TK Humor

By Thomas Kaye

The world needs humor; every situation, country, industry. They hunger that injection to curb the stress and put a new perspective on a bad situation made worse by the insane political correct mania. - Tom Kuntzmann
Laugh and world laughs with you --- Snore and you sleep alone – Anthony Burgess

These stories are similar to caricatures sketched by artist at a carnival. They are on the spot reactions to situations that happened at bars, barbecues and other locales in the New York suburban, urban and NYC scenes. The characters reflect that attitude. The stories are built on irony, which is woven in the fabric of every day conversation as much as wise ass remarks. Being irked by people, politics etc. comes as regularly as the sun rising and setting. I heard about a group that protested against Santa for his Ho, Ho, Ho. The group frowned on it by saying it was frightening children and that this Santa chuckle was too close to the slang for prostitute. It’s insane.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Kaye
• Release date: Feb 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463065730

Thomas Kaye

Graphics and video can stimulate but content is the magnet; words drive the message. I’m a fiction/non-fiction writer from New York with published Ebooks and corporate sales and business articles. I write in a wide variety of styles; everything from casual humor to business professional. I cover all areas including sports, outdoor, current events and humor for all industries; sports clubs, trade associations and start- ups. I’m an active outdoorsman interested in hiking, biking, and golf.

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TK HUMOR

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The world needs humor; every situation, country, industry. They hunger that injection to curb the stress and put a new perspective on a bad situation made worse by the insane political correct mania. - Tom Kuntzmann

Laugh and world laughs with you --- Snore and you sleep alone – Anthony Burgess

These stories are like the caricatures sketched by artist at a carnival. They are on the spot reactions to situations that happened at bars, barbecues, diners and other locales in the New York suburban, urban and NYC scenes. The characters reflect that attitude. And the situations took place at a time when, yes you had to use discretion in certain areas or you were rightfully called an idiot, but people could handle jabbing and some dark humor.

The stories are built on irony, which is woven in the fabric of every day conversation as much as wise ass remarks. Being irked by people, politics etc. comes as regularly as the sun rising and setting. Observations are the vehicles for driving across my point and striking the target on strange items that have never been documented anywhere in the world.

TK HUMOR

tk01

Table of Contents

Taxi for a Drunk

Dogfellas

Entitlement

The Personal Drunk

The Jobless Giggolo

The Lightweight

The Mean Seats of New York

The Pool Shark

Happy Hour Blues

Bad Day

Jaded Telemarketer

Movin’ on In

Taxi for a Drunk

Even if Ray could find where he parked the car, he didn’t trust himself behind the wheel. After throwing back a few beers and then agreeing to a couple of chilled vodka shots, he looked at his watch. Ray needed to make a quick exit before the discussion came around to why he shouldn’t. And that would be centered on his masculinity being whipped by the fiancée he was rushing home to have dinner with.

In classic cloak and dagger style, he circled back toward the pool table, out the side door and into the parking lot. He found himself adjacent to the train station and the nearby taxi stand. He staggered into the office. The dispatcher pointed lazily to a cab whose driver was leaning against the bumper reading the paper. Ray walked over, opened the door to the back seat and slid his skinny but muscular frame into the back seat. The driver jumped behind the wheel and the cab pulled away from the curb.

Ray spoke up.

Hey, do you know where you’re driving me?

The driver ignored Ray and swerved out of the lot. He made a series of turns and headed west. Ray’s destination was east. He banged on the plastic partition that separated drunken passengers the crazed drivers. The cabbie reacted by jerking the wheel hard to the right and slamming Ray into the arm rest of the passenger door. He then stopped the cab in front of a closed deli and slowly lifted a gun into plain view. He held it vertical for a few seconds, and then lowered it.

Are you going to shut up?

Ray shut up.

The man looked more comical than intimidating with a small, doughy face and bulging bloodshot eyes, but his voice was threatening.

Just sit tight. We’re going for a ride.

Ray found his voice.

Going for a ride? I’ll break these windows, and then we’ll draw some attention. Ray’s drunken threat was weak, and the cab pulled away quickly.

They drove for about twenty minutes before stopping in front of a small duplex house. The front door opened and Ray almost chocked at this giant of a man standing way over six foot maybe in his mid-forties, dressed in an expensive leather jacket and sneakers. The new passenger climbed in and turned toward driver, noticed the gun and began to bark orders.

Man, put away the piece, we need to get going. And no more drinking while we’re on this job. You, in the back, we’re going to need you to be real cooperative. Do what we say and it will be cool, no problems. You gotta do us a favor.

A favor? What can I possibly do for you guys?

The new passenger laughed along with the driver who slammed down hard on the gas, leaving rubber as it pulled away from the curb and continued to head west. Ray sat quietly waiting to find out what he was going to be cooperative about. The car eventually exited at Knapp Street in Brooklyn, stopping in front of a nondescript red brick apartment building.

The man in the passenger seat opened the partition and turned to Ray.

We don’t like some of the guys up there. Better hope they like you.

Ray’s gulp and heart beat was loud enough to hear in Manhattan.

Big boy in the passenger seat continued.

You go up and say you are running for Joe and need the gloves. Don’t say anything else. Bring back what they give you. If you try to take off, we’ll be on faster than a jackrabbit. Now go. It’s apartment 3A.

Wait, do these guys know I’m coming up…

Just get up there.

Ray though about taking off when you got out, but nixed the idea. He stepped out of the car, and slowly walked to the front door of the building. No one needed to buzz him up, the door was open. The lobby carpet was old and worn with a couch that sat in the far corner. It was stained and looked as if it was waiting to be thrown out. The elevator was penned with various graffiti and the up/down request buttons were broken off. Ray decided to climb the stairs. When he reached the third floor, he looked as if he climbed twenty. His face was masked in sweat and his heart was pounding. The fear was taking effect. He found 3A and knocked loudly which surprised him since his hands were shaking.

After what felt like twenty minutes, he heard a response from behind the cheap, chipped apartment door.

Yeah?

Uh, I need the gloves.