Black Friday part 3: The Final Sacrifice

Driving through the night with our tunes bumping, we made it to Target. Things did not bode well when we pulled up and there was a fist fight over a parking space right in front of us. Skittles' faith in man was fading and I clutched my switchblade. After parking, again, far away, we made our way into the store. We missed the grand opening of their sale and walking through the gutted aisles of Target was like walking through some deserted war zone. Merchandise was scattered all over. Their was an eerie hush as the shoppers were in a long that wrapped throughout the entire store waited patiently to purchase their items. The three of us were distracted by the amazing Nerf section Target had. I do not remember what Nerf guns were like when I was a child, but these new ones were super awesome. They had bolt action sniper rifles, tripod mounted Gatling guns, six barreled pistols, and the amazing list goes on forever. Baby Gorilla decided if anything was coming out of this night, it was going to be a Nerf gun. I would have agreed, but that means we would have to wait in the physically impossibly long line, which means we would miss Best Buy. With tears in our eyes, we laid the Nerf guns down with empty promises to return for them. Skittles and I pulled Baby Gorilla away from the large sniper rifle he was clutching. He finally agreed and the three of us left for Best Buy. 

" Bienvenue à la Target."

The three of us away'd to Best Buy.

Best Buy had all the choice deals and was the reason for the whole night of adventuring. The line to get in was several hundred feet. We parked and decided to wait in the car for the line to die down. Baby Gorilla wanted to know why and Skittles revealed that the reason he did not want to wait was because he was cold. The holes in his pants seemed to have grown. Skittles needed pants. Fast. It was decided that we skip Best Buy for now and head to the mall where American Eagle was having their amazing pants sale. We could not continue our journey if Skittles was losing heat through the holes in his pants, so we reluctantly made our decision. 

There we are.

Quickly to the mall we drove.

Skittles parked the car and we hopped out to wait in line for the midnight opening of the mall. Skittles did a little dance to stay warm as we counted down the seconds for the doors to open. Once they did, Skittles shot out like a bullet inside and straight into American Eagle. He grabbed about seven pairs of pants, as the price was insanely good. He purchased the pants and we all took a bathroom break. Baby Gorilla and I relieved ourselves as it has been a long while and Skittles changed into a pair of his shiny new pants. We felt like new men. Reinvigorated by new pants and empty bladders. It was now time to enter into Mordor.

Back to Best Buy.

The line was down considerably when we showed back up. We got out and waited. The way to eager Best Buy employee was letting in a shoppers groups at a time. After what felt like a eternity, Eager Best Buy Employee opened the rope. The three of us took in a deep breath. Baby Gorilla wished for a Nerf gun. Skittles gripped his pants and I crossed myself with a prayer to our Virgin de Guadalupe. Into the belly of the beast we went. 

"She knows about good deals. AM I RIGHT FELLAS?!"

Inside was a madhouse. There were people everywhere. A cacophony of noise assaulted our ears. In Best Buy, the whole store is set up as one long line and we are forced in like cattle through a long, cheap electronic filled chute. I have to admit, the deals there were unbelievable. Brand new movies for two dollars, TV series for seven, brand new games for twenty. Baby Gorilla started pushing his way to the front of the chute to grab Assassin’s Creed III. Skittles and I went to find the coveted laptop. I asked another employee about where I could find the computers. The employee pointed me to a line where we had to wait. He also added that I needed a ticket. My heart sank. I inquired about said ticket. Apparently the laptop was a 'ticketed' item. These tickets were handed out to the first fifty or so people and are required to buy the ticketed items. Skittles asked if there were any left.

This is where the Best Buy employee shined.

He said that he did not know how many were left and that they may even be out. When Skittles pushed for more information, he said that we would have to wait in line, get to the end and then we would find out. To the computer line Skittles and I went. This line was hell. I assume that when one dies, is judged to eternal damnation, this is the line they wait in before they enter the infernal gates. It was not very long, but it moved very slowly. To compound the agony, the car stereo department was blaring dub-step. Loudly. My ears were being assaulted by the sounds of robots having angry sex. Hell this was. Skittles checked the time, it was twelve forty-five. We waited. And waited. Then we waited some more. Around one-thirty, I asked another employee about the situation on the laptops. I asked if any computers remained because I did not want to wait in line, get the front and then find out there would be no more of the item I wanted. The employee did not know anything. He did not tell us if there were any laptops left. He did not tell us how much longer we would have to wait. He then left. 

There is definitely dubstep playing there.

It was at this moment that I understood why people beat and/or kill people on Black Friday. The noise and the smells hammers your senses. Watching people descend into madness by resorting to physically and verbally abusing their fellow man is only funny for so long. I understand that the employees are overworked, under paid and forced to forfeit their Thanksgiving to deal with angry customers who don't want to shop. They just want to save. At this moment, I wanted to pull my knife and go on the warpath. No one was able to tell us anything of worth. I took a deep breath, calmed myself and went back to waiting in line.

Finally, at two o'clock, we got to the front of the line. Skittles and I hugged. A bearded member of the Geek Squad asked if we had a ticket. I told him that I did not and would just like to purchase the laptop so I could go home and recoup from this night of punishment. Beard-man then told us that he had good news and bad news. The good news was that there were two laptops left and I could get one. High fives all around. Then he dropped the bad news which was that since we did not have a ticket, we had to wait another hour. Reason being, the ticket system reseted every hour and I had to have a ticket to get a laptop. Another hour was what we had to wait. Another bombshell was that if anyone came up to the counter with a ticket to request said laptop, they would get it. I weeped as Skittles and I sat down at the front of the line.

This was where we met a nice young man who had the exact same problem as us only he had been at Best Buy since five that evening. We became good friends as we shared this horrible situation. I realized I still had Baby Gorilla's wallet, so I ran it to him. While walking, I saw two men fighting over a stereo system. They almost broke into fisticuffs, but it was prevented. A sick part of me wanted them to fight. I found Baby Gorilla, told him what was happenin and gave him his wallet. He showed me all the cool things he found which included the ultimate twenty-two Bond film collection on Blu-ray for our good friend Amy Blowfish. I hugged him because I may not live through the next hour and went back to the line. 

I know understand the Roman audience.

I laid down next Skittles and our new friend and waited in what was the longest hour of my life. Every time someone walked up to the counter with a ticket, both of us cringed. Luckily, no one wanted our laptops. Baby Gorilla finished his purchase and came to sit next us. The line began to grow behind us as we counted the seconds. At five minutes to three, we all stood up. Beard-man came up and like Moses parting the Red Sea, he led us to the counter. Our new friend and I skipped up to both counters and we high five'd. We got our laptops. The night was over. We won. Once it was finished, we strutted out of Best Buy into the cold air back to our car. We survived our first Black Friday and looking back it was not to bad.

"Salvation and $100 laptops await."

When we got into the car, Skittles' pants ripped and he hung his head. 

"Damn. It."

Black Friday part 2: Electricboogaloo

Away into the night we drove. Our first stop was Wal-Mart.

The overflowing parking lot of Wal-Mart loomed in the distance as we could see it from the highway. A small part of me was nervous. The other part, excited. Skittles found a parking spot about a half a mile away from the the store. We got out and made our way into the store. Inside was a dull thunder of noise punctuated with frenzied energy and activity. People were buzzing in and out of the aisles as a number of cops walked the aisles. The three of us wandered around taking in all the sights of sound. As we walked around, we noticed a number of covered pallets with one employee standing next to it who was surrounded by a group of people. It was quite curious. 

Our car is the blue one in the middle.

I finally asked an employee what the dealio was. The listless Wal-Mart worker informed me at ten o'clock, they would cut open the pallets that contained cheap and sweet electronics. Now we knew the mystery, so Baby Gorilla, Skittles and I decided to set up a vantage point in the dog food aisle and watch the event go down. While we waited it felt like the part in warrior movies where they see the enemy and they are about to charge. I had butterflies in my stomach. I honestly did not know what would happen. The loud speaker crackled to life and the mousy voice announced they would be cutting the pallets. The whole store cheered and the pallets were cut.

Then the frenzy started. 

"Saaaavviiiiinnnngggsss."

I could not believe my eyes. The second those pallets were sliced open to reveal their goodies, the throng of shoppers tore at them like a horde of zombies clawing at the innards of a dying person. Baby Gorilla started laughing at the madness. Skittles shook his head. I was so taken aback that I knew what I had to do, I ran into the chaos. People were all around me, shouting at their loved ones to grab more items. It was as if I was watching humanity descent into some primal state of being. It was at this time that I noticed a middle aged house wife, clutching a pile of ten dollar 7” portal DVD players, fall. Luckily she curled into a ball because she was then trampled by her fellow man. Luckily two cops were around to disperse the crowd and help the battered woman up. Two men began fighting over the last iPad and were about to come to blows if it was not for another cop who broke it up.

We had enough. After that madness, the three of us got out of there as fast as we could. Wal-Mart had showed us her true colors and we did not want anymore of it and away we left. The parking lot had grown since we were in and escaping felt like we salmon swimming up river. Finally, we made it to our car and drove away from the chaos. This is when we should of stopped, but we are gluttons for punishment.

Her death was not in vein. She got Bones Season 4 for $8.

Next stop. Target.

Black Friday part 1: It Begins

Black Friday is a day that is both loved and feared. Loved by people who love to get high ticketed merchandise for dirt cheap and hated by anyone who works in retail and people with fears of large crowds and angry people. I would always shake my head when I would read news articles of people getting into fights over ten dollar TVs and other fabulously priced goods. I would always drive to the stores on Thanksgiving evening to mock the people who would rather wait in line then stay at home eating delicious food stuffs. To me, Black Friday was a crock. On this past Black Friday, however, my friends and I decided to abandon common sense and personal safety to fight with the crowds in search of killer deals and savings. What follows is a descent into the primal state the human condition. 

Welcome to Wal-Mart.

It all started that Thanksgiving afternoon. My family and two of our friends, Baby Gorilla and Skittles, met at my mom's for a wonderful Thanksgiving meal. We got all the food prepped, table set and all sat down for a delicious meal. After the meal my brother, Baby Gorilla, Skittles and I sat around rubbing our panzas' feeling very fat and sassy. In between labored breaths we just chewed the fat, both figuratively and literally. The discussion inevitably came to the subject of Black Friday. We all joked about how stupid the idea of fighting crowds, sometimes literally, to get useless junk. Baby Gorilla insulted the sexual preferences of the Black Friday shoppers. Skittles chimed in with how impractical the idea of the dreaded Friday was. My brother brought up the looming strikes that may come from Target and Wal-Mart and then shoved a drum stick into his mouth. Yes, the consensus was Black Friday was ridiculous.

After a moment of silence, Baby Gorilla told us how at Best Buy, Assassin’s Creed III was only going to be twenty five dollars. I have to admit, that was a pretty sweet deal as it was normal sixty dollars. Skittles looked up some deals on his phone and found that pants from his favorite pants store, American Eagle, were going to be forty percent off. He was in desperate need of new pants as Skittles looked like an Asian orphan from a Charles Dickens novel. My brother then brought up that Best Buy would also be selling a laptop for a hundred bucks. My jaw dropped. I was in desperate need of a new laptop. I couldn't stand the ridicule I was receiving at the local Starbucks where I went to write my screenplay from all the real writers. Real writers do not write on legal pad, they mocked. I knew I could not also get a beret and scarf, but damn it, I would get a lap top. 

He really needed pants.

Hush fell over us. Skittles looked up at the ceiling. He then made the suggestion;

“So, you guys wanna check it out?”

We all rubbed our imaginary beards in contemplation. Baby Gorilla and I looked at each other and decided why not? At the least, we could rip on all the people who were crazier then us. We were in. My brother warned us that it was going to be, as they say on the streets, 'cray-cray.' I did not believe him, the news always exaggerates the stories of people getting shot over microwaves. Skittles, who was sick of wearing only one pair of pants, rationalized that it was a quick in-and-out for a couple pair of pants. I mean, those American Eagle jeans are normally super expensive, smell of a field of daisies and guarantee to get you laid. I don't really know as I am a beaner that wears Dickies. Baby Gorilla's response to my brother was him leaning over to my brother and flicking his wiener.

It was decided. We would go out on Black Friday.

My brother threw his hands up and like Pontius Pilate before him, washed his hands of the situation. We scoffed. The three of us felt pumped up. Like in the scene of Fellowship of the Ring where the council in Rivendale decides to take the ring to Mount Doom. Only we were way more ethnic and only one of us was a hobbit. That night, we would meet up and go shopping. I went home and spent time with my wife, as it may be the last time I ever saw her.

My brother after deciding the fate of Christ. And Black Friday.

That night around eight o'clock, I was laying around in my underwear watching the ultimate Thanksgiving day movie, Powder, when I got a text from Skittles. He wanted to know if I would like to head to Wal-mart in the next hour. Confused, I told him all the events went down at midnight. He corrected me with they started at nine that evening at both Wally World and Target. I was not prepared for this and without really thinking it through, I agreed. Come get me and let us tear this night up. Skittles was on the way and I got ready. Did my hair, got dressed and took my switchblade because I love West Side Story. Skittles rolled up and away we went to get Baby Gorilla. We picked him up and took a deep breath. We were really going to do this. I said a quick prayer and into the darkness we drove.

Little did we know, this night would tax our minds, bodies and our souls. 

Nothing will go wrong.

How Dungeons & Dragons Saved My Life

Dungeons & Dragons is a game that most times gets a bad rap. I understand why- it is totally dorky (as it is a game that involves fantasy elements like, well, dungeons and dragons). One creates a character, which requires at least two hours, a set of dice that comes in many shapes and sizes, and a complex calculator. The types of people who usually play this game are not very social and emit a smell that I dubbed, 'The Funk.' My brother is one of these people, only not as smelly. Stating that, Dungeons & Dragons was a game that most likely saved my life. 

Promoting abstinence since 1974.

When I was a youngster, I became heavily involved in the gang lifestyle. At the age of fourteen, I was jumped into an the Surenos. A decision I made because my family fell apart and I was completely lost. The guys in the gang filled what I needed, the role of a family; They fed me, clothed me, and made me feel important. Because they took care me, I did whatever they needed me to, which led me to get deeper and deeper in that life. Violence and drugs were my life for a lot of years.

The years of addiction and mayhem finally took their toll on me. I realized that the gang life was very destructive and seeing what it did to my friends I knew I had to leave. Even though it took me a lot of years to realize it, my life was worth more then a color and a number. After a few events that threatened my life, I was out. Along with leaving the violence, I kicked all addictions to drugs and alcohol. Figured if I cut out one bad part of my life, may as well cut out all the bad at once.

I have to admit, that once out I was miserable. Funny thing, violence and drugs filled up a lot of my time and when these two aspects were gone I now had a lot of free time. The problem with idle hands, while trying to kick substances, is that there are many temptations to fall off the wagon. During this time, my brother would ask if I would like to participate in his gaming sessions. At first, I would give my brother my usual answer of calling him a nerd. 

Pictured: My brother LARPing as a white nerd.

Addiction is a funny thing. The more time I spent alone, with my thoughts, the more I really wanted to get intoxicated. It got to the point where I was seriously considering huffing various household cleaners to get high. One night, after sweating out some addiction pains, my brother asked me again if I would like to play Dungeons & Dragons. Instead of my usual insult, I told him that I would. Surprised, and then a little excited, he said it would be a pleasure. I asked him if I needed anything. He had me covered and away we went.

My first night of D&D was a whirlwind of feelings. It was very overwhelming mix of awe, disdain, Mountain Dew, and wonder. There was about six other people, not including my brother and I. I didn't make a character as I was sitting in as an observer. Their party was fighting a very large Black Dragon (In D&D, dragons are color coded according to difficulty) while trying to cross a bottomless ravine. Said dragon had just melted their Dwarven Cleric down into a puddle of goo. The group spent most of the night arguing about what was the next action to take. Now I have to state that this is all going on in the players' imagination. None of what I described was visible. It was all taking place in their heads and on the calculations they were pounding out on the character sheets. My thought was how great this game would be if the players were on some hallucinogenic.

"I cast Magic Missile, man.

The session finished late that night- around two in the morning. The group was very friendly and was curious about how the night went for me. I smiled and told them I would get back to them. My brother was pretty excited as this was one of the first nights we really spent together in a lot of years. Not wanting to break his heart, I told him I had fun. We went home and I went to bed, my head swimming with the night's events. Even though I didn't know what to think, Dungeons & Dragons gave me one thing I haven't had in a good month- an occupied mind.

The next morning, my brother and I talked about Dungeons & Dragons. I had a million questions about all the nuts and bolts of the game, which there are millions of them. My brother helped me roll up a character (a lizard man barbarian) and called his group about the newest addition to their party. They were all very excited. I found it funny that to join this gang, I would not have to be jumped in. Seemed like a pretty good deal to me. By that weekend, I was ready.

That weekend, we headed over to the game. I will admit, once I got over my initial embarrassment of role-playing as a giant club wielding, sass talking Barbarian which made the game was very enjoyable. My character killed a few bandits and got drunk with my fellow Dwarven Cleric, who was cured of his melted state. When the game was finished, I told the group that I had a great time and if they would have me, I would love to be a part of their group. I could see my brother swell with pride. Funny, I was happy to make my brother proud, even if it was playing a game of make-believe, fighting invisible monsters.

My Lizardman barbarian: Carlos Mencia.

At this time in my life, Dungeons & Dragons was a God send. It was the perfect game for an addict. D&D was complicated enough where it occupied my time and, more importantly, my mind. When I wasn't playing the game, I was thinking about future actions my character could take in any giving situation, or coming up with an interesting and engaging back story for my Druid. The bite of addiction was always there and would manifest itself in the nipping at the back of my mind, or getting chills and sweats as I was reading up on D&D supplemental books. As time went on, however, and my mind was filled with worlds of fantasy and adventure, the pain of my previous life was not as loud as it used to be.

My brother also got me into other various games. Warhammer 40k, a futuristic miniatures war game, that required one to not just buy the figures, but to build and paint them as well. This was another game that really helped as it took a lot of time to play. Magic the Gathering, a fantasy card game that is inhabited by spells and various monsters that are used to fight your opponent. Mordheim, which was Warhammer's fantasy cousin, that was a great blend of Dungeons & Dragons and Warhammer. These games were all great for keeping my body and mind busy.

Not only is Warhammer a fun game, it makes amazing heavy metal album covers.

Not only were these games amazing for letting me escape from the world I just left, but they helped develop attributes I had thought were long dormant. Ever since I was a little kid, I loved to write and create stories. My mom said that if I were to live back in the olden days, I would have been a great story-teller in my tribe. I use to write all the time and did so up until the moment when I was sixteen, and in a drunken rage, burned all my writings and stories. This was such a stupid decision and something I regret to this day. Playing Dungeons & Dragons forced my imagination to kick into overdrive, and reignited that spark to write and create. It felt like exercising a muscle that I had not worked in a long time, it burned and was sore the day after.

I cannot thank my brother enough for introducing me into the world of Dungeons & Dragons. Not wanting to sound melodramatic, but I would have died without it as I would have slipped back to drugs and entered the world of gangs once again. My brother was always there when I needed him most and he, and his nerdy game, saved me. I love him with all of my heart and no amount of thanks will ever express what him and his 'stupid game' have done for me. I would also like to thank the creators of D&D and all the people who contribute to it and have made it the game it is. They not only saved my life, but have given me a new outlook on life and have ignited my imagination and creativity.

History of drug abuse combined with imagination.

Mothers, You Can't Hustle a Hustla

My mom was the person who raised my brother and I. My dad left us when we were little and it was mi madre who raised us. A couple years after the exodus of my dad, I was around 13 and I was a total shit head. This was when I started running with the cholos and getting heavy into that lifestyle.

The book they wrote about my younger years.

Around this time my mom was reaching her breaking point. I don't blame her as I was being a hell raiser. Mom had enough and decided it was time to do something. After deciding what to do, she felt that military school was the answer. She started to do research into finding the right military school that used the most corporal punishment. This was before the Internet, so she had to actually write letters to places and use this strange device called the 'telephone.'

Now if I were actually sent to military school, these writings would not be here as I would have most likely have become a successful and contributing member to society. Alas, because my Mexican buddies taught me to be a good criminal, I never went.

"Sorry mom, I got crimes to commit/"

 One day, I came home from school and the house was quiet. I strained my ears and heard a voice coming from Mom's room. I tip toed to her door and could hear her gently sobbing. She was talking to someone about how she could not handle raising me and if she could get some literature on the disembodied voice's military school. My heart sank. How could I be a hustla if I went to military school? This threw a definite wrench in my plan.

The following day at school, I was trying to figure out how to avert my impending fate when I asked myself what would a real gangster do? After pondering this deep philosophical question, it hit me. I was usually the first to get home from the day's activities. Mom worked at a hotel and always came home about a half an hour after I did. Time for 'Operation Cholo Obstruction' would commence.

Averting punishment is always a good idea.

Once home, I grabbed the mail key and would run to the mailbox to see what arrived. After a week of this action, I finally hit pay dirt. The military school promotions started pouring in. The ads showed well dressed and proper children learning in their environment with slogans promising that my mind would be molded into something of worth. Yeah, my homies and I laughed at them too, so into the trash they went. Crisis averted.

Years later at a family dinner, Mom reminisced about the time she wanted to send me to military school. She always wondered what happened to the hundreds of leaflets she ordered. I smiled, took a drink from my soda, and told her my ingenious plan. Mom's eyes went wide and she hit me on the shoulder. She was shocked by my actions. We laughed about it and continued on with the dinner.

Any kids reading this; crime does pay.

I'm serious, it pays really well. Plus, guns!

Adventures in Cholo-land

Two of my homies, Crazy and Shorty, and I decided to go out cruising one night. We rolled some fat, choice blunts (giant marijuana cigarettes smoked by cholos) and took off into the night. That night was one of those nights that was pretty close to perfect. A Friday night, cool breeze, choice tunes, even better friends and cruising the streets reveling in the smoky bliss of our mistress Mary Jane. Like I said, basically perfect. We were listening to Bone Thugs-N-Harmony and generally having a great ol' time.

Enhances all past times.

With such a great night comes a price. Our time to pay up came when the cop car we drove passed rolled out from its parking spot and started following us. This became a huge problem. Reason being, Shorty had a warrant. Once the placa ran a check on Shorty, he was going to jail and since Crazy and I were both brown, we would probably be following suit.

Shorty was obviously a little perturbed. Complications further arose when Crazy revealed he was packing. Not a suit case, which would have been preferably, but he had a pistol. Now the mierda had hit the fan. We all started arguing what we should do. Act cool, which was my idea. Take off, which was Shorty's idea. Then you had Crazy's idea; which was to get into a shoot out. Crazy didn't get his name for using his Batman-like logic. The cop car crept closer. We got a little more agitated. Our perfect night was going south. Fast.

Good idea or greatest idea?

We did not know what to do with the roaches (for you who are good people with decent lives and a average IQ, roaches are what happens to a blunt when they are smoked down). That was when, as they say on the street, shit got real. The cop flipped his lights. Shorty started cursing a storm. Crazy pulled out his gun and cocked it. He was going to go down in a blaze of glory. I tried to calm them both down. The marijuana was huge a huge problem. We couldn't just throw them outside as the cop may see them and that would have added to our dilemma. If there was no roach, we may be able to get off. Thankfully, the drugs gave me a brilliant idea.

I screamed to Crazy and Shorty to give me their roaches. They stopped yelling, turned to me and thrust their roaches into my shaky hands. Staring down at the roaches, I let out a sigh. My two hermanos stopped all yelling and watched as my brilliant plan unfold. I gulped, told them they owed me huge and went through with it.

I threw the roaches in my mouth. Chewed twice and swallowed.

Just like momma use to make.

With the lights of the cop car forgotten, they both watched in a mix of shock and mild amusement. I gagged at the taste of the burnt reefer. We then all braced ourselves for the ensuing storm. That was when our night went from terrible back to perfect. The cop changed lanes and shot passed us. There must have been something more important happening that night in Desert, Utah. Shorty pulled over to the side and we all watched the police vehicle disappear into the night. I started laughing hard and loud. The kind of laughing that hurts your back. Shorty and Crazy joined in and soon, our car erupted with laughter.

When it calmed down, Shorty made the proposal that we go back to the crib and smoke some more herb, since the events of the night had totally destroyed our high. Crazy and I looked to each other and agreed. Another round of smoke would definitely calm our nerves. We drove off into the night to get deep once again.

"We have learned nothing!"

The Joys of Dogness

On one gloomy fall day Wifey (formally known as Future Wife) and I decided to take a trip to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary. We wanted to check out a few of the dogs that the rescue had. A dog has been on our list of 'things we want' since we were married. Fate, and more importantly, finances, had allowed us to finally get a dog. Wifey had done hours of research trying to find the perfect dog. She had been corresponding with Best Friends and narrowed it down to three dogs. Those three dogs were what we were off to drive an hour and a half to see. We really wanted a dog.

Like Disney Land, this place makes me happy and cry all at once.

We arrived at the tour center and told the lovely ladies what we there to do, and who we were there to see. One dog that stuck out to us was a Pit Bull mix named Honey Bun who we chose because of my love for both sweet pastries and adorable dogs. The ladies lit-up when they heard her name, and exclaimed to us how amazing of a dog she was. This filled our hearts with joy. They pointed us where to go, Dog Town, and away we went.

Pulling in to Dog Town, we heard the cacophony of barking. We wondered if one of those loud cries would be the perfect dog. We met with Kristi, who was happy to put a face to Wifey's letters. Kristi informed us that we would meet Honey Bun first. She took us to the little office and we met both Tim (the dog trainer), and Jacqui (who had been Honey Bun's caregiver for her time there). They were very nice and told us that we would love Honey Bun. I was a bit skeptical, as was Wifey. We chatted about the usual small talk subjects; our situation, school careers and work schedules. Finally, they brought out Honey Bun.

Both our hearts melted.

My usual icy heart after seeing our new dog. You win this time dog.

Out trotted this beautiful, light brown furred, golden eyed Adonis of a dog. Wifey went to her knees and began to hug her. Wifey then made a decision- we were taking Honey Bun home. I knew picking a dog named after food was a good idea. She was going to be our dog. What surprised us was how willing the staff was to let us take her home that day. After a long deliberation of about three seconds, we decided to adopt Honey Bun.

The staff was excited. They informed us that before we could take her, Honey Bun had to greet the next round of tourists. Honey Bun was a celebrity on the grounds of Best Friends and she greeted the tourists with her lovable, fuzzy, meatball head. They asked if we could hold off for about an hour and half so that the staff would have time to say goodbye. We decided to kill time back in the little town of Kanab. We checked the local sites and after what felt like an eternity, we went back up.

It felt manly, yet classy.

Wifey wanted to take the tour of Best Friends. I wanted to take our new dog home, but agreed. We went on the tour. While I will admit, it was very enjoyable, but I wanted to take Honey Bun home. When it was finished, we drove back up to Dog Town and filled out the required paper work. We had our pictures taken and the staff had their teary goodbye with the star of Best Friends. We finally were able to take our sweet little girl home.

The ride home was smooth and easy. Honey Bun was great the whole ride back to St. George. I will admit, that on the ride home, I felt a little bad. We fell absolutely in love with Honey Bun and did not bother to look at the other dogs. When we got her home, she was a bit anxious, and nervous. She would pace back and forth. Even though she was not use to the new environment and liked to chew on some of our electronic items, we were head over heels in love with her.

"Why yes, I am a huge beaner. You can tell by the case of refried beans in the corner."

She has grown accustomed to us and her new home. The love my wife and I have for her has grown more then I ever thought possible. Honey Bun is the perfect dog. I cannot picture my life without her goofy face. I just hope I can bring a fraction of joy into her life as she has brought to mine. Yes, I am a giant gay.

Fun with Racist Old Men

A couple months ago during the summer, which in Desert, Utah they are hotter than the middle pits of hell, I was driving around  running errands and listening to my tunes. After an hour of driving in my sauna, I decided it was time to take a break and get a drink. Before I pulled in, a song came up on my MP3 player that always makes me smile.

DVD Fun Fact: I love Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch's "Good Vibrations."

Be still my beating heart.

This is probably one of the worst songs ever made. It is cheesy, goofy and it is 'sung' by Mark Wahlberg before he was an amazing actor. Never the less, it is one of my favorite songs. I pulled into the gas station and hopped out. I was still smiling and humming Mr. Wahlberg's ridiculous shanty and walked in.

Inside the gas station was the usual cast of characters; creepy milk lady, toothless hobo picking out beer, and grumpy ol' veteran. The lady working the counter was short, surly and Native. I understood, she worked an awful job that paid little money. Typical Native job. After checking out the cast of characters in the joint, I walked back to the pop (what brown people call soda) and grabbed me an ice cold Coke. I stopped by the nut section and thought about grabbing a bag of peanuts, but decided against making my drink extra classy.

"Hello again."

I mosey'd on up to the counter, still grinning like an idiot over that amazing ballad, and planted my pop on the counter. Standing next to me was the Veteran Vick grumbling about the Jews and how they have made gum so expensive. As Native Checker rang me up, I noticed that the Veteran Vick kept eyeballing and I would steal a couple glances. Vick finally said something;

"You sure smile a lot for an Indian."

I am FUELED by racism!

Native Checker and I both stopped what we were doing and looked at each other. We saw the twinkle in each others eyes, recognizing that we have been through this kind of racism before. Or because we were both drunk on hand sanitizer. Whatever.

Luckily Native Checker had my back and she ripped into Veteran Vick with her sing songy rez accent, who I could tell they knew each other.

"Vick, you stupid old bastard. Indians can smile too! White people don't own smiles."

I started laughing, put my hand on Veteran Vick's shoulder and told him that we can laugh too. Vick was upset and stormed out, mumbling out racial slurs. Native Checker and I shared in the laughter. One thing that unites Indians is humiliation of white people.

"This racism is killing us inside!"

iPhone 5 vs Galaxy 3S: Cruise Control

This was an assignment I wrote for class a couple weeks ago. I figured I would post it because it is filled with witty remarks and poop jokes. Enjoy!

Pictured: Comedy

I must state this before I get started: I could really care less about both of these phones. I don't own a smart phone and don't ever really care to own one. I know a lot of my friends have been giddy with joy over the iPhone 5 and who love their Galaxy 3s. I am not one of those people. I talked to one of my friends who is way hip to these gizmoboxes.

After deciphering the squeals and giggles from my Apple Fanboy friend, apparently the iPhone 5 is 'kewl' because it will be a lot slimmer than previous iPhones. He made sure to point out the iPhone 5 is a "full millimeter less than the Samsung Galaxy S3 - which is 8.6mm thick." I told him my brick phone is the size of my head, but got great reception, had amazing battery life that lasted three days, made actual real calls, and could be used as a weapon. He was not amused.

Navajo Warclub made by Motorola.

He than told me that the iPhone 5 was 'super awesome' because the screen will be "4in display of 1,136 x 640 pixels." Where the 'pooptacular' Galaxy S3 has a screen display of 4.8 in display. Which he than complained was to wide for his baby like hands. I nodded grimly and asked him to tell me more.

He was a little worried though that the Galaxy S3 may be a tad more powerful than the iPhone 5. I told him I really didn't care, but he explained that the Samsung Galaxy S3 uses the Exynos 4412 chip, which has four cores and runs at 1.4GHz, but the Galaxy S3 also is stupid and smells like poop. He told me that Apple usually keeps their specs pretty close to the chest, not revealing them till its released. He than dreamily looked up to the stars and wondered what the iPhone 5 would have. From what he muttered, it would probably be better than the Galaxy S3 and that would turn into a robot with Steve Jobs' face and be your best friend forever. Instead of writing down what he said, I smoked a cigarette. I don't even smoke, but I decided now would be great time to start.

The iPhone 5 really IS amazing and not disrespectful at all!

 He kept yammering on about how the iPhone 5 rejected the 30-pin connector used across iPods, iPads and iPhones in favour of a much-smaller 8-pin model which apperently was 'earth-shattering.' I prayed for death's sweet embrace, but it never came. I sighed. He than told me that the Galaxy S3 had a different approach and lets you use microSD cards and uses the microUSB standard. 'If you're into that,' he remarked.

I had about all I could take. I thanked him for his time and left him as he was still talking about how great Apple was. For all I know, he is still their talking about it. I than went back to the rock I live under and wrote this report with sticks and mud. I uploaded it by strapping it to a homing pigeon and sent it to the nearest center with 'Interwebs.'

"Did I say rock? I meant more of a mud hut."

Native Shenanigans, My Wife, and Me.

I am married to a pretty wonderful gal. She is a great sport and puts up with a lot of my crap. Trust me, I have lots to spare. I owe her so much that I could never pay her back in this lifetime. I am up to my eyeballs in debt to her. Now that I have said that about her, it is time to get into more debt.

Long ago on a cold fall night, back when we were dating, I picked up Future Wife from her job at a horrible place where she took pictures of other people's horrible offspring. I think it was called 4th Circle of Hell or Kiddie Kandids. Something to that effect. Anywho, we decided to go on a spur of the moment date. I told her one of my favorite things to do in the winter in Desert, Utah, is to go driving at night when it is really cold. I like to get a Coke and peanuts (aaayyy!) and listen to good tunes. This intrigued Future Wife and she decided she would like to accompany me. So I picked her up, we got our supplies and away we went into the cold night.

Guaranteed to make any date more romantic.

We drove around in the arid Siberian for a while. We talked about whatever was on our mind. Family, friends, movies, whateves. We drove to the top of this mountain over looking the city. Desert, Utah is beautiful at night in the winter. One of my favorite things to behold. We cuddled up together, heater humming and Al Green crooning about getting married. 

Future Wife began to shiver. That is one thing about Future Wife, she gets cold really easy. Like frustratingly easy. I took off a swig of my Coke and peanuts, removed my jacket and offered it to her. She protested and gave me every reason why she should not take it. Another thing about Future Wife, she has this problem  with taking things. Good thing I am bigger. I forced it on her. She wouldn't admit it, but she felt warm. It was a perfect night. The ones that only come around every so often.

It was now time for me to ruin it.

Ruin the evening as bad as Johnny Depp ruined Indians.

A car zoomed behind us. Al Green was replaced by the Temptations. Future Wife asked me if I was cold. I told her that I was perfectly fine. She couldn't believe me, so she asked again why I was not cold. The reason, I explained with my far off distant expression, was because I had the spirit of the buffalo coursing through my veins. That because of the Indian ceremony I performed, I was granted the gift of warmth.

She bought it. Hook line and sinker.

I can see why she did. Future Wife has never really been exposed to Native Americans and their ways were a complete mystery to her. She also didn't know that Indians love to play jokes. Especially Navajos. Especially me. I think I listened to one to many stories about Coyote, the Ashton Kutcher of Navajo lore who Punk'd all the other spirits and deities.

You got served!

For a couple weeks, Future Wife bought the spirit of the buffalo. She told her family and friends (mostly white) about the power of Native Magicks. Every time she did, my smile grew more and more. I was basically the Cheshire Cat. Another thing about Indians and their wacky shenanigans is that we love to pull one over on white people. I would even conjecture that it is the national Native American past time.

On another cold day, Future Wife and I were hanging out at her place on her couch. She was wishing she had the spirit of the buffalo. I looked down and when I saw her face, I knew I had to fess up. She genuinely wished she had. For realsies. With a sigh, I told Future Wife I had something to tell her.

I than told her that the spirit of the buffalo was a total sham. I had made it up because my participation in the furthering of playing pranks of whites had gotten the best of me. When I finished, her face was red with embarrassment and the wind had been taken out of her sails. Maybe the wind spirits were getting in on the fun.

Wind spirits. Man those guys are cocks.

I felt like crap.

I apologized to her profusely. That it was just a joke and I did not know that she would buy it. I mean, spirit of the buffalo? Come on. She then excused me of calling her stupid. I was losing ground. Fast. The next thing I told her was that I would do anything to make it up to her. Future Wife smiled a wry smile and told me she thought of a way.

The next week I was having Thanksgiving with her family. Now, her immediate family is probably twice the size of my entire family. So there I was, in the middle of a large group of people with yelling and screaming children.

They also made me sit on the floor.

Well played Future Wife. Well played.

Exclaimer: If you are Cherokee, chances are, you are not Indian.

A long time ago, I use to work at KB Toys. This was actually a great job, it was fun, cake, and my boss, Toyman, and I were really good friends. Out of the eight people who worked at KBs, six of us were Navajos. Our KB Toys was totally rez'd out, which is the Indian equivilant of driving a lifted Dodge Ram with truck nutz. Like I said, this job was awesome.

Welcome to KB Toys, bra.

So one day, Toyman and I were working on a beautiful summer night and were trying to get finished as fast as we can so we could go and party. Rez Style. Toyman was closing out a register while I was pulling in our miles of promotional items from outside. One rule of retail: when one is trying to get out of their store in a hurry, that is when the worst customers come in to take all of one's time. I was about finished and then, sure enough, a haggard station wagon pulls up. I prayed to the spirits of the earth that these people would forget they left their oven on and leave.

The spirits of the earth do not care what I think.

The station wagon turned off and out rolled two dirty hippies. Not only are these two going to keep us a little bit longer, but they were disgusting hippies to boot. Earth Mother smiled at me, revealing her aversion to toothpaste and simple dental techniques, and waddled up to me.

Hey maaaan, can we harsh your mellow?

"Are you still open? We will only be a minute."

I looked back at the store with the one door open. I sighed and told her that we were open for another five minutes. This was all she needed and rushed into the store. Earth Mother's life partner, I know they were not married because 'That's how they track you, man,' Green Man, put his hand on my left shoulder and I caught his smile through his gray beard. Green Man rubbed his pot belly under his tye dyed shirt.

"Thanks a lot, brother."

I gave him a sheepish smile because I did not want to get felt up by this obviously pedophilia hippy. Green Man than trucked into the store and found Earth Mother. I cursed to my self and brought in the last of the stuff. I than stood by the register so I could quickly ring them up and get out of here so Toyman and I could get down.

Come on. That alcohol is not going to drink itself.

I will have to give those grubby hippies credit, they definitely got their purchases quickly. Earth Mother put her items on the counter and I began to ring them up. Green Man than asked me a question;

"Are you Native American brother?"

This is one question that Natives do not like to hear. Reason being, it is either asked because the person does not like Indians and it will end in a brawl or they love Native Americans and they inform us how much they love us. This usually ends in a brawl also. I let out a sigh and answered that yes, I am part Native American. Both of their eyes lit up.

I want to tell you EVERYTHING.

 One thing that happens to Native Americans quite often, is that once it is out of the bag that they are exposed as being Indigenous, other people must tell them that they are part Indian.

DVD Fun Fact: I hate hearing how much 'Indian' someone is. So I did not want to hear how much 'Native' flowed through this grimy gypsy's veins.

"I am part Indian too."

She smiled. I rolled my eyes and feigned enthusiasm. She was delighted by my approval. I than asked her if she was Cherokee.

"Why yes, I am 1/8 Cherokee! How did you know?"

DVD Fun Fact #2: Everyone is Cherokee. I always found the fact that everyone is Cherokee fascinating. The only reason I can come up with is that Cherokees were the sluts of the Indian Nations.

The Cherokee Nation: Givin it out for free since 1743.

About this time, Toyman came up from the back and saw the two hippies and then got a bit angry. These two were cutting into our drinking time. I looked back to him and smiled. I then informed her that Native Americans instinctively know when another is an Indian and that we can even tell what tribe they are. Toyman's eyes went wide. Thankfully they must have both abused many illicit drugs because they both believed me. If I only told her that the wind told me, she probably would have defecated a five pound canary.

They both thanked me for letting them in and left. Earth Mother had a spring in her step. Toyman walked up and we both started laughing. He mentioned that I would probably be going to hell. We closed up the store and did what most Indians do; drove to Nevada, bought a lot of alcohol and drove home while drinking it. 

Toyman and I on a Friday night.