The Great American Black Hero: Little Angels Ch. 2

Chapter 2 of 6.

Chapter 2: Here’s Brewster

One of the earliest thing I can remember about my brother is him talking me into something which was just plain right out pure evil. Even Satan would had given Himself a gold star for thinking this one up. We were going to put the sewing machine needles in the couch for the group of socialite ladies that visited my mom once a month to discuss the ‘current affairs’, which in my opinion, was “what was fooked up about the town and what can we do about It Club?”

This really was translated into ‘How can we get a better stronghold on the City to see it our way! Especially since we are the Elite Christians of this God forsaken community! And OUR farts don’t stink! Praise Jeezzus! Club.’

Now the ladies were probably not as bad as I make them out to be but I’m only nine years old.

You see, if it is was not for these ladies, Columbus, Ohio would had gone to hell in a bread basket, a long time ago. They were the upper crust of society at that time, {Our mom and dad were living in the Uppity Negro Section of Town}, and it appeared to me that a lot of the ladies in my mom’s social group where eating the upper crust of some big ass pie big time from the weight they were carrying around.

Of course they were all black ladies and the one token White lady who everybody liked but me.

Now remember I am telling you this story from a broader perspective than then.

So, at that time, being in a predominately black neighborhood, the few white people I saw were all either Ward and June Cleaver from the ‘Leave It To Beaver Show’. Beaver? Come on! This was the late 1950’s, did these guys really know they were talking about the slang word for ‘pussy’ at that time? I think so!

Believe me Television has done more for bombarding me with sex through their endless sexual innuendos then any pornography film ever did. And everyone was as perfect and pure as the characters in the ‘Father Knows Best Show!’

All I ever did, and loved to death, was watch TV. I got up…turn on the T.V. I got ready for school, I had some time to burn…turn on the T.V. I got home from school…turn on the T.V. I got my homework done…turn on T.V. I got ready for bed, took my shower, brushed my teeth, sneak back downstairs to turn on the T.V..

Besides the few white people in my surrounding neighborhood, this was the closest I had come to knowing white people at the time.

Through Television.

Can you imagine a nine year old black kid walking down the street and every white woman that he saw was June Cleaver? And every white man was Ward Cleaver?

A white kid about 16 passed me on the sidewalk. “H!” He said genuinely. “Hi WALLY!” I said with that god awful grin you see on black people in The Three Stooges Movies!

Walking on the main streets where the stores were, where blacks and whites could walk together, another white kid might ask me what time it was. “IT’S ONE O’CLOCK, BEAVER!!!” I said again with that god awful grin on my face. Looking at me kind of strange, the white kid would sort of hurry away…with increasing momentum!

And we had our black version of Eddie Haskell on our street, named Tony. He had the reputation of being the bad boy in the neighborhood. I think his worst ‘sin’ was stealing. But more on that later.

Let’s get back to The Saviors of Menlo Place. My mom’s social group.

To this day I still think that one white lady was there to spy on us. It was common jargon that there was one white man for every group of black people to make sure we were not plotting on how to overthrow them, or their crooked government. She was nice. Porky like the rest of the ladies and sort of looked around like a rooster. I couldn’t tell if she was just curious or was looking for a significant place to hide a spy camera.

So, before my mom’s next social meeting and dinner, we hide the sewing needles in place in the Living room couch waiting for our un-expecting GUEST, fat asses, to sit the fook down! And they DID!

And it was better than a three-ring circus! Ed Sullivan could not had put on a better show! The first lady, {I never knew her name} plot her fat ass down on the couch and plot her fat ass up as fast as she had plot it down. “Ohhhh Mary! I think you have a spring loose in your couch!” She said rubbing her fat ass.

And the other lady was already in motion to swat her Bertha butt down also and she bounced back up with a big “Ohhhhh! Oh my God!” They were long needles. And, of course, we were rolling in the aisles as a bewildered mother tried to make sense of the fiasco that was happening at her social event in her living room.

Then came Mrs. Krueger. Yeah, just like Freddy Krueger. I would not be surprise if she was married to him. She came in all high and mighty like she always did. {I think the men liked it because she did have nice tits!}.

She plopped down on the couch and just sat there!

That needle must had been at least two inches up her ass, but she felt no pain and said nothing!

We all knew it! That Jeezel Mrs. Krueger was a witch! How else could she bounce her fat ass on the couch and not be affected by it? Sure enough, she needed to be burn at the stake!

“What the hell is that?!” I asked as my brother showed me this flat red balloon like thing.

“It’s a whoopee cushion.”

“A what?!”

“Here, watch!”

He blew up the inflated rubber device, I never seen before and slid it under the cushion where our grandmother always sat.

After a while, our grandmother did come out just as cheery as ever and offered us some ice tea… and sat down.


Man! That thing sounded just like a big fart! A big nasty one!

Oh sweet Jesus! It was so funny!

Another Day Of Paradise had hit the Peterson’s place again! Of course, our good-nature grandmother laughed with us after she saw what we had done and gave us this big surprise look when the ‘whoopie cushion’ went off.

“Now which one of you put that thingamajig under my seat?” She said.

We both pointed at each other.

This thing was like a gift that fell from heaven, or hell, take your pick. But where could we use it to get the biggest laugh?

Again the “Our shat {past tense of poop} don’t stink Club‟ was back at my mom’s house again. And this time, we had the whoopee cushion in place, blown up real big for a really, really big sound. And as they filed into my mother’s living room with all the prescribe greetings, who else but Mrs. Krueger took the seat with the whoopie cushion under it. Oh, Holy Satan!!

This was going to be better then when Hugh Hefner announced the coming out of “Playboy”, with, whom none else, but Marilyn Monroe as the naked {tits only} Centerfold! We were already laughing. Man! When that thing went off, the ladies would be so embarrassed that they would probably die! Right there on the spot!


That made it even funnier. We were in the den walking around with our hands at our throats pretending like we were choking ourselves to death and falling to the floor quite dead, except for the laughing.

“Hey, hey!” Bernard said. “There she goes! She’s getting ready to seat down!” I ran to the double door in the den to peer into the living room just in time to see Mrs. Krueger plot her extra fat ass down on our whoopie cushion! Jumping Jesus! I was going to pee my pants!

I could hardly keep quite I was giggling so much. This was gonna be classic! Mrs. Krueger sat down and as we anticipated, and out came the loud fart like resounding sound… but then, another sound cracked the air. But it was not the sound we were listening for.

Mrs. Krueger and her fat ass had BUSTED our whoopie cushion! It had exploded!

She pulled it from under the seat limp as a dick, and there was a hole the size of the San Andreas fault in it! That hussy Jezebel!

“Mary, I think one of your boys left one of their toys under the seat of your cushions. Here!”

Yeah! And you fooked it all up with yo’ fat ass, you old hussy, Jezebel! Needless to say. We were no longer laughing.

“Now I want to see you two boys in Sunday school on Sunday!” Mrs. Krueger said to us before she left. “And don’t forget to say your prayers!” Yeah, I had a prayer for her alright. I wish God would blow her fat black ass to kingdom come like she did my Whoopie Cushion…Amen!

Rejected and dejected from our joke ‘gone bad’, there was nothing left to do but to cheer ourselves up again…instantly.

Smoke a joint? I wish! But Ganja was not around then. At least not around the Upper so-called Upper Black Middle Class. Though we were not snooty, if you had even a dime more than the average black family, you were rich, and you were therefore, by command of the bible, to be HATED. And you were hated because you must be snooty, because you were so-called rich. We were well off. Good to go. But nowhere near rich as say a Rockefeller or Bush. So we were butt hurt our prize toy was gone-we got it off the back of a comic book magazine so we would have to wait at least 4 weeks to get a new one, and plus we had no more money.

So, dejected from a joke ‘gone bad’, there was one alternative that always worked!!

Nothing like having good grandparents who love you too.

It was time for a retreat.

Over the valley And through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go…