Click to Subscribe
Mom
American Dreamboat #4
© 2022 James LaFond
MAY/1/22
Mister and Mrs. Simpson where burning trash on their end of Oak Road, in the blocking barrel, in the middle of the street at the north end. The Dempseys were all camped in front of the rubble that used to be their house as they sold the bricks and block to buy meth. The Jacksons were playing karaoke on their front lawn next door to Mom’s house.
Mom was standing before the screen door, in her tight blue dress that made all the men stare at her, which always embarrassed Dillon, who panted to a stop on the concrete porch before the door as his mother said, “And where have you been?”
“Sorry, Mom, Rico en me got jumped by a pack a skinnies.”
“Shush your mouth, young man and get in here right now!”
“Yes, Mom,” he said, as he walked inside and shut the screen door behind him and she continued with her rant, “They are human beings just like you and me, Dillon. I cannot believe I have raised a racist! Apologize right now, to me and then go back and apologize to those poor immigrants!”
“Sorry Mom—ah, if I go back they will do me like they done Rico—he might be dead. They had bricks and they was full grown men.”
For a moment she seemed sober, had stopped reaching out to smack him, and then seemed to recall something important, “Oh, yes, Dillon, dear, do my tits look too big in this dress?”
“Ma!”
“Well, dear, I have no one else to ask. I don’t look like a slut, do I?”
“No, Mom. Mom, why do you have to marry a Nigerian? Can’t you like marry Rico’s Uncle?”
She screeched, “You racist motherfucker,” and slapped him across the face.
“That Uncle of your friend’s is a drug dealer. We saw him shoot a man in the head right in front of the McDonalds drive thru! He is an animal.”
“Well,” he hawed, “Marry Dad. He’ll be getting out in three years!”
“Now, dear, we have been over this many times. Your father was not on the pill when we had sex, and did not inform me of this so that I could take protective measures, which makes that rape, which is why he is in prison. Furthermore, in case you haven’t noticed, bouncing around with your blonde hair and dreamy blue eyes just like your goddamned philandering father, while all of these black-haired catholic girls go ga-ga over you, I am white and your asshole father was white and it’s against the fucking law for unemployed whites to get married and I’m out of a fucking job for six months now—oaky!”
“Here, I bought a fez for you and a hijab for myself. I don’t have to be Muslim to marry Mobi Akbar Ali, but it would be nice if my son did not look like a total infidel!”
“Yes, Mom,” he resignedly moaned as he bent his head as she could place the stupid cap on it with the tassel.
“And wear your jeans and flannel!”
“Mom, they got tar on them roofing with Mister Jackson yesterday. This is all I have.”
“God God, forgive us as we meet our new Master. Baby boy, today is a new start. The Queen E. Three is already docked at the Harbor and Mobi and his family can’t wait to meet us!”
“Can’t wait to meet you, Mom, with your big, rocking rack!”
She slapped him twice that time and he looked down into her pathetic pig eyes and laughed, laughed like the damned, held his stomach against the rollicking laughter as she thudded wimpy girl punches into his back until she finally screeched, “Wait until your new father hears about this—then you’ll get it.”
Why not, came Rico’s smartass voice into his mind and he blurted, “Not until he’s done popping those puppies out of their rack-straps!”
She then grabbed a soda bottle and smashed it over his forehead, but it was plastic and it folded up as he sneered down into her eyes and snared, “You rancid whore.”
She stopped stunned, looking up at him as he grabbed her shoulders and spat in her face, “I will get you to your African. But after that you are dead to me. I’m never stepping foot in the house you stole from Dad after you give it to your new husband on your back. You got that whore?” he hissed.
She seemed dumb, like as if a doper had just shot himself all full of the newest shit.
“Come on, Wendy, it’s time to meet your Kang.”
She looked at him dumbfounded and said not a word and followed him obediently after the speech that Rico had him rehearse over and over again against this day. Rico was a genius and hopefully he was alive.
Uncle Cholo
american dream boat
Dream Boat
eBook
into leviathan’s maw
eBook
masculine axis
eBook
fanatic
eBook
hate
eBook
beasts of aryas
eBook
let the world fend for itself
eBook
son of a lesser god
eBook
the first boxers
eBook
night city
eBook
the lesser angels of our nature
eBook
taboo you
eBook
on the overton railroad
eBook
barbarism versus civilization
eBook
winter of a fighting life
eBook
dark, distant futures
eBook
on combat
eBook
the gods of boxing
eBook
the combat space
eBook
all-power-fighting
eBook
logic of steel
eBook
the year the world took the z-pill
eBook
song of the secret gardener
eBook
the sunset saga complete
eBook
when you're food
eBook
time & cosmos
eBook
by the wine dark sea
eBook
america the brutal
eBook
logic of force
eBook
menthol rampage
eBook
songs of aryas
eBook
wife—
eBook
the fighting edge
eBook
triumph
eBook
fiction anthology one
eBook
cracker-boy
eBook
the greatest boxer
eBook
solo boxing
eBook
within leviathan’s craw
eBook
under the god of things
eBook
uncle satan
eBook
sorcerer!
eBook
fate
eBook
advent america
eBook
ranger?
eBook
thriving in bad places
eBook
predation
eBook
sons of aryas
eBook
blue eyed daughter of zeus
eBook
the greatest lie ever sold
eBook
honor among men
eBook
broken dance
eBook
orphan nation
eBook
book of nightmares
eBook
your trojan whorse
eBook
z-pill forever
  Add a new comment below:
Name
Email
Message