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 

Mommas, Teach Your Boys How to Fight.

A long while ago I worked at a CD store called Sam Goody. The job was cake and the people I worked with were awesome. The only problem I had with it was the customers. I hate customers. They make most jobs awful.

One night, I was closing by myself and there were two young bros in the store acting like little dickheads, the way young bros do. I was very perturbed by them as it was about time to close and they were just messing around because they apparently had nothing else to do on a Saturday night. I was finally sick of their young shenanigans and told them they needed to leave.

Pictured: Shenanigans.

Bro 1 was very upset that I asked him to stop acting like a frenzied mongoloid and got into my face about it.

"You got something to say to me, bro?"

It was 8:58 and I had worked my second job landscaping that morning. I was very tired and really wanted to go home and smoke some choice wacky tobacky (I used to do drugs back then. Sorry mom.) I tried to explain that  I did not have anything to say to him and I'm sorry if I upset him. Bro 1 must have misconstrued my fatigue for cowardice as I could see him getting off on the power he had over me. Bro 2, who was the lesser of the bros, told Bro 1 that he should lay off and they should bounce. Before they left, Bro 1 turned to me and said,

"If I see you outside; it's on."

I told him he would never see me outside of this store for the rest of his life because I really just wanted to relax. Bro 1 smiled and they left. I shut the store down and saw I needed to take out the trash. I would have left it, but it was overflowing with price stickers, broken CDs and take-out food. This trash could not be ignored. I slowly waddled over to the trash, gathered it up and shuffled out the back to the giant, metal, disgusting compactors.

Sanctuary.

The night air felt refreshing after being in the stuffy CD store and I took a deep breath to savor this small moment and than forgot the rotting grease trap sat out here. Hooray. I walked to the compactor and threw in the trash to feed the dumpster monster. Than I heard a voice from behind me.

"What the hell, bro?"

I let out a sigh and turned around. It was the Brotastic Brothers. Bro 1 was smiling at the thought of giving me a wedgie or feeling me up or whatever it is bros do. They both strutted over to me. Now, I am a pretty big guy and I could tell that Bro 2 could see this and tried to talk his master out of throwing down. Bro 1, however, was blinded by testosterone and wanted to 'bro-down' so hard I could taste the Ax Body Spray oozing from his pheromone holes.

Now I was a bit upset. I really did not want to fight some young punk who wanted to prove how hard his dick swayed. I explained to him that I did not want to fight and that it was a waste of all our times. Bro 1 was angered by this.

"No way asshole. We are doing this!"

Come at me bro.

I let out a sigh and prepared myself for the ensuing fight. Bro 1 was pretty ripped looking and probably worked out quite a bit. I have been in many fights in my life and after sizing this kid up, I knew it was probably going to be a challenge. It was at this moment that God shined upon me,  Bro 1 made his fists. This is where I knew that this fight would end very early, for you see, when making a fist to fight, you never, ever, put your thumb in your fist. Bro 1, however, did just that.

We squared off and I told Bro 1 that we did not have to do this. Bro 2 seconded my plan. Bro 1 told us we were both female reproductive organs. I shrugged and figured if this was going to happen, may as well have some fun, so I egged Bro 1 on by calling him colorful names and guessed his sexual orientation. Bro 1 was seeing red and came at me. He swung his wrongfully formed fist and I stood there and took it.

This how you do not throw a punch.

Bro 1's fist slammed into my face and I heard a large crack. I have to admit, Bro 1 hit me pretty hard and if he knew what he were doing, this would have been a pretty good scrap. After the crack, Bro 1 stumbled back and started to scream in pain, his thumb was completely broken. Bro 2 rushed over to his stupid comrade. Bro 1 yelled at me and asked me what I did to him. I told him that he broke his thumb and he needs to get to the hospital. Against my better judgement, I helped him.

I went into the mall to the Orange Julius where I knew the girl. I asked her for a big cup of ice and she obliged. I took it back to the bros and told Bro 1 that he needs to put his thumb in that and to get to the hospital. Bro 2 helped him back to their car and I returned to finish up the store.

Helping the injured since 2004

A week later, Bro 2 came into the store and thanked me for helping them out and for not beating the ever living crap out of them. I told him it was no biggie as I really don't like jail and that he should tell his friend to learn how to fight before he starts one. He laughed about it and left.

I Go Location Scouting and Get Shot at. Hilarity Ensues.

I am a film student at Desert State College in Desert, Utah. I wrote a script a while back that had a scene with a underground bare-knuckle boxing match which needed a setting to match how bad ass it was. Luckily, my buddy Scarecrow's pop owned a gravel pit. The idea of shooting in a gravel pit had me watering at the mouth. Scarecrow told me to meet him at the Costco that Saturday and he would drive us out there.

Saturday rolls around and about 11 in the AM, I meet up with him. We hop in his jeep and away we drive towards the gravel pit. The whole time, we are talking about the movie, as Scarecrow is my main actor, and we are both thoroughly pumped. We arrive at the barred off gravel pit entrance. The two of us get out of the jeep, jump the bar, and start exploring. Needless to say, the pit is fantastic. There were so many places that would be great to stage a knock-down-drag-out-fisticuffs session that every Irishman from here to Dublin would be dancing a merry ol' jig. 

Actual screen shot from our movie.

After about a half hour of exploring and imaginations fitting to burst, we decide to head out. While walking back, we see a truck racing down the hill towards our general direction. The two of us think nothing of it and keep walking. Soon the giant Ford screeches to a halt in front of us as to cut off our path and, with a thud, steps a man that is basically a dime store knock off Stone Cold Steve Austin. 

Get off my lawn.

Scarecrow and I say hello, but are quickly interrupted.

“What the hell are you two doing here?”

Clay Freeze Sven Ashton barks. Scarecrow attempts to talk, but Clay Freeze Sven Ashton keeps barking the same question and promptly informs us that we are trespassing on private property. Scarecrow tells Clay Freeze that we are film students just location scouting and that Scarecrow's step dad owns this here gravel pit and all Clay Freeze needs to do is call him. To bad logic and reasoning only anger Clay Freeze Sven Ashton who than tells us that he can legally shoot us if he wanted.

The joke was on him. We can't read.

Scarecrow again says that his step father owns the gravel pit. Clay Freeze, frenzied by the thought that he may be able to legally kill us, asks Scarecrow which pit is own by Daddy Dearest. Scarecrow answers that where we have been walking is owned by his pops. A wry smile peeks out from Clay Freeze's mustache as he waves to us and utters a low:

“Goodbye.”

Scarecrow and I look at each other and start walking away. Behind us we can here Clay Freeze Sven Ashton calls Step Dad, gets a voice mail and demands that he call him back to tell him what the hell is going on. I ask Scarecrow if his step father usually employs psychopaths and wannabe wrestlers and Scarecrow responds with a shrug. That is when the gun goes off.

Kind of like this only way less awesome.

We both turn around and see Clay Freeze pointing his .44 magnum at us and fires another round in our general direction. What Stone Cold's mongoloid brother does not know is that Scarecrow and I have been shot at before by people scarier than he. The two of us shrug our shoulders and keep walking slowly at our normal pace and let out a chuckle at the idea that Clay Freeze probably has a below average sized wiener. Looking back, insulting a man with a large hand canon was probably not the smartest idea, but who said that Scarecrow and I were ever that smart? Well, our mommas say we're smart, but that is about it. 

 The two of us strut back up the hill to the jeep as Clay Freeze Sven Ashton fires the remaining five shots at us. A couple of the bullets even whizzed by us. We finally arrived at the jeep and got in. Up from the pit barrels Clay Freeze's truck who than stops at the gate. While backing out, Clay Freeze points the gun at us the entire time we are leaving. We drove away and went to get lunch. The two of us laughed about the whole ordeal over burritos after wards. Film making sure is fun. 

PTSD? Cured.