Stand tall America and get what you want. In this bullshit blog you wont find what you should do with your life. That is between you and your balls. Here you will find how to do it. I get up. No matter what you want out of this life. A crime boss, student, lover, roll model, sailor, joker, smoker, or midnight toker I have been them all. Should you be them. No, yes, hell yes, god damn right, hold fast, live laugh love, grip it and rip it, and pass that shit while doing it doggy. But enough about me. The point is I get up. Right now I want to be legal. I want to be a master carpenter and electrician. Which is currently rocking the fuck out of. These hands cannot only count money, turn pages, give god a high five and bring down his wrath on the fine asses he has made, inspire greatness with a handshake, sail the fucking groove, tickle a smile, and roll a joint on her ass, but they can build incredible things and light the fuck out of them. We should all be passionate about our goals no matter what they are. We should smile on our way to work, we should take pride in what we build, and we should swagger off the job site no matter how sleep deprived or hung over we are. Or sore from a pulled groin fucking all night. Strut America. For a little while I’m going to be a humble carpenter, trying to legally fund his inventions (patent pending) It is something to be proud of. Something that will make the world cleaner, richer, and better to sail, fuck, ans strut on. One thing I want to be pure to maybe pay for the shit I have seen. Not done because frankly my fellow college students were going to blow line with or without me. I just humbly used their parents money to help pay for what my scholarships didn’t. Ok maybe it was a little fun too but who doesn’t like two strippers doing lines off their cock and fighting over the numby without using their hands. I was 22 straight off the farm and my Dad turned grey and died of AIDS in front of me call it coping.
Any who I give those little honesties (a word?) so maybe you will be a little more honest with yourselves America. With those around you. So that one day we can be proud of ourselves. All of our hands are bloody. We all have to give back. This earth is rich and should provide for all of us. Like I said it’s not what I have done it’s what I have seen. Rape, murder, hungry American’s going through my trash for a meal, uneducated, irresponsible, entitled, users, beggars, who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. We all have turned a blind eye and I want to be better then that. Not only a man but a modern Gentleman. I want to play my hand right even with these shitty cards. All I have is a dead family, a down town apartment and the circle of friends I can count on my fingers and toes. I wouldn’t trade it for a royal flush. I want a challenge and I don’t want your sympathy or help. I want to climb the mountain I want to sail the seas and I want a 15some while doing both. Because my balls clad brass, a kick ass pad and my friends I would take a bullet for and have is one hell of a hand. I want to achieve, dream, create, and stupefy those around me. The American dream. Manifest destiny bitch. I could have done it with coke money. But I quit. Maybe it was to easy. Maybe I was just really fucking good at it and smart enough to fight the law. Maybe I grew up. But I did it on my terms. It’s in the past and for some reason I reasoned a new life. If a retired crime boss, scholarship art student, damn good lay, under dog, skipper, character, pot head, ass slapping joint passer can change. The crime boss part everything else rocks lets face it. Why can’t you better yourself? Be more compassionate, read something other then hustler, loss some weight your fat America it will help your endurance, substitute reason for fear courage for anger, sail! fuck motors!, smile a little, and maybe toke one. Just a nickle bag, (Taylor Oceans does not endorse weed in the current litigious American and will deny all tales in an court of law)
I have not had a regular job in a long time. I just worked 48 of 56 hours because I get up. When I’m knocked down, dead drunk, sexually exhausted, or coming down I get up and get the mother fucking dust off my shoulder because I get what I want. The drug money is gone and although I could have my boss killed and body hidden for 2,000 dollar I want legal money to improve my world, leave something behind when I sail away and maybe get a stature. A small one just marble, ten feet tall of me on a throne wearing an admirals uniform from the 1600’s with a big fucking hat and chalice. You have to have goals.
Long live the writers and fuck the edit nazis im drunk and have slept 9 hours in four days because I’m the best at what I do. You should be too. Mic Dropped I’m going to bed and will edit this before I charge you for it in book 2.