Black Baby

Black Baby

Baby Fight

Baby Fight

I had made a contact through an intermediary with a Mixacan by the name of Huevos Normalis. I had been hearing tell of an illegal gambling practice that centered around pit fighting that was taking place near my very home. After getting text messaged to my cell from the go between, I drove to the arranged meet spot (behind a local High’s convenience store) and waited nearly half an our in the dusk listening to an exceptionally bad Meat Puppets CD I had found in a dumpster a week before, on my Truck’s kickass stereo. At the near end of track nine, there came a rapping on my driver’s side window. I sat up quickly straight and turned to see what had to be the very dirty MGD hat of the man himself. I cranked down the stereo and wound down the window, “Huevos,” I said. He nodded, “si.” “Hop in,” I said, making room amidst the trash and various power tools that usually lived on the passenger’s seat. “No, we walk,” he said.

I was a bit nervous about walking in the dark with a dirty strange foreigner, even if it was a mere mile from my home, but I had decided much earlier to follow this story wherever it managed to go. I turned off the truck, grabbed the keys, and hopped out onto the greasy parking lot. “Lead the way, sir,” I told Huevos, and he stared at me for a moment. He seemed a mild mannered man, but one that could burst into tears or laughter at any moment. His stare seemed to ooze, “glue sniffer,” but what the hell. He turned to walk through the dark alley behind High’s and I followed, readily.

We winded our way through tiny, unkempt back yards, small patches of trees, a well lit hospital parking lot, a pitch black public park, and finally into the brightly lit front yard of a small house with a brick drive. There were no cars parked in the driveway and no garage. The windows were dark. Huevos glanced over his shoulder at me, and then pushed onward around the side of the white brick home and into the darkened back yard. With a careful one, two, three knock on the burgundy steel door, Huevos gained entrance to a dim, smoky, loud room that smelled an odd mix of cigars, whiskey, cologne, and shit. Huevos nodded at several people (there were at least 25 men and women (more men than women) crammed into what turned out to be a large kitchen. He pulled out his wallet in front of a particularly well endowed woman with bad teeth and a pistol neatly tucked into the front of her pants, and motioned for me to do likewise. We each handed the handsome woman $50.00 and I followed my guide to the far wall to watch the proceedings.

In the center of the room sat what could only be called a play pen. It was pea green with mesh sides and was decorated with bears and ducks. Another large breasted woman wearing a pink robe offered me a glass of some kind of whiskey, which I took with a nervous smile, and then she walked gingerly through the crowd to the far side of the room. “Nice ass,” I said to Huevos. “Que,” he asked. “NICE ASS,” I yelled back. “Thank you,” he smiled.

After a few seconds of trying to figure out that exchange I noticed two women from opposite sides of the room making their way to the center. Each carried a very fussy and naked baby. The woman to my left, a large, huge haired black woman, carried her rather fat black child to the edge of the play pen and then raised it toward the ceiling (the baby, not the play pen). It was a boy. Half the crowd cheered. The other woman, a skinny, lesbian haired, milky whitey reached her side of the play pen and raised her baby to the ceiling. It’s a girl. The other half of the crowd cheered.

Before I could take sides (not knowing what my $50.00 had been for) both naked babies were in the pen, screaming, crying, and pissing all over the place. It seemed the black baby had a better grasp of walking and so wobbled over the white girl, who sat crooked, hands raised, and fell on top of her. As the two rolled around over and under each other, grasping at limbs and swatting at faces, the crowd’s cheers grew to fever pitch. Men and women alike held fists full of cash in the air and stood egging on the infants. “Kick her ass, you black son of a bitch!” “Rip his dick off, you whore!”

It was something to behold.

After what seemed like several minutes more of baby fight, the white girl latched onto the black boy’s ear with her right hand and squeezed. The crowd quieted for a moment, and suddenly erupted into cheers and boos as a drop of blood fell from the black boy’s ear lobe.

The women promptly collected their children, kissing them and hurrying them back to whichever room they had come from. Money changed hands in every corner. Huevos smiled at me. The big breasted pistol mama handed each of us $100.00. I sat against the wall and waited for the next round.

About the Author

I just stay home and I drink rum.

Can two white people make a black baby?

My wife and I are both white and have just had a baby. The baby came out pitch black. My wife says her great-grandfather had black genes in him and it sometimes only surfaces in later generations. Could someone explain how this phenomena works.

Either you are bs'ing us, or your mailman, milkman or poolman, or even all 3 are black. Looks like wifey went to the dark side.

Kruder & Dorfmeister-Black Baby