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.

http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-Showing/dp/1484829794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385767769&sr=8-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right

 

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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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https://www.facebook.com/taylor.oceans.3

 

41. WHEN SHE BREAKS YOUR NOSE DURING SEX

 

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.)

Reflexes

Well America as you know I have gone legit.  Every dollar I have is legal. Whether this is good is still be determined but hey I figured I would give it a go. I will say Jesus you guys work a lot for very little money. Or at least the working class and that is where I find myself currently. Moving on.

Today me and my buddy were demoing a brick keystone arch. It was about 15 feet high so we had a basic ladder scaffold set up and are bashing the shit out of this wall drinking beer and having a normal day. It is a bud of mine and we combined our companies and can do just about any build you can think of. With epic lights should you choose that was my side of the biz. So brick wall, shaky scaffolding and terrible beer. Since masonry is my buds side of the biz and we both know carpentry he is point man on this job. We are trying to support some of this arch while we demo it in pieces so the entire thing does not fall and kill us. That is not the way I like to get stoned. So we have this crazy plan, or he did, and we went forward. For the record I said the entire thing would fall on us. I take out the support exactly as he said and Issac Newton covered his eyes with my Dad and everyone up in heaven watching the ridiculous life I lead. The support goes and my bud goes “O SHIT!!!!” The weight was to much and this idiot is trying to hold the entire thing himself.

This is when my reflexes take over. Before I know it instead of running for my life I’m under this fucking wall trying to hold it with my bud. So there we are 15 feet over cement on shitty scaffold with about 400 lbs of brick and mortar about to kill us. At least the shitty beer was safe in the cooler. (Side bar America. I don’t like to up products but the Yeti cooler will change your life.) My reflexes are running me and I still am not in control the Jedi in me is. Or Sith Lord Vader did a few good things. Just think a condom would have changed the entire movie.

Suddenly the arch gives. It is falling apart over us. Now since I was cutting the support I was not directly under this thing when the fun started. My bud is on my right, centered under this thing. My side caved first but he was under more of it so again reflexes take over. First they get me under this fucker instead of back at the beer cooler laughing saying I told you so as I call the ambulance. Now the arch is disintegrating around us and again I should have bailed off the ladder. A fifteen feet fall is much better then a fifteen feet fall with bricks coming down on top of you like the fucking Coyote. So the bricks are falling and my side caved and I dodged it. My bro is a bigger dude and not so fast. His side caves and his arms are still in the air holding two fucking bricks as this arch rains around him. Fucking Virginia Gentleman reflexes take over again and I shield his face from these big fucking bricks some still stuck together in big 8 brick 40 lbs fucking boulders with my left arm because my right is keeping me from falling.

So my left forearm fucking kills America and I typed this through the pain to tell you this before I drink to much and forget. Rum and coke now for the record. Fuck beer.

Our reflexes define us America. Fight or Flight mother fuckers. We are Americans bitch all of us should fight. In all walks of life. We should try new things and be afraid everyday. We should be more tolerant to each others ideas and beliefs. We should fight to preserve what freedoms we still have in this country because they are going fast America. We need to fight every day but not for ourselves we need to fight for each other. We need a weapon of mass construction. We need to fight to build a better America for us all. Also I wear condoms. Magnums for the record ladies. You dudes with kids should be the one telling me this message. Fight for those little bastards.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Mother Fucking Oceans

Like what I wrote? Think I’m full of shit? Got a good story? Write in the comments below.

As always tell your friends about Taylor Oceans and should you want my book link below. Because I don’t edit this blog I write it. Surprisingly my book has a great rating on amazon but don’t listen to me read what America said about it link below.

http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-Showing/dp/1484829794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385767769&sr=8-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right

Buy a book I promise to spend it on women, drinks, and condoms. The rest I will spend irresponsibly.

I SEE FIRE

O America I see fire

Another tragedy is in my life. Haunted by nightmares for the last 25 days I face my end. 10 more nightmares to go. When I close my eyes I see my death. Why and how is not the point. I’m here to show you how to live and if necessary die as Gentleman. All I will say when all kneel at the end I will stand. I will be the one who takes it fighting with a smile. You should too. I stand for what I believe and I believe in myself. My destiny. Tragedy will always find you. Pity and apathy is for the weak. How you walk into the flames is what defines us as Gentlemen. Destiny is inevitable for us all. We all will lose, we all will fall. We all will die. The only thing we can be thankful for is the time a place. The time on this earth and a place to die. Know that whatever happens I will stand tall. I will not bow, I will not bend, I will look my fate in the eyes and roar. I’m a Gentleman. Stand with me America no matter what the cost. We are Americas the best country in the world its time we act like it.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Mother Fucking Oceans

Our words are the only immortality we will have. Our dreams the only reality we will know.

The book is done america buy one and tell your friends

After three years of toil it is finally finished. The rough draft books are gone to the past. If your the one of 100ish who got one save it. It will be worth something some day. Thanks again for the great comments along with the one hater. You know you going somewhere when you have a hater stalker. So come one come all and enjoy my tales. A properly edited book for sale on Amazon.

If you don’t buy my book remember this. It is not the burden you deal with. We all have them. It is how you carry it that defines you. Walk tall with swagger America.

 

click the link below thanks for the reviews

 

http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-Showing/dp/1484829794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385767769&sr=8-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right

 

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase

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 Nikki K 

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!

Comment Was this review helpful to you? YesNo

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By twa2r 

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.

Robert

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By Keri B 

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 

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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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful

By tamaramalya 

Format: Paperback Verified Purchase

Taylor is a classic American hero for the millennial generation — a rebel, an outlaw, a self made man, a Gentleman. His rambling collection of hilarious anecdotes interwoven with thoughtful yet tongue-in-cheek dimestore philosophy has a striking poignance to it, the sweep of an epic. This book is funny as hell and I was laughing out loud, but it also made me think (at times). There are some utterly brilliant lines here, on sex, drugs, rock and roll, and the like, real gems of insight.
This book was a charmer and I can’t wait for the movie version. I hope Taylor plays himself so I can get a look at that ladykiller.

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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful

By Rose 

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.

Only in dreams


I look over and there is Dad bullshitting with some girls and my friends. He has his brass bat (weed device to non smokers) in his hand and is causally packing it out of his bat box (dug out to hippies). It is good to be home. Everything is better on my farm. The air smells like weed, great cooking, and old wood from the 200 year old house. Everyone is happy smiling, getting fucked up. A normal day on the farm. The only rule on the farm is no drunk driving. Well only I can but I can’t leave the farm. 256 acres to off road on and I knew every tree, hole, cow path, ravine, fence and barn. Tom petty playing, we are all upstairs chilling on the couch and standing around. Watching Dad interact with my friends and those women I realize we are the same person. The same walk, swagger, tone of voice, story telling, we both even love to wear white. I walk over to the couch tell the person he is sitting next to to get up and I sit next to Dad and give him a big hug. The drunken Oceans family bear hug. He is much bigger then me. You could say I was the runt of the litter but I was Dad’s only son. His big fat chef arms completely envelope me. My little arms never got all the way around him. Weed, great food and skin bracer after shave that was Dad’s smell. But your dead… And I wake up.

Only in my dreams can I see him again. Only in my dreams can I go home. I lost them both when he died and I was far to young. He was my by best friend, teacher, bro, jedi, smoking buddy and partner in crime. He told the best stories. Stories that were so good you have to ask if they were true. Just like mine. We were so much alike. The most immature, delinquents around. But at the drop of a joint we would risk our lives for our friends and family. We are the coolest, chillest, most accepting patient people. But we will rip your eyes out with our bare fucking hands laughing while you scream if you fuck with our loved ones. Everything else goes on the farm. Her name was Waterloo and she was the most peaceful piece of land in the world. Even the cows were happy I swear to God this place had an energy.

My only regret is I wish I remembered more of our time. Like my parties he coached me through. My Dad taught me cheap beer at the bottom of the cooler. Working in his restaurant at 12 years old. I was so short I had to stand on dish racks to use the dish washer. Meeting his many girlfriends. One a millionaire tried to get us to move in with her and I went up in the remax balloon. Yeah that bitch in the commercial I have been in one with a PT cruiser hanging from in on a 100 ft rope. I swear when you beak it down we were two of the least attractive poor mother fucking pot heads around but the ladies love us. My Dad looked like a fat Harrison Ford, and I’m a runt Joseph Gordon Levit. But fuck are were charming. I don’t know if you would call it a dream or nightmare, but it was good to see him again and get that bear hug. Good to be home and safe. Nothing bad ever happened on that farm till my Dad died on it.

Long Live the Writers
See you at the end of the bar Dad

Taylor Oceans

America cherish your friends and family.  The time we have with them is to short. Call your Dad today. Say thanks for making me the Gentleman I am today. Mine was no hero. Left me and mom when I was 2 and came back at 12. But he was my Dad.  He was me and we should respect that, forgive and move on together. No one is perfect and that was Dad’s greatest lesson to me.

 

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

LET THERE BE LIGHT

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.

THE SLEEPER HAS AWOKEN


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.

http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-Showing/dp/1484829794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385767769&sr=8-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right

Amateurs

America this country was built by Amateurs. George Washington was an amateur and I’m pretty sure he lost more battles than he won. The underground railroad was run by Amateurs. Lewis and Clark were Amateurs. Most our boys who stormed the beaches of Normandy were Amateurs and had never seen battle. Neil Armstrong was an Amateur he had never landed on the moon fuck no one had. Bill Gates, Amateur, started making computers in his mom’s garage. Amateurs have always been the explorers and trail blazers into the future and are immortalized as courageous resourceful Amateurs who like Han Solo Amateur are never concerned with the odds. I am and Amateur. Fuck didn’t even spell Amateur correct. I am the king of the run on sentence and couldn’t put a semicolon in the right place if you put a gun to my head or offered me Brazilian whore. But like my Amateur forefathers who sailed to this country and stole it from the Indians I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Four fucking years ago I started writing. I have filled over four composition notebooks, and lost even more. Four years ago I decided to try my hand at writing and when I say try my hand I mean go straight to the top. Like the phoenix I knew I would rise from nothing and have everything I want out of this life. How did I know I would get it? Faith. But not faith in God, Allah, Buddha, or the others. You have come to the wrong place if you want religion. All I will say on that topic is respect people’s religion.  But people with religion, it would be nice if you guys would keep it to yourself and stop dragging the rest of us into faith-based wars.  I had Faith that I can do anything I put my mind to. Faith that I am an unstoppable force. A rouge wave of pride, courage, intelligence, resourcefulness, kindness, respect, sexiness, and a fucking Virginia Gentleman.

Am I different? Yes, but we all are and there is something magical about that. We all have gifts and burdens. But a gift is only a gift if used wisely and our burdens are irrelevant; we all have them and it’s all relative. What counts with your burden is how you carry it. Do you let it break you or do you walk tall and take it in stride. No one is perfect not one fucking one of us. The only thing that we all have in common is faith. Some have less and others more. Anyone can do anything in my world and you should join me America.

I wanted to be a writer. My reasons are mine, but I wanted it and I fought for it. Four years of basing my head against a wall without even shaking it. Four years of my family saying you’re a ridiculous fool. One even said “A writer I just saw a box of books on the sidewalk there is no money in books.” My friends said it was hopeless while others just said nothing. No one said I could do it and I gave two fucking shits. I had faith and that is all you need. It was a lonely road and if I said every day I was confident it would work I would be a liar. Night after night I thought of other ways to use my time. Thought of the odds. Calculated the costs. Gauged my ability as a writer. Good story-teller and worst typeset, and grammar idiot on the planet. I didn’t care I had to try. But not try that is what losers say I had to succeed.  Don’t survive thrive.  I have never been stopped by any force and damned if I will stop now. I hired and fired 19 editors. One even held my draft ransom saying “This will make money I want to be partner.” Told her to stick it up her ass with a candle on it and rewrote it.  However I did take it as a massive compliment. Then I found a girl who worked well with me and got what I was going for. Weeks we spent rewriting and editing the run on drunken madhouse which is my writing. Even more time spent writing this blog which I use as a litmus test for my tales. Over 140 posts and 30 never got posted. Hours, days, weeks, months, years, four years of nothing. I realized I didn’t just need an editor I needed an agent. Over 300 NO’s America. 300 emails I sent out looking for help and all came back “Thanks for your interest in our company. We enjoyed your writing but it is not for us. And sorry for this form letter” So I decided to self publish and did it through createspace.com and amazon. This was well received and America was kind enough to give me a 4.6 out of 5 rating for my very rough first edition. I also had more help from my ladies. A group of loyal assistants who liked my blog and wanted to help. Part time amateurs but they helped me write my form letters and showed me the language of marketing a book. One even went further and helped me get my foot in a door with an online publisher. I submitted my draft and they sent me a contract. I then had to hire an attorney for a grand to tell me what the hell the contract said. He helped me make some changes and we conference called with the publishing company. I sat back and watched him work and he got it all. Every fucking thing I wanted from that contract and they agreed. Now he is writing the final draft and when it’s done I will sign.  Hopefully they will still sign and a brick came out of the wall I had been bashing my head into. I now can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just a glimmer, but that is more than I have ever had. I fucking did it America and I’m an Amateur, dyslexic, tech theatre and creative advertising college drop out. I have been thrown out of every school I have ever been to or suspend for five years and I fucking did it.

What one Gentleman can do another can do better America. With Faith in yourself. When your back is against the wall, your cards suck and your almost out of chips you can still win. You just have to play your hand right. Whatever you want out of this life America you can get. Anything is obtainable America you just have to fight for it and fight fucking hard. A little rum never hurt either.

Now stand by for the official announcement of me becoming a published author America. I’m going to shake this fucking world.

 

And to all my friends and family.  SUCK MY WELL ENDOWED COCK i MADE IT YOU DOUBTING CUNTS.  And Dad wish you could have seen it.

 

Long Live the Writers

Oceans