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.


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.



A Look Inside

This post is a look inside the inner workings of my mind. There is an ongoing battle between me and my mind, each night. I attempt to go to sleep and my mind wanders into the land of random thoughts. Unless I’m extremely exhausted, at least an hour goes by before I fall asleep. Thankfully, I keep my phone within arm’s reach in case I need to write down an idea or two. (This post originated during one of my nightly battles!)

My mind is like the IBM ThinkPad that I bought in 1998; it will shut down eventually, but there will be a long wait. Last night, I mistakenly thought I was going to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but this is the journey that my mind decided it wanted to share with me.

I can’t remember what I was thinking about but eventually I ended up thinking about pizza. Immediately, I recalled the old Tombstone Pizza ads on television in which people are asked, “what do you want on your tombstone.” The question got me thinking about my tombstone and I actually arrived at a great epitaph. (I’m not sure if this quote is what I actually want on my tombstone, but it’s what I came up with!)

***Here lies Peter. Don’t believe a word he says!***

This is what I really want on my tombstone, as of today.

I have no idea where the quote came from, but I decided that my tombstone would read, “NEVER HAD TO PAY FOR AN ABORTION!” (No offense to anyone who had to pay for an abortion; I’m just stating a fact!)

Most people may be repulsed by such a quote, but I feel it is perfect for several reasons. After the initial reaction wears off, all types of questions will enter one’s mind. This is why I love this quote; it confuses people. (In the future, anyone who reads my tombstone will be filled with bewilderment!)

“What the hell does that mean?”

Assumption 1: I think when this guy was alive abortions were commonplace and he wants people to know that he never had to pay for one? He must have been some kind of hero!

Assumption 2: This guy probably got a lot of women pregnant, but he always managed to avoid paying for the abortion. He’s either a smooth talker, or a fugitive from the law.

Assumption 3: Maybe this guy is just letting everyone know that he never had to secretly pay for an abortion.

Assumption 4: I think this guy was accused of paying for several abortions and he doesn’t want anyone to believe the rumors.

Assumption 5: This guy probably got a bunch of women pregnant, but he never paid for the abortions because he had some kind of hookup!

Bonus Assumption: This guy is some idiot whose last request was to have a controversial and shocking epitaph on his tombstone. What a jackass!

I’m sure there are plenty of other assumptions, but I think these get the point across, like a trapeze artist without falling! (Feel free to share any assumptions that may have popped in your head!)

I didn’t think of any other assumptions because my mind shifted a little. Out of nowhere, I began to wonder if this quote would serve better as a tattoo. At first, I thought it was a great idea for a tattoo, but it is a horrible one. The reason the quote works better as an epitaph is the fact that I will be dead. If I get a tattoo that reads, “never had to pay for an abortion,” it may turn out to be a lie.

What if something happens and I slip one past the goalie causing me to have to pay for an abortion. (When it comes to abortions, I’m all for them; especially mandatory government forced abortions! I just think there should be a list of criteria which has to be met before allowing any idiot to bring a child into this world! No offense to any horrible parent!)

There is also a chance that I may have to pay for an abortion that I had nothing to do with. What if a friend or family member got some random one night stand pregnant, but he didn’t have the money to pay for an abortion. I may have to step up and contribute.

I’d rather not have children, but what if my teenage daughter disobeyed me and ended up getting pregnant by a boy who goes to church every Sunday? In that situation, I would have to pay for an abortion.

I’d rather not have a tattoo that is an outright lie, so I’ll stick with the tombstone idea!

I know what people are thinking; “you can get a tattoo removed or covered!” True! Tattoos can be altered, but I don’t believe in removing tattoos; they are meant to be for life. Altering the tattoo is not a horrible idea. I actually already have a basic idea of how I would do it. The “N” will have to be altered; possibly turned into an asterisk, and the exclamation point turned into a question mark. The tattoo will them read, “*EVER HAD TO PAY FOR AN ABORTION?”

That would be an awesome tattoo! Except for the fact that my new nickname would be Inappropriate Question Tattoo Guy or IQTG for short!

[The sequence ended once I gave myself the new nickname.]

That’s what I deal with on a nightly basis. Actually, this is how my mind works throughout the day as well!

***I don’t think I’m crazy!***


The Dumbest Question Ever

For almost three centuries, students have been baffled by the dumbest question known to man. Philosophy professors waste valuable instructional time attempting to stump wannabe-Aristotles by asking the “unsolvable” question.

“Which question are you referring to?” I’ll tell you!

Obviously, I’m talking about, “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it; does it make a sound?” I can’t believe entire periods, in some cases a week’s worth of class time, is wasted on such nonsense. (Seriously, college courses are freaking expensive!)

People over-think this question as if it is actually challenging. Some have gone as far as to question whether or not something can be considered a sound if no one hears it. Some have questioned whether sound exists, or if it is something that the mind creates after viewing an event. (The bullshit gets pretty deep; watch your step!)

The greatest philosophical minds seem to all arrive at the same conclusion; we may never know the answer to this great query. I completely disagree. These philosophers need to get their heads out of their asses. If you really want to know the answer to this thought-provoking question, ask anyone who has lived on this planet or longer than three years and the riddle will be solved. (It’s really that simple!)

I’m here to end the consternation. The answer is YES, the tree will make a fucking sound. Not only will the tree make a sound, it will be a loud and recognizable sound. There is a distinct noise that accompanies any tree-falling incident. You can actually throw a rock into a crowd and hit any random person, above the age of three, who will be able to pick the sound out of a sound police line-up. Even if the line-up consisted of a thousand sounds, the person will have no problem distinguishing the tree-falling sound from the others.

There are many ways to go about proving the distinctness of the tree-falling sound. I decided to go with the homeless test. “What the hell is the homeless test?” It’s exactly what it sounds like. I drove through Downtown Los Angeles, in the middle of the night, and selected a random homeless guy and asked him if he could identify a sound for me. Initially, he refused and told me to “go fuck yourself!” I was unrelenting in my pursuit of the truth so I pulled out some spare change and dropped it into his cup. Unfortunately, the cup was full of some soup that he had to wait in line at a local shelter to receive. Needless to say, I got the hell out of there before he had a chance to react! (To the homeless guy, I’m sorry for ruining your dinner!)

The incident was a setback, but I did not give up. I drove two more blocks, made a right turn and found another homeless guy. (If there is one thing that Downtown LA will never run out of, it’s homeless people!) After some tough negotiating, I paid the man our agreed upon wage of two dollars and thirty seven cents. (I think I could have bargained him down a few more pennies, but oh well; these things happen!) I pulled out my trustee boom box and placed the cassette tape, of nature sounds, inside. (I’m old school!) Immediately, the man jumped out of his cardboard hut and proclaimed, “that’s a motherfucking tree, falling in the mother fucking forest; that’s my final answer Regis!”

“Correct you are, kind sir! Thanks for your time!” I replied.

There you have it; the sound is unmistakable. After a few minutes of explaining that I was not Regis Philbin and this was not Slum Dog Millionaire LA, the man went back into his fortified home and I drove off. Riddle solved! Please be advised, if you decide to ask a three year old this question, he or she may call you a dumbass for your inability to arrive at the obvious conclusion. (I’m here to save you from having to witness a three year hold lose respect for you. Don’t be a dumbass!)

How much of a dumbass do you have to be to happen upon this and ask, “I wonder if this tree made a sound when it fell?”

     George Berkley has been credited with inspiring Charles Mann and George Twiss to create this “Great Philosophical Riddle,” so to those guys I say, the three of you were a trio of dumbasses! (I’m not certain, but I think George W. Bush was named after one of these Georges instead of after his dad!)

Actually, I’m probably wrong about this being the dumbest question ever since I adhere to the old adage, “there is no such thing as a dumb question, just dumb people who ask questions!”


Misinformed Children

When it comes to being creative and pushing the envelope, I’m all about allowing artists to use their creativity to entertain their fellow human beings, but there has to be some accountability. As a society, we need to educate the children before we poison their minds with ridiculous notions. Although I am an atheist, I think religion can play a role in setting a moral foundation for the youth of the world. (Just as long as we allow children to find their own way once they realize that religion is nonsensical!)

Abraham Lincoln is one of my favorite presidents; I believe I ranked him in my top five, in a previous post. (You can read the post here: President’s Day.) There are many reasons to choose Abraham Lincoln as a favorite. First of all, he wore a great top hat. (You’re definitely a complete ass if you don’t respect a man in a top hat!)

Lincoln is famous for his Emancipation Proclamation in which he set out to free all slaves, but failed miserably. I say he failed because the number of slaves freed by the document was a total of zero! (I would explain, but I think people should do their own research!)

That being said, Lincoln is responsible for ending slavery so he is a man to be admired. Lincoln also was assassinated which clearly means he was a man of great honor. (No one was trying to assassinate President George W. Bush!)

Lincoln will always be named when people talk about their favorite president’s; he is on the five dollar bill and the penny, so his memory isn’t going anywhere. Unfortunately for the children of the future, Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States, will forever be remembered for something which is completely ridiculous.

Thanks to irresponsible Hollywood big wigs, Abraham Lincoln will be remembered for his tenacity as a vampire slayer. “WHAT?” Yes, you read that correctly; Abraham Lincoln will forever be known as a vampire slayer.

I’m sure most people have seen the advertisements for the new movie and chuckled, but this is not a laughing matter. There will come a day when those of you who have children will ask about a favorite President and the answer will seem reasonable at first. Once you delve deeper and ask, “why;” you will be floored by the answer. Your innocent, dumbass of a child, will say, “I like Abraham Lincoln because he killed all the bad vampires!” I wouldn’t wish such a moment on my worst enemy, but there is no turning back; the film will be released soon and history will forever be tainted. (As a History major, I cried when I walked into the movie theatre and saw a poster for the Lincoln vampire movie!)

Do your part and help educate a child by not watching this abomination!


This Actually Happened – May 11th, 2012

***I actually found El Pino from Blood In Blood Out. It was only a stone’s throw from the main office! I must say that it looks pretty cool! I would have taken a picture, but I didn’t even bother trying with my dumb phone!***

I invented a new dish which I later found out already existed. It may not be new, but it’s new to me! (Not to mention the fact that I probably make it better than anyone else in the world since my culinary skills are unmatched!) I definitely plagiarized something that I didn’t even know existed! BELIEVE IT OR NOT!

My recipe for Peanut Butter French Toast

Before I begin, let me put out a disclaimer: If you’re one of those people who counts calories and lives a healthy lifestyle, this is not for you. This dish is for read blooded human beings who enjoy great tasting fatty foods!

*This is a recipe that I created. If you end up making money from stealing this idea, please send me my cut so I am not forced to take action against you. (Legal or illegal!)*

Furthermore, if this is not the first time you heard of this, go fuck kill yourself; I invented it! (That being said, I am aware that this dish has already been created, but I never heard of it prior to inventing it!)

     Step one: You should make a peanut butter sandwich with absolutely no jelly. Jelly is not a main ingredient; it is simply there to make the sandwich easier to consume. If I could eat PB&PB sandwiches, I would! Once you have a peanut butter sandwich, place it to the side. (I placed my sandwich on a clean dish, but feel free to place your sandwich wherever you want; cleanliness is next to godliness which means cleanliness does not exist!)

Step two: Crack three eggs into a bowl and scramble them thoroughly. (Season the eggs to your liking!)

Step three: Dip the peanut butter sandwiches in the eggs like you would a piece of bread for some French toast.

Step four: Melt some butter in a skillet and fry the egg-coated sandwich until fully cooked. (The butter can be substituted with margarine, but not spam. You are not preparing a healthy meal!)

Step Five: Place the finished product on a plate and enjoy with your favorite syrup!

The best part of the dish is the fact that it is safe for people with peanut allergies. Apparently the heat creates a negative reaction and removes the negative effects of the peanut. (This sandwich may be the cure for peanut allergies!)

***I thought about leaving the post as is, but I don’t want to get blamed in the off chance that someone who is allergic to peanuts tries this dish and has a severe allergic reaction! (I completely made up the part about the dish being safe for people who are allergic to peanuts. Don’t ever eat this; you would probably die a horrible death!)***

     I did some research and the preliminary results show that my Peanut Butter French Toast is what the Olympian gods called ambrosia!

If you use one of these to make French toast, you’re probably doing it wrong!

Random Tip: Never allow someone’s baby daddy to drive your car from a tight parking space. Those guys suck at pulling out!


Un-Happy Endings

This post was inspired by the movie The Adjustment Bureau. I never watched the film but it was on while I was taking a nap and I caught some of the ending. What actually happened in the film is of little significance, what really matters is the fact that a man was engaged to be married and the “hero” steals his girl. (I apologize for not saying spoiler alert!)

The audience is fooled into believing that the story ended happily, but no one seems to care about the guy who spent at least a few years of his life building a “loving” relationship with a lying whore who never loved him in the first place. This “bad guy” did everything the correct way and just when he thinks he is about to marry the woman of his dreams, she is ripped away from him. (We live in a cruel world!)

I guess if you really consider the situation, the man is better off because the woman was not “the one.” Why doesn’t anyone care about these so called “insignificant characters” who always lose the girl in the end? I don’t know about you, but I definitely don’t consider such nonsense to be a happy ending. In some cases, the writer will create a love interest for ”Mr. Second Place” but that’s no consolation. He put in the time and he should be able to keep his bride to be. (Even if she did turn out to be a whore!)

My favorite Mr. Second Place is Gaston from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Although he wanted Belle by force, he deserved her. There were plenty women in the town who threw themselves at Gaston, but he only had eyes for Belle. To me, his dedication should have been rewarded, but instead, the asshole Beast who held “crazy old Maurice” in his tower as a prisoner, and then swapped him for Belle ends up with the girl. What a disgrace! Honestly, the jackass didn’t even allow Belle to say goodbye to her father. (I don’t think I can ever forgive the beast for the way he treated Maurice!)

Another perfect example of Mr. Second Place getting the short hand of the stick is in the movie The Graduate. Dustin Hoffman who plays the character “Ben” starts the movie by banging Mrs. Robinson, then he has the nerve to fall in love with her beautiful daughter. What a piece of shit! Not only do I feel sorry for Mr. Second Place, but this Ben guy also destroys Mr. Robinson’s life. He starts the movie by being a home wrecker, and then stops the lovely wedding that Mr. Robinson paid for with his hard earned money. I can’t see how this can be considered a happy ending! (The movie should have been called Mr. Robinson’s Life Sucks!)

To top things off, Ben walks off with the girl after Mr. Second Place kissed his bride at the altar. (That’s just cold!) If you are going to stop a wedding, the least you can do is have the decency to get there before the guy kisses his bride to be; it’s just common courtesy. They say chivalry is dead, but I think it is decorum which is no longer practiced. (This movie crossed the line!)

Sadly, it is not only the men who have to suffer this heart-wrenching fate. In the movie The Wedding Planner, J-Ho J-Lo was hired to plan the wedding for Mrs. Second Place. J-Lo came highly recommended, but the whore ends up falling in love with and stealing the groom to be. What is this world coming to; how the hell are we supposed to think this movie had a happy ending? Am I missing something here? The conniving, back-stabbing wedding planner was hired because of her professionalism, but whoever recommended her must have forgotten to include the fact that she has a propensity to steal the groom to be! (If this incident occurred in real life, the wedding planner would have been called a home wrecking whore, but in Hollywood, she’s a great catch. (I call bullshit!)

It’s time for the viewing public to demand better from the writers. There is no need to cause such suffering to innocent human beings. We have a duty to change what is considered a happy ending; no one deserves to suffer such indignity!

I wait for the day when the “hero” attempts to steal the love interest from Mr. Second Place, but she decides to do the honorable thing and marries the deserving fellow. Mr. Second Place has suffered long enough.

To Hollywood, I say keep your “happy endings” and give me a story that I can feel good about! Until then, I guess I’ll have to continue frequenting the local massage parlors in order to get a true “happy ending!”

Thank “god” for Groupon!


Second Chance Sunday {I}

I decided to change Sunday’s post from a preview of upcoming entries to a throwback day. This has been a calculated transition in order to provide me with a free day from blogging!


No Thanks from November 24th.

Enjoy the Thanksgiving Day silliness!