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 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


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.


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 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



One new years my bro is in town and I took it upon myself to show him a good time.  This is my bro from a different mo and we have been finding trouble since 2nd grade.  I guess more accurately I have found the trouble and talked him into following me into it.  God bless him, if I did it he was right behind me since the great raptor hunt of 94.  That’s right America our seven year old asses having just seen Jurassic Park were convinced a Raptor was lurking in my woods.  Armed to the teeth with a BB gun and compound bow we hunted it for days even trying to bait it with dog food.  We were unsuccessful however we did find a missing great dane however I’m still convinced that was not was I saw hunting us in those dark woods.

So back to new years, him being from my small town and me being the one who escaped to the big city I wanted to show him the life of lights on the streets and pavement under our feet.  Our first stop was to watch the ball raise.  In my city like New York we have a ball ceremony however ours raises and is impossible to see when it’s at the top contributing to our seven year in a row incorrect, and late countdown.  God bless a criminal city but the education here is staggering.  Any who unlike the thousands of people in the streets I have to make the night my own, by climbing onto a roof next to the ball raising with two bottles of bubbly.  A minor trespassing possibly considered breaking and entering to some judges, but with all the crime I have committed that slap on the wrist stuff looks like the kiddy ride to a carrier fighter pilot.

Of course my bro is the respectable one.  He teaches your kids America, God bless the public school system.  He was not sure of this roof climb, due to the possible 20 foot fall getting up there, and the booze already influencing our balance.  It had been years since I had seen him but like we were 7 again hunting the raptor I climbed first showing him the way and after a few adolescent taunts his drunk ass was climbing.  The problem was going around the chimney due to a barbed wire fence on the roof keeping people off.  I almost fell.  Last thoughts to cross my mind.  Fall back first hugging the bottle to protect it.  Will want to get drunk after I lose all feeling in my legs.  Before I ask bro to beat me to death with the empty bottle since I wont be able to use Sir Gordon Johnson on hot ladies ever again  Because you got to have goals America.

The roof climbed, bottles primed, we await the countdown.  Looking at the smile on his face as he looked down on all the people and the people cheering up at us, I could see why people deal with my ass.  Sure I’m rough around the edges and a mixture of archer, barney stinson, and hunter S.  But, I show people how to live and have been called every name but boring and monotonous.  Live every day like it was your last.  One day it will be.  The countdown begins, the ball raises, and the corks fly into the crowd below us.  Drunk, cheering, feeling like Gods atop our tower of bubbles we were happy.  Right up till that cop car entered our Korbel realm.

When the party was winding down the cops show up to help clear the drunks from the streets.  Convinced we were atop Olympus drinking with Zeus we did not notice that cop car emerging from Hades’s ninth ring.  Virgil what the fuck?  Drunk bastard.  Suddenly me and my bro snap out of our drunken chants.  We see a cop car next to the girls we are shouting at and a chill creeps up our spine.  Yes your honor I was drunk on that roof and I loved it!  The cops sees the girls looking up, follows suit, and sees us.  Feeling the tremble in the force of my bro I silently whisper “own it and raise your glass with me to the cop”, as I mentally plan an o shit run off the roof plan B.  My bro reverting back to 7 says nothing, stands up straight, and raises his glass with me to the cop woman.  She smiles, waves and drives on.  What a country.  My bro turns to me speechlessly asking “how in the fuck?”  I look at him and say bro I’m a criminal run and they chase you raise your glass and stand tall…  We look like we own the building.  Look like your supposed to be there and cops ignore you.  Yes officer this is my T.V..  Yes officer this weed is medicinal.  Yes officer I was drunkenly sledding on this hill using an art museum sign as a sled, I own this place.  Well at least plan B worked on the sledding one.

Drunk enough to barley walk but not drunk enough to land a controlled fall we hit the bars with the mortals.  Our souls baptized in champagne of Olympus.

Long Live the Writers


11,000 FOLLOWERS FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

America I want to thank you for giving a retired drug dealer and master of mistakes a voice. I can’t thank you enough for the 2,900 wonderful comments, over 80,000 views, countless reblogs, sexting and urging me to write my book. Its been a long first year, over 100 posts and now 11,000 disciples. I can’t say how grateful I am so I will show you. I always believed actions were louder then words anyway. My book PLAYING YOUR HAND RIGHT: SHOWING AMERICA HOW TO LIVE is about life, love, sex, crime, and when she breaks your nose during sex. I wanted to make America laugh and maybe class the world up a notch.
During this year I have gotten countless questions on how I got so many disciples. To say thanks for following and buying books I’m going to give you my opinion on how to blog. FOR FREE. Although I wouldn’t mind if you bought a copy of my book.

My blog is clean and neat. No widgits, gidgits, gadgits, esoteric nonsense or the other techno babble I will never understand. When I was at art school I had a great professor who really got into the psychology of web design and I listened close. First always use a white or subtle yellow as background it is the easiest on the readers eyes. No moving images, white font on black or the other A.D.D. options, they make the text hard to read and tire the readers eyes faster making them unable to read more then twenty min. I want people to come to my blog and read my writing not check the weather it’s distracting to the reader. K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple Stupid is my message on layout. Get rid of all the background and extra crap. We are bloggers not web designers. But we can learn a thing or two from them.

Tags and Categories
This is one of the most unused easy things to do for us bloggers. An old web design trick is make the spiders work for you. We call spiders the search engine programs and they are designed to find key words your searching for. Using the Tags and categories is an easy way to get more traffic. Will this get you 11,000 followers? No but it will get you two more every day and if your a good writer those two will tell two and is spreads. First and for most add “sex” to your tags and categories. Sex is the most searched for term in the internet and word press will even make you laugh by telling you what funny dirty thing people search for. Here is what my site brought in today “tight hand and sex, lighting farts on fire, sxe amerka, sex live in america” Makes me giggle every day what it says. So with sex find 20 other categories your writing falls under and post in them. I have a list I just copy and paste into the tags section no matter what I have written about. Well, lets face it, most of my writing is about sex, drugs, boats and crime anyway. If you cant think of any here is my list to get you started you just copy and paste into the tag section (Antares 44 I, blog award, boats, Busted, cancer, car accident, car break down, Cars, change, children, Cocaine, college, Cops, crime, Dad, Death, Drinking, Drug Dealing, Family, Father, funny, growing up, hash, humor, inspiring, journey, Life, Playing Your Hand Right, quest, robbers, robbery, Sailing, Sex, sex toys, strip clubs, Suicide, Survival, SWAT, Taylor Oceans, Uncategorized, Valentines Day, Weed) These tags are vital when your starting out but now I rarely use categories anymore although I should. So no more posting in only uncategorized America, noob mistake make the spiders work for you. I hate the bastards and they scare the crap out of me but in the digital world spiders are my friends.

Yes America the world is full of haters the key is to ignore them. Do not fight back they are not worth your time, will never change, and all your doing is dropping to their level. I know that sounds like something you tell a four year old but this is a digital world. If someone said this shit to my face I would have them knee capped while I stand over them laughing, smoking and drinking rum. Since you can’t beat their ass just trash the comments. I receive about one a month. Some person who has spent there entire life is the suburbs and believe they know everything without any real word experience. I get the drug dealers are trash, kid killers, and poster children for abortion once a month. I’m sure I attract more then your average blogger given the controversial topics and my background, but simply put. You will never make everyone happy and like you so give up now, be yourself. Raise your rum and say :To all those who wish us well cheers. To all the rest may you burn in hell.” Just accept that some people will not like your writing and would love to make you quit. Now let me tell you a tale. After the first two months of my blogging I got a hater. He commented on every post and trashed me. He told people not to follow me, and plenty of other garbage. I posted his comments with my rebuttal. I then made the mistake of not checking on my blog for three days. In that three days I had trashed all the work I had done. It took me 2 months to get my first 200 followers and I went back to 50 in three days. America did not like my rebuttal. I deleted it, his comments and basically started from scratch again. That was the first wall I had to put my head through to keep this blog going and it will not be the last. Don’t waste your time with the haters and trolls, just delete, ignore, have a cig, rum and coke, and maybe some good hard fucking. Write more the next day. Sometimes you have to go away to come back.  We are here to write not, argue with America.

Far be it from me to tell you what to write. You want to write about scifi, cars, politics, what ever go for it, but give the people what they want. What they want in those categories I have no idea I write about crime and fucking. I write about me unpolished and you guys clearly eat up the shit where I hold nothing back, and tell it like it really happened. Many times I want to keep some of myself or my failures out of my writing and portray myself as Don Won on Viagra. However when I get the rum in me and tell it how it is you guys love it. I hold nothing back and expect nothing in return. But I wouldn’t mind if you bought my book.

So that is my quick class on blog success. Keep your format simple, use spiders, be yourself and ignore the haters. Don’t like it kiss my ass its free. But I’m here to show you how to live and I figured I might show some of you a trick or two about blogging.  We all need a little help from time to time.

Accidentally on Purpose
The last secret to my success was this post. Accidentally on Purpose was a post I wrote that went viral hitting 965 views in one day. Now you can use all the tricks of the trade. My B.S. and all the other crap they are trying to sell you on the internet on how to blog right. But what it comes down to is turning heads. I have never done anything by following the rules and I’m not about to start now. Grammar, social norms, and doubters can suck it, I live, fuck and write my way. Find out what the people want out of your writing and give it to them. Do they want to feel secure, enlightened, ashamed, passionate or informed? Give the people what they want and they will stay, read, and follow. The categories, tags, format, and other shit only get them to walk in. You writing must make them stay.

Now for your reading pleasure here is accidently on purpose the post that America made me write a book after reading.

So one night, I invited a fuck buddy to come by for a night of kinky adulterism. I thought I was cool with all forms of sex till I met this chick. First she tried to finger my ass while blowing me. Not cool ladies. I felt a finger go from fondling balls to my no-no spot. After I removed my fingernails from the ceiling and climbed down, she explained to me that she had banged every guy she had been with. And I don’t mean bang in the good way. I told her not this horse. Line one found.
During another night of sexual shenanigans, she asked me to cut her with a dinner knife. Well, as well as she could ask through a ball gag while she was tied up in the entryway. I thought that would look great; the cops come in, see me with a dinner knife, woman tied up, death by thousand cuts, and boom: head shot. Thoughts of me being gunned down wearing nothing but a condom and holding a magic wand in one hand and a knife in the other was not exactly my kind of night. Also, the sight of blood makes me lightheaded and completely de-rected. Line two discovered.
During one night of sexcapades, I couldn’t recall which; we were having some drinks before the roll playing began. She would come in, bringing her bag of whatever hotness she would wear that night. We would catch up, have a few drinks, she would go change in the bedroom, I would set up that night’s fun, and it was on. Well, during one of these drinking and catching up chats we had a little bit more than usual to drink. I have a bar in my apartment and I was behind it pouring champagne far too fast. We were talking, joking, having a good time, let’s face it ladies, I’m charming. I go to my fridge, get the third bottle of champagne, pull off the foil, wire, aim and fire.
Being the son of a chef and restaurant owner, I am normally one with the cork, but I try to refrain from firing one off in my apartment. You see, I’m a half-assed Buddhist and have a nice Buddha shrine in my living room. Buddha is cool with everything except being shot in the face with a cork and shattered on the floor. I call myself a half-assed Buddhist because I love Karma, but I treat my body like an amusement park not a temple; hence half-assed.
So, there I am in my kitchen, hotness at the bar, with a bottle in my hand and off goes the cork. Trying to impress her, I figure I will shoot the cork down my apartment and pour her a glass. In my haste, I didn’t aim properly and the cork hits the wall across the room. I have both my hands on the bottle when I realize the cork has ricochet off the wall and is coming straight for my eye at the speed of sound. I wondered what the trip to the hospital would be like. Yes, Doctor, I shot myself, but in my emotional throws, my suicide was foiled because instead of a gun I used a bottle of bubbly. How many times have I laughed at the warning labels on champagne bottles and the funny pictures of cartoons hitting themselves with a cork? Is it possible to have sex with a cork in my eye? I figured she would be a little turned off.
There I was, the “Master” trying to pour a glass of champagne for the “Slave” and the dip shit “Master” is going to blind himself with a cork. Premature corkulation. Why couldn’t my parents have said, “Be careful with the bottle of champagne, you’ll shoot your eye out?” I was great with the BB gun. The cork is getting closer to my face and now she is realizing I’m about to be Kennedy-ed. Forget the magic bullet, look at this fucking cork. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her cover her mouth getting ready to laugh, scream, sympathize, however this turns out.
Suddenly, I realize time has stopped. I look at my dog and a drop of drool is floating in the air below him frozen in time. A hummingbird is flying outside the window and its wings are still.
All these thoughts and sights overwhelmed me, yet I couldn’t react to the damn cork about to head shot me. Frozen in time, unable to move, I awaited my inevitable corky fate. Time began again and the cork closed in on its target. I braced for the impact of my masochistic bottle opening, when out of the corner of my eye I see a hand. Moving faster than a fat kid running down an ice cream truck, this hand rises to protect my face. I realize it’s my hand moving and I’m drunker than I thought. I have somehow caught the cork.
Staring at my hand, like a kid who just caught his first fly ball, completely amazed by my subconscious drunken reflexes, I turn to her. She is sitting on the bar stool staring at me as if I have just cured cancer, while climbing Everest to save her from the abominable snowman. Wet. She couldn’t believe it. Had I done this on purpose or accident, she thought to herself. Is my “Master” really this good? Not sure what to do, I came to a sudden conclusion. I handed her the cork with all my misplaced bravado and simply said. “You like my new trick?” And it was on.

I still try to catch the cork when no one is around…
I’m never even close.

As always if you like that take a peak at my book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How to Live and read what America has said about it.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans


America I want to say thanks.  I started this blog a year ago for God knows why.  Maybe just to be heard.  To see if America would listen to a retired drug dealer and master of mistakes.  A year later I have 10,994 followers, and with the pushing of America I wrote my first book of my tales.  You have given me a 4.7 out of 5 rating on and over 2,000 wonderful comments on my blog.  I just want to say thanks for listening to my tales America and buying my book.  Us self published drunken rantists need all the help we can get.  So thank you America, and feel free to keep the emails, comments, FB chats, and all the other techno crap coming.  I’m here to help, entertain, teach, and show America how to live.  My email is

Follows is an email I received about my book.  Thanks for buying my book PLAYING YOUR HAND RIGHT: SHOWING AMERICA HOW TO LIVE  and giving hope to someone with nothing in his hand.  But sometimes nothing can be a pretty cool hand.

If you haven’t heard of Taylor Oceans, it’s about time you do.

I first came across Oceans on WordPress and after reading nearly every one of his blog posts I knew I needed to hear more of the ex-drug dealer’s crazy life stories. From loosing his eyebrows trying to stash his paraphernalia in a fire to getting kicked out of college by the SWAT team, he has never taken the easy path. And we are lucky enough that he has decided to share his stories, and his journey to becoming a gentleman, in a book.  He tells his tales with an incredibly refreshing voice that anybody will love, whether you are well read or not. He’s like Tucker Max, but better with women. You might cringe, you’ll definitely laugh but either way you won’t be able to put his book down.

If you want to take a chance on my book a link to Amazon follows

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans

And Remember…  It’s nice to be important but more important to be nice.

Showing America How to Live by Taylor Oceans

America new book reviewer in town. Play nice and maybe she will do your book too. But what can I say the ladies love me.

Books For Your Thoughts

This serves as the first completed book in my personal endeavor to commit to active, daily, reading of full books, novels, and short stories. Taylor Ocean’s is fitting because finding and engaging with him on WordPress was what sparked within me the need to do this very same thing: purposefully read. Immediately proceeding his admonishment to “read this/my book”, I started a literal “To Read” list on paper. A tangible list, not one ethereal started with the words “I’ll put it on my To Read list” but an actual physical list.

So without further adieu, a review of Taylor Ocean’s “Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live”:

I picked this book up through my Nook Reader on my tablet. I don’t have a Nook, nor a Kindle, and this whole electronic reading thing is awfully new to me. But amazingly enough, it’s very easy and after just…

View original post 196 more words


America I want to say thanks.  I started this blog a year ago for God knows why.  Maybe just to be heard.  To see if America would listen to a retired drug dealer and master of mistakes.  A year later I have 10,900 followers, and with the pushing of America I wrote my first book of my tales.  You have given me a 4.7 out of 5 rating on and over 2,000 wonderful comments on my blog.  I just want to say thanks for listening to my tales America and buying my book.  Us self published drunken rantists need all the help we can get.  So thank you America, and feel free to keep the emails, comments, FB chats, and all the other techno crap coming.  I’m here to help, entertain, teach, and show America how to live.  My email is

Follows is an email I received this weekend.  Thanks for buying my book PLAYING YOUR HAND RIGHT: SHOWING AMERICA HOW TO LIVE  and giving hope to someone with nothing in his hand.  But sometimes nothing can be a pretty cool hand. 

If you want to take a chance on my book a link to Amazon follows


Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans

And Remember…  It’s nice to be important but more important to be nice.