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.  



America we have no idea what the road holds for us. I’ve been up, down, rich, poor, together and alone. And what have I learned? It’s about the journey not the destination. You can’t fight change. You not getting any younger and your days are numbered. We want to think our lives will be perfectly linear from birth to death devoid of problems. I’m going to work this job, raise my kids, retire, get old and die. Or at least most of us. But I’m different America. I think every day is precious. You never know when that drive by is going to get you. That drunk driver is going to smash you. The doctor gives you the bad news. Or a piece of slate falls off a roof and kills you. When I was in High school I was walking to the library and a piece of slate falls off the roof plummeting four stories and smashes it’s ten pound razor sharp ass right next to me. I mean inches from my head America. I realized then we have a lot less control then we think over our fate. I saved a piece of that slate tile to remind me to live every day to the full. To live my dreams with no regrets and always say why not instead of why. Don’t be so busy making a living you forget to make a life America. Some day that piece of slate is going to hit you. And all that will be left… Our tales.

Long Live the Writers



America rewind my life tape back ten years to senior year of High School.  I’m 18 and the Activities Vice President of my school.  I decided to run for student body VP while at dinner with my Dad.  Being sent to boarding school it wasn’t uncommon for parents to be sympathetic and take you out to dinner to save you from the terrible food of dorm every now and then.  We were having a very nice penne chicken Alfredo with salted garlic ham cubes.  I still use the recipe try it.  We were cowing of this dank pasta and I sit up and say I think I’m going to run for VP.  Supportive as always Dad replies “Sure you can, when is the election.”  A quick glimpse at my none existence watch and I say “O about sixteen hours.”  Dad chuckles knowing the procrastinator in me all to well and says “Well I guess you can try, but don’t get your hopes up.”

The next day I break into the school office and print off four color copies of my election banner.  “If you want parties like this vote Taylor Oceans for Activities VP”  with a picture of a rave under it.  I moved them around campus, had them pencil my name onto the voting cards, and I never even got to give a speech.  Won it by three votes, losing in the first counting, fuck yeah!  Which gets us closer to the plane.

Now as Activities VP you plan the prom and all other “mixers” (being a mostly guy boarding school they shipped in women from our all girls sister school once a week so we don’t turn gay)  and as the drama tech guy I knew how to work all the lights and wire just about anything.  Hey, at boarding school you have to do a winter sport.  Wresting, the sport of ear pads, rashes and tights… Hell No.  Basketball, yeah kiss my ass I’m short and blew my knee in soccer two years prior.  And drama, the only sport the girls could do in the winter aside from girls basketball.  Dear diary jackpot.  If my lighting booth could talk.  Any who, as VP, I wanted to have an illegal rave on campus, have 100 girls shipped in, no chaperons, and my high school, boarding school, blue balls in the middle of it.  I did, even built me and friends a VIP section.  First politician in history to keep his word.  I would have been thrown out of school, but I bet they couldn’t because then it would be public that a student conned them into not only catering his illegal rave, but endangered the sister school.  My school would have never been able to have a mixer again.  It worked, with a few other extortions and creative language.

This brings us to the plane.  During the preparation phase of the rave I got off campus to go pick up the six foot black lights for the rave.  Go hard or go home America ever seen what 14 six foot black lights can do?  While driving back to campus me and my partner in crime pass an air field and I blurt out I want to fly a plane.  “He says want to I’m a pilot?”  As always “Do pigs lie in shit?” is mine  Using his pilots licence, the rest of the money I embezzled from the school, a huge insurance policy and the lax regulations of this back country airfield, yes we rented a P.O.S. Cessna (  While fueling the plane I notice the tricycle landing gear is so light it moves when kicked, my go cart had bigger tires, the doors are so thin I bet I could fuck a hole in it,  the walls are made of the same material holding our beer that weekend, and the interior looks like something they thought was ugly in 1970.  A flying, tacky, death trap to put nicely, but I figure who wants to die in bed.  During take off the piece of crap sounded like it was going to fall apart and I really regretted getting my partner in crime, now my pilot high with me.  Suddenly we are airborne like a fat metal turkey.  The view was amazing and we decided to tour the county.  We flew over campus, the highway, and when we got over the river my buddy says ok find something to put in your hand like a pen.  I find a screw driver and say now what?  He says “I’m going to dive the plane and when I say now spin the screwdriver in the air it will float.”  Not sure how to spell the sound of a plane going down but that sound zooooooom.  The plane is diving, I’m screaming profanities and he shouts spin it.  Such mind shattering awesomeness!  Weightlessness! The fear is gone, the sounds, the doubts, the emotions, my entire life has vanished from my mind.  All I can focus on is a screwdriver floating in front of me.  Suck it apple guy, gravity is my play thing today bitch.  Transfixed by the daunting defiance of gravity our stoned asses fail to realize we are plummeting to the river from 5,000 feet at about 200 miles an hour.  Simultaneously we both look past the screwdriver and see the river about to screw me and my driver.  Profanities, as we both grab the sticks and pull back as we are eye level with sail boats.  Twenty feet.  That is what we got to.  20 god damn feet off the river as low as sail boat masts.

Our buzz fully gone, and pants properly soiled, we decide to return to the safety of the ground.  He tried to teach me how to land but with no head wind he needed to take it in.  Love those single runway airstrips.  He had to crab the plane to slow us down for landing.  This is basically Tokyo drift in a fucking beer can with a tricycle under it.  50 feet off the runway im looking at the runway through the side window, and just before touch down he turned the plane straight and nailed the landing.  And that’s what happens when stoners fly.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans

Another review of my book. Now get out your wallets and buy a copy.

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 lady killer.


Written by Pua Nani check out here erotica and nice legs at  Thanks for the review cute thang and taking a chance on my book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How to Live available on Amazon.  4.6 out of 5 rating.  Available here  Tell Your Friends.


I know I’m a long shot but sometimes long shots pay off big.  Try some indie tales.

Long Live the Writers


Taylor Oceans


Be sure to pop in tomorrow to for my first fireside chat.  Saturday from 6 to 8 est.  Will give all there a sneak peek at a bonus chapter from the book, spread some good music, maybe tell you guys about the time I went to mars on mushrooms, whatever comes up and whatever you ask.  Also this is to raise books for the organization Books for Troops created by ebony who is hosting my FB take over.  Hate the government, support the troops, and donate your old books for them to read at Books for Troops.  Link Follows.



America I have horrible nightmares at best once a week.  I’m talking wake up covered in sweat and physical tired from running in my dream.  I have woken up with scratches on my face, bruises on my body, and once a dislocated shoulder.  Somebody please figure that one out.  I beat the crap out of myself at night and its the major reason I don’t like to let woman sleep in my bed.  Nothing to do with my fear of commitment and abandonment issues almost done with those.  Its all about accidently beating the crap out of her while I’m sleeping.  But why am I telling you this?  Regret.  You see my reacquiring dreams are all my gruesome death.  I have died in literally every way conceivable,  Shot, burned, stabbed, hung, skinned, poisoned, run over by a car, truck and train, hack to pieces, fallen to death and shot to death by zombies with guns while covering my friends escape but that one I actually liked.  Zombies with guns how cool would that be?  What a good death it was epic I stayed alive to fire off every bullet I had as they riddled me.  As I died I could see my friends escape.  What a death but moving on.  Is it a nightmare if you like the death?  Anyway…

What I’m getting at is regret.  I’m not a dream interpreter and it doesn’t take a shrink to figure these out anyway.  I have seen a lot of death cut and dry.  I just want to tell you about a dream I had a week ago and one last night which reminded me.  Last night I dreamed of putting my dog down again.  Ze  Arnold Scarface in my arms, his soft hair, drool everywhere and his odorous stink.  God I miss his stink.  It was so real and painful to see him slip away after 23 great years.  I spent more time with that dog then my father and that’s not an exaggeration.  Got the dog when Dad came back and stole the dog when I moved away.  God I loved that dog and as horrible the dream was it was nice in a sick pathetic way to hold my big bro again(my entire life the dog outweighed me and I always wanted a brother).

This reminded me of a dream last week where I was being brutally murdered on my farm.  Remember the scene in private ryan when the jewish guy has a knife stabbed through his chest incredibly slowly yeah had that dream and let me say not fun. That one was up there with the killer clown hacking off my limbs as I go on a run away roller coaster or being pined down with no food in a rice paddy by charlie and they try to temp me out with well rice paddies but the edible kind not swamp.  Any way what I’m getting at is while attempting to slow the knife entering my chest I was home on the farm.  I could smell the wood beams in the house, the smoke of the wood stove,  I could see the funny old doors, and all my Dad’s CDs.  It was all so real and nice to be home even with a knife being stabbed into my chest.  I have not been home in four years.  Really only twice in six.  Once to go to Dad’s funeral and another to pick up my stuff.  This leads me to my only regret in this life of mine.  Leaving my Dad to die.  No nicer way to put it.  I was 23 my Dad had AIDS and he wanted to die.  Not only did I have to leave to save myself mentally I had to leave because everyday I risked getting AIDS being his care giver.  I cracked, we fought, I told him I wanted him to live, but couldn’t watch him die anymore.  He had been in bed dying for years at that point.  I left him to die in the care of nurses and we never even had a legal drink together at a bar.  This, in my eyes, has been my only failure in life and I never want to forget it.  To save myself I abandoned my father and moved to the big city.  It started well enough, I got back into college was working a legal job as a hotel engineer, but when he died I knew I left him and the crime began.  We all left him the entire family.  Some could make the excuse I was the youngest of the cowards or we are all responsible for our own lives, but I feel age is not as significant as most Americans and we should always help each other no matter what the risk.  I study the old days where 15 year olds were midshipmen on frigates in charge of four guns in a battle or the battle of warsaw during WW2 where little kids ran ammo and messages to the front lines.  I never want to forget leaving Dad because I failed.  You never leave your loved ones no matter what and here I am five years later, the farm gone and no family.  A hard lesson to learn, but one I honor for my Dad.  I will never run again.  I will never live with this burden of regret again.  Left only with memories and nightmares all I can do is mourn in my dank little down town apartment.

Learn from me America that’s what I write for.  The only sin in this life is regret and fuck I sinned.  But I will never make that mistake again.  Fight the hard fight America.  Stick with your loved ones family or not.  Even if you save yourself a piece of you dies with them.

P.S.  I dont want any comments about o that’s sad poor guy.  Don’t be pussies America and get your heads out of your asses.  Just want to illustrate the importance of fighting the good fight and I use my life as a catalysis to smack you in the balls and get your attention.  Don’t get all lifetime channel on me just trying to prove a point.  Now go fuck something America.  Give God a high five and bring down the wrath on the fine asses he made, Wear a condom.  Peace Out.

Long Live the Writers


O yeah and buy my book America only way your getting edits.  Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live  4.7 out of 5 rating on  Link Below.  Help spread the word of the new indie author.  Lived by me, written by me, and sure as shit not edited by me.  I mean look at this America I had way to much good times and sex in school to focus on grammar.  Worth it.

10,000 Disciples

Holy shit America 10,000 Disciples, 73,816 views, 2572 comments, 965 best ever views in a day, and a 4.7 out of 5 rating for my book on .  Not to bad for a guy who has made every mistake possible.  Thanks for reading, buying books, and supporting indie authors.  If you have not tried my book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How to Live yet give it a go.  Available on  Here is the link.

 My book will make you laugh, cry and teach you a thing or two.  But don’t trust me check out what they are saying on I love this shit.  Kindle copy available and Barns and Noble nook thing coming soon.

4.0 out of 5 stars Hilarious, January 8, 2014
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.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews 
5.0 out of 5 stars A 5-Star Read!!!, January 2, 2014
I LOVED this book!!! I discovered the book when it was donated to project that I run. This is the most REAL book that I have ever read. Taylor Oceans has lived one hell of a crazy life and has an amazing way of retelling it to his readers. This book had me on the floor in hysterical tears. It also left me with some very valuable life lessons. I would absolutely recommend this book to anyone, especially young people!!! I want to also send a huge THANK YOU for sharing your story with the world to Taylor Oceans.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews 
5.0 out of 5 stars Well played, December 18, 2013
Amazon Verified Purchase(What’s this?)
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!
4.0 out of 5 stars Everyone Loves A Bad Boy, December 18, 2013
This review is from: Playing Your Hand Right : Showing America How to Live: Anyone who can’t admit a mistake hasn’t learned from it yet. (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.


5.0 out of 5 stars Amazing, November 17, 2013
Amazon Verified Purchase(What’s this?)
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.
5.0 out of 5 stars Play it again Taylor, October 18, 2013
This review is from: Playing Your Hand Right : Showing America How to Live: Anyone who can’t admit a mistake hasn’t learned from it yet. (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!

So give my book a try and see how to play your hand right.  Link Below.
Long Live the Writers

I’d be full of shit if I said I didn’t love comments like this now buy my book America

By Ebony Arrington-McMillan on January 2, 2014

Format: Kindle Edition

I LOVED this book!!! I discovered the book when it was donated to project that I run. This is the most REAL book that I have ever read. Taylor Oceans has lived one hell of a crazy life and has an amazing way of retelling it to his readers. This book had me on the floor in hysterical tears. It also left me with some very valuable life lessons. I would absolutely recommend this book to anyone, especially young people!!! I want to also send a huge THANK YOU for sharing your story with the world to Taylor Oceans.

Thank you Ebony for the wonderful comment.  After two years of writing, doubting, listening to the doubters, and betting everything financially on myself, the long shot. I will admit to a few moments of weakness.  But I like to say bash your head against the wall till it comes down or something useful comes out of your head.  I think I just might have pulled it off.  Bet on yourself America who the hell else will.  And if you feel like trying something new try me and my tales Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How to Live for a good laugh and life lesson.  Published only three months ago and available on  Be the first of your friends to discover my tales. Thanks for reading.

Long Live the Writers


P.S.  The organization was Books for troops (link below) send them your old books to be forwarded to our troops.  Support our troops, Hate the Government.

P.S.S. or something? If your read the post about my date stuck on the side of the road and no one helped she finally made it down for new years in her moms car because hers is fucked. and it was really good

Buy My Book People are loving this shit

Alright America 30 books sold and not a bad review yet and 4.8 rating on Amazon.  Now there are almost 10,000 of you out there so go to and buy my book  Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live.  My book will make you laugh, like a son of a bitch yet it does have a serious theme of life, love and the pursuit of happiness America style.  My New years resolution is to sell 1,000 copies next year at least.  That would mean you guys would help me raise 1,000 dollars to help me advertise.  I have bought 50 books so far and I’m sending them out to newspapers, publishers, book stores, agents, radio and T.V. Stations.  And at this point I have bought more books then you America.  I’m all alone on this America, but if you read my writing you know that only makes me go harder.  I will get on the New York times best seller list just a matter of when and I need your help to do it America.  You need to click on the link below and buy the digital copy of my book for only 3 bucks or the paper back for 10 bucks.  When you discover what a gem it is you need to get one friend to buy a copy.  1,000 bucks means 125 copies of my book get mailed to the right people’s desks.  Help me play my hand right America and years from now when someone says “Have you ever heard of Taylor Oceans?”  You get to reply, “Oceans, shit I was one of his original disciples.”  Here is a comment I received on my FB page from a very nice woman who runs books for troops.  I sent a few copies of my book to our boys she read it and this is what she said.

Ok..I HAVE to give a huge shout-out to an author and friend who YOU should check out.Taylor Oceans!!! YOU HAVE TO READ HIS BOOK, Playing Your Right Hand…This book has me laughing so hard!!! And what I LOVE about it is that it is REAL…Check it out for yourself!!!

 So take a chance on me America.  I know I’m a long shot, but sometimes long shots pay off big.  Link to my book on Amazon below.

Also Check out books for troops.  Send our boys some good reads they earned it!  Link below to the face book page.

P.S.  Don’t forget bonus chapters only in the book.  Your only getting my rough drafts, free writes, and half the story on the blog. 


Boy Vs Nature

When I was let’s say 13, my mother and I were walking on the beach, where I would later wreck a car on the cliffs above. We were walking and enjoying the sand, the sounds, and shooting the shit when I lock eyes on a 250-pound piece of pole: drift wood. 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, getting it up the hill, and 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, circumference, yet it was white because it was driftwood. I thought I had found gold and damn the cost I will get this 250-pound pain in the ass home, which already had a perfectly good chopping block.
The quest begins. Now, cliffs flank the beach we are 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 turn back and continue to talk about what ever the hell and while we are walking back, I’m kicking and pushing 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 is wearing me out after rolling it over five hundred yards of sandy beach.
We enter the path through the woods. In my hometown, we have poison ivy and briers, not woods. Remember the poor guy in Saw surrounded by barbed wire. Yeah, it brought back memories but I had to push a log through my self-inflicted hell. So 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 again and I would not repeat history. I was better than the log and smarter than Sisyphus.
I sink my flip-flops (poor choice of foot wear) 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. You know just before you get your growth spurt? Well, imagine it never hit.
So runt, log, hill. This is not a perfect geometrical 45-degree angle hill; the beginning is easier and as you get to the top it gets steeper and steeper. The first third of the hill I get past pretty easily. When I get to the middle, I rest for the big push to the top and my inevitable victory over nature. This path is dirt and a little damp underfoot so my flip-flops are not working well. I finish my rest, give myself the you’re better than the log, gravity, hill, poor foot wear, and genetics pep talk and push. I’m 75% of the way there and slipping my ass off. This log is three times my body weight and it’s winning. Have a midget try to push a football Coliseum. Looked the same but on a hill and in flops. I say, “Fuck” and roll the log back down the path.
I pace, swear, pace, swear, and the whole time my mother is watching, coaching, and trying to control her laughter as her tiny part-Serb son is bested by a log. I’m sure she was torn between feeling pride for my tenacity, pity for being small, and laughing her ass off at the sight of her tiny son fighting nature.
I regain my vigor; remind myself 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 roll that mother like a fine joint. I’m halfway there and I’m not stopping. My Serb forefathers started World War One. I don’t even need a break. I will bend the world and nature to my will like my English forefathers shouting “Make the world England.” I’m 75% there and the Scott comes out. I see the green hills of my forefathers and the dirty rainy crap hole they lived in and kept pushing as if I am a participant in the Highland Games. Scenes of Brave Heart flash before me and I think Freedom! I get to the final feet and see the top. My mother is jumping up and down shouting you got this, you can do it, come on, make me proud. The Irishman kicks in and the fight is on. But wait, I’m 13. I have no liquid courage, AKA Irish fuel. And the machine runs out of steam. I slip; the log rolls over my 80-pound body, down the hill, off the path, and into a brier patch. I roll down the hill, flip-flops flying everywhere. It was like a B-52 strike in Nam. I get to the bottom of the hill, resting comfortably on my face.
I snap back to Serb. I’m nuts, I’m enraged, I erupt with profanity, obscenity, and disgust at how this piece of shit log will not heed my will. Why won’t you go home? Are you to good for your home? Answer me, log! I rush up the hill to my waiting mother who wants to say watch your language, but is probably just happy I didn’t break every bone in my body when the huge damn log rolled over my face. I tell my mom we are going home and start down the road. She starts to console me with its OK you’ll get bigger, it was a big hill, that was a huge log, the honor is in the attempt, and that’s when I cut her off. I say, “Hell no. I’m not done yet. I need shit. I need pants for briers, boots for the mud, gloves to protect my hands…

Does my new plan work?  Who will win when I return the Boy or Nature?  Buy my book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How to Live.  Self Published only three months ago and available on Amazon and Kindle.  4.8 out of 5 rating on Amazon so buy this puppy and spread the word of Taylor Oceans.  My book is 200 pages of my funny tales, my sexy tales, my insane tales, and my other tales you wont believe are true.  And don’t think its all on the blog either.  Bonus chapters only in the book.  Got to get you guys to buy the book somehow right?  So put down your bongs, pause the porn and click on the link below to get your hands on a page turner.

And tell your friends to buy a copy too.

Long live the writers

Taylor Oceans