Ebenezer Jenkins Christmas In Chicago

Ebenezer Jenkins' Christmas in Chicago Explore the soul-stirring and humorously sharp reimagining of the timeless classic, 'A Christmas Carol,' through a lens that is both unique and satirical. Join the lively storytelling duo, Madd and Dog2020, as they narrate a version that is sure to captivate even those who are not typically drawn to the Christmas spirit. Step into the world of Ebenezer Jenkins, an unapologetic miser, and entrepreneur who manages the unconventional Glad Wrappings Funeral Home and Barbecue Joint. Here, irony is as abundant as the barbecue's flavor, offering you the chance to savor your uncle's renowned ribs in a posthumous celebration. Ebenezer Jenkins, a steadfast Christmas cynic and averse to charitable acts, finds himself entangled with an unlikely partner: a crafty individual known as the "Serial Nutcracker." This pint-sized accomplice is infamous for attempting to physically relieve men of their wallets, albeit with limitations due to his stature. Nonetheless, his mischievous exploits inadvertently earn him a notorious reputation and provide his targets with both discomfort and amusement. This twisted tale introduces a cast of eccentric characters and dark humor, offering a fresh and uproarious perspective on the beloved holiday story. Prepare to be entertained and to contemplate the true essence of the festive season. Excerpt: On Christmas Eve, snow, as delicate as lace panties from Victoria's Secret, graced Ebenezer's window. People, burdened with Christmas hams and bags of yams, stumbled along broken sidewalks. Some carried toys, lovingly purchased from the Wall of the Mart in China. Others indulged in cheap vodka and fruit punch, embarking on merry renditions of Christmas carols. Their melodies intertwined with snippets of old-time Gospel songs. Swing low, silent jingle bells, As Mary weeps, all ye faithful come, A rumpa dump rump, a rumpa dump come, Oh come, ye to precious lord, Taking my hand to Jerusalem, A rumpa dump rump, a rumpa dump come! "Dead cats!" Ebenezer shouted at the carolers outside. They dispersed, but a sudden thump and a loud yowl echoed at his window. When he peered out, he was met with the lifeless gaze of a Persian cat, frozen to the ice on his window.

In 'The Road to Astroworld,' a haunting narrative unfolds through a series of letters sent by Promise Goodday, a woman confined to a mental institution for a tragic act. Addressed to her childhood friend, Lakeisha Ann, these letters unveil a harrowing twenty-year journey within the confines of Rust Hills, a place marred by drugs, questionable therapies, and unspeakable abuse, including the torment from an individual she cryptically refers to as 'Big Fingers.' These poignant missives serve as a searing, yet occasionally darkly humorous chronicle of Promise's life at Rust Hills. As readers delve into her correspondence, they must ponder whether escape and redemption are attainable in the end. And, nestled within the recesses of Promise's heart, lies the enigmatic Astroworld—Is it a tangible escape or a whimsical dreamland guiding her on 'The Road to Astroworld'? Excerpt: Dear LaKeisha Ann: I think Big Fingers is a woman, or at least has had woman hands transplanted at the ends of his bull shouldered arms. I mean his fingers know my snatch better than my own fingers. They don't fumble. My Charlie the pussy Doctor, fumbled and was very clinical with me. But this man gets to the heart of the matter as he strokes me. And in my moaning I forget about the purple wounds on my ass that he has inflicted. Love, Promise Dear LaKeisha Ann: Lord, lord, if I were a beast, I would rip Big Fingers's heart out and eat it. You would think this man was on a period the way he swells and bellows toward the end of the month. He sent another girl to the infirmary. He beat Collette because she forgot how to spell her name. She wrote "'Let'" on her medicine sign-out sheet. She didn't really forget how to spell her name, but you know how it is to be seventeen. You wake up one morning and decide that you want a new name. Big Fingers told her to write "Collette Smith" on the form. She insisted on 'Let.' His blistering coaxial cable did not make her change her mind. If she dies, I hope death does not rob her of her spirit. I will buy her a tombstone and have "LET" chiseled into its granite face. Love, Promise PS. What's new with you? Dear LaKeisha Ann: we had a bad storm here yesterday. The rain battered the windows like a shower of fists--mens' fists. I screamed at the men. Girl, I screamed at them and cursed their Mamas. They started up the bus to drown out my screams. But, baby, I out-screamed their buses. finally they sent in Big Mama to point her finger at me. I came close to biting her finger off at the root, and sucking her until all that was left of her was bitter and dry. But I didn't bite Big Mama. the rain, I woke up in shackles. I think Big Fingers shackles us girls just so he can get a chance to touch our pussies. When you come out here, I'm going to introduce you to Big Fingers in case you're in the market for a husband. kiss them grandbabies. Love, Promise

Embark on an extraordinary voyage to Astroworld with Promise as your spirited guide. In this collection of tales, you'll witness the fascinating tapestry of humor and heartache woven into her epic journey towards a place of true happiness. These stories are just a glimpse of the incredible adventures awaiting you in "Promises Letters from the Road to Astroworld" and the enchanting novel "The Road to Astroworld." Prepare to be captivated by a world where laughter and tears dance in harmony, beckoning you to explore the full tapestry of Promise's extraordinary expedition.

From the Book That noise beat on my ears. A mad saxophone player filled the room with his insanity. My eyes got all crossed trying to keep up with the digital readout running across the clock's face like a flow of red water. I couldn't stand it anymore. That's when I noticed them. From the author: These poems and prose are meant to be a testimony to our honesty as humans. The poems might seem personal, but what is personal is also universal. I invite you to dive in and see my truth and find your story in the poems and stories. Rough Cuts seesaws between poignancy and humor. An elephant, the duckbill platypus, a plague of cicadas, as well as lust and longing rest between these electronic sheets. You'll laugh one minute and the next go, "hmm." 6 9 The world has secrets Behind secrets and Puppets ruled by puppets You think the game is sixty-nine But you're a dog, Dawg Chasing his rainbow tail. Round and round you go Until you wake too late. The catch is twenty-two Three strikes and you're out. # Happy My manhood rots in the garden of cabbage leaves. Where children once grew yellow fat drips and splatters my thighs. My hips are big as money bags and heavy with gold I am suffering. I am happy. # The poem Apocalypse from this book recently appeared on the blog site NEWVERSENEWS.

Perhaps Mick Jagger said it best in his iconic song "I Can't Get No Satisfaction." Edgar an aging transvestite can't get any satisfaction. A warm summer night finds him lonely and in the mood for love. He picks up a young man at a bar, but sex doesn't calm the malice lurking in Edgar's heart. Edgar is torn between jealousy of the guy's youthfulness and yearning to possess the young man forever. This poem is quirky, strange, and speaks to gay men's deep aloneness in today's app-filled quickie love society. The epistle, We Are Here is included. Celebrate what is strange, beautiful, and also what is great about our lives.

You may think with a name like Jethro, our story is a simple tale of a country bumpkin visiting New York City. It’s deeper than that. There’s a restlessness in Jethro’s soul. Plus, he has the quirky habit of barking when he’s nervous. It starts with a low growl when he’s mildly agitated, to a ferocious bark when he feels endangered. Jethro gets fed up with his wife and her cousin after being cooped up in the cousin's tiny apartment. He came to New York to see things, he declares and steps out to explore the city on his own. As he rides the subway he growls under his breath to keep the creeps away (just imagine). He catches the attention of Toni a crossdresser recently released from the army. It becomes a wild weekend of sex and self-discovery until a dangerous encounter with a gang of boys sends Jethro back to the arms of his wife, Eartha Pearl. Is Jethro a changed man? Only time will tell. "Harvey captures the flavor of New York with the best of them." Excerpt: I say, “Now wait a minute, Jethro, you ain’t gonna have no cultural experiences stuck scared here on this stoop. Suppose Columbus had just sat on a stoop all his life. Just suppose. Shit. A man must take action!” While I sit debating, this big white dude in chains and leather walks toward me. Now, these chains ain’t dainty little things you get from Spiegel’s catalog. These chains come from the Navy yard. I mean these chains can lift submarines. He wears three around his neck, five on each wrist, and two on each ankle. Now the chains do not bother me. The fact that he has on funky raw uncured leather does not bother me. Even the glass eye--I hope it’s glass--dangling from his left earlobe on a chain does not bother me. What bothers me is when he turns in my direction, and grabs his grapefruit sized crotch and smiles—that’s what bothers ol’ Jethro here. I say, “Uh oh Jethro, somebody wants you to swing a certain way. And I don’t swing that way.” I wonder why he pick on me? So what if I do have on these black high top sneakers, shorts with Texas bluebonnets all over them, and a pink tee-shirt that says, “I BRAKE FOR MOONERS--that don’t mean I’m gay. Shoot. I’m just a colorful dude. Well okay if you want to count that time when I was in the eighth grade and me and Johnny Scardino grabbed each other’s rods behind the gym bleachers. I wouldn’t have gone back there with him, but he told me he had two and he would show me if I showed him mine. Okay, it tickled and I got a hard-on when he grabbed me and I grabbed him out of reflexes, but I haven’t seen Johnny since the eighth grade. I dreamed about him once, since I been married to Eartha Pearl. But I woke up and made love to Eartha real quick. So anyway I hang my head and growl softly at the man in leather. He must think I’m calling him to dinner ‘cause he moves a little closer. When I see him step, I bark louder. And not yap yap like a poodle either. I’m Doberman and Great Dane combined. I rattle nearby windows. New York people stare at me as they walk by. And they tell me you’re doing something when you can get a New Yorker to stare at you eye-level on the street. The dude slinks away like he’s carrying a tail between his legs. First appeared in Soulfires and Shade.

With hard work and good luck, David "Big Nose" Calloway navigates Houston's Jim Crow era and civil rights achievements to become a member of the once segregated Walnut Grove Country Club. There, he meets Jonathan Knapp a fellow businessman. Jonathan tries hard to befriend David. However, David remains aloof and distant. Will Jonathan's anger at being rejected send him on a quest for revenge and expose a secret both men share? Excerpt: The leg was good luck to David. It kept him out of the army during WWII. Army Doctor smiled at the big black shirtless boy thick as a chifferobe. Then he smiled at David's bulging crotch. "That nigger is packing a sack of walnuts there!" David stood with his pants around his ankles. The doctor nodded at his left leg big as a phone post. However, the doctor's smile vanished, when he looked below David's right knee at what looked like a gnarled piece of hickory. Still, the Old southerner steeped in a belief that Negroes were workhorses, made David walk and jump. He squeezed the good leg with his hand, massaged the good strong calf and then the weak one. He measured the leg from crotch to ankle, wrote down the numbers on a chart, and studied the chart marked with other men's numbers. He sized up David's withered leg next to a scrawny white boy's good leg and told himself he didn't see much of a difference. Get it Now!

Urban Tales are about us, at least some of us. They are about us being funny and about us loving, lusting, and sexing. Only us could have "Dozens" players in our Christmas story. Only us know how to tip over on the down-low. These stories are streetwise, but yet will make you think and won't shortchange you. These are long and short stories. They are gritty and heart touching. Characters speak in elegant voices and raw urban tongues. The raw truth can make you uncomfortable, and maybe make you cry. But the truth will never bore you. After you've read this book, feel free to check out the big books: Maura and Her Two Husbands, Minister Q, Ebenezer Jenkins' Christmas in Chicago, and much more to come.