If you died tomorrow would you be proud of your life?

So many times, not only was I ashamed of my life but I actively tried to get myself killed. Any risk I took face first. I did this because of the short falls of my life. I wasn’t living up to the potential I knew I could achieve and that we all can achieve. I wanted to be the one to lean on. I wanted to be the honorable big brother to my fellow men and women who would was willing to sacrifice, protect, inspire and provide for them. For eight years I have tried to achieve this goal by showing all those around me how grateful I am to have them in my life and give something back. To lend support, to listen, to help build their dreams as they did for me.

 

Many years ago someone told me to focus on me. To look out and take care of me because I wasn’t in a good place. And that this person needed to do the same. But they were wrong. Looking out for yourself will only get you so far. That will make you average. Those who want to help everyone. Who are willing to shoulder the burden we change the world. We inspire. Because we do what is hard, what is illogical, what is painful. We run towards danger to help others. We don’t run away to protect ourselves. That is what I wanted to achieve and falling short was killing me. But I kept trying. I kept working on my dream. I knew that my invention wouldn’t only help the planet. It had the potential to change the way we think. Not only can we now remove microplastics from the water but that idea started with a half drunk dreamer at the country club of virginia. I walked out of there a failure. I looked my friends in the eyes and knew we were headed back to the same shit hole we lived in. We were headed back to our average lives of life, rent, and death. I walked back in and made a contact that started all of this for them. I’m not trying to change the physical world that is secondary. I want to change the hearts of the people in it. I want my story to be one of someone who came from the shitiest apartment in richmond. Someone who should have never been invited to the country club of virginia. Someone who had been abandoned, marginalized, and banished from his home by what was left of his family. Someone filled with shame, failure, pain and hate. If I could achieve this then all of you could see that I am not special. We all are special. We all dream and feel love in our hearts. All that is stopping us is that we are thinking about ourselves. We are consumed by the fear. We need to build a better world of the heart. Inspire the ones we love. We all need to love one another.

 

Tonight is the first night I go to sleep proud of my life because of a phone call I got today. My big sister. The successful responsible one of the family called me the black sheep today to thank me for inspiring her. She had a dream to change some hospital protocols that would protect patients and doctors. She had a dream to help others and asked for my help and inspiration. She said you have achieved so much and made so many positive changes in your life I wanted to better myself and the world around me too. She worked on her policy for a year. She was doubted, ignored, and marginalized just like I was in the beginning. I told her to stay with it. Fight. Keep hope alive. Fight for your dream. It is worth it. You can help these people if you don’t give up. You are right and it is a good idea. We need this and you are capable of shouldering the burden to get us there. You are strong enough to achieve this dream and win the hard fight ahead. You have the courage to have patience and the perseverance because this will be hard, this will take years. I have complete faith in my big sister as she did in her little brother.

Today she was nominated for a nightingale award because of her new policy. The head of her hospital was so proud of my big sister he nominated her because she fought to change the world for other people. My big sister was inspired to fight because of the little brother who fought for her. My big sister was recognize for her achievement, courage, and heart. And when the battle was won she called her little black sheep brother and said thanks for inspiring me.

 

My inventions are in major circles. You will see them soon. We can clean the water. We can reduce coal emissions by 93%. We can generate electricity in new ways. And I am just getting started. But what I am proud of most is the reinvention of myself. Taking the pieces of my shattered life and making a beautiful inspiring mosaic of love, dreams, invention and determination.

 

I got here because I fought for others. I got here because I dreamed. You can too. I know it.

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.

How am I going to be an optimist about this?

Should life be easy or hard? When my Dad died or more acutely refused his meds and let AIDS kill him slowly I was left to my own devices. How am I going to be an optimist about this? My Mother had already left me at 18 and moved to Canada. We don’t talk anymore. How am I going to be an optimist about this? 22 in a new city I lost my Dad and my farm on the same night. How am I going to be an optimist about this? I became a drug dealer to get myself killed because I was alone. Going out like Scarface sounded better then death in bed like Dad. How am I going to be an optimist about this? I developed a coke habit, and became rich as shit and a great success at dealing, til my partner was killed in a drive by. I looked in the mirror and saw my strung out coked up ass and was ashamed by the years, dollars, and talent wasted. How am I going to be an optimist about this? I quit coke, and dealing. I wrote a book Playing Your Hand Right avalible at https://www.createspace.com/4262251 . First week of sales. How am I going to be an optimist about this? The same way I always do. Remember I’m Taylor Oceans and I can do anything I put my mind to. That’s how I’m going to be an optimist about this. I will sell my book even if I have to sell everything I own but my lap top and steal wifi. And that is the message of my book and my life.  We can do anything and you only fail when you quit. And I don’t quit. That’s how I can be an optimist about this.  Next week I will sell more.
Should life be easy or hard… Hard. Its the only way you find out what the fuck your made of. And I’ve become a Gentleman America. I wouldn’t trade my hard life for anything. It gave me Moxie.  That’s how I’m going to be an optimist about this. I leave you with one of my favorite poems modified for the Gentleman, by a Gentleman.

Oceans~

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Gentleman, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

And if you feel like being part of a changing America buy my book Playing Your Hand Right:Showing America how to live it just might make an optimist out of you.

https://www.createspace.com/4262251

Available in digital copies on kindle as well link below

http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-ebook/dp/B00FTIV4S0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1381697213&sr=1-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right

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.

Reading music. I was wearing a bitching suit and tie in this story.

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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To My Grandad “Buck” Godamn I miss your goddamn tales

Many have wondered where I get my style of writing and here it is.  First I don’t care how many books I sell I will never call myself a writer.  Homer was a writer I’m just a drunken sailor telling tales.  And that is it.  I’m from a long line of story telling, sailors, and bullshit artists.  Every holiday we get drunk tell embarrassing stories which me and Dad always had the most and we would laugh at each other in a very non judgmental way.  Everyone on earth is a fuck up and my family admitted it with pride.  We weren’t perfect and we were proud of it, because we always had each others back.  A family where the fish was always bigger then our arms and the waves always at least as tall as a house.  I grew up on the tales of my Father and Grandfather and when my Grandfather got Alzheimer I would hear them over and over again until he only had one tale left.  I will now tell his tale of Alaska as accurately as I can remember it.  And remember I have been hearing this story since I was a wee lad so if you ever meet me you may see why I curse so much.  We sail fuckers, and that god damn ocean can be an evil mistress or fantastic lover.

First rule of Oceans tales when you need another adjective use a curse word.  When using a noun be sure to put fucking before it.  When using any insult be sure to end it with dumb shit or mother fucker.  Refer to all boats as woman, and last have a drink in your hand while telling it. Funny enough the nurses would give Buck (no idea why he was called buck, I think its a horny thing, he was the greatest, kindest, funniest, goddamn dirty old man on earth) non alcoholic beer in a frosty mug and tell him it was real bear.  He was right old age ain’t for sissies.  So here is one of his tales.  To paint you a picture of him he look strikingly like john wayne and always wore tan work cloths.  He had one leg in the end due to diabetes and when ever you asked him how he was he would reply.  “I’m not worth a Goddamn, one god damn eye and god damn leg, but how are you grandson meet any pretty girls!”  In the funniest scratchy southern tone.  He was the last real American Cowboy and we burred him with his boots and oyster seed from our beloved bay.

To Buck see you at the end of the bar (raise your glass America this is a toast)

“Grandson did I ever tell you about when I was stationed in Alaska during the war?”  No Grandpa tell me about it…

Well during WW2 I was stationed in Alaska in coastal artillery. I was a Captain in charge of three coastal artillery pieces.  God Damn big guns that could hurl a 13 inch two ton shell twenty miles and Goddamn were they loud.  Why your Gradpa is deaf.  Well one blizzard I had to get coal to my men but the guns were in a sixty god damn mile line on the coast.  You could try a truck or dogs but I don’t trust those god damn dogs and the trucks just froze so I had this great god damn idea.  In the harbor we had some boats and being a waterman I stole one to get to my men and take them coal to last the blizzard.  You see Grandson before all this god damn new fangled technology we did things the hard way and I had to get coal to my men.  So I stole this boat and loaded it with coal with the plan to go down that rugged frozen god damn coast instead of driving a dog team or a truck.  Well I get only ten god damn miles down the coast and I notice the boat is slowly sinking into the god damn bering sea.  I wanted to turn back but I wasn’t sure how much god damn coal my boys had in there god damn frozen artillery bunkers and this may have been my only weather window.  God damn they could have frozen so I figured I could out run the sinking by unloading coal as fast as it is sinking.  Ten more miles and a few inches of water in the boat later and I was to the first gun.  My boys came a runnin and took a third of the coal lightening the sinking boat buying me more time.  I pushed on to the second gun another twenty miles down the coast.  Three hours and four more inches of water in my skiff later I got to the second gun.  My boys unloaded the coal lightening her in the water and they said “don’t try it Captain you will never make it in your sinking boat.”  I said she wont let me down and I was off.  Ten miles later and I was in trouble.  She was sinking fast and getting low in the rough seas.  The girl was fightin me.  Her bow was almost getting swamped and the god damn icy water was getting all over me.  She didn’t want to be out in that blizzard any more then I did.  You see before all your new fangled god damn technology we did things the hard way Grandson.  I had ten miles between me and the guns and my boys needed coal so I figured I may as well go for it instead of turning around.  The God damn weather was getting bad Grandson and the waves were swamping my girl.  I just barley got the skiff to the last gun and instead of tying her up at the dock I beached the god damn girl so the coal wouldn’t go down.  I’d been on the Bering god damn sea during a blizzard in an open skiff loaded with coal for almost ten hours.  Goddamn that boat was god damn slow.  My boys carried me into the artillery bunker and god damn was I cold.  They put me in a rack and handed me a tall glass and said drink up it will keep you warm.  Three swigs into this god damn drink and I realize its moonshine.  My god damn boys had taken there cans of fruit in there rations and were making god damn plum duff.  Well that stuff knocked me out and that’s all I remember grandson.  I woke up and the blizzard was over, but I never stole a boat from the maintenance dock again.

So that is where I get my tales America.  My family has been doing ridiculously stupid good deeds for generations.  When my Grandfather came back to our town he used his own money to buy an army fire truck and started the fire department.  That is where I’m from people they had no fire department 50 years ago.  He then became very successful, and a pillar in our community.  When he died over five hundred people showed up really no idea how many.  I was one of the first in the funeral procession and didn’t know the convoy stretched from the church all the way to the dead end on the road.  I got up to say a few words and for the first time noticed how many people were there.  The biggest church in the county with balcony was packed.  People were standing along the walls seated in the isle and ran right out the door where more people who couldn’t fit stood outside.  The entire fire department was there with all there trucks, his military buddies and god only knows how many of his friends had already died.  I was so proud to be his grandson at that funeral because I saw how many lives this simple county boy had touched.  Touch someone today America.  Then have dirty, hard, mind blowing, sex.  Wear condoms.

Hope you enjoyed another rough draft and the book is in the editors hands and off to the publisher Sunday so God willing you guys can read my tales by the end of the month available for sale online.  Five bonus chapters only available in the book.   First the print will be for sale 14 bucks (200 pgs 41,000 words baby yeah) then I will do all the paper work of kindle and all that other new fangled technology.  Buy my book America and maybe a real publisher will pick me up.  Buy enough and I will write you another one.  Peace out America, never give an inch and long live the writers.

~Oceans