A Promise To Azfal – Published and Available

To purchase A Promise to Azfal click on either link:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble

IMG_20181019_085343_677.jpg

I’m excited. My first novel, A Promise to Azfal, is finally published and available to the public. Completing the book was a satisfying and fulfilling accomplishment. That being said, I was overwhelmed by the support from my family and friends. Soon, most people will receive their copies and I look forward to hearing their reviews. I definitely believe it is a wonderful story and I think many readers will be pleasantly surprised. My only hope is that everyone feels like they got their money’s worth. I am grateful for those who trusted my writing abilities and purchased a copy.

The process of completing the novel took a little longer than I planned. Firstly, I required assistance to switch from a person who writes essays for History and Anthropology courses, to someone who has the technical abilities to write a story worth reading. Creating the tale came natural to me, but the actual writing was difficult, and I received a great deal of help which I am truly thankful for.

Secondly, I moved across the country from Boston to Los Angeles, (Go Red Sox!!!) which created some challenges. I love living on the west coast, but LA is an expensive city, so I made the decision to put writing on pause while I worked to ensure that I would be able to stay in the city of angels. (I still haven’t seen one angel, but they must be here, somewhere.) At the beginning of this year, my sixth on the west, I finally felt completely settled and began the long, rewarding, process of publishing the novel.

Life threw me an off-speed pitch while I was looking for a fastball, and I barely managed to foul it off and stay at the plate. To read about my biggest challenge while creating this story, click on my past post: How Writing Helped Me Escape The Halo.

Recently, I had two, once in a lifetime, experiences. The first happened when I received a package from the publisher with a copy of my novel. (An amazing day to say the least.!)It’s surreal to leaf-through a book which I created. The second incident occurred when I went online and purchased a copy of my own novel. Thanks to all who helped throughout the process. I definitely include those who were enthusiastic when I revealed that I was working on a book. A kind word goes a long way!

Please purchase a copy of the novel and be sure to contact me with a review.

Thank You!

Twitter                 @PeteTeix617
Instagram            PeteTeix

Advertisements

What Up Blood: Last Encounter (Hopefully!)

I decided not to write about other minor uneventful incidents which have occurred involving the gang culture. These events consisted of “ice grills” from gang members with facial tattoos and such trivial chance meetings; I don’t feel the need to waste anyone’s time with these tales. This last encounter will hopefully be my last post on the subject, until I ultimately achieve my life’s goal of ending gang violence in the city of Los Angeles. I don’t know why I was chosen to be the savior, but I was so I will fulfill my duty.
In the previous post, I mentioned how it didn’t make any sense for red to be the only banned color, but I eventually gained an understanding as to why. Blue represents the infamous Crips gang. Yet, blue is a universal color and tends to blend in. Most people wear blue on a regular basis, so it would be tedious to police the color. (By policing the color, I mean harassing anyone who wears it! I’m just speaking the truth. I’m not a gang member, but I have had several run-ins with Los Angeles’ least finest, and I must say that I am not a fan. NWA has a song called Fuck Tha Police…I don’t know why I mentioned that!) Crip members wear a blue flag to show their allegiance to their gang. They may also wear blue laces to be identifiable.
Red on the other hand is a color that stands out, which makes wearing red more of a statement. The more important reason for the ban on red is the fact that the Bloods are vastly outnumbered in the city of Los Angeles. If not for Crip on Crip violence, the Bloods would have a tough time surviving in the city. People who wear red are placing their safety on the line.
Usually, I am traveling by myself or with a woman, so I think gang members tend to give me a pass. This is just a hypothesis, since I don’t know for certain why I haven’t been in more incidents. I may just be lucky.
One day, my cousin came down from the valley to hang out for the afternoon. We decided to go get some Popeye’s for lunch. (We all know that white people eat chicken too, let’s not play that game.) I had on a gray Red Sox hat and red sneakers. My cousin had a traditional Red Sox hat and some black Jordans with red laces. (They really shouldn’t sell sneakers with red laces in Los Angeles, but who am I to make such an intelligent suggestion.)
I pulled into a parking space and we stepped out of the car. I heard someone yelling from across the parking lot, but I paid him no mind, because people are always yelling. We started to walk towards the entrance and the yelling became a bit louder and seemed to be directed towards us. I turned around and saw a guy standing by a car yelling at the two of us. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, so I stopped and attempted to make out his words. There was a girl sitting in her car directly in front of me so I assumed he was attempting to get her attention, so I pointed towards her, as if to say, “are you talking to her?” He pointed at me and yelled what I thought was, “bird gang,” but I really had no idea what he was saying. I gestured with both hands up in the air to let him know that I couldn’t understand him. He yelled again, and I was certain he said “bird gang.”
I was confused because the only Bird I know, other than Larry, is Birdman so I assumed this guy was putting some respek on his name. He completely misunderstood my sign language and thought I was saying, “what up blood…I’m with it…let’s do this.” (I was saying no such thing.)
I started walking towards him and as I got closer, he started walking in my direction with the clear intention of fighting. That’s when I heard him say, “dirt gang.” (I later found out that I was in the territory of the Rolling 30s Harlem Crips, aka Dirt Gang.) Looking back on the incident, I can understand his level of aggression, because it may have appeared to him that I was a Blood, and clearly trespassing in his neighborhood; the Popeye’s is in a Crip area. He assumed that I was making some grand statement that I can go wherever I pleased and anyone who had a problem with it, can deal with my wrath. (I was not making any such statement!)
Once I understood what was happening, I stopped and said, “I’m not here for that…I’m not a Blood.” He then wondered, “why do you have on all that red?” It was a legitimate question. To which I replied, “I’m from Boston.” His energy changed, and he responded, “my bad…you should be careful with all that red, cuz.” Then he backed off and went to his car. The situation was diffused, but if he was a little younger and had a little less sense, there would have been a squabble in that parking lot. The incident would have clearly changed my life, I would have joined the Bloods and taken out revenge on the entire Crip nation. (Just kidding!)
The Gang culture is definitely the real deal in Los Angeles. The entre time, the man’s friend remained by the car with the door open. I’m not sure why he didn’t attack along with his friend, but I can only assume that he had a gun in his possession and was prepared to use it if need be. I still wear red from time to time, but I am always prepared to deal with some type of nonsense when I choose to do so. (The fact that I live in a Blood neighborhood, probably keeps me a bit safer when doing so, but one can never be too careful.)

Honestly, I think I’ve experienced enough gang banging for a life time. I would write about the shooting incident, but I don’t want to make it seem as if South Central is more violent than it really is. There are many great events, such as the Taste of Soul, in which Crenshaw Blvd is shut down for many blocks and people from all over the city enjoy different forms of entertainment including concerts. (Last year, the rapper Doug E. Fresh brought out special guest Brandy and they performed a live concert.) There are also many vendors selling all types of goodies. The food is amazing and I was able to purchase a novel, written by a local artist. There are many gang members present, but they are able to leave the violence at home and have a good time.

taste_of_soul

I often hear people say things like, “the Bloods and Crips are dumb…why would they kill someone for wearing a color.” That is a very uninformed way to look at the culture. The gang members are mortal enemies and blood has been shed on both sides. The colors are just the way of identifying which gang one belongs to. They are simply attacking the enemy…it’s a lot more complicated than just colors.

@Peteteix617

What Up Blood: 1st Encounter

When I first moved to South Central, I was aware of the gang violence but I didn’t fully understand the culture. I did have knowledge about the bloods and the crips, but there was a lot that I didn’t know. Thankfully, we live in the information age and I was able to do a lot of research; partly because I was interested in learning more about the culture, but more importantly was the necessity to stay safe.

Initially, I was told not to wear red – I didn’t heed the warning because I thought it was silly. (My stubbornness also played a large role in my decision.) Honestly, the advice didn’t make any sense. Why would I not be allowed to wear red, but blue was not off limits? Further more, I wasn’t involved in any of the gang activities so I didn’t see the need to stop wearing red. Plus, I have a lot of red sox hats and t-shirts, so I didn’t feel like not wearing red. Following this advice would have been a huge inconvenience to me.

I lived in South Central for several weeks and wore whatever I felt like wearing. I have a pair of red Adidas which I wear regularly, and many Red Sox hats, which have a lot of red. Thankfully, I was able to befriend some guys who grew up in the area, and the consensus was that I could wear whatever I wanted and I should be fine. They’re main concern was whether or not I would be riding the bus, which I learned was a hotbed for gang violence. I have a vehicle, so the bus was not an issue. Also, I was told to be careful around teenagers, because they would be more likely to be violent due to their need of proving themselves and building up their reputations in the streets.

One day, I wanted some fried fish and I found a place on Crenshaw, which was only a few blocks away. I drove to the fish spot and walked in wearing a blue Red Sox t-shirt with a large red B on it, my red Adidas, and a blue Sox cap with a red B on the front. Inside, there was a lady receiving her order and two young men in their early twenties waiting on their food. Once the lady left, I stepped to the counter and placed my order.

I stood against the wall awaiting my food. (I didn’t say what I ordered because I don’t remember, but it was probably some fried catfish, which is way better than the ones online that ruin the lives of their victims.) The two men kept staring at me and talking low enough for me not to be able to hear. Their interest in me was apparent (Not in that way…not that there is anything wrong with that.) and the tension was building. Unfortunately, I don’t own a gun, so I was at a huge disadvantage. Suddenly, the cook came from the kitchen, looked at me and said, “I like your hat.” I thanked him and he continued. “Seriously, I like that hat…I am from Boston.” He said proudly.

I let him know that I was from Roxbury and learned that he was from Dorchester. Once I revealed that I was from out of town, the tension ended and one of the guys said, “I figured you weren’t from here after I heard you talking…you should be careful wearing all that red around this hood.” It turned out that I was in the territory of the Rolling 60 Crips (shout out to Nipsey Hussle! Get Victory lap and you won’t be disappointed.), where bloods were unwelcomed, and at the moment I looked like a blood.

The cook made it known that any time I went to the shop, I should always wear my “B” hat. The guys were interested in learning more about Boston, so I answered all of their questions. After a few minutes, they received their food and started to leave. One guy stopped at the door, threw up a “W” with his fingers and said, “west side!” I laughed and he left.

Thankfully, my first encounter with gang members in their gang territory went well. While living in the valley, I ran into the rapper August Blue, who is really cool and talented, on several occasions. Interestingly, he is from the Eight Trey Gangster Crips (They don’t get along with the 60s) and in a wheelchair due to being shot. You may have heard of the Gansters from Monster Cody, who wrote the book Monster, about his life as a member of the Eight Trey Gangster Crips. (A very good read.) The fact that I survived this encounter without any incident strengthened my initial assumption that the color thing was a little overblown; I continued wearing anything I wanted.

So far, I have had a few more experiences, and I will write about them soon. In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy the sun and following the snowy East Coast from a distance!Thanks for reading!

@peteteix617

The Second Coming

Part II {Read the first part in the previous post. An Overdue Conversation}

 

I’m fresh up out my coma…

I got my Momma and my Daddy and my homies in my co’na…

It’s gonna take a miracle they say…

For me to walk again and talk again but anyway…

I get, fronted some KIs…

To get, back on my feet…

And everything the homie said came to reality…

Living like a baller loc…

Having money, and blowing hella chronic smoke…

I bought my Momma a Benz, and bought my boo boo a Jag…

And now I’m rolling in a nine-trizzay L Dogg Rag…

Wait a minute. Those are the lyrics to Snoop’s ‘Murder Was The Case.’ Sorry about that…points off my grade.

Everything promised, to me, came true. Obviously, the big guy is no liar; we all know he is great and powerful. Especially after he saved that Dorothy chick and her little dog!

****** (Most people credit Paris Hilton with creating the little doggy trend, but Dorothy was the true O.G. when it comes to rolling with a miniature pup. She also started the red bottoms craze…that girl was way ahead of her time.) ******

I sat on the balcony of my beach front mansion and watched the waves crash into the unlucky bathers who are probably wishing that the Pacific Ocean was a few degrees warmer. As I sat thinking of a billion dollar invention to heat up the shark infested water, a star appeared in the sky. I was amazed at how bright it was. The star wasn’t brighter than the others; it was the only visible light through the thick Los Angeles fog. For a few seconds, it appeared that the star was getting closer, and the light grew blinding.

Little did I know; this was no star. I was being visited by an angel.

Angel: “God evening.”

Me: “Hello. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Angel: “I am angel.”

Me: “I am human.”

Angel: “No, moron. My name is Angel.”

Me: “Oh…my bad. I was wondering why god sent a slow angel.”

Angel: “Don’t you mean retarded angel?”

Me: “No. You can’t say that word; it offends people.”

Angel: “You know I can read your mind; I know you wanted to say ‘retarded.’”

[I laugh.]

Me: “So, when is Jesus coming…no homo?”

Angel: “Don’t you mean ‘when is he coming…extra homo?’ You know I can read your mind.”

[We laugh.]

Me: “Definitely not. Keep on playing and I’ll send him back an extra virgin.”

[He laughs.]

Angel: “Ok. I guess there isn’t really anything to do, other than give you his arrival date since you seem prepared.”

Me: “Great! What day?”

Angel: “He will be here tomorrow.”

[The angel disappears.]

I didn’t sleep well that night. The anticipation of Jesus returning to earth was too much excitement. It only makes sense for the big guy to choose me as The Christ Chaperone…I guess I am the second coming of the apostle Peter. Unlike the previous guy, I am not sharing the limelight with anyone else.

I was awakened by a bright light. I struggled to open my eyes, but I was finally able to make out a man standing at the foot of my bed. He appeared to be of Indian decent.

Me: “Who the hell are you?”

Figure: “It’s me, Jesus.”

Me: “Why the hell did you choose to be Indian? Do you not know that most of the billion citizens are not Catholics? You’re definitely not a big deal over there.”

Jesus: “Of course I know. I’m going to convert them once they see my new face.”

Me: “That’s actually a great idea.”

Jesus: “Yeah, dad knows what he is doing.”

Me: “I’ve been waiting for you. I hope you’re ready! I have a slut in the other room and she is ready to yell out your dad’s name.”

Jesus: “What? That’s too early…I’m not ready right now.”

ME: “WHAT? I can’t believe you’re freezing up again. You’re dad is going to be pissed.”

Jesus: “I’m not freezing up…I just want to do it with a girl I choose.”

Me: “How long is that going to take?”

Jesus: “I don’t know…maybe a couple nights.”

[I start laughing.]

Me: “I’m just messing with you.”

Jesus: “Oh…yeah; I knew that.”

Me: “Sure! I see that you didn’t get any of that ‘all knowing’ stuff from your dad. You definitely got your smarts from your uneducated mother.”

Jesus: “Who said my mother was uneducated?”

Me: “C’mon. Everyone knows women didn’t go to school back in those days.”

[I wink.]

Me: “The good O’le days!”

Jesus: “The what?”

[I laugh.]

Me: “I’m just kidding.”

Jesus: “What are you going to do when you end up in Heaven and have to face my mother.”

Me: “Not sure…depends if she is a M.I.L.F. or not!”

[He grows angry.]

Jesus: “What did you just say?”

[I can’t help but laugh.]

Me: “I’m just kidding…I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

Jesus: “I’m not sensitive; I just didn’t hear what you said. I have had trouble hearing from my left ear, since the crucifixion.”

Me: “Oh, damn. I didn’t know. Why can’t your dad fix it?”

[He laughs.]

Jesus: “You’re an idiot. I have the power to perform miracles and you think I have a bad ear?”

[I laugh.]

Me: “I’m definitely slipping.”

Jesus: “No…you’re just dumb.”

Me: “Let’s go do something.”

Jesus: “It’s your town. You tell me what we’re going to do.”

Me: “Actually, your dad pretty much owns the entire universe so it’s really your town.”

Jesus: “Now that I think about it, I don’t know if I should trust an idiot with this decision; ths is my first night.”

[I begin to sing.]

Me: “If I could walk on water, would you believe in me.”

[He shakes his head.]

Jesus: “I hate that fucking song.”

Me: “First of all, the song is great, and secondly, who the hell said you can curse?”

Jesus: “I can do whatever the hell I want. What are you my mom?”

Me: “No, but I am your chaperone and you will respect me.”

Jesus grows larger and spreads his arms out over his head and begins to yell.

Jesus: “You shall Respect ME!”

For a second, the room goes black. Suddenly, I seem to be tiny. I look in the mirror and discover that I am now a ladybug.

Me: “Change me back or…”

Jesus: “Or what?”

Me: “Or…or I will not help you get laid. I’ll tell women that you are a virgin. Annnnd a pedophile.”

[He laughs.]

Jesus: “I’m not a fucking pedophile.”

[I laugh.]

Me: “It’s going to take some time for me to get used to you swearing.”

Jesus: “It’s not that big a deal.”

Me: “Yes it is. And yes, you are a pedophile.”

Jesus: “You’re an idiot.”

Me: “Ok, you’re not a pedophile, but your priests are.”

Jesus: “They’re not my fucking priests.”

[I laugh.]

Me: “C’mon. Just change me back.”

Jesus: “Ok. But first, you have to beg.”

Me: “Just change me back.”

He crosses his arms and bows his head quickly. I turn back into myself.

Me: “What the hell! Did you just pull a genie move from the television show?”

[He laughs.]

Jesus: “You know it.”

Me: “Seriously. We have to set rules, because I’m not dealing with that type of nonsense.”

[He laughs.]

Jesus: “Now look at who is sensitive.”

Me: “Ok, we don’t need rules, but you can’t abuse me. I’m trying to help you out.”

Jesus: “Alright, I get what you are saying.”

Me: “Cool! Let’s go, jerk.”

Jesus: “What did I do to deserve that?”

[We laugh.]

The night turned out to be a success. We got some food then hit up a few bars in Hollywood. Jesus was a big hit, and it appeared that he was ready to lose his virginity.

The following morning, I woke up early and made some breakfast.

Jesus: “That smells good. What did you make for breakfast?”

Me: “Some eggs, bacon and home fries.”

Jesus: “Sounds good…I’m starving.”

Me: “Yeah, I woke up feeling the same way.”

Jesus: “Where is my plate?”

Me: “I didn’t make any for you.”

Jesus: “What the hell?”

[I shrug my shoulders and continue to eat.]

Jesus: “Why didn’t you make some for me?”

Me: “It’s every man for himself around here.”

Jesus: “That is very selfish of you, but not a problem.”

[A plate of food appears on the table.]

Me: “Must be nice!”

Jesus: “Yup!”

Me: “Did you have fun last night?”

Jesus: “Yeah. It was great.”

Me: “Did you see anything worth a poke?”

Jesus: “On Facebook?”

[I shake my head in disapproval.]

Jesus: “Sorry, but I had to.”

Me: “I guess.”

Jesus: “I did like the girl from the pizza place.”

Me: “Oh yeah! I completely forgot about her. You stole my phone and texted her all night. You missed out on some hot chicks.”

Jesus: “Not really. I like Cece.”

Me: “So is she the one?”

Jesus: “Yeah, I think so.”

Me: “When is it going down? Or should I say, when is she going down?”

Jesus: “She’s not some random whore…I’m going to take her out on a proper date and let things happen as they will.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s exactly what I said. Let me rephrase. When are you going to bang the slut?”

[He gets annoyed and shakes his head disapprovingly.]

Jesus: “You’re a moron.”

Me: “When is the date?”

Jesus: “I’m meeting her this afternoon, and we’re going to hang out all day.”

Me: “Sounds like a lot of work. If I had the power to perform miracles, I’d be on chick number 17 by now.”

[He laughs.]

Jesus: “I don’t think we are looking for the same thing.”

Me: “You’re right about that. I have no desire to land in the friend zone.”

[He shakes his head.]

 

Jesus left the mansion to go on his date with Cece. I waited up all night, but he never returned. The following afternoon, I decided to sit by the pool until he finally arrived.

Me: “There he is. I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something different about you.”

Jesus: “No. I’m exactly the same.”

Me: “Are you serious? What the hell did you do…spend the night and read Bible versus to each other?”

Jesus: “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Me: “What happened? Did you freeze up?”

Jesus: “I don’t feel comfortable talking about what happens between me and Cece.”

Me: “You mean Cece and I.”

[Jesus is annoyed.]

Jesus: “Ha ha. What is that…a you banged Cece joke?”

Me: “No, I was correcting your grammar. You said me and Cece, but you are supposed to say Cece and I. You are truly your mother’s son.”

Jesus: “Who cares. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Me: “Are you fucking kidding me? You are going to tell me every single detail, or I’m calling your dad.”

Jesus: “How do you plan on doing that?”

Me: “I don’t know…pray, I guess.”

Jesus: “If you must know, I am no longer a virgin.”

Me: “Are you serious? I can’t believe it…my little boy is a man.”

[I wipe away fake tears.]

Jesus: “It was the greatest night of my life.”

Me: “Better than the crucifixion?”

[I laugh.]

Jesus: “You’re the dumbest person I know.”

Me: “What happened?”

Jesus: “I’m not going into personal details. All you need to know is that I performed and she was satisfied. P.S. I am no minute man…Lionel Richie was definitely singing All night long.”

[I laugh.]

Me: “I need some details.”

Jesus: “I can tell you that I plan on hanging around for a while.”

Me: “What? What the hell are you talking about”? Don’t tell me you fell in love.”

Jesus: “Cece is great and she has some great ideas.”

Me: “What kind of ideas?”

Jesus: “We were talking and I want to have a son; he will be the next Messiah.”

Me: “Son? Tell me you strapped up.”

Jesus: “You think I waited two thousand years to wear a condom?”

Me: “JESUS CHRIST! I hope you pulled out.”

Jesus: “Of course not. She is on the pill.”

Me: “Oh my GOD! You’re dumber than I thought. That’s what all the groupie whores say.”

Jesus: “She isn’t a whore.”

Me: “I can’t believe this chick might be pregnant.”

Jesus: “There is no might. If I want her to be pregnant she will be, but if I don’t want her to be pregnant, there will be no child.”

Me: “What the hell? I thought your church was against abortion.”

Jesus: “It’s not an abortion.”

Me: “Whatever you say buddy. Sounds like an abortion to me. Good for you.”

Jesus: “You’re a complete idiot.”

Me: “Can you please explain to me why the hell you want to have a child with this chick?”

Jesus: “If I have a son, he can help to convert the non-Christians and bring the entire world together.”

Me: “That’s a dumb idea.”

Jesus: “It’s Cece’s idea and it’s great.”

Me: “I can’t believe this. Two thousand years and you finally get some pussy and you lose your damn mind.”

Jesus: “You’re too dumb to understand the importance of me having a child.”

Me: “You don’t even know this chick and you’re ready to make her the mother of the next Messiah? What’s her real name…I need to do a little background check.”

Jesus: “For what?”

Me: “Because you were born from a virgin and we don’t need your son born from some Biblical groupie slut.”

Jesus: “You don’t even know her.”

Me: “Neither do you.”

Jesus: “Give me your phone.”

[He enters her name and loads her Facebook profile.]

Jesus: “Here.”

Me: “Good! At least you know her name. Let me see. Damn, her page is private.”

Jesus: “Check again.”

Me: “Jeez, you can really do whatever you want.”

Jesus: “Not really. You don’t see me killing you.”

Me: “Relax, I am on your side.”

Jesus: “I can’t wait to tell my dad about Cece’s plan.”

Me: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jesus: “Why not?”

[I hand him my phone.]

Jesus: “What the hell is this?”

Me: “That’s Cece’s ass and half of those comments are from guys who clearly have tapped it.”

Jesus: “That’s not necessarily true.”

Me: “NO? Why don’t you call her and ask?”

Jesus: “No problem.”

[He takes the phone and enters the house. He then returns after a long conversation.]

Jesus: “This sucks!”

Me: “What?”

Jesus: “She’s a fucking whore.”

Me: “She admitted it?”

Jesus: “It’s kind of hard for people to lie to me.”

Me: “Oh yeah. Wait…I’m confused. How did you not see this with all of your super powers?”

Jesus: “I don’t know. I guess my mind was clouded because of the sex.”

Me: “Yeah. That makes sense. What did she say.”

Jesus: “She planned on getting pregnant and making me grant her wishes instead of child support.”

Me: “What the hell did she think…that you were the Genie from Aladdin?”

[We both laugh.]

Jesus: “I don’t know, but some of you humans are fucked up people. I think I’m ready to go back. I don’t want to risk sleeping with some super whore who strips me of all my powers.”

[I laugh.]

Me: I don’t think you have to leave, just remember to let your dad do the planning from now on. You’re definitely your mother’s son.”

[He laughs.]

Jesus: “I can’t wait until you have to face her.”

Me: “She seems like a nice lady…I think I will be alright.”

Jesus: “I’ll sleep on it and think about staying.”

Me: “Stay a little longer and we’ll have a blast.”

Jesus: “We’ll see.”

{The End}
@PeteTeix617

 

Terrifying Brown

     I do not have a reason for my absence; I simply allowed my laziness to take over. I’m not sure how frequently I will post, but I felt the urge to write an entry, today, so here goes.

     On a recent flight to Boston, I brought along a book of short stories by Stephen King. I guess you can say he inspired this post, but the truth is I had the crap scared out of me. For those of you, who frighten easily, do not continue reading.

     The move to Burbank has been absolutely wonderful, UNTIL this morning. I’m not like the typical person; I don’t hate Mondays and I don’t look forward to Fridays. I guess you can say I don’t hate my job. I woke this morning and did what I always do; I checked the forecast, in order to prepare a proper outfit. (Just kidding! The weather in Southern California is always great!)

     My morning ritual is basically the same each day; I jog a few miles to the summit of the Verdugo Mountains. Luckily, I always seem to reach the peak just before sunrise. There is no better way to start the day! Once I receive a sufficient amount of solar energy, I head east, towards the local food bank. I’ve been blessed by my lord and savior and it is only right for me to return the favor by helping out the needy.

     I’m sorry; I definitely confused my morning ritual with someone else’s. I get ready, hop in the car, and hit the highway (I apologize to my fellow Californians; I meant to say freeway!) with my head on a swivel, watching for cops, as I speed my way down Interstate 5! (I don’t know why I thought I was a jogger!)

     The day began like any other, until I reached for a shirt. I don’t know if there are real superheroes in the world, but I definitely have superpowers. Unfortunately for me, it’s a gift and a curse. No matter where I am, I can spot any trespassing insect.

     Utilizing my hyper-sensitive peripheral vision, I noticed a creepy crawler walking up the wall. Although the lighting wasn’t optimal, I had no trouble spotting the intruder, since the closet walls are white.

     I moved in closer, in order to identify the trespasser; a brown spider. I’m not a native of Southern California, nor am I a herpetologist or one who studies arachnology, so there was no way for me to determine if this was a full-grown arachnid or an up-and-coming killer. (FYI: Herpetologists are not people who have sex with those infected with Herpes in order to understand the disease. People who have sex with those infected with Herpes in order to study the disease are sick!)

     I know I should have simply asked “god” to forgive me my trespasses as I forgive this spider who trespasses against me, but I’m an atheist, so I know there is no “god” to assist in these circumstances. Furthermore, I am a certified “spider serial killer.” I see a spider, I kill a spider. (There was one recent incident where I allowed a spider to live, but that was outdoors. Initially, I wanted to kill “god’s” eight-legged creation!)

     Once I assessed the situation, I was certain that this spider deserved to die. (To avoid any confusion, any spider located inside of my living space deserves to die a horrible death!) I grabbed my Adidas slippers and prepared to deliver the death-blow. (Ironically, all I could think was, “Just Do It!”)

     That’s when the most unimaginable thing happened. The Mother-F-ing spider jumped from his perched position, halfway up the wall, onto the carpet.

     I couldn’t freaking believe it!

     I know what you are thinking, “What’s the big deal?”

     I’ll tell you what the big deal is. The dumbass spider, a known killer, was brown. My freaking dumbass carpet, chosen by my landlord who is clearly trying to kill me since she apparently never got over the East coast West coast rap beef, is the same exact brown. Coincidence? I think not; I WAS DEAD!

     All I could do was channel my inner Nancy Kerrigan and yell out, “WHY ME! WHY ME!”

     Seriously, what the hell just happened? We’re not even in Los Angeles so why the heck did this spider decide to turn into Blake Griffin?

     I did all that I could to locate this amazing half-spider /half-chameleon, part-time dunk champion, but there was nothing I could do other than to come to grips with the fact that this trespasser was preparing to launch a nighttime attack, later that evening.

     Defeated, I prepared to leave the house, never thinking about the safety of my cousin, who was asleep in the other room. The way I saw it, “better him than me!”

     Just when I thought I was a dead man walking, the idiot spider made a fatal mistake. She (I might as well make this villain a woman!) crawled up the wall. There was no hesitation, this time. I attacked with deadly force, catching the spider on the left temple. (Yeah, I’m a spider killing ninja assassin!) The spider died on impact, and I was free to live another day.

     I was victorious on this occasion, but I am prepared to do battle once again. If I don’t survive, know that I fought with everything I had.

     My only reservation when choosing this apartment was the carpet, but I could never have imagined how much the floor-covering would negatively impact my life; I now know what lies beneath. Don’t make the same mistake I made; brown carpets are certified deathtraps! (No, the drapes do not match the carpet. We are men and we do not have drapes!) It’s definitely time for a change. Does anyone know which color best works against spider-chameleons? (While you think, I’m about to call eight-hundred, five, eight, eight, two, three, hundred, Empire, TODAY!)

     From this day forth, getting a good night sleep is completely out of the question. I’m sure most people are familiar with the UPS ads, in which potential customers are asked, “what can Brown do for you.” As of this morning, not a goddam thing!

GOVGRID SET A BROWN CARPET ROUGHBE CAREFUL!

@PeteTeix617

Just When I Thought I Was Out, They Pull Me Back In

I came out about two years ago. At first, I didn’t want to come out, but I finally gained the courage to be an example to any young child who considers himself or herself to be “different.” It’s not what you think; I’m not talking about THE “coming out!” It was scary, but I finally admitted to myself, and to the world, that I was an atheist. (I’m just kidding about being scared!)

Discovering the truth about the entire world’s many faiths is an extremely freeing experience. I especially enjoy poking fun at those who honestly believe their specific myth to be true. For example, here is my Easter-related Facebook post:

     “Congrats to everyone who made it through the entire 40 days of sacrifice! Now that Easter is here and Lent is over, I can go back to coveting all the things that I desire; especially some of these wives! (I’ll never give that up again!)”     

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t get the opportunity to choose my religious beliefs; like most people around the world, I was forced by my parents to join their faith. My forehead was doused with “holy water” and I became a Catholic. It didn’t take long for me to begin doubting many of the traditions, but I did was I was told. (Thankfully, our neighborhood wasn’t a target area for the Church’s pious-pedophiles, so I was never asked to “scrape my knees up for the lord!”)

At the age of twelve, I was given the power to either choose to attend “god’s house of boy-rape” or stay home and watch cartoons on the USA network. It’s obvious I didn’t lose any sleep over this “major dilemma!”

Missing Sunday mass turned out to be the gateway-drug to my atheism. Once I began to avoid the weekly wash and allowed my mind to get dirty, there was no turning back. I didn’t fear “god” and I wasn’t afraid to push the envelope push the expensive glass vase. (Why would anyone fear a being that doesn’t exist outside of the big picture-free comic book, called the bible!)

***If you are unfamiliar with the phrase, “pushing the expensive glass vase,” read my previous post: What Does That Even Mean!***

     It was almost as if I was a religious slave and a prophet demanded that the Pope let his people go; atheism was my liberty. For days, I ran around the Charles River, yelling, “LIBERTAD! LIBERTAD!” I was finally free!

OR SO I THOUGHT!

Recently, it was brought to my attention that I was not free. Apparently, the Church does not just allow members to leave. There are strict guidelines which must be followed, in order to leave. I heard of “Blood In Blood Out” but Water In Water Out is news to me! I’m not even sure how one goes about getting “watered out!” It looks like I’ll be a Catholic for life; don’t get me wrong, I want to leave the Church, but I’m definitely not willing to drown to death!

EXCOMMUNICATION:  an ecclesiastical censure depriving a person of the rights of church membership.

The information regarding the process is too extensive for me to include in this post, but basically, a Bishop is the lowest level Church official who can grant excommunication. At first, I thought about going through the long process, but then I realized that I don’t want to quit the Church; I want to be thrown out! It is my desire to become the Vatican’s worst offender. (This is a lofty goal, since Hitler and the infinite number of pedophilic-priests failed to lose their memberships in the “god’s organization!”)

For the time being, it appears that I’m stuck with the Church and the Church is stuck with me! Let’s hope I can make this happen!

@PeteTeix617

Writer’s Digest Story

WritersDigest-12737_218x218

     A couple months ago, I decided to submit a short story to Writer’s Digest. There was a 750 word limit and a simple premise: “A man who lives alone sees a set of footprints leading away from his house the morning after a heavy snowfall.”

Here is my submission. (I didn’t win, but that’s ok because I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and dog doggone it, people like me!)   

Rick “Gator” Truman waited for his best friend to climb into the cab of his pickup truck before jumping into the driver’s seat. Bud, the four year old bull-mastiff was given to Huron, South Dakota’s new fire chief by the men in his company.

“If the weatherman is right, we’ll get at least a foot of snow tonight.” Rick said.

“Woof!” Bud responded.

Rick purchased a modest house, on a dead-end street, barely within Huron’s city limits. He enjoys the quiet, but the serenity comes with a major disadvantage; the fire chief was left to plow his long driveway. Rick drove through the sleepy town and pulled into his garage. The warmth of his king-sized solid oak bed was calling him, but one task remained.

“C’mon Bud, let’s get the plow onto the front end so we can get an early start in the morning.” Rick said.

The morning sun invaded every corner of the small bedroom, waking Rick from his nightly hibernation. The moment he opened the room door, Bud rushed in and jumped atop the quilt.

“Get down from there!” Rick ordered.

Bud quickly complied and landed on the ground. “Maybe I’ll try jumping on your bed and see if you like it.” Rick teased.

Bud ran and pawed at the exit to the garage as if he knew what was on his owner’s mind.

“Let’s go move some powder.” Rick said.

The garage door opened and God’s baby powder covered the landscape. Rick began to turn towards his pickup when a strange sight caused him to halt.  {I didn’t include the quotation marks when writing the word “god,” because I wasn’t sure how the publication would react to my atheism!}  

Inexplicably, a set of footprints leading away from his house seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

“Where the heck did those come from?”

Rick walked closer to investigate. The first track began in the middle of the driveway and trailed off into the street. Strangely, the print was clearly made with a pair of department issued work boots. The more startling fact was the shoe size; Rick was the only fireman who wore size eighteen, and his pair remained locked in the cab of the pickup.

“I knew we had ghosts. I can’t wait for the guys at the fire house to hear that I finally found proof.”

Endless jokes about the mysterious tracks filled much of the morning hours.

“C’mon Gator, the footprints are obviously not from a ghost.” Chuck Hose said.

“Ok Mr. Know-it-all, please explain where they came from.” Rick responded.

“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you…the Lord said.” Chuck teased.

The room erupted with laughter. Countless conspiracy theories were suggested and Rick planned on debunking all of the legitimate hypotheses.

“I’ll find even more proof. You guys can laugh, but I know there is a ghost on my property.” Rick said.

News travels through Huron faster than a tide rolls in Alabama. Two days elapsed before the fire chief earned a new appointment; Chief Paranormal Specialist. True to his word, Rick investigated every possibility for an explanation to the eerie footprints. There remained only one truth; a ghost walked from the driveway to the road. Rick couldn’t wait to reveal his findings.

“Regardless of what Chuck thinks, it sounds to me like you did some great detective work, Gator.” Kenny Manning said.

“Thanks Kenny.” Rick replied.

Chuck stood from his seat and commented. “Don’t thank him yet!”

“What are you talking about?” Rick asked.

“We have to tell you something.” Chuck continued. “Hey Mike, do you want to do the honors since it was your idea?”

Mike nodded his head and began to explain. “The footprints were just a silly prank.”

Visibly disappointed, Rick spoke. “Are you serious?”

“Sorry Gator, but we had to do it.” Mike said.

“It might be me, but that smile on your face says you might not be sorry.” Chuck quipped.

“Nonetheless, we all know how crazy you get about the supernatural, so we couldn’t turn down this opportunity. Once the snow stopped, we jumped into old Ladder 13 and made the extensive excursion to your property. I hopped into the bucket and Chuck extended the ladder out to the middle of your driveway. I’m sure you can piece together the rest of the story, Sherlock.” Mike said.

“That doesn’t explain the size of the footprints.” Rick challenged.

“Oh yeah! We ordered another pair.” Mike informed.

“You can keep them for being such a good sport.” Chuck added.

“I’ll get my revenge!” Rick threatened.

[THE END]

@PeteTeix617