42. ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE

Well America book two is wrapping up. When I say that it’s 3/4 done which means 6 months-ish due to financial restraints. Tragically I’m still a carpenter and a poor one. But buy my book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live tell your friends and make me a writer. In honor of book two coming out I will be releasing some of the chapters from the first book. If your new to my blog you only get the unedited drunken free writes here. For the full on copy you have to pay the terrible price of 3 dollars for a kindle copy 9 for print. Available on Amazon.com link follows. 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. As I was saying book two is almost done so in honor of that here are the professionally edited fully revised chapters of book one. So sit back, make a drink, pack your bowls and enjoy the first of many more to come. This is the last chapter in my first book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live. Personally it is my favorite but I could probably say that about most of them. Leave me a comment below, I love feed back and if your feeling very adventurous try my first book.

42. ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE

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: headshot. 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 went to my fridge to get the third bottle of champagne, pull off the foil, wire, aim, 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 we are, hotness at the bar, me in the kitchen 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 hit the wall across the room. I have both my hands on the bottle when I realize the cork has ricocheted off the wall and is coming straight at 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 dipshit “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 realizes 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, and 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 headshot 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 barstool staring at me as if I have just cured cancer while climbing Everest to save her from the abominable snowman. Wet as April. 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 long live the writers

Taylor Oceans

Link to Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live

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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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.

Dealing with Fathers Death

Dealing with your fathers death

Now this one I could have done better, but hey I was 22. I started by drinking and when I say drinking I mean the fetal position cursing god as you poor liquor into your mouth until you pass out or die either is acceptable. It then goes to an attempted suicide by dealing cocaine in the murder capital of America. I figure if your going out go out like Scar Face, beats a letter by the bed. Tragically I found I was very good at what I did and no one wants to shoot their income. This then goes to pushing my dealers harder and harder by putting more of their money up my nose until one day he just never picked up. I slept with a gun under my pillow for a week not even sure if I would fire back or thank the hit squad. Every time I walked my dog I expected a drive by which never came. I started asking around about my partner and it turns out he was killed in a drive by. My street credit was still golden since he never told anyone about my resent addictions. On a regular day I’d blow six grams probably peeking out around 20 in one night. Twice I felt my heart stopping but I could fix that with two grams to the dome. DO NOT DO EVER! After avoiding everyone for three years I didn’t know what to do but was sure I was completely unprepared to rejoin society. You feel totally overwhelmed with everything and you believe it is all lost. You become consumed with rage and you lash out at anything that seems convenient. You blame society, family, and even your god should you have one. I found him again and kicked him out again. But one day you just let it go. You are just tired of all the hate, the pain, the loss and you just do something. In my case stop dealing, clean up my act and write this book.

Although my mourning wasted three years of my life and countless hundreds of thousands of dollars. Probably five to six, I spent everything I made since I expected to be killed any day. If you can’t make crime pay your dumb. I am out of it alive and a better man for the journey. You have to realize that shit just happens. No one knows how much time we have with each other and it’s never enough. But you have to eventually realize its not your fault or it is and you made a mistake. You have to forgive yourself before you can forgive others.

Life’s problems all can’t be solved by simple tricks , sometimes as my mother said, “You have to pull up your boots and wade through some shit.” I think of my Dad every day. Every time I cook he is with me, every time I hear Eric Clapton or Tom Petty he is jamming next to me. I don’t think you really ever get over something so painful. You just have to keep moving forward, Everyday. Be a Gentleman, accept your losses, and keep going.