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.

'You Stole my Land' and Other Great Excuses

As I have stated before in other stories, when I was younger I really loved me some marijuana. I would smoke all the time. I would smoke in between classes, after school, in a box (really), and with a fox. After saying that, here comes another tale from the book of weed.

98% of my high school career.

One beautiful sunny day in high school, I was sitting in my Psychology class waiting for the day to end. My teacher, the long legged Fire Bush, sashayed into class clutching a stack of papers warm from the copier;

"Afternoon class. I hope you are ready for the test on chapters two and five?"

The class let out a collective groan. Fire Bush assured us it would be alright. I, however, completely forgot about the test and did not study. I knew a great way to help with my studying habits, but I had to get out of class for a few minutes. My hand shot up. Fire Bush rolled her eyes which, looking back, I understand. I was a little shit.

You Indians must have small bladders.

"What is it now?"

I explained that I had to go to the bathroom. Fire Bush sighed.

"Class just started. You should have went in between classes."

I then told her how I did not have time to use the bathroom because my car ran out of gas, I didn't have a clean pair of clothes, and my mom just died. After my machine gun excuses, Fire Bush let me go. I rushed to the bathroom.

Instead of going to the bathroom right next to Fire Bush's class, I ran down to the secluded bathroom at the end of the school. I peaked my head in. Empty. I than walked in and checked the stalls. When I finished my thorough check, I got into one of the stalls and pulled out a joint from my pocket. I lit it up and got deep. I hid the smoke by blowing it down a the flushing toilet. Because physics. After getting good a blazed I returned to class.

In this story, I am played by James Franco.

I opened the door and Fire Bush glared at me for taking longer than I should have. I smiled at her, took my test and sat down. The next four minutes comprised of me starring at the test thinking about how I wished I had some Laffy Taffy. It than hit me; I did not know any of the answers. Mary Jane lied to me. She did not give me any of the answers she promised me. This means I would have to take drastic measures.

Sitting next to me was my a good friend of mine, Rock Band. Rock Band was a really good LDS kid who knew I was a total druggie, gang banger, burn out, but always helped me with my school work and always bummed me a dollar. Rock Band was what all Mormons should be; caring and tolerant. Now it was time for me to take advantage of his hospitality.

I leaned towards Rock Band and started copying his answers. Rock Band knew what I was doing, probably could tell I was under the influence, but moved his paper toward me so I could get a better gander at his answers. I helped myself.

Studying is for chumps and white kids with bright futures.

Just before I finished the test, I felt someone standing over me. I don't know if it was because I was higher than a kite, but I swore I felt the heat radiating from Fire Bush's, well, fire bush. I slowly turned around and looked up at Fire Bush, towering over me with a stern look on her face.

"Are you CHEATING?!"

Fire Bush shrieked. I did not know how to respond. Rock Band tried to explain to Fire Bush that it was his fault and he let me cheat. Rock Band is a great guy. Fire Bush dismissed Rock Band's remarked.

Her anger burned like her fiery bush.

 
"Rock Band, you don't have to cover for him. I know he STOLE your answers."

Fire Bush than preceded to get up in my grill. She wanted to know why I stole Rock Band's answers. The whole class stopped working and watched the drama unfold. This was a problem. I will break it down for you in a math problem:

Me + Intoxication + Audience = Total Dick Bag

Fire Bush asked me again why I stole Rock Band's answers. I looked to Rock Band, who gave me a pleading smile, probably because he knew I was about to do something stupid. Sorry Rock Band. I than looked up at Fire Bush and answered;

"Well, the white man stole my land, so I figured it was fair for me to steal his answers."

Thanks to my ancestors genocide and forced removal, I can pass high school!

Rock Band shook his head, stifling a laugh. Then, the whole class started laughing, which meant I had them. Fire Bush lost. Fire Bush looked around to the class, who then stopped laughing. Looking back, I feel a little bad. Fire Bush was a public school teacher and was not paid enough to deal with this kind of crap. She was at a loss for words. She stuttered and finally chocked out:

"I-I... Go to the vice principal's office!"

I smiled and got up. I waved to the class, which got more laughs and angered Fire Bush, and walked down to the vice principal's office. When I got there, the Vice Principal just got off the phone with Fire Bush. He looked at me, smiled and shook his head. Because of my shenanigans, we knew each other pretty well.

"Welcome back. I heard what you said."

I shrugged with my shit eating grin. Vice Principal laughed.

I'm smiling because you'll be dead in three years.

"Just so you know, I have to suspend you for the rest of the day since you cheated. No biggie. Just don't do it again. Enjoy the rest of your day."

I than asked him if I could use the restroom before I left. He said yes and I ran to the secluded bathroom, checked out the room and lit up.

My Gay Friend Violates Me and we all Learn a Valuable Lesson.

Amy Blowfish is one of my best friends. We have worked together on movies and projects and have become close in the last four years. Amy Blowfish is more like a brother to me than a friend. I love him and wish him well on his journeys. On that note, Amy Blowfish is probably the gayest person I have ever met.

Pictured: Amy Blowfish with his famous catchphrase.

On one beautiful summer evening, I get a call from Amy Blowfish. He is a little bit drunk, but that is per the usual on a lovely night. Although on this night, Amy has been hitting the boxed wine a bit hard.

"Hey Big Mountain (his Indian name for me), I need you to do me a solid."

I was not doing much with my time and I told him I would.

"Hot. I need you to call me in like ten minutes. I got this new phone and wanted to set up all the shit for it. If it goes to voice mail, just keep calling."

Nothing but class.

Seemed easy enough. I told him I would.

"Thanks baby! Welp, momma needs some more wine. BYE!"

Amy Blowfish hung up and I grabbed a soda. I waited a moment and saw it was time to call. I gave Amy a ring and after a couple minutes it went to voice mail. I hung up and dialed again. Voice mail. I tried one more time and it did the same as before. After fulfilling Amy's request I went about my evening and about five minutes later I got this text:

Nothing can go wrong.

"thanks fro the call sugar! You made my night! ;)"

I did not know what I did, but was happy I could help Amy Blowfish with his request.

The next day, Amy Blowfish showed up to my house and let himself in, as he usually did. I greeted him with a soda and we sat down to shoot the scheisse. He showed me his new phone, which was this really skinny slim phone that he said was alright, but had a great vibration function. We then talked about the usually run of topics; old people that freaked Amy out, movies, gay things, and whatever.

The subjects of our conversations.

 After our conversation, I asked him what he needed with the calls last night. Amy Blowfish's face erupted into a cheshire smile. He looked around the room as if someone was listening in and than leaned in; 

"Just to let you know, my ass gets great reception." 

Verizion: Fulfilling Butt Desires.

I was a bit confused. Amy Blowfish cackled and swished out the door. After thinking about it for a moment, it hit me. Amy Blowfish molested me via his phone. I was an unwilling participant in his hot and dirty sexual exploits. I felt used and ashamed. I than took a long shower and cried. 

I wish I could quit you.

 

I Fight a Giant Samoan. Guess What Happens?

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Breaking Cultural Taboos can be Fun!

In the winter of 2006, my grandma (Ma) passed away from a combination of a broken hip, diabetes and old age. Needless to say, it was pretty bummer of a time. We had her viewing on a cold and rainy evening. There was not too many of us there, just my mom my brother, my uncle, and the mortuary people and I.

My mom and I did not want to view Ma's corpse, it felt a little to surreal that she passed. The thing about Ma was she helped raised my siblings and I. She acted as a second mother to us and was very caring. On the other hand, Ma could also be a world class witch. There were times my mother and I could not wait for the day she went the way of the earth. We all joked, wished and prayed for her passing. My mom and my sister wanted to tell Ma off for all the heartache she had caused us throughout the years. Yes, my family is terrible people.

Pictured: My family being terrible. 

My mother and I strolled up to her body, confident in the fact that we were going to laugh and probably do a dance right in front of Ma's body. When we got up to the casket and saw Ma's body, so small and fragile, we did not cuss her out or light her on fire. We did the exact opposite. We felt horrible for having those feelings and ashamed of all the acts we wanted to do, such as the dancing. My mom, who had years of anger, resentment and sorrow built up within her, let it all out through the tears now streaming down her face. My mom, broke down crying.

We were crying because someone littered. 

DVD fun fact; seeing my mom cry makes me weep like a baby. My mom and I  held each other and rained our sadness. We cried for a good five minutes on the fact that we will never see Ma ever again. No more taking trips to the fruit stand. No more Sundays eating her plain, watery beans and doughy fry bread. No more songs of sunshine. After we finished our good cry, we hugged and talked about all the good times and silly things Ma would do.

Now, I will admit, on that night I was a little bit high. The stress of Ma's death, which made our family even tinier, was a lot. I met my family at the funeral home, I burned one in the parking lot before I went in. Even though it helped me relax a bit, the thought of all the emotions and reality of the situation did not let me enjoy the fancies of THC. After saying this, it in no way excuses my following behavior.

Or great excuse?

While looking over Ma's brittle body, I let go of my mom and reached out for Ma's hand. I squeezed the waxy, cold appendage that was once Ma's strong, earthy hand. My mom smiled at my gesture and another tear ran down her cheek. It was at this moment that I stared at Ma's nose. After staring for a moment and listening to the Devil that was most likely whispering insane dark promptings to me, I put my finger in Ma's nostril.

My mom's eyes went wide with equal parts shock, terror and rage. She than punched me on the shoulder. Not slapped, no, my mom was a Marine. She straight up socked me.

My mom than pulled her saber. 

"What the HELL is WRONG with you?!"

In my slightly drug addled brain, I did not understand why mom was so upset. My actions made perfect sense. To understand my mom's anger, let me break something down for ya'll. In Navajo culture, dead bodies and other necrotastic objects are a huge no no. One does not touch them or associate with them in any way. We are not even really allowed to talk about the dead. Me on the other hand, forgetting thousands of years of traditions and social norms, did just what one does not do.

Thankfully, my mom is pretty liberal and let it slide. We laughed about it later that evening. If my uncle ever found out, however, he would have shot me.

Navajo Culture and Ma's furious ghost got back at me in a huge way. Ma's burial was in New Mexico on family land. Mom, my brother and I loaded up the car and were heading down later that week. While driving through Polygamistville, Arizona, our car was T-boned by a polygamist in his A-Team van. Karma can be a bitch.

Navajo Tradition: 1 Me: 0