and, from that she started talking about her breast size. Then she told me how many men she’d slept with; she had slept with twenty but that did not make her a whore. By this time I was already walking to her apartment or I would have faked a cough and stayed home. Then out of the blue she told me she was broke. I thought OK, what does that have to do with me? She babbled on some more about her problems for a few minutes. Again, out of the blue she suggested that we should go to a bar. I remember thinking, who the hell is going to pay for this? I was already outside her apartment, so no turning back. She continued to tell me that her brother died of a drug over dose three weeks earlier and her sister was in rehab. I was asking myself what the hell I had gotten myself into. She stepped out of her apartment. She was pretty; no more than four feet nine inches tall, dark eyes and long, dark hair and yes, she was drunk. So here I was, a seven foot black man, walking down the street with a pint size drunk white woman. We got to the bar and no sooner I was in there than a friend of mine took me outside,

Bro, that girl is crazy as shit,” he said. I told him I figured she was.

No bro, you don’t understand. Last week she told us that she was a CIA agent and she was serious too. ”

I thought, confirmation; I was with a walking Looney lady. I went back in, bought one drink and started trying to find ways to get out of this. She told me that her boyfriend and his father had locked her in their basement so she would not leave him. It was then I suggested that we go outside because I could not hear her. The second we stepped outside, she started paying attention to some kid and totally ignoring me. The young man was apprehensive; he kept looking at me to make sure I would not kick his ass for talking to my woman. Me, I was slowly backing up. I got the chance and took it and said I was going back inside to talk to my friend. While in there, I saw the young man looking at me because he realized why I left. Then all of a sudden a beat up old truck pulled up and she walked over to it and to my surprise jumped in and took off. I promise you, you have never seen a seven footer run so fast in your life. I got home, turned off my phone and shut off my computer. There is no way I wanted her to contact me ever again. 

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Stories Storyteller

Drunk off plums

Drunk off plums

Ahhh yes, lazy Sunday afternoon, sitting on a plum tree in my uncles yard. A mild breeze sweeping through the yard, the winds whistling through the leaves, the tall grass laying down with the surg. Oh the sweet taste of these Plums, I eat and eat and eat until I felt like was drunk. Until the wind blew no more, and the sun is not blasting down, until confused roosters started crowing, until the crickets started chirping, until the first firefly blinked. Oh to be a boy again, sitting on that tree, watching the day changes and sadly it was time to climb down from that tree and leave the sweet, sweet memories of those plums.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Drunk Preacher From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

Believe it or not, racism was not an issue for me in The Volunteer City. My height and my accent seemed to deter anything like that. The main thing there was that everybody and their brother was trying to save my bloody soul. Once while I was working at a gas station, a drunken man yelled at me. He told me I would go to hell if I didn’t change my ways. He was wearing his Sunday best so I guess he had just come from church and had too much of the pastor’s wine. He stood outside the door, the scent of alcohol preceding his entrance. Then he staggered in, eyes blood shot, smacking his lips as if really thirsty. I do not know how we got to the subject of religion except his guilt for being drunk, but trust me, there is nothing more convincing than a man with the devil’s eyes throwing up verses from the Bible at you. I watched him stagger onto the street and I wondered if he was on his way to repent

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

You Don’t Need a Date you Need Therapy from the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

Attempting to date for me was like collecting an assortment of crazies. Here it is 2013 and I am still a magnet for them. It was about eleven at night when I got a message on Facebook.  It read, “Hey buddy.”  I was puzzled as to why she was contacting me. I knew her. She was a manager at one of the places I worked. I wouldn’t have answered but she seemed stable enough, so I asked the deadly question, “How are you doing?” 

She embarked on a tirade of misfortune. She had cancer, her mother was dying of cancer, her boyfriend dumped her four days earlier. I was taken aback. What the hell? I had never really spoken to her at length before, but I thought maybe she was just having a bad month. She told me where she lived and it was a block or so from my apartment, so I suggested that we should go for a walk so she could vent. I know, I know. It’s the nice-itis coming to the surface again. Anyway, I gave her my phone number and she called. That was when the conversation turned strange. She asked me if I saw her model pictures, and, from that she started talking about her breast size. Then she told me how many men she’d slept with; she had slept with twenty but that did not make her a whore. By this time I was already walking to her apartment or I would have faked a cough and stayed home. Then out of the blue she told me she was broke. I thought OK, what does that have to do with me?  She babbled on some more about her problems for a few minutes. Again, out of the blue she suggested that we should go to a bar. I remember thinking, who the hell is going to pay for this?  I was already outside her apartment, so no turning back. She continued to tell me that her brother died of a drug over dose three weeks earlier and her sister was in rehab. I was asking myself what the hell I had gotten myself into. She stepped out of her apartment. She was pretty; no more than four feet nine inches tall, dark eyes and long, dark hair and yes, she was drunk. So here I was, a seven foot black man, walking down the street with a pint size drunk white woman. We got to the bar and no sooner I was in there than a friend of mine took me outside,

Bro, that girl is crazy as shit,” he said. I told him I figured she was.

No bro, you don’t understand. Last week she told us that she was a CIA agent and she was serious too. ”

I thought, confirmation; I was with a walking Looney lady. I went back in, bought one drink and started trying to find ways to get out of this. She told me that her boyfriend and his father had locked her in their basement so she would not leave him. It was then I suggested that we go outside because I could not hear her. The second we stepped outside, she started paying attention to some kid and totally ignoring me. The young man was apprehensive; he kept looking at me to make sure I would not kick his ass for talking to my woman. Me, I was slowly backing up. I got the chance and took it and said I was going back inside to talk to my friend. While in there, I saw the young man looking at me because he realized why I left. Then all of a sudden a beat up old truck pulled up and she walked over to it and to my surprise jumped in and took off.  I promise you, you have never seen a seven footer run so fast in your life. I got home, turned off my phone and shut off my computer. There is no way I wanted her to contact me ever again.