I’m sitting here waiting for news that will change everything. All of you raised me with pride in my name. Our family has always lead the way. Our town bears our name. All of you built the local economy, the local fire department, the local water works and even the best restaurant in the state. All of you raise our town from nothing. It took five generations but we did it.

You could have been selfish so many times. You never were. You did it because it was the right thing to do. To set an example for other generations. You were as strong as Atlas. It’s an easy road when you walk alone. But when you carry those around you with unconditional love you prove your strength, dignity and chivalry.  We were a beautiful family and we all made mistakes but we never stopped trying. We never judged each other and were always there for each other. Your cooking, your laughter, your smiles have faded. Your all so powerful you even choose your time to go away. You went when you were finished building a better world then you found. You never judged and you never thought you were better.

I miss you all and hope to see you again at the end of the bar. Today I wait for news where I earned my place at the table despite my mistakes. I kept the tradition alive even alone.  Our town will thrive again but this time maybe even the world. This will change everything around me for the better. I know it will work because I built it with what you taught me. I built it with my heart and dreams not my head. We never care about the odds. Thanks for your patience and sorry you had to go away, but I know it was your time.

Granddad 700 people must have been in your funeral they couldn’t fit in our church. The funeral procession was longer then our town. I was so proud to be your Grandson. Instead of a corny psalms I should have just said, “Look around you, look at all the lives my grandfather touched. That is his legacy and thanks for coming to honor this great man my grandfather. The last cowboy.”

Grandma we all knew you couldn’t live without him and it speaks  volumes that two completely different people came together and built something so powerful it couldn’t exist on this earth alone. You brought out the best in each other and accepted each other faults. A love like that exists only in stories and I saw it every night at dinner. You were Grandpa’s beautiful girl, always. I hope to find that unconditional love one day. True love is your legacy Grandma. I know where ever you both are your together and that is all you need to be happy.

Dad I miss you so much and wish we could listen to some Clapton and share this moment. You would be so proud I finally saw the light. I’m sorry it took so long. That was a beautiful boat and day you had when you finally were put to rest in the river we spent so much time on. I hope you liked it. Thank you for always treating me as an equal and your only son. I miss your stories and your understanding. I know it wasn’t easy having a fuck up as a son but you were always proud of me. Most of the time I never knew why, but I get it now.

Cheers to you all. Past the lips through the gums look out stomach here it comes. You were the best family anyone could have asked for. You raise the bar of honor, compassion, dignity, strength and chivalry. We may be a bunch of relics from a bigon age but it is who we are. That is our tradition and family creed. Everyone has value. No exceptions.

Long Live the writters

Taylor Oceans



I will win

I will replace pain with perseverance

I will fight for myself and everyone around me

I will never substitute fear for reason

I will love and never hate

I will rise when knocked down

I will respect even when disrespected

I will substitute doubt with confidence

I will always stand and never kneel

I will always be proud of myself and those I love


Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans

It’s been a while America. Anyone still there?

Oh we don’t know the roads that we’re heading down
We don’t know if we’re lost, that we’ll find a way
We don’t know if we leave, will we make it home
We don’t know, there’s hope, then we’ll be okay

It’s hard when you’re living and you don’t feel much
And you’re down and you’re hurting ’cause you don’t feel loved
It’s hard when you’re living and you don’t feel much
And you’re down and you’re hoping that things are gonna change

In this life we feel entitled to happiness. We have faith in the happy ending and the smooth road. Well some people, mainly everyone, don’t get those cards. You have to fight and believe. You will inevitably die like the rest. Some are lucky in business and unlucky in love. Some only have bad luck. Some get cancer when they are twelve. Some get wounded in war because they wanted there family to have it better then they did. We will all feel pain and loss.

I was a man raised by women. Every boy needs a Father. Dad was left but he did have the balls to come back just long enough to die of AIDS and it broke my heart to watch him suffer. I miss him everyday. He was the best and our time was to short. I don’t wish that kind of pain on trump. You want to lay down, shake and cry every time you think about it because that loss never goes away. Every song, pancake, smoke, and when you need guidance only a father can give. All I can do is ask a picture on my desk.

So we all should go kill ourselves right? Wrong my mom, rose and sister raised a Gentleman. (Gentleman is a metaphor for someone who accepts responsibility and the cards he is dealt taylor oceans is not sexist or racist he was raised by three women with the biggest balls in the world). They raised someone who isn’t in this life for happiness. He is looking for an honorable fight. He is here to make this world better for all people so that one day no one has to feel that pain. Because it never goes away. So we all have a roof over our heads, food in our belly, books to read, the love of a family, clean air and clean oceans.

Some of us have to hack it more then others. We won’t get what we want. We won’t get the family. We will get cancer. We will lose those who we love. But that doesn’t give us the right to be assholes. We won’t take it out on the sales rep, we won’t ignore our friends problems substituting and quantifying our own. We will hold the door for everyone in the human race. We will pull over and help. We will fight for our fellow man and woman. We will conduct ourselves with honor. We will do our part for the human race. For that dream.

I picked this song for two reason. First holy shit it is hysterical the Capt nailed his entrance. Street fighter for life. Second as individuals we are only a solo act. Together we can be Capt Strumbella and fight the Dark in this world. We will always lite a candle. We can be kind to the sales rep. We all have to make a living and if you don’t have a degree and want to make +80k to afford your invention you hustle. You hustle like a southside pimp because the asshole bitching you out for no reason is going to benefit from your dream. We can love and support those around us free of obligation or judgement. Because it is honorable to respect everyone and we need that self-standard. So everyday when you look in the mirror you can see a good, pure, honorable human being. We can trust and work together as the human race. That is the master race. All of us together fighting and loving as one. So let it all go and stand honorably with me every minute of everyday.  The entitlement, judgement, the pain of loss, your views on cultural norms and our basic animal instinct to kill and fuck… That is my Dad’s legacy. It is my dream.



We can keep the fuck part I take that back. Fuck like animals that is good. That sweaty raunchy, passionate shit that wakes the neighbors. You need to take a shower after but your too damn tired and pass out next to the person you love most. Or hooker whatever works. I can make that joke I’ve been paid for sex.


Next year will be ten years Dad. Sorry I missed your anniversary again, but you know me I’m like you. Distracted and never thinking of the here and now. But your lessons are always with me. I’m a dreamer. I miss you a lot and our conversations. See you at the end of the bar Dad, but I still have some things to do here that will make you proud. I don’t know the roads I am heading, I don’t know if there is a hope it will be OK. But I will always be honorable. Just like you taught me. Rest in Peace.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans



America yet again you have earned my disdain. While leaving the hardware store today I saw a handicapped guy all alone trying to fix his chair. At the hardware store, the epicenter of handymen and everyone just drove by as this pathetic (Not to insult the guy but he obviously needed help in a very sad way) dude tried to get out of his chair and fix his own wheel.  It was hot as shit, the sun is beating on this guy, he cant even speak, hold up his head or function is any way I would call normal. This guy makes you thank god or whatever deity you believe in that you did not get his lot in life.

So I get out of my car go over and fix his chair. His crooked smile was heart warming. His skinny weak hands tried their best to shake my hand in thanks. I offered to escort him across town in case the wheel messed up again, but his little computer said he was fine. He cant even speak on his own America and you drove by FUCK YOU. I then returned to my car, drove to a gas station, got him a fiji water, went back and hunted that guy down. He was making good time and I gave him the water because I had no idea how long he was trying to fix his wheel in the sun. It is hot in Virginia today.

America this has been the worst year of my life. The woman I love left me for a guy you could find at any sports bar. She added insult to injury by communicating that message to me in a text. I also broke my hand this year making my normal jobs in construction impossible to work because now my hand is more like the guy in scary movie and it hurts like shit every minute of everyday. I could not work, pay my medical bills and bottomed out at 2.95 in my checking account. I was also mauled by a dog, this year, and have had a nightmare every night for the past 158 days since she left me. But who is counting right? I am sleep deprived wounded, heartbroken, and alienated from my family and home. This is not a pity party I just want to illustrate that if anyone has an excuse to be in a bad mood, ignore the world or go on a shooting rampage it is this guy right here writing for you.

But I’m better then that. I’m Taylor mother fucking Oceans, I will always help people and I never give up no matter the odds. I have rallied over the past months and now make 1,000 a week, running my own media and design company. My patent is about to be approved by the EPA and I’m going to be so rich I think I’m going to start my own country. None of you are invited. That is how real Americas rally.


Long Live the Writers


 I’ve done horrible things in my life. But I have changed. You can too. You have the power.




The Grim Reapers Toll


The way the ship lay still and dank

Will remind you of the day she sank

The people astir all over the boat

Praying to praying that she will float

The sounds of the people wailing and screaming

Praying and praying that they are only dreaming

As the boat began to sink they ran to the stern

They now know the lesson to learn

Don’t be consumed by wealth or gold

For the Grim Reaper comes for the meek and the bold

Then you feel the water rise

Floating there your body dies

Then you are merely a soul

Forever more paying the Grim Reapers toll


~Taylor Oceans~


Thanks for reading America just broke 11,700 disciples tell your friends. Follow on FB.


Gentleman don’t quit


America I’m here to show you how to live. In the last two months I have had my heart broken, my right hand broken, and was bitten by a dog. The specifics are irrelevant however I do have to take the blame for all three. The point is I still suited up, took off my cast, put her picture in my pocket and sold a millionaire on my invention. Not only that but I sold him on making me an Executive of his Company and the Creative Director. I looked him in the eye, shook his hand like a Virginia Gentleman and took the pain of him re-breaking my hand. Then I took my check, left, and reset the bone myself on the sidewalk. Gentleman don’t Quit. You shouldn’t either.

There are no obstacles in life. Only challenges. When you get knocked on your ass and your body is broken. Lying alone in the mud wishing you were free of the pain. Your only comfort a tattered picture of her you still carry in your pocket. Gentleman still reach for the stars. Even with our ass stuck in the mud. We get up, lite a smoke, make a drink, and say “Fuck it, I can take it!”. Your dreams only fail when you give up on them and I will never give up on my dream for us.

I don’t care what your problems are America. Trust me we all have them. But stop being such a pussy and Fight. Fight for your dreams. Fight for your future. Fight for love.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans

Want to read my story? Link to my book below.




If your wondering how a dog bit my arm pit I was protecting my beautiful face. Luckily my shirt was ok.

Oh and a freezer is harder then your hand.

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For those not celebrating S.A.D. day, here are some plans to celebrate the perfect day for her… First, you will send her to a Spa to have her nails done. A cheap way to do this is only 18 or 28 dollars. At least go for the 28, you cheap bastards. If you expect her to go through the breaking-in period of anal, get her fucking nails done. She can look at them when she bites the blanket.

Second, the flowers. Now I used to be worth half a million dollars at 24 so doing this on discount is new to me so if I can do it, shut the fuck up. I’ve had two strippers fighting over the numby on my cock (drugs are bad) with their tongues so all can do the couple shit if I can. At least get her two roses. Now men since we know shit about the price of flowers, here is a bone. Three red roses from the stand on the street for fifteen bucks is a fuck in the ass without the courtesy of a free drink.  If you don’t plan on going to a florist to get six roses for fifteen, you’re getting fucked. I did not plan, so the bitch on the street got her hustle on and got me good. So this is what you do. Get creative. When poor, I took two roses I paid 10 bucks for (my ass is sore), some baby’s breath, and this cool shit called thistle of life and some cool blue shit I at least talked her into including. Then I bound the stems with some bullshit twine I had laying around, cut the leg off some tuxedo pajama pants I had (don’t ask) and the chain from some dog tags, rolled it like a joint, and served it up well enough to make Martha Stewart’s pussy wet. Because men and I guess gay women, women want you to do shit that makes you think about them for about an hour. Now, when you include some good rum, perhaps some greens (in certain states), and a good documentary about the battle plan of Japan in the Pacific, you can arrange flowers without your balls retracting or packing up and leaving.  

Third, dinner… Her favorite restaurant. Now some would say make reservations. This is wrong. I just discovered this thing called a budget. It sucks. Take out is always cheaper, first and foremost, because no booze and LESS tip. Now fucks. I used to work in a restaurant and tip on take out. Not 20% and that’s 20% America they live on tips, tip 10% and be happy it’s just that shut the fuck up. Do it enough, and that restaurant will fucking love you, give you the best tables, and never spit in your food. Yeah, we really spit in your food, and I’ve seen worse. Try asshole gravy, cheap tip fuckers. We remember you.

Get takeout and let her stay in bed while you get it. Tell her to keep it warm. Start watching movies in the warm bed because it is February, get the take-out order and let her stay. She will fight you on this because women are “independent” now but don’t let her. For the record, if shit like this turns into a fight, let her win and come with you.

Get the food and get into bed. For the medal of anal, take a 5×2 board (Gentlemen are carpenters learn on your own time America) lay it at the foot of the bed and dinner is served. Put on the movie of her choice, Pretty Woman is acceptable and dig the fuck in. Since you’re eating at home, you can get your booze at the ABC, saving your money while getting her drunk in your bed. Do the math. The extra I just added tonight is this. Her favorite is Sushi, and you eat it with Sake. The catch is Sake is served at 98.4 degrees F°, Gentlemen. So when you go to the store, buy it, preheat some water in a pot, and put the bottle in the water half way with the top loose so that when it heats up it, doesn’t explode. I am not liable if you blow up, I did this once and the top thing sounds logical but I have no evidence it works aside from the passed out chick next to me while writing this.

Fourth, fifth, whatever is the sex toy. I’m a straight guy with a suitcase; I’m talking rolling luggage, full of toys and a sex swing bitches. Buy one. They rock. Guys, our cocks don’t vibrate at 500 RPMs. No shame in some mechanical help. We use bulldozers for houses, saws for carpentry, and all kinds of mechanical advantages in our over-complicated lives. Why not complicate the fuck out of sex too? Magic wand people. I gave her a cowgirl outfit, doggy style strap for shower sex, and some hot leggings that match the cowgirl outfit. Don’t force her to wear it tonight. Get her off (This may not include you. Valentine’s Day is her day. If she does get you off, she is a keeper), and feed her well. She is waking up, so I have to wrap up this chapter.

Gentlemen, if she doesn’t pass out well-fed, cummed, smiling, and losing her voice from screaming your name in the throes of passion, you’re not a Gentleman on Valentine’s Day.  Spoil her on this special day, and she will return it ten -fold.  Besides, she just wants to brag about getting spoiled to her friends.

I hope you enjoyed chapter 38 from my book and I welcome all feedback

Merry Christmas

Taylor Oceans

Long Live the Writers



So one night, I’m plowing this chick missionary in my bedroom. Everything is going great. I’m fucking her hard and she loves it. I can tell that her next cum was going to be huge. I grabbed a handful of hair and whisper into her ears, “I want you to cum all over my cock.” As soon as I had articulated these words, she came thrashing around as she normally does till she fucking head-butted me. She hit me square in the nose. I was forced out of her and onto my desk across the room clutching my face. In complete shock, we both just stood there naked. Me with a broken nose expecting the blood to start running, and her recovering from an amazing orgasm, wondering if she should apologize or thank me.

Undaunted by the excruciating pain in my face, I took a swig of rum and coke and got back in there, quite literally. Luckily, my nose was not bleeding and figuring I didn’t really break it, I thought I could take the pain long enough to get mine. So after ten more minutes of sex and her not cumming, I start to notice she is staring at my nose. Realizing I hadn’t even seen myself in the mirror, I turn my head to the mirror on my closet. Gents, put a mirror on your closet door so no matter where you’re banging in your bedroom, you can line up the mirror.

I then notice how truly fucking crooked my nose was. In horror, I pull out and go to the bathroom to the sounds of her saying, “Yeah, sorry about your nose. I may be able to fix it.” You see she has a medical background, so she comes across this stuff all the time. The problem is, I hadn’t realized she had just graduated and had probably done this procedure once before if I was lucky. She applies her thumbs to my crooked ass nose and boooooom. She popped that fucker back in, and it looks OK. Kind of funny because when I nibble on her neck now I can feel how the tip of my nose never healed right. OK fine, it’s still crooked. You get what you pay for and in my case, my nose was fixed by a naked lube covered hotty who just came all over me. My nose fixed, I resolved to pay my medical bill with a few more cums and then go to sleep. I sucked back on another rum and coke, took the pain, and tagged it a few more times.

So class, remember when she breaks your nose during sex, take it like a Gentleman and get back in there. (As long as you’re not bleeding, because let’s face it, that would just be weird pounding a chick with blood all over your face like some horny zombie.)



When I was about 13, my mother and I were walking on the beach. Many years later, I would have wrecked the car on the cliff above, but that day we were walking and enjoying the sand, the sounds, and shooting the shit. Suddenly, I lock eyes on a 250-pound piece of pole: driftwood. It looked like someone had cut three feet off a big telephone pole and thrown it in the water. Stupid, right? Well to the craziest, most imaginative boy in the world, this wasn’t a huge pain in the ass, with getting it up the hill, and then dragging it a mile or two down the road to the house. It was the greatest chopping block in the world. It was the perfect height, width, and circumference but was a piece of gray-white driftwood. I thought I had found gold and, damn the cost, I was going to get this 250-pound pain-in-the-ass home, which already had a perfectly good chopping block.

The quest began. Now, cliffs flank the beach we were on and the only way up it was a path through the woods that went up a thirty-to-forty foot hill. So mom and I turned back and continued to talk about whatever the hell. While we are walking back, I kick and push the log along the beach. When I was 13, or really all my life, I have been a small dude. At the time, I probably weighed 80 pounds soaking wet. So this log was wearing me out after rolling it over five hundred yards of sandy beach.

We entered the path through the woods. In my hometown, we have poison ivy and briars, not woods. Remember the poor guy in Saw who was surrounded by barbed wire. Yeah, that guy brought back memories but I had to push that log through my self-inflicted hell. After a hundred feet of natural acupuncture, I reached the hill. I knew this would be the culmination of my quest. I had heard the story of Sisyphus and knew he spent eternity pushing a boulder up a hill over and over and I would not repeat history. I was better than that log and smarter than Sisyphus.

I sunk my flip-flops (poor choice of footwear) into the dirt and put my shoulder to the log. I could put my shoulder to the log, which was probably two feet off the ground because I was three feet tall at the time. Remember just before you get your growth spurt? Well, imagine it never hit.

So runt, log, hill. This was not a perfect geometrical 45-degree angle hill; the beginning was easier but got steeper and steeper towards the top. The first third of the hill went past pretty easily. When I get to the middle, I rested for the big push to the top and my inevitable victory over nature. This path was dirt and a little damp underfoot so my flip-flops were not working well. I finished my rest, told myself, “You’re better than the log, gravity, hill, poor footwear, and genetics” and pushed on. When I was 75% of the way to the top, still slipping my ass off, the log looked to be winning. At three times my body weight, it was like a midget trying to push a football in the Coliseum, only on a hill and me in flops. I said, “Fuck” and let the log roll back down the path.

I paced, swore, paced, swore again, and the whole time my mother was watching, coaching, and trying to control her laughter as her tiny part-Serb son was bested by a log. I’m sure she was torn between feeling pride for my tenacity, pity for my being small, and laughing her ass off at the sight of her tiny son fighting nature.

I regained my vigor; reminded myself that I’m a Serb, English, Scottish, Irish mutt. I’m the crazy, rule the world, fight like hell, and fight like hell while drunk product of shoddy breeding. I put my shoulder to the object of my rage and rolled that mother like a fine joint. I was halfway there and was not stopping. My Serb forefathers started World War One. I didn’t even need a break. I bent the world and nature to my will like my English forefathers shouting, “Make the world England.” I was 75% there when the Scott in me came out. I saw the green hills of my forefathers, the dirty rainy crap hole where they lived and kept pushing myself as if I were a participant in the Highland Games. Scenes of Brave Heart flashed before me, and I thought Freedom! I got to the final feet and could see the top.

My mother was jumping up and down shouting, “You got this. You can do it; come on. Make me proud.”

The Irishman in me kicked in, and the fight was on. But wait, I’m 13. I had no liquid courage, AKA Irish fuel. And the machine ran out of steam. I slipped, and the log rolled over my 80-pound body, down the hill, off the path, and into a briar patch. I rolled down the hill, flip-flops flying everywhere. It was like a B-52 strike in Nam. I got to the bottom of the hill, resting comfortably on my face.

I snapped back to Serb. I was nuts, enraged, and I erupted with profanity, obscenity, and disgust at how this piece of shit log would not heed my will. “Why won’t you go home? Are you too good for my home? Answer me, log!” I rushed up the hill to my waiting mother who wanted to say, “Watch your language”, but was probably just happy I hadn’t broken every bone in my body when that huge damn log had rolled over my face. I spoke with my mom as we were going home down the road. She started to console me with “It’s OK. You’ll get bigger, it was a big hill. That was a huge log, the honor is in the attempt.” I cut her off.

Hell no. I’m not done yet. I need shit. I need pants for briers, boots for the mud, gloves to protect my hands, my stepdad’s jeep, a really long line off the boat, and my scrawny Serb mad scientist ass!”

She agreed to my plan. We got into the jeep and returned to the beach. I hopped out, grabbed the rope, and George of the Jungle to the log in seconds. I tied the rope around the log, got my ass back up the hill, and attached the end of the rope to the jeep. Before my mom could get out of the car, I was already dragging a 250-pound log behind my stepdad’s jeep, on a fifty-foot piece of rope down the road, shouting, “Fuck you, nature. I win this round!” God made us different, but Henry Ford and Sam Colt made us equals.

So guys, remember never to give up. Sometimes you have to go away and come back to solve your problem. With a good plan, the proper equipment, and the little crazy Serb mad scientist screaming to get out of all of us, you can do anything.


Long live the writers