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!"