A Promise To Azfal – Published and Available

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

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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

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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.

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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

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

Little Caesars Is Dead To Me

I will never purchase anything from this company for the rest of my life. (Unless they repay me for my horrible experience!)

To be honest, the pizza isn’t good. (I know this may sound like the opinion of a disgruntled customer, but the only reason I went to the place is because of their “Hot-N-Ready” pizza which only costs five dollars and can be purchased with no wait. I am generally impatient so the quality of the food was less important than the quantity of time I saved.

Banning myself from this franchise may seem like an insignificant thing, but I was actually excited when I found out that Little Caesars wasn’t extinct. Once upon a time, while living in Boston, I enjoyed walking down to the local strip to purchase video games from Kmart. (I find it strange when “grown” men get excited about video games. They were a big part of my life, but like most childish things, I grew out of that phase. Maybe I’m wrong, but I just don’t have any desire to get involved in “gaming!”)

The only Little Caesars in the city (As far as I can remember) was located in the Kmart. [The Kmart is now a Target. I was also elated to discover that there are three Kmarts fairly close to where I live. I don’t have any desire to shop there, but it’s nice to know that Kmart is alive and kicking!] After a few years, the shitty Little Caesars was removed from the Kmart and replaced with something else. (I admit, that was a jab at the company!)

The Horrible Incident:

Like I stated before, I didn’t mind the shitty pizza because of my lack of patience. To the best of my knowledge, this horrible incident happened during my third visit to the establishment, located in North Hollywood; a stone’s throw from our previous apartment. (I said I didn’t mind the shitty pizza, but I prefer to eat good food, so I only went to this place as a last resort, because the quality was pretty low and my only mission was to get some crap inside my belly!)

I drove down to the Little Caesars and decided to skip the Hot-N-Ready crap and hope the regular pie (Can you tell I lived in the New Jersey!) was of a higher quality. I ordered the Hawaiian because pineapple is the world’s number one pizza topping. (If you don’t like pineapples on your pizza, you’re probably a dumbass!) The friendly pizza technician informed me that there will be a fifteen minute wait. I accepted her terms and handed over my debit card to complete the transaction.

Two minutes after placing my order, the girl who “helped me” ended her shift and left. Five minutes crawled by before I almost lost my mind. Thankfully, “god” worked in a mysterious way and sent an angel to perform a miracle. My pizza was ready, ten minutes early, and it tasted like one which was flown in from Italy and created by Anna Maria Garoscio. (Google her!)

Just kidding! “god” doesn’t exist and the story is a complete fabrication. Although, If it was written in the bible, a billion people would accept it as true!

I turned to my right and noticed a wondrous site; a Seven Eleven. (In Boston, Seven Elevens are rare, but in Los Angeles, you can’t go three blocks without driving past one!) I walked towards the convenience store and bought some drinks. I also decided to by a two dollar scratch because the person who gets paid to place products in the best location to increase sales knows me all too well and I couldn’t resist. (I don’t have a gambling problem, but I typically buy a scratch every two months or so.) I walked back to the Low-Quality-Pizza-Mart and sat down.

Now, a total of seventeen minutes had elapsed. The new counter girl asked if I was ready to order and I informed her that I was waiting for my Hawaiian pizza. She went to the back and it seemed as if no one knew about my purchase. The manager, who was in his early thirties, seemed to be more interested in the sexual lives of his high school employees than ensuring that I was a satisfied customer. (I don’t want to call this guy a pedophile, but I’m almost certain that he was working to pay tuition at the local seminary! ***With all the money that the pedophiles collect each Sunday, you would think seminarians wouldn’t have to pay tuition, but the Catholic church is a well-oiled money making machine!***)

The girl returns and informs me that my pizza would be ready shortly. I was pretty sure that they were just about to start making it. After another ten minutes of torture, I lost my cool and decided to leave before I voiced my obscenity-laced-opinions.

That’s right; I took the loss and went home, sans crappy pizza. The way I see it, it only cost me eight bucks to discover that Little Caesars is a horrible business. For the rest of my life, I will never spend another cent in any of their locations. The good news is the 20 bucks I won when I scratched the ticket. (Thanks magical lottery deity!)

I guess the real point of this post is for me to say “FUCK LITTLE CAESARS!”

@PeteTeix617

Independence

Independence is a funny thing, especially in the United States of America. The recent celebrations during the Fourth of July confused me. I now live in California and I was stunned to see all of the festivities. Massachusetts earned the right to celebrate Independence Day, along with the other original twelve colonies (Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, Connecticut, Maryland, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, and Rhode Island), but who gave the other states the right? (The nerve of some people!)

Don’t get me wrong; I love living in California, but the state has been a member of the union for less than two hundred years. (States should have to put in at least two centuries before earning the right to celebrate!)

I also find the South to be particularly confusing when it comes to independence. Don’t get me wrong; I’m definitely against slavery, especially since I would have been on the losing end of that deal, but what gives the Union the right to force the Confederate states to abide by their rules? Wasn’t the point of the Declaration of Independence issued in order to rid America from English rule? I guess the freedom of independence is only for some people.

Speaking of freedom, what about the US Territories? Do those citizens not deserve to have their own Independence Day? When will Puerto Rico be allowed to become an independent country? The American government can claim Puerto Rico as a territory but the island is not a part of the US. They have their own national anthem for Pete’s sake! If the country can send athletes to the Olympic Games, they should have their Independence! (The least that can be done is allowing the country’s citizens to have voting rights in the Presidential election!)

The same goes for Guam, the Virgin Islands, and any other “territory!” I, for one, will not accept these “territories” as American until the government forces PeterPan Bus Lines, Amtrak and South West Airlines to collaborate on a $69 ferry boat from Miami to Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. Furthermore, I want a Pacific Ocean ferry to Guam and the other stolen islands. (I don’t know anything more American than a great deal!)

Maybe these “territories” should follow the example of the United States and take their Independence by force! (This might turn out to be a bad idea, since America used atomic bombs in the past!)

I guess the purpose if this post is to point out that Independence is a confusing concept. I’ll probably never understand it!

     RANDOM QUESTION OF THE DAY: I wonder if “Independent women” celebrate their Independence on the fourth of July. If not, I think September 7th is a perfect day.

“Why September 7th?” You ask.

It’s pretty simple; that’s the birthdate of Queen Elizabeth I of England. She was an Independent woman, in fact a virgin, who didn’t need any man to help her rule the world. (She must have done a lot of horseback riding!)

The term “Independent Woman” always reminds me of my favorite inappropriate joke. “What do you say to a woman with two black eyes?” NOTHING; SHE’S BEEN TOLD TWICE!  

@PeteTeix617

Twitter Is Back To Being Fun

When I first signed up for Twitter, I found the site to be a great place to read random unfiltered comments from funny people. Sadly, things changed and the site became a place where one can actually witness society’s downward spiral; reverse evolution is real. (There was a time when self-respect was important!)

Scrolling down through my old timeline was an adventure down heard it before lane. All I read were tweets about hating one’s job and looking forward to days off in order to party. I may be out of touch, but I’m pretty sure there is a lot more to life than drinking and smoking marijuana. (By the way, if you don’t live in a state with legal medical marijuana, you probably shouldn’t tweet about your illegal drug use!)

Furthermore, it shocks me that most of the worst offenders are so called believers. These degenerates must think their “all-knowing lord” is incapable of reading their tweets. Obviously, there is no need for anyone to panic because we all know that there is no “god;” feel free to continue the tomfoolery. (Just be advised that Twitter is nothing like Vegas; what happens there will follow you for the rest of your lives!)

In an effort to improve my Twitter experience. I decided to follow some atheists. Boy was that the right move. I can now scroll through my timeline and find examples of people who actually get it. (It’s quite refreshing!)

I thought I kicked the habit!

     It was great to follow Jerry DeWitt, who is the first graduate of a project which helps religious leaders leave their respective faiths, once they arrive at the realization that “god” doesn’t exist. Jerry served as a Pentecostal minister for 25 years in Louisiana before becoming an atheist. (The great thing about Twitter is the ability to tweet back and forth with anyone!)

***I suggest following Jerry: @jerry_dewitt***

     Another person I enjoy following is @SexySkeptic. Not only is she knowledgeable, but she’s also attractive. “How hot?” You ask.

Let’s just say, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating a bag of chips without a napkin!

Who knows? Maybe one day I will meet a nice atheist woman to settle down and start a family. We could produce intelligent atheist offspring and maybe a couple dogs. (Just kidding about the dogs; children are enough of a responsibility!)

I can picture it now. My wife and I would send our first born, a boy named RePete, to the finest Parochial school in the country. Understandably, RePete would refuse to conform to the mandatory prayer demands from the faculty, which would eventually spark a massive lawsuit. (I would continue with this storyline, but that life seems like it would suck and I definitely wouldn’t force my child to attend a school which teaches about a mythical fatherly wizard and his magician son who could outperform Chris Angel any day of the week!)

To be honest, my preference would not be to date an atheist. I’d much rather find a woman who is extremely religious. I’m talking about a woman who has trouble sleeping because as she puts it, “tonight is the night that I will share Jesus’ suffering and experience the stigmata!” (She wouldn’t be crazy; just religious!)

“Hey, what’s the difference between crazy and religious?” You wonder.

     FAITH!

I’d also want the woman’s parents to be religious freaks. (I’m not talking about amateur porn stars who dress up in priest and nun outfits!) When I say religious freaks, I mean people who meet with the priest in the church’s media room in order to go over film of the mornings’ proceedings. (I haven’t been to church in a while; people do that, right?)

The reason I’d prefer to marry a religious woman is solely for the purpose of creating a never-ending awkward situation. Her parents will think that I am a worthy suitor, except for the fact that I am an atheist. It will just eat at him each and every moment until he finally gives in and accepts his little atheist grandchildren. The best perk would be the ability to teach RePete (Yeah, that name is definitely happening!) to tease his grandfather about his faith. (Why else would anyone want children?)

Each time we visited my future in-laws, RePete would ask his granddad to tell him one of his great Jesus the magician stories!

I know all this talk about RePete may cause people to assume that I want children, but I don’t! (To read why, click the link: You Can Keep Your Legacy.)

Romance talk aside, Jerry DeWitt posted a tweet that intrigued me. I followed the link to an interesting article, which I will discuss tomorrow!

@PeteTeix617