Finding Our Family

It is when we lose our family we look for another. Mine was taken away from me at 18. The rest of it followed at 21. So many times I looked around for the questions only my father could answer. The riddles my mother could only unwind. The support provided only by a loving sister. When we lose those connections with our blood we feel our veins will empty.
In our journeys and as time passes we find another family. The guidance of a father. The support of a brother you want to look up to you. The love and touch of a woman. Soon our veins fill and throb. Life returns to our hearts with a rush of energy. The dark path gets a little brighter.
When that light shines on our faces and we bask in its warmth we find peace. We find that family is not just blood. It is not titles, relations, or relatives. It is those close to you. Those you trust. Those you sacrifice for. Those you love. “And against our own will comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.” Aeschylus

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans


America I’m here to show you how to live. Not teach; show. A long time ago I I was in a very rough place. I had just been thrown out of art school for weed. I lost my scholarships, my dreams, everything I had worked for was thrown away with the whisper of a nark only trying to save herself. She didn’t Karma bitch. To top it off my Dad was dying of AIDS because he refused to take his meds. This left me alone on a 256 acre farm, 20 and alone for the first time in my life. My mom was in Canada after marriage three failed, my half sister lived with her dad across the country and I was alone.
Now I have been a sailor my entire life. I love the America’s cup suck it world longest winning streak in sports history. Blow me football lets see a team win for over 100 years. Along with that fact no one knows is the fact that the first solo race around the world ended in disaster. One guy won, one guy committed suicide, and another didn’t come back for three years after telling his wife and kids he is no longer of that world. Being alone got them. I knew I wouldn’t be alone for a race I would be alone for life. Could I take it? Being one of complete over complicated immediate action I told my friends to not come to my farm I needed alone time. I disconnected my phone, internet and became a true island like those sailors. Just me, a book on the Louis and Clark expedition ( yeah I’m a history dork read america) (just realized you read this), my dog, a freezer stuffed with beef, four horses and my farm.
I was alone. I read, listened to music, watched old movies and started a project. A road to the pond with a parking lot big enough for four cars. I’m not even sure how it started to be honest. Frankly I was also high as balls on the space station. I stocked up on that too. Every evening I would go out drive my jeep to the build area, pop the back hatch and crank the tunes till the frogs overwhelmed the music at sun set. I just dug and dug. Clearly the effects of stoned, drunk, post traumatic stress, but there was a silver lining. Days turned to weeks the weeks turned to a month. 30 days no human contact.
One day I was digging and I realized what I had done. I had moved a hill. One wheel barrow at a time. I realized then I can do anything alone. Sure being with people helps but if you can’t be alone with yourself and your thoughts what is the point? I realized I would move mountains in this life because I had moved a hill in my youth. One wheel barrow at a time.
So that is what I do now America. I better myself one wheel barrow at a time. Change is not over night. And I had plenty of growing up to do after the hill. Lets not forget right after that I moved to my city and became a coke dealer. I moved a mountain of blow. Not a good choice although the sex was great. The point is every day I try to be a better Gentleman. I want to be a writer and I want to live on a boat. Will I be alone? Not the point but I will be fine if I am.
The point is today I got a reply about a writing job. Sure it could fall through like some of the other deals. Shit I could die in my sleep tonight. But I never give up. And I sleep well because of that. I can take anything tomorrow throws at me and with swagger God damn it. Every email I send out is one more wheel barrow of dirt. One step closer to my goal. Do I know when I will get there? No, but I can keep going. I will never stop. I’m taylor mother fucking oceans. Yes I have made mistake in my life but that does not define me. I have also done great things in my life. But that does not define me. It just shows me where I began.

Long live the writers


As always edit nazis go fuck yourself your not paying for this so I’m not sobering up to edit it.

(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a [GENTLEMAN], my son!



America I have been through a lot. I’ve traveled in many circles from dinning with governors to having hitmen in my phone. I’ve been to some of the best schools in the nation and some of the worst. I’ve sailed half a mill sail boats and been in fire fights when deals went bad. I’ve carried wounded friends and they took fire for me. I’ve saved lives and had mine saved just by doing the right thing for once. I have stayed in sweets and almost been thrown in a wood chipper. I’ve beaten cancer and gotten concussions running from museum security drunk. I’ve put back together a broken family to watch it die of AIDS a few years later.
Have you ever wondered why we are here? Some has been my doing while others were just in my cards. Some people would bitch. Others might choose suicide. Some might have stayed a drug dealer or died during those close calls. Others may have chosen a better coping mechanism to dealing with a fathers death.
As they say in this show Red vs Blue. “Your past doesn’t define you. It just gives you the starting point.” All of these cards I’ve played have made me an amazingly divers person. I can rub elbows with Governors and talk stock tips. I can talk about body disposal to killers. I’ve sailed, ridden horses, gotten a good look at the workings of a wood chipper, can nut up or shut up, cook one hell of a dinner and my back scratches are the best. Only a sailor knows how to navigate a woman’s body.
The point is I wear my past on my sleeve with pride. Have I made mistakes? Absolutely. I stubbed my toe once. We all make mistakes and anyone who says they are perfect are full of shit. Or just really boring. What mistakes have you made? Fucked up your family? Eat to much? Break a heart? Steal something? Ignore those in need? Not tip the guy who pushes your cart at martins? Lack empathy? Overdose of selfishness?
If I can say no to making 500,000 dollars a year covered in blow and woman for something more productive you can change too. My past does not define me. It gives me the starting point. When are you going to start your life America? Do it and the world is going to know your name because discipline, confidence, swagger, understanding, class, maturity with a good sense of humor, dedication, ambition, education, exploration, and Gentlemen are in short supply. I’m going to show you how to live.

Long live the writers

Taylor Oceans

P.S. I’m also a dork and the cuts are from red vs blue the longest running internet show around. Available on youtube. 12 years of great writing. Watch this show for a great laugh, great morals, and to see the worst soldiers in the galaxy go the distance. Congrats to them and all there success. Reach for your dreams. Even if your ass is stuck in the mud.

Be students
Be teachers
Be politicians
Be preachers
Be believers
Be leaders
Be astronauts
Be champions
Be truth seekers
Be Gentlemen


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.

Taylor Oceans


We are the ones in black. We are the few that entertain the many. The men and women behind the scenes. We make the lights work. Without the techies their would be no sound, no lights, no smoke, no fire, no foam, sets or stages. We are the few that make it happen. With long hours, great heights, power tools, complicated boards, miles of wire, hot lights, and short circuits. We are the sweaty, the chafed, the deaf, the dumb tired, hung over and underpaid. We are the stage hands, light board operators, sound guys, light guys, pyro guys, drum techs, guitar tuners, truck drivers, carpenters, electricians, props, and costumes. We don’t sing, we don’t dance, and we are not here for your amusement. We are here to work and hit the after party. We stir our drink with our dirty stage hands and cheers to those not seen. We bleed, we are electrocuted, we are crushed, smashed, rolled over, impaled, driven over, blinded, burned, broken and we don’t stop the work. “The show must go on!” is our battle cry but you will never hear it. Break a leg and Merde is our luck. When the plan fails we fix it. And you never know we were there. What can go wrong, will go wrong, our prayer. We laugh at problems. The sky is the limit, and if you can imagine it we can build it, wire it, hang it, fly it, hid it, rig it, and make it appear in a crowded stadium from nowhere. We can pack it on a truck, drive it across the country, and whip it out in an hour for all your eyes to see.

Your Welcome
The Techies

Not my normal thing America but who the hell knows why any of us write what we do. I guess we write what we know and my part time, hobby job, that keeps me in shape, sharp, and covered in saw dust, turned into a fucking work fest for the past month. Fucking beat America but it was my major in college right up to the point SWAT kicked in my door. You never know where life will take you. So sit back, pour a drink, get a blow job and enjoy the ride America. There are no redoes.


So America I try not to talk about my deals as much as possible because some of these people are still alive and still have guns. But as life strangles my past to death and kills off more and more of my acquaintances I can talk more. Back when I was a coke dealer I was very much the new kid on the block(excuses the reference). I was straight off the farm, my Dad had just turned grey, slipped into a comma, and died in front of me so I figured “why not” from then on. Any risk, or experience I was the first one in. Cops, dealers, strippers, Hoes, DEA, and the NSA were in my phone. I did everything a 22 year old could get his hands on except a fat chick. On everything but roller blades I became a city boy with pavement under my feet and lights on my streets. Six month before this I had had my own horse and a living parent.
Any who one day on far to many drugs I came across my business partner. A 350 lbs six foot tall black man, who made the most awkward partner in crime a 5,7 150 lbs wet cracker runt could have. How we first met frankly I have no idea. I started writing because one day I realized I had no idea what I had done the month before. Maybe it was a year. Total drug, sex, drunk over load blank. For christ sake I forgot a stripper threesome. Who does that? I figured I needed to write my story for either my memory or eulogy whichever was cool with me. So me and the dude had a meet. He said meet him at the barber shop (name omitted). I suit up and let the dice roll. I roll up in a suit, hidden gun, and bullet proof vest under my cloths. Which led to my alias Kevlar. I was cool with dying, but gut shot me and I’m returning fire. I enter the barber shop and everyone stops talking. Do I have to mention I’m not only the only white person in their I’m rocking a coke suit? The dude comes out of a door in the back and calls me in as everyone starts talking again, pegging me for the next mark. I follow him down the darkest hallway with dark doors on both sides. Anything or anyone could have snuck up on me. We walk down this hall which enters a chop shop in the back of the building. Saying to myself, “God hates a coward” I lay out the doe in a oil drum in front of 16 (quick count) criminals. 10,000 reasons to kill me and throw my body in the river. The dice came up snake eyes. No sooner had the money hit the greasy oil drum then 16 guns were pulled on me. A quick count showed 4 Aks, 3 macs, and god knows what else.
Like a cocky farm fuck who has broken horses and sailed hurricanes I smirk and say, “We doing this or not?”
Speechless they all look at the dude, awestruck by my brazen disregard of their shock and ah shit tactics. The dude looks at me for any sign of weakness to see only a farm boy with nothing left to loose. I’d of taken six of them with me, as I shout I’m from a farm bitch boooooooom head shot, but I only had six. A reload with 30 bullets in your body is tough. Shit, scar face couldn’t even bust a reload or hold onto his gun.
The dude looked me up top and bottom. Suit, obvious body armor since I’m so small and my chest was so big and a suspicious bulge in my pants and jacket. Yes my gun can be fired with an erection. The dude looked at his boys who looked at him completely taken back and a little nervous to see what made me so cocky. Why was this suit wearing runt so self assured? They lowed their guns and me and the dude make 500,000 each over a two year period becoming such good friends he saved my life once. My fair city was never the same. And of them all I was the last man standing.

Long Live the Writers

Link to my book on amazon below.  Rated a 4.6 out of 5.

I dont quit

I would love to say that in my travels I have learned something about this world. That I know how you can make your life better using the lessons of my life. What I learned is about myself. I don’t quit. Ever. When I get an idea in my head I make it a reality. Sure some of those decision are wrong. Very wrong. Yes I was a coke dealer and yes I was a great one thank you. I got out of it with some money in the bank, a 0 body count, and no time served. I put that in the win column.

I didn’t quit when I was a kid rolling that log up the hill.  I didn’t quit when I had cancer.  I didn’t quit when they wanted to throw me in a wood chipper.  I didn’t quit when she broke my nose during sex.  I didn’t quit in the battle, on the coconut tree, in a wrecked car, lost in the woods, busted by swat, with hash in the court room, my apartment fire, with the girl field hockey team, in a drinking contest with flight attendants, on the blue lady or when a cork almost took my head off .

Shakespeare said “This above all to thine own self be true” and it has stuck with me since my high school teacher forced open my skull and stuck it in there.  What I have learned is the only things you can know for sure are about yourself.  I’m great in bed, an even better sailor, not a bad dancer, and have been called highly intelligent.  I’m terrified of spiders really bugs in general, don’t like heights, and am short due to severe scoliosis.  I’m great around blood as soon as I’m done throwing up, and one hell of a dirty fighter.  I want to live on a sail boat and I spell at a sixth grade level due to dyslexia.  I’m Taylor Oceans and I’m a Gentleman.  Got a problem with me and I’ll prove I’m one hell of a cold blooded shot too.

What do you know about yourself?

I don’t know where I will be in a few years.  Up down over and out.  A puppet a paper pirate poet pawn or a king, but I do know that wherever I am, whatever I’m doing I will not quit, and I know I will be good to my neighbor.  Especially if she is hot.  Generous, compassionate, flexible, speaks two languages, green eyes, short, dirty minded, great sailor, kinky, plays an instrument, doesn’t have a southern accent and has the stamina of a wild horse…  But I’m not picky I just know what I want.


As always thanks for reading my rough drafts and if you would like to try my book, link below.


Well America I got cock punched by the publishing company if you didn’t get the memo. Strangely no fault of mine, normally is. 1,000 dollars spent on the greatest negotiation ever, for the greatest writing contract ever. Sure it was a small publishing company but to have a publishing company find me and say “Lets make some money” gave me a hard on my chubbier followers could swing from. I’m talking a cock made of concrete. I rocked that success erection for three months while I waited for my book to come up for edits. I’m sure you all know how badly I need those. Then one week before my turn at the editor’s brain the owner of the company gets the bad word from the doctor, panics and fires everyone from the sales reps to the writers. It just reminds me of the most common comment I get. “Did you make this up?” No disciples this shit really happens to me. All of it and if anything I tone it down a little.

But what the fuck I’m here to show you how to live right? Today’s lesson is dealing with frustration and set backs. It all can’t be strippers, drugs, sex and boats in this blog. Once I got over the feeling I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire I realized hey at least it wasn’t me with the doctor bad news. Sucks for her hope she is OK. Sometimes you just have to be happy with what you got and remember the Paul theory of life from my book. For those followers who have not bought my book, about 10,900 of you 11,000, Paul was a friend of mine at boarding school. He was from Sudan, AKA God’s asshole, and the tales he told me would turn a black man white. Horror shows of a small kid dodging Ak bullets and grenades on his way to sixth grade. He knew he had to learn English and come to America to fucking survive. Can you imagine being 12 and thinking survival. We are so sheltered and spoiled in this country it’s easy to become ignorant of the issues of Africa. The entire place is fucked but that is not the point. The point is Paul didn’t tell these stories for a pity party. At 16 he had more nobility in his cock then I will ever have. He told his tales to enlighten us. To show us how lucky we are and to thank God for it, but we aren’t on speaking terms since he thought my dad should join him on his porch instead of listening to Eric Clapton on Waterloo’s porch with me. It’s what we have that is important not what we want. Today I got up, had a great day at work where I got to work with my hands and be creative. I love creating. I built six chandelier from nothing that would make any fairies pussy wet. (For the record Taylor Oceans is pro gay everything. If every man was gay all the women would be mine and ever fairy would want to convert me. I would never have to buy a drink again.) I came back to my rather nice apartment. Well it’s a 100 year old moldy piece of shit but I have made it my own. Said high to my alley cats, lamented the lose of my dog, made a rum and coke in the can so no dishes and wrote this. That’s a great fucking day minus not getting a BJ and having sex three times. I have been shot at, run over, almost thrown in a wood chipper, drowned, hypothermia three times, beat cancer, broken my nose during sex, thrown up on, thrown up on myself, mauled by my own damn dog, flipped cars, sunk boats, busted by swat, thrown out of two schools and been suspended from one, faced five years in fuck in the ass state and walked, watched my dad shrivel to 85 pounds turn grey slip into a coma and die of AIDs right in front of me, and a bunch of other shit. Today was a good day. That is what matters. Not what I want. Not what has happened although it has made me and I’m proud of my mistakes.  I’m wiser and older now. What matters is today was a good day and the next publisher will work. Keep one eye on my back and one eye on my future and both look good today.  A cig in my mouth and a rum and coke in my hand doesn’t hurt either.

Reach for the stars America. Even with your ass stuck in the mud. Sure I’m pissed about the contract falling through. Sure I’m pissed about all the other shit that has happened, but it’s not the burden that matters it’s how I carry it. And God Damn it America this Virginia Gentleman has got some fucking swagger.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans

Hope I get to travel the world
But I don’t have any plans

Buy my book link below.


Ooh, crazy’s what they think about me
Ain’t gonna stop cause they tell me so
Cause 99 miles per hour baby,
Is how fast that I like to go.

Can’t keep up with my rhythm
Though they keep trying.
Too quick for the lines they throw.
I walk to the sound of my own drum,
It goes, they go, we go, hey yeah yeah yeah

O here we go America. The deal fell through with the publisher.  Worst luck ever award goes to; this guy.  One week before my book goes in for edits the owner gets sick, panics and closes shop.  Some days I just can’t believe the shit that happens in my life.  For a second I was ready for someone to come in and drag my ass across the finish line. I was going to get editors, sales reps, and a 40% royalties. Yes America I was staring down at the greatest contract ever given an indie author, with such a bad use of grammar, and the view looked good. I’m tired of the fighting, the struggle, the life of the indie author. I was so ready to get it all done for me and the kind soft voice of them saying it’s all going to be OK. I was consumed in the warm blanket of publishing companies only to have those cock faces send me a three sentence letter saying we decide to close up shop.  Sorry you paid 1,000 for your attorney which cost more than the entire budget of writing the book. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You know that’s 40 lap dances, one whore, or I could have printed 160 copies of my book to send to other publishers.  FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well you know what America I could bitch and moan but blame is for small children and God.  Deep down I knew this deal would fall through that’s why I never even said their name. I’m a walking dreamer. And I got that way by reaching for the stars with my ass in the mud. My life has never been easy and I almost felt cheated the end was going to be so effort.  From first draft to published in a year that is a little fast and unheard of.  Where is the struggle?  Not this life. Not this writer.  Not this book. I want the hard road and I want to walk it alone. That is what Gentleman do. We pull up our boots and wade though the shit. We mock rules, regulations and the opinions of others.  We respect them but choose to ignore them. Our only slogan is “Never tell me the odds”.  We want a tall mountain to climb. A vast Oceans to cross. The walking dreamers are the ones who will first reach the stars. Even with our asses stuck in the mud. So keep dreaming America it only dies when you do.  And when you walk.  Swagger.



Long Live the writers and walking dreamers



And since I’m back to moving my own books here it is for sale on  4.6 out of 5 rating.  And that is with my atrocious editing.


This is what America has said so far about my book.

Absolutely loved this book. The tales were humorous yet so real. He has such an interesting outlook on life. Great writer, hope to see more.

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By Keri B on January 8, 2014

Format: Kindle Edition

I got this through CreateSpace and it’s effing hilarious. Hopefully this book does well enough through indie publishing that he can get picked up by a traditional publisher, because it’s a funny book and I see no reason why — with the marketing and editorial resources of a traditional publishing company — and it couldn’t reach a wider audience.

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By Dave on December 18, 2013

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase

As a follower of Ocean’s blog, I couldn’t wait for this book. It has become one of my beliefs that we should be as candid and open as possible and he’s done just that. Excellent stories and I never got bored reading it. I will say though that I’m not a fan of the last paragraph. You’re at a point where most people barely figure out that there is a life to be lived. You’ve kicked ass, taken names but what kind of stories do you think people want to hear about your next 27 years? Think twice about living that ‘family man’ life… Keep life amazing man!

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By twa2r on December 18, 2013

Format: Paperback

Secretly, we want what they have and we want to be able to do what they do. And this boy can get as bad as we can imagine. He does it with gusto and a sense of pride in ownership. He owns what he does and it makes him great! It makes us envious.Where are our guts? Hidden deep within our limitations. Taylor exposes his inner self with no holds barred. Sexually, he sounds like Don Juan run wild. Who wouldn’t want to be in his shoes? Some of his statements make me feel like I’ve never even had sex, and I’m old and should have tried at least a few of his suggestions by now. Physically he is small, but there’s a Goliath beneath the tiny frame, and David would do well to run from this giant. He doesn’t give up and he doesn’t give in.When can I have a drink with him? I want to hear and learn more.


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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By Amazon Customer on October 18, 2013

Format: Paperback

Taylor takes you with him on his adventures. His style of writing brings humor to the most simple of takes. Beer pong and dealers, sex toys and Mitzvahs, fires and and log rolling…oh my!You’ll read about the boy turning to a gentleman. The kid turning to an adult. The Nieve turning experienced and all in 200 pages. This book is a compilation of stories that will grab your attention and make you take notice.It’s not for the faint of heart and requires all who venture forth to strap in and keep your hands inside the car. Once the ride is moving there’s no turning back.

There is something in this book for everyone. The war with his friends. The fire that takes his eyebrows, the Valentines day special. For every vice a fix and every itch finds a scratch. From glass pipes to glass dil*** and glasses of scotch. College buddies and drug buddies and f*** buddies alike…Taylor proves life is there for the taking, you just grab hold and enjoy!

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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful

By Rose on February 16, 2014

Format: Paperback Verified Purchase

I ordered this book, had no idea what to expect, opened it and found myself sitting there laughing my head off! Now the guy who wrote this obviously lives a lifestyle I have no idea about and don’t, well, totally approve of, but as drug-crazed, sex-soaked, alcohol-frenzied stories of wit and wisdom go, this is just genius!! I would recommend it to anyone with a funny bone.



America lets rap about how to live, FREE.  I have used my life with all its drunken, debaucherous, drug induced glory to show you anyone can do anything.  Am I telling you to go out sell coke and fuck strippers.  Well maybe, but that is not the point.  The point is live your life.  I did all those things because I had lost my Dad to AIDS, my farm to a legal head shot, my roommate to suicide, and dumped my girl friend because she may have been a 10 but damn she was crazy.  I was alone, broken, hopeless and just said fuck the world I’m getting mine and became a drug dealer.  It worked. I got mine for four years of insanity any rock star from the 70 would have simply said “Damn… he beat me”  From my 21 to 25 I was rich, drunk, coked up, covered in strippers, and the luckiest man alive for passing my STD test every year.  And lets not forget at 23 got cancer and beat it like a rented mule.  Needless to say I had watched my old life of college, family, christmas dinners, and any kind of guidance shatter, wither, and die in front of me.  I even had to put my 23-year-old dog down, who saved my life when my house was on fire and I was passed out on nitrous (now in WordPress dictionary because of me).  My Dad was grey (I mean fucking grey colored people), in a coma and 86 pounds when he died.  I may be the runt of the family but papa bear played center in football and I rarely hugged him and got my arms all the way around him.  His thumbs were so big when he rolled a joint his thumbs side by side reached both sides of the joint.  But we did have a runt milk man…  O my God I love milk…  Moving on.

The point is it’s not at rock bottom you bounce back.  You have to hit the floor so hard it shatters everything you own, love, and believe in.  You have to be completely lost.  At one point I was drunk and turned my beer pong table to splinters with a steel pipe till the blood on my hands was flying into my eyes.  What I’m a Serb we keep rage in our pocket when we need a war?

The point to my writing is I have been there people.  I have been in the trenches of life fighting to survive, looking for my place in this world.  Sure our problems are different.  For example when I had 17 guns pointed at me at once or almost thrown into a wood chipper.  These examples parallel everyone’s because it was just me against the world and as much as we like to feel connected we all die alone.  At some point you have to do it yourself.  All the guidance, support, love, affection, inner peace, and sanity goes right out the window when you’re in the trenches and its fight or die.  May it be a battle against cancer, family issues, job shit, AK fire in Afghanistan, over weight, or just being a dumb shit.  At some point you have to say to yourself.  Cowboy the fuck up, I got this, and beat cancer, be the mature mediator of your family, fuck the bosses wife, curb stomp Osama, get your fat ass on a treadmill, or study hard because you’re a dumb shit.  Because it’s never easy here in the trenches.  Some stay longer than others. Some have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about.  But with my new legal job, new publisher, and new outlook on life I’m going over the top and shaking this world when I do.  Follow me my fellow Americans.  I’m going to show you how to live.  Enjoy the show.

“Over the top”  In WW leaving the trench and attacking the enemy.  100 years ago my Serb forefathers started WWI on june 28 by assassinating Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria.  A few years later my American forefathers ended it by kicking the shit out of the Germans.  This clip is from a great movie I mean a fan fucking tastic.  The Lost Battalion.  A bunch of New York gangsters lead by an attorney held out for days against the entire German army.  Let us pour out a drink for our soldiers and remember even if we disagree with the war hate the government not our troops.

Kind of cool to play flowbots sound and watch video on mute