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.



This Actually Happened – August 11th, 2012

Shake ‘Em Up, Shake ‘Em

Earthquakes and California go together like Peyton Manning and future Super Bowl championships. I’m not the type to worry about things I can’t control, which is why earthquakes never enter my mind. Honestly, I completely forgot about the frequent sudden releases of energy in the Earth’s crust that create seismic waves. (According to the United States Geology Survey website there were 55 earthquakes in the city of Los Angeles since August 5th!)

***Talk about outwit, outplay, and outlast; I challenge anyone to say that I am not the real survivor!***

     Regretfully, most of the seismic shifts have registered less than two on the Richter scale, but I’m a survivor nonetheless. Most people cower at the thought of dying in “the big one,” but I would love to die in a natural disaster. (Call me crazy!)

The other night, after an hour or so of attempting to shutoff my brain, I finally managed to fall asleep only to have Mother Nature wake me up. (I’m starting to think that natural disasters happen during the good lady’s gory vaginal discharge!)

My first earthquake felt like someone snuck into my room and started shaking my bed. (For the first time in my life, I can actually say that my bed was rocking!)

I’m sure there will be those who claim the earthquake was a religious experience, or the result of paranormal activity, but I live in the real world and I enjoyed my first earthquake. Not only did I enjoy the quake, but I look forward to the next one, which I hope is bigger and better. (I know major earthquakes produce great number of deaths, but I think a little collateral damage is worth the experience! CALL ME EVIL!)


I am starting to lose interest in Facebook, due to the fact that I feel some people are too “religious!” I don’t have a problem with those who choose to believe complete nonsense, but when people fail to appreciate funny status updates, I get offended!

I have a secret desire to have one complete day of uncensored status updates. I want to comment on every single status update posted by the dumbasses. (I know there may be some people who have a secret desire to share negative comments about my ungodliness, and I really wish they would because my response would be complete unfiltered humor!)

I will probably not be able to have my uncensored day because I would lose many “friends” and cause a lot of hurt to those who are dumb! For example, today I had a funny thought and I almost posted it on Facebook, but I controlled my urges.

Here is the comment. “What is the difference between a slut and a whore?” Who cares; strap up and enjoy the pussy!

Since certain Facebookers have no sense of humor, I will share two different status updates which I posted during a brief uncensored spell, a few nights ago. I’m sure these comments caused some people to cringe, but we can’t live according to the rules of the ones who suck ass!

Never come in her. Come Honor!


Do you think mother superior secretly gives head while wearing that hoody? Dumbass, that’s her habit!

     I hope these were enjoyable!


I Almost Forgot About The San Andreas Fault

While living on the east coast, anytime someone mentioned living in California one thought immediately came to mind; earthquakes. I just couldn’t grasp the idea of making a home in an area where you are at a higher risk of dying. To me, the only thing worse than living in California, was if I decided to call the mid-west’s Tornado Alley home. (I understand it is silly to expect people to move from Tornado Alley since it encompasses almost a third of the country, but it’s not for me!)

As you can see, the quake wasn’t too close!

     Prior to my move, I wondered how I would adapt to constantly living on the brink of death; I wasn’t sure if the threat of an earthquake would remain in the back of my mind on a daily basis. Although it was a concern, I never thought about backing out of the trip and I was surprised to discover that earthquakes are pretty irrelevant in Los Angeles. (It’s nothing like Boston where people can’t go a day without mentioning the weather!)

***Quick Tangent***

{I met this woman who thought it was cool that I lived in Boston. She always wanted to live in a city with four seasons. I confirmed that Boston does have four seasons, but all Bostonians know that the downside is the fact that there are times when you can experience all four seasons in one day!}

     Since moving, I rarely think about earthquakes and I never hear anyone talking about any experiences or fears. I basically expected living in California to be one long earthquake evacuation drill with scheduled breaks allowing for people to work and be with family. (Part of me was sad to learn that no one performs any evacuation drills or tactical survival training!)

I didn’t hear about earthquakes when signing the lease for the apartment, not while I purchased car insurance, and not even during the job training. (It’s almost as if these native West Coasters are completely oblivious to the fact that they live on the San Andreas Fault!)

Thankfully, Los Angeles is a few miles west of the fault lines so I think we’re safe. *FINGERS CROSSED!*

The reason I bring up earthquakes, is the fact that a 4.1 magnitude quake struck Southern California, yesterday. The epicenter was in a place called Yorba Linda, located in the O.C. about an hours’ drive from our apartment. I’m happy to report that I survived my first earthquake experience. It’s not what I expected; the incident was like a veteran porn star having sex with a man from Yakutsk, Russia; I didn’t feel a thing! (I figured living in a place as cold as Yakutsk, a man would definitely experience some major shrinkage!)

Great! Now the news stories are about being prepared for the “Big One!” The anchor just reported that there were another seven small earthquakes in SoCal within the last 24 hours! (Thanks for scaring the crap out of me, hot, surgically enhanced, news anchor lady!)

I’m not scared since these things happen. People will always die because Mother Nature is an evil cold-hearted bitch! I know some people may believe that the earthquake was part of “god’s” plan, which is fine. But if that is the case, I have one question about the location of the quake which was felt in Anaheim. What the hell is “god’s” problem with Mickey Mouse? You can destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, but I will not stand by and watch Disney Land be attacked.

This post was brought to you by Quaker State Motor Oil! (I actually got an oil change this afternoon!)


This Actually Happened – May 25th, 2012

Can Anything Go Right

On a Sunday, a few months ago, I brought home my car. That was the day I discovered that the gas gauge was broken. (Thankfully, the gauge was in a temporary coma; it works perfectly now!) The following Monday was a holiday and I had a new “special” route to complete. I left the house with my list of stores and sat in the driver’s seat; I had a decision to make. I could either fill the tank, or drive to the first store and fill the tank once I get off the highway. I didn’t know exactly how much gas I had in the tank, but I knew there was enough to make it to my destination. Everything went according to plan and I followed the GPS to the exit. I was fairly new to Los Angeles so I wasn’t sure where I was. The first thing I decided to do was pull over to the side of the road and double check the GPS to make sure I was headed in the right direction. All of the sudden, my engine began making some weird noises, as if on its last leg. I couldn’t believe it, I bought a lemon. After a few seconds, reality set in and I realized that the car was out of gas. I was used to driving a Honda so I definitely miscalculated the MPG of my new car. To add another degree of difficulty to the day, it was three o’clock in the morning. (Due to the special circumstances, I had an earlier start.) I had a decision to make; do I walk right or left? I decided to walk to the left. I walked about a mile before coming to the realization that I probably chose the wrong direction. There was nothing to do other than to turn back. I headed in the direction of the car, and noticed three teenage girls walking down the street. I did my best to time my steps in order to avoid appearing like a murderer, but they didn’t seem to be threatened by my presence. A few minutes later a car drove by with two menacing men inside. The driver slowed down, made a U-turn and drove towards me. (This is the moment when I regretted moving to California. I couldn’t believe I flew thousands of miles to die at the hands of a couple thugs!) Luckily, the car drove past me and stopped next to the three girls. The passenger jumped out and opened the rear door. The girls got in and the car drove away. I was elated to be alive and I couldn’t care less about the safety of the three thrill seekers. I continued walking and another car headed towards me. It was black with tinted windows and as it drove by, the driver slowed down. I prepared myself for another encounter with death, but the car never stopped. (The way I see it, I survived two assassination attempts!) Eventually, I made it to my car, without incident, and I attempted to start it once more. It didn’t start. I would have continued trying to start the engine, but there was a large sounding dog that seemed pretty annoyed whenever I attempted to turn over the engine. The dog’s barking sounded like he was on the cusp of jumping over the fence, which I imagined to be a mere two feet high. I walked in the other direction and hoped for the best. Thankfully, I noticed a gas station off in the distance. I had the option of taking the main road or a smaller street, so I chose the inconspicuous route. (Due to my two previous near death experiences!) The street was fairly quiet and I enjoyed the peaceful walk. Suddenly, two miniature Pinschers ran from under a fence and attacked me. “What the fuck is going on?” I thought. (If you don’t know what they look like, picture a ferocious Doberman Pinscher breaking into Willy Wonka’s famous chocolate factory and running into the Television Room and being shrunk by the big shrinking machine thingy!) The dogs were more bark than bite and they returned to the gate after a few seconds of annoying and scaring the crap out of me! I was visibly shaken and I seriously felt like I was being Punk’d. I walked to the gas station and there was a lovely woman behind the glass. I explained my predicament and she sold me a one gallon gas container and I bought some gas. I attempted to fill the container, but the pump wouldn’t work. The woman risked her life and exited the protective glass fortress of solitude and did her best to help me. Together, we weren’t able to get any gas. (In my head, I could hear comedians, all over the world saying “How many people does it take to fill a gas container?”) We had no idea what to do, until a customer explained how the pump works. (If you don’t know how it works, good luck!) I walked back to the car with my full container, but I definitely stayed on the main road. (I didn’t need those dogs in my life anymore!) The car worked and I was finally on my way. First store here I come. I followed the GPS, but there was no store. I drove around the block a few times and didn’t see the store. I drove to a gas station and asked the attendant, but he didn’t know of any store. I double checked the GPS and drove around to the back of the location, but there was only an abandoned building. I decided that I needed to get the hell out of Dodge before I lost my life. I moved on to the other stores and when I finished, I called my boss and let him know that the store didn’t exist. Here is the conversation:

Me: “I drove to the location, but there was only an abandoned building.”

Boss: “What are you talking about? I’ll call you back!”

Me: “Ok!”

[My boss calls back.]

Me: “Hello.”

Boss: “Hey, you were right. The store is under construction; sorry about that.”

Me: “No problem.”

[The End]

This will never happen again! (I hope!)

     It turns out that my car broke down in the gang infested area where the film Blood In Blood Out was filmed. I did not embellish any detail. Everything actually happened exactly how I described it. Sometimes I think that my life is a movie! BELIEVE IT OR NOT!

Thankfully, the car is fine and not a hint of lemon!


Meta World Lunacy

There aren’t many things in this world that shock me, but I was floored by what occurred at the Staples Center in Los Angeles on Sunday April 22nd. Ron Artest (I refuse to call him that nonsense that he created!) lost his freaking mind and assaulted Oklahoma City’s James Harden.

Not only was the act a criminal one, but Artest’s actions were cowardly. An unaware James Harden was blind-sided by an elbow to the head which was clearly thrown with the intent to decapitate. I can’t even watch the video anymore because it is unbelievable that Harden didn’t suffer brain damage. I honestly don’t know how he walked away with only a mild concussion. (That guy is one lucky fella!)

NBA commissioner David Stern finally handed out the punishment for Artest’s unwarranted attack. The lunatic was suspended for seven games, and it appears that the Los Angeles county prosecutor will not pursue criminal charges. (What a shame!)

Many people may believe that the punishment fit the crime, but I strongly disagree. Artest should have been suspended for the 2012 playoffs along with the entire 2013 season. (If Stern decided to ban him for life, I would have agreed with the decision!)

Basketball is a sport. There is no place for thugs. There are impressionable children who love the sport and allowing Artest to get away with (attempted) murder is sending the wrong message. If this incident occurred in any other workplace, the offender would have been terminated on the spot, and criminal charges would have been pursued.

Obviously, Ron Artest does not understand that playing in the NBA is a privilege. The best players in the world compete at the highest level and fans watch to see athletes not gladiators. The NFL got it right; New Orleans Saints coach Sean Payton oversaw an organization which placed bounties on opposing players. Payton was suspended for a year. (Hey Stern, I think it’s time to give NFL commissioner Roger Goodell a call!)

Ron Artest thanked his therapist after he won the NBA Championship. It appears that he may need a few more hours of therapy because he clearly has many more demons lurking inside of his cranium. If anyone knows Ron, please inform him that I am available to help him with his problems. I’ll even work at the discounted rate of $650/hour. (I must also request that Mr. Artest is restrained in the same manner as Dr. Hannibal Lecter in the movie The Silence of the Lambs!)

No Ron, I haven’t seen your baseball!


Getting To Know You, Los Angeles

I decided not to post on Monday and Tuesday because this was a busy weekend at work. I am still exhausted, but I will write this short piece.

Previously, I shared my experiences in Los Angeles. I believed the people of the city to be friendlier and more welcoming than the citizens of Boston. For the most part, I was right, but there is another side to the city.

I was asked, “how do you like LA?” The “interviewer” was shocked to learn that I thought the people are friendly. It was his belief that the people who live in LA are stuck-up and distant. I was shocked to hear him say that because I didn’t come across any of that type of behavior.

I now know what he was talking about. I travel extensively and I come across many different people. I grew accustomed to greeting random strangers, but things don’t always go according to plan. I would have to say that at least ten times a day, I experience this:

[I walk down an aisle and see a customer, or store employee approaching me.]

Me:  “Hi, how are you doing.” Or “How’s it going.”

Random Jackass: Stare at me without saying a word and continue to walk past as if I don’t exist.

This behavior baffles me. Why the heck would someone not return a greeting? It’s not like I’m trying to become the person’s best friend. I probably will never see the individual again, but they can’t take a second out of their “important” lives to say “hi.” In fact, I don’t even need a “hi;” just give me a freaking head not, you jerk.

Seriously, where the hell were these people raised?

Every single time this happens to me, I am amazed. I truly can’t understand what had to happen in someone’s life that causes them to act in such a deplorable manner. In a way, I am thankful that these people exist, because I love to laugh and their behavior always causes me to laugh out loud.


Is it me, or are people using the acronym for laugh out loud, way too much. I can understand using the acronym in response to something that you found to be funny, but people are using it in their initial communication. ***I was around when the acronym use began and I decided that I would always write ha ha, instead. (If you don’t know what acronym means or which acronym I am referring to, I can’t help you out because I will not write those three letters!)***

Here is an example of what I am talking about:

Friend 1: “Hey, I saw your car parked in front of the 7-Eleven. (Acronym for laugh out loud)”

Friend 2: “(Acronym for laugh out loud) I stopped there to grab a drink. (Acronym for laugh out loud)”

Friend 1: “(Acronym for laugh out loud) grab me one too. I like Coke. (Acronym for laugh out loud)”

Friend 2: “(Acronym for laugh out loud) Yeah, that other cola sucks! (Acronym for laugh out loud) Wait are you talking about YAYO? (Acronym for laugh out loud)”

Friend 1: “(Acronym for laugh out loud) No, Tony Montana. (Acronym for laugh out loud) I am talking about the cola. (Acronym for laugh out loud)”

Friend 2: LMFAO (Acronym for laugh out loud)!

It’s really getting ridiculous. You can write LMFAO, HA HA, or (Acronym for laugh out loud) after something funny in order to show that the comment made you laugh, but please don’t write (Acronym for laugh out loud) with your initial comment. Deciding whether or not something is funny is the duty of the recipient. If you write (Acronym for laugh out loud) in your first comment, the individual may not find your comment to be humorous, but they will return your (Acronym for laugh out loud) with their own (Acronym for laugh out loud) just to be friendly. (It’s really a pity laugh!)

Feel free to use (Acronym for laugh out loud) as you wish, but understand that those of us who may be stalking your Facebook conversations, which we all know are private, are slightly annoyed by the overuse.  (Acronym for laugh out loud)

Back to rest and relaxation! (Acronym for laugh out loud)


Laptop Comedy

     This is my attempt to create an original stand-up comedy set. I have coined a new phrase; Laptop Comedy. (Laptop Comedy is a set that is written using a laptop and posted on a blog!)

     Originally, planned on creating a full comedy set, but then I realized that I am not even considered an amateur. I can’t just show up on the scene and put together a half hour special; who the hell do I think I am? This is a short set which will determine if I write another one of these posts in the future.  


     I will set the mood and make an immediate connection with you by opening up with your favorite song. ***Please play your favorite song now!*** (Do you feel the connection?)

First off, I’d like to thank everyone for taking the time out of their busy workday to read this entry. I hope you find the subject matter to be amusing. Wow, I didn’t even know YOU read this blog. Damn, you are amazing. Oh shit! I can’t believe you have that on. Do you not know that I can see you? (Guys, this last bit was not for you!)

I’m sorry for the delay; I was supposed to write this post a few weeks ago, but I had to take a piss. I was running home and I just couldn’t hold it. I ended up hitting the alley like Daniel Son. (If you are a rap artist, feel free to steal that line!)

There is no way anyone can tell me that Daniel son didn’t smash Ally, in the original Karate Kid.

I hate the fact that I have to say original Karate Kid. I enjoyed the new version, but I’m sick of the remakes. I feel like we are in an age of non-creative people. (Read my post on the matter to enrich your lives! Copy Cats.)

It’s ridiculous when you think about it. We have a group of people who grew up in the 80’s who are flocking to movie theaters to watch films based on their favorite cartoons. No wonder this country is going to shit; there are no more grownups. We lost an entire generation. The new age grandmothers are at the clubs backing that ass up; it’s sickening. Yet, I can’t turn away!

Here’s an obvious fact. Grandparents are not supposed to be in their late 30’s and early 40’s.

It’s crazy, but things are even crazier in Los Angeles. Just the other day, I was in a supermarket and as I was walking down the aisle, I saw this woman who had on my favorite pants; leggings. Her ass was perfect and it got better as I approached. I would post a picture of her ass, but I’m not that guy; I don’t ever bust out the creepy camera phone guy routine.

The weirdest thing happened. As I got closer, she turned to face me and I almost lost my shit. The woman was at least sixty years-old. She was a freaking mutant. A sixty year old with an eighteen year-old body; I’m sure I don’t have to elaborate on her superpowers.

“What the fuck; I almost tried to bag at your old ass.” I screamed out.

Just kidding; I wanted to holla at her, but she turned me down.

“Bitch, Lesbian!”

LA definitely takes some getting used to. Moving out here allows me to understand how someone came up with the concept of cougars. There are many old women who are actually bangable. Not where I’m from. Not In Boston! In Beantown, 80 year-old women actually look 80; some look 90.

Not in LA! Here, they have all the plastic surgery that money can buy and they are hotter than some of the young women. I most certainly get the whole Cougar Town thing. These women worship their plastic surgeons. They’re telling their “god” (If you believe in such nonsense!) thanks but no thanks with the old age thing.

In Boston Cougar Town would have been named “Vomitville or Sag City. How many guys would be looking forward to bagging a Sag City chick? I don’t think that song would be a hit. (Sag City Chicks, Sag Sag City Chicks! Eighties and a nineties chick!)

I know what most of you are thinking. This woman did not have a great ass; it was the pants. YOU WOULD BE WRONG. She had a great ass and the pants had nothing to do with it. I know many people think that magic pants make every woman’s ass look great, but we’ve all seen some examples of leggings-gone-wrong!

No my friends, this woman was the real deal. I’m almost HIV positive that she was a palates instructor, or a senior citizen fitness center staff member, or a freaking decathlete who runs marathons in her spare time. In a word, she was FIT!

I would like to apologize for spending the lion’s share of this post on an old lady’s ass. I couldn’t help it; this thing actually happened. I just talk about my experiences.

That’s all for this comedy bit. Hopefully, it was entertaining.

Until next time!