Que, en las diez putas, me va a dejar tener una vida tranquila? Q' se yo. anoche tuvimos otra pelea. mi senora se enojo conmigo porque yo anduve de mal humor. paso los dias limpiando la casa, haciendo que la nena de once mantenga sus pavadas dentro de su cuarto, y cuando veo que trajeron mas cosas del sotano, no me encontre de buen humor. apenas mantenemos la casa limpia. y solo soy yo que lo limpia noventa porciento del tiempo. ya veo que las cosas se van a desparemar por la casa, y sera mas para limpiar.
mi senora saco la basura, y dice que ella tambien hace limpieza. limpio el bano el otro dia. solo es la segunda vez desde que llegamos en esta casa. wow. que tal. tanto trabajo. me reto, diciendome que prefiere jugar con los ninos, en vez de limpiar. y que, con tanto que duerme? duerme mas que los muertos. yo solo duermo dos o tres horas diarias, porque trabajo de noche, para que la familia no tendra que tener otra multa que pagar con mandar a los ninos a una ninera. mi senora dijo, "no fue mi idea que trabajes de noche", puta madre man. no se puede ganar.
y, ademas, ella busco este blog, para que pudiera saber las cosas que escribo. asi que, adios, porque este blog esta... COMPROMISED. ciao, y buena suerte. ojala no me meto el coete dentro de la boca, y hasta luego, no?
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
relationships and marriage, frustrating almost 100% of the time...
I have been married for quite a few years now, and I simply adore my wife. I would not want anyone else, and I am constantly telling people how I have the better end of the deal...
Since I got married, I have been told that I flirt with women. I have tried to get along socially, and I smile alot with people when I speak to them, and unfortunately it comes across as flirtatious.
It has caused some serious arguments between my wife and I.
Finally, I began to completely ignore females, and when I did talk to them, I made a point of being a jerk. No smiles, all serious and the ultimate professional. Head clean shaven, giving an aggressive look that people avoid. Then I became labeled as "a jerk" by my administrators.
My wife now has my hair grown out, wants me to be nice to everyone (men and women), and claims that she does not care if I maintain female friends. Every female (since this epiphany of hers) that I have befriended, has been scrutinized, and if she isn't gay, then I get criticized, belittled, made to feel that I am going to "cheat" on her, and so on-so forth.
I have been made to feel guilty, so that I constantly telling her who I speak to, what we speak about, and what the response is. All of this to avoid having her think I am hiding something from her. But all I get is accused of searching out female affection. So, then I don't tell her, and she accuses me of hiding shit. WTF?
I find some kid who is 18 flirts with her on her MySpace page (I fuckin' hate myspace), and she hides it from me, but I'm the asshole. whatever. She gets text messages from Douche Bag, and he sent her a pic of himself, as well. She spends more time on the compluter than she does talking to me, and if I ever want to know who she is emailing with, she flies off the handle, saying that I am controlling. Anytime I point out the contradiction, I get accused of turning it against her, but all I do is state that we are both at fault.
I have a friend who was married young, and he told me that he would never marry again. He said he didn't know anyone who was happily married, or not cheating on their spouse. I am seeing the same thing.
I know that if I ever get divorced, I will never marry again. It is frustrating the majority of the time. 100% of the time. Women are unforgiving, and it is a one way street with them. If I didn't have three children with her, I would have flown the coop. As much as I love her, I would have left by now. How sad is that? I can't stay with what I love the most in this life. I know for a fact that she does not love me. Too much has happened, and she sees it only from her point of view, without any attempt to find a middle ground. I feel like I have to grovel to maintain peace in the home. Why the fuck should I have to be a pissing pole for my whole life? I don't put up with it from anyone else, but I let myself get walked all over by her.
I know, I'm sure it sounds one sided, and you are obviously getting only my side, but, that is what the blog is for, right?
She tells me that I am "gorgeous", and that "anyone would want (me)", but first, that's not the point. Second, it isn't true. Trust me.
End point, is this: In life, only three things are for certain. Death, Taxes, and Frustrating Relationships 100% of the time.
As I've said before, life is a chuca, q' no?
Since I got married, I have been told that I flirt with women. I have tried to get along socially, and I smile alot with people when I speak to them, and unfortunately it comes across as flirtatious.
It has caused some serious arguments between my wife and I.
Finally, I began to completely ignore females, and when I did talk to them, I made a point of being a jerk. No smiles, all serious and the ultimate professional. Head clean shaven, giving an aggressive look that people avoid. Then I became labeled as "a jerk" by my administrators.
My wife now has my hair grown out, wants me to be nice to everyone (men and women), and claims that she does not care if I maintain female friends. Every female (since this epiphany of hers) that I have befriended, has been scrutinized, and if she isn't gay, then I get criticized, belittled, made to feel that I am going to "cheat" on her, and so on-so forth.
I have been made to feel guilty, so that I constantly telling her who I speak to, what we speak about, and what the response is. All of this to avoid having her think I am hiding something from her. But all I get is accused of searching out female affection. So, then I don't tell her, and she accuses me of hiding shit. WTF?
I find some kid who is 18 flirts with her on her MySpace page (I fuckin' hate myspace), and she hides it from me, but I'm the asshole. whatever. She gets text messages from Douche Bag, and he sent her a pic of himself, as well. She spends more time on the compluter than she does talking to me, and if I ever want to know who she is emailing with, she flies off the handle, saying that I am controlling. Anytime I point out the contradiction, I get accused of turning it against her, but all I do is state that we are both at fault.
I have a friend who was married young, and he told me that he would never marry again. He said he didn't know anyone who was happily married, or not cheating on their spouse. I am seeing the same thing.
I know that if I ever get divorced, I will never marry again. It is frustrating the majority of the time. 100% of the time. Women are unforgiving, and it is a one way street with them. If I didn't have three children with her, I would have flown the coop. As much as I love her, I would have left by now. How sad is that? I can't stay with what I love the most in this life. I know for a fact that she does not love me. Too much has happened, and she sees it only from her point of view, without any attempt to find a middle ground. I feel like I have to grovel to maintain peace in the home. Why the fuck should I have to be a pissing pole for my whole life? I don't put up with it from anyone else, but I let myself get walked all over by her.
I know, I'm sure it sounds one sided, and you are obviously getting only my side, but, that is what the blog is for, right?
She tells me that I am "gorgeous", and that "anyone would want (me)", but first, that's not the point. Second, it isn't true. Trust me.
End point, is this: In life, only three things are for certain. Death, Taxes, and Frustrating Relationships 100% of the time.
As I've said before, life is a chuca, q' no?
Monday, November 13, 2006
WHY does he want me to move to Argentina!!!???
The story is a comical one, now knowing that I am on the "right" side of the law. I think on all of the different jobs that I have had in my life, and am amazed at the wide spectrum. I have stocked shelves in a grocery store, cleaned bathrooms (with shit on the floor next to the toilet, what's up with that? How do you miss...?) in a pharmacy, built homes in Japan, finished homes in the Salt Lake Valley, bounced illegal parties in West Seattle, bounced legal clubs in Idaho Falls, and even taught English as a Second Language in a podunk town in the farm land. But, the story I am about to talk about would have been the "take all" in a poker game of stories...
I was visiting my parents in a third world country. My father had a predominant job working for the U.S. government, and he had flown me down for a month of carousing over Christmas break. This entailed sleeping in 'til 11:00 a.m., laying at the pool until 3:00 p.m., and then staying out real late...
So, Christmas came and went, and on New Years Eve, I was invited to go to a party with some Argentine friends that I grew up with. J & O. And, their wives and kids...
Now, J married a gal who's grandmother owned the largest bank in the country, and was/ is wealthier than Hell. We drove out to their weekend "quinta", taking the PanAmerican highway.
At this party, I met highly successfull doctors, bankers, import/exporters, and unbeknownst to me, shady characters that I found to be really friendly.
I'll call the two gentlemen in question Ben and Jerry, for the mere fact that I don't want to divulge their true names (even if I remembered them at this point). I was at a lull in the party, it was still early in the evening (most Latin American parties go "till early morning), and was sitting alone while drinking some wine. Ben and Jerry came over and sat next to me. Well, actually Ben sat across from me, and Jerry sat right next to me and put his arm around me.
Let me point out that at that time in my life, I was studying Sports Medicine at the LDS College "Ricks", and had every intention to pursue the medical field (alot of shit has changed since then). But, during the week I was teaching English in a high school, while on the weekend I was bouncing at an alternative dance club (Noscaasi).
Jerry says to me, "Quien sos vos?", meaning basically, who the hell are you? Now I need to describe these two guys so that you understand my allowing a total stranger to put his arm around me while I'm in the process of dafting alcohol.
Ben stood at about 5'5, weighed about 140 lbs, was about 60-65 years old. There is an actor that reminds me of Ben, but I can't remember his name right now. He is always in Mafia movies. Fancy that. He had white hair, mustache, smoking a stogie and had his shirt unbuttoned to about mid chest, showing off his chest hairs.
Jerry on the other hand, stood at about 5'11 (tall for his nationality), weighed in easily at 220-230 lbs. He had dark hair, sunburnt/tanned as all hell, and was built like brick wall. His head could be compared to a watermelon, in that it was just shy of being that of a silver back guerilla's skull under the hair and skin. Jerry complimented his character with the clothing that one would see on someone vacationing in Hawaii or Florida... Pink golf shirt, unbuttoned with gold chains shown, and madras shorts, with sandals.
I explained my connection to the owner of the home, and who I was, and that I was a student on vacation. I never mentioned the fact that my father was the head of the DOJ in the U.S. Embassy.
Ben didn't say much, he acted like Jerry was the one in charge, and just sat there smoking. Jerry, on the other hand, asked me if I ever got into it with people. I told him I was a part time bouncer, teacher, and student all at once. Jerry then told me that what I should do was drop out, " 'Cause the world had enough doctors", quit the high school and the club, and move down to Argentina, and live with him.
Whoa. WTF? I knew he wasn't hitting on me, and Ben still wasn't saying much. Just smoking, and nodding to everything Jerry said.
I asked Jerry what I would do, and he said to me, "work for me". I laughed, and said something like "whatever". Jerry said he was serious, and he actually looked like it for the first time. Ben had stopped smoking, and was staring at me intently. If you think I'm over doing it, I'm not. We all sat there quietly for a minute. Me and these two strangers that had just offered me a job, room, and board; all at the drop of a hat. I wondered "WHY does he want me to move to Argentina!!!???"
Thank the Lord that at that very moment, my friend O walked up to me, and excused me from a strange situation (the kind of awkward silence usually only found on first dates). As we walked away, O asked me what I was talking to Ben and Jerry about, and what did they want.
I explained it to O, and he said, "stay away from those guys". Due to my inquiring mind, I asked him why, and he said "Ben and Jerry are loan sharks, and they want is for you to break legs".
The light came on in my ignorant head, and visions of Goodfella's danced all around my thoughts.
I was pleasantly surprised that I was marked to be a "knuckledragger". But at the same time, I knew all about what type of lifestyle these guys had, and I knew that I would probably be in over my head and begin thriving in that life. Needless to say, it was quite obviously never even an option in my mind. Just a crazy ass compliment to my "Machismo".
In the end, I reconciled with Ben and Jerry, and promised to keep in touch, in case the schooling didn't turn out the way that I wanted. I even took a photo of the three of us, to remember my Mafioso friends.
Besides, I never went the medical route, and now I knuckledrag for the Facility where I work. The monster in the cage in Salt Lake City. Instead of living freely in Argentina....
Life is a chuca, q' no?
I was visiting my parents in a third world country. My father had a predominant job working for the U.S. government, and he had flown me down for a month of carousing over Christmas break. This entailed sleeping in 'til 11:00 a.m., laying at the pool until 3:00 p.m., and then staying out real late...
So, Christmas came and went, and on New Years Eve, I was invited to go to a party with some Argentine friends that I grew up with. J & O. And, their wives and kids...
Now, J married a gal who's grandmother owned the largest bank in the country, and was/ is wealthier than Hell. We drove out to their weekend "quinta", taking the PanAmerican highway.
At this party, I met highly successfull doctors, bankers, import/exporters, and unbeknownst to me, shady characters that I found to be really friendly.
I'll call the two gentlemen in question Ben and Jerry, for the mere fact that I don't want to divulge their true names (even if I remembered them at this point). I was at a lull in the party, it was still early in the evening (most Latin American parties go "till early morning), and was sitting alone while drinking some wine. Ben and Jerry came over and sat next to me. Well, actually Ben sat across from me, and Jerry sat right next to me and put his arm around me.
Let me point out that at that time in my life, I was studying Sports Medicine at the LDS College "Ricks", and had every intention to pursue the medical field (alot of shit has changed since then). But, during the week I was teaching English in a high school, while on the weekend I was bouncing at an alternative dance club (Noscaasi).
Jerry says to me, "Quien sos vos?", meaning basically, who the hell are you? Now I need to describe these two guys so that you understand my allowing a total stranger to put his arm around me while I'm in the process of dafting alcohol.
Ben stood at about 5'5, weighed about 140 lbs, was about 60-65 years old. There is an actor that reminds me of Ben, but I can't remember his name right now. He is always in Mafia movies. Fancy that. He had white hair, mustache, smoking a stogie and had his shirt unbuttoned to about mid chest, showing off his chest hairs.
Jerry on the other hand, stood at about 5'11 (tall for his nationality), weighed in easily at 220-230 lbs. He had dark hair, sunburnt/tanned as all hell, and was built like brick wall. His head could be compared to a watermelon, in that it was just shy of being that of a silver back guerilla's skull under the hair and skin. Jerry complimented his character with the clothing that one would see on someone vacationing in Hawaii or Florida... Pink golf shirt, unbuttoned with gold chains shown, and madras shorts, with sandals.
I explained my connection to the owner of the home, and who I was, and that I was a student on vacation. I never mentioned the fact that my father was the head of the DOJ in the U.S. Embassy.
Ben didn't say much, he acted like Jerry was the one in charge, and just sat there smoking. Jerry, on the other hand, asked me if I ever got into it with people. I told him I was a part time bouncer, teacher, and student all at once. Jerry then told me that what I should do was drop out, " 'Cause the world had enough doctors", quit the high school and the club, and move down to Argentina, and live with him.
Whoa. WTF? I knew he wasn't hitting on me, and Ben still wasn't saying much. Just smoking, and nodding to everything Jerry said.
I asked Jerry what I would do, and he said to me, "work for me". I laughed, and said something like "whatever". Jerry said he was serious, and he actually looked like it for the first time. Ben had stopped smoking, and was staring at me intently. If you think I'm over doing it, I'm not. We all sat there quietly for a minute. Me and these two strangers that had just offered me a job, room, and board; all at the drop of a hat. I wondered "WHY does he want me to move to Argentina!!!???"
Thank the Lord that at that very moment, my friend O walked up to me, and excused me from a strange situation (the kind of awkward silence usually only found on first dates). As we walked away, O asked me what I was talking to Ben and Jerry about, and what did they want.
I explained it to O, and he said, "stay away from those guys". Due to my inquiring mind, I asked him why, and he said "Ben and Jerry are loan sharks, and they want is for you to break legs".
The light came on in my ignorant head, and visions of Goodfella's danced all around my thoughts.
I was pleasantly surprised that I was marked to be a "knuckledragger". But at the same time, I knew all about what type of lifestyle these guys had, and I knew that I would probably be in over my head and begin thriving in that life. Needless to say, it was quite obviously never even an option in my mind. Just a crazy ass compliment to my "Machismo".
In the end, I reconciled with Ben and Jerry, and promised to keep in touch, in case the schooling didn't turn out the way that I wanted. I even took a photo of the three of us, to remember my Mafioso friends.
Besides, I never went the medical route, and now I knuckledrag for the Facility where I work. The monster in the cage in Salt Lake City. Instead of living freely in Argentina....
Life is a chuca, q' no?
Are cops ever scared...?
I don't know about courage and all that malarchy... I guess it is a spur of the moment situation, and knowing if you are in the right, or if you should have your shit kicked...
I have witnessed alot of chicken shit acts in my life. When I was a bouncer, I once handled a guy that knocked out a girl in a mosh pit. But, once in high school I chickened out when I witnessed a friend snatch his girlfriend up by her hair in between classes (my saving grace is that they were surrounded by a million on lookers in the hallway). I regret not reacting to this day.
The saying amongst incarcerated people, is that law enforcement is full of people who need a badge to regulate, but without it, they would run scared. I'm not sure that is entirely true, but I have seen some people just like that often enough to make my blog.
I had a guy, cop, that was my friend. Supposedly. Then on a drunken night of retardation, he made the mistake of trying to move on my wife. I, being drunk on tequila as well, contemplated my different weapons of choice. One, was the obvious, but knowing he had one racked and ready to roll, I decided against it (smart). Two, was strangulating him. I have a fairly good idea that I would be successfull, but I didn't feel that I should go to jail for his stupidity. The third option was my choice.
I walked into the room, and surprised everyone present. Douche bag thought I had gone to bed, and when I asked him "WTF?", he scrambled. I told him to get out ASAP, and he tried. If I wasn't so pissed, I would have laughed. It was like watching a mentally impaired (oh that's right, he was) running into the same wall repeatedly, and not being able to get through.
Douche bag finally was able to locate his shoes, and his keys, and stumbled into the night. Now, he had been apologetic, and even had the "deer in the headlights" look in his eyes, but as he stepped out into the dark night, he left me a "fuck you". As the door shut, I lost my composure.
I opened the door, and found him stumbling to his car. He was fully dressed, and in a fight, would have been better suited to grapple without being injured. Douche bag was also, however, more drunk, because I had slept a little off, and he had continued. I on the other hand, was wearing nothing more than my tattoo's and my gym shorts. I was so heated up, I didn't care.
He saw me coming, got into his car, and started running his shitter.
I thought twice, and told him to "get the fuck out of (there)". I now knew he had his gun, and he started to open his car door, while talking shit. I closed the door on him twice, and told him two more times to bail. Finally I told him I was going to call the local PD and report a drunk driving cop in a cop car.
This sobered Douche bag up enough, and he left.
Am I a dick? I am when I'm around a pussy. Without a gun, he had fear in his heart. With his gun, and in his department ride, he felt like King Shit. I'm gratefull that I was sober enough to think of the consequences to the possibilities. Douche bag was not worth losing my career, my family, or my life. Although many friends think that it knocked my "manhood" down a level for not fucking him up, I'm trying to realize that I made the correct choice.
I saw a scared cop, and I was satisfied. He and I know the truth of what could have happened.
Are there cops with tin badges? Absolutely, those are the scared cops... Then you have those of us who live life with nothing to prove, and know it.
I have witnessed alot of chicken shit acts in my life. When I was a bouncer, I once handled a guy that knocked out a girl in a mosh pit. But, once in high school I chickened out when I witnessed a friend snatch his girlfriend up by her hair in between classes (my saving grace is that they were surrounded by a million on lookers in the hallway). I regret not reacting to this day.
The saying amongst incarcerated people, is that law enforcement is full of people who need a badge to regulate, but without it, they would run scared. I'm not sure that is entirely true, but I have seen some people just like that often enough to make my blog.
I had a guy, cop, that was my friend. Supposedly. Then on a drunken night of retardation, he made the mistake of trying to move on my wife. I, being drunk on tequila as well, contemplated my different weapons of choice. One, was the obvious, but knowing he had one racked and ready to roll, I decided against it (smart). Two, was strangulating him. I have a fairly good idea that I would be successfull, but I didn't feel that I should go to jail for his stupidity. The third option was my choice.
I walked into the room, and surprised everyone present. Douche bag thought I had gone to bed, and when I asked him "WTF?", he scrambled. I told him to get out ASAP, and he tried. If I wasn't so pissed, I would have laughed. It was like watching a mentally impaired (oh that's right, he was) running into the same wall repeatedly, and not being able to get through.
Douche bag finally was able to locate his shoes, and his keys, and stumbled into the night. Now, he had been apologetic, and even had the "deer in the headlights" look in his eyes, but as he stepped out into the dark night, he left me a "fuck you". As the door shut, I lost my composure.
I opened the door, and found him stumbling to his car. He was fully dressed, and in a fight, would have been better suited to grapple without being injured. Douche bag was also, however, more drunk, because I had slept a little off, and he had continued. I on the other hand, was wearing nothing more than my tattoo's and my gym shorts. I was so heated up, I didn't care.
He saw me coming, got into his car, and started running his shitter.
I thought twice, and told him to "get the fuck out of (there)". I now knew he had his gun, and he started to open his car door, while talking shit. I closed the door on him twice, and told him two more times to bail. Finally I told him I was going to call the local PD and report a drunk driving cop in a cop car.
This sobered Douche bag up enough, and he left.
Am I a dick? I am when I'm around a pussy. Without a gun, he had fear in his heart. With his gun, and in his department ride, he felt like King Shit. I'm gratefull that I was sober enough to think of the consequences to the possibilities. Douche bag was not worth losing my career, my family, or my life. Although many friends think that it knocked my "manhood" down a level for not fucking him up, I'm trying to realize that I made the correct choice.
I saw a scared cop, and I was satisfied. He and I know the truth of what could have happened.
Are there cops with tin badges? Absolutely, those are the scared cops... Then you have those of us who live life with nothing to prove, and know it.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Never trust a con...
Well, so I had been on a special team in my job that requires responding to disorderly kids. When I say kids, I use the term loosely, because although they are adults, they more times than not act like children.
One night, as I was getting ready to go home from work, we (my team and I) were advised that several of these disruptive adults were causing an issue in a discipliary section of our facility.
Now, on that shift, I was needless to say the largest boy in town. I don't stand too tall, but at 6'3, and 380 lbs, I was certainly the largest. My boss' usually used me as a caged monster to regulate certain types of problems. You know the type, break glass in case of.....
The subjects in question were under federal indictment on what is known as the RICO act. (too long to explain). They are members of a prominent Aryan Nation / White Pride organization.
On the very first extraction, there was a failure in communication between the guys managing the section and our handler. Apparently the overgrown child (the leader of the gang) in the room had a weapon, known as a shiv, shank, home made knife. Noone advised us. I was at the front of the group that was to enter the room, and regulate.
At entry, I hit this idiot so hard that I snapped a riot shield I was carrying in half. I drove him into a corner, and then the knife appeared.
There was half of a shield, and nothing else to keep this guy from trying to mark up Hoss. Now I never speak in the third person, but Hoss got pissed off.
The shank struck my left tri ceps muscle several times. Then when it didn't have the effect he wanted, he attempted to stab the weapon into my left femoral artery. I ditched the shield, what was left of it, and wrapped what I call my "dick beaters" around this dirt bag's neck. I pulled him out of the corner he was in, and flipped him over my right shoulder, both of us landing on the ground. Me on top.
I have practiced a martial art known as Jiu Jitsu a little in my life, and I utilized an incredibly efficient chock hold on this guy. I allowed his eyes to roll back into his skull several times, while asking him "so you want to fucking shank me, mother fucker?". Apparently I did not allow enough oxygen for the kid to answer.
Once restraints were on his ankles and wrists, I let go of him, and let him live. Even though he had wanted me dead.
The joy of being a good guy... I guess.
Is this a grandstanding story? Am I trying to convince you how cool I am? No fucking way. I'm not that cool.
My point is this. I knew this convict for 4 years. I had several long discussions, that were not only amiable, but enjoyable. I am several years older than he, and he had asked my opinion on several subjects. I never was flattered by this, but I thought that even if we "tangled", it would not amount to anything serious.
How wrong I was. Never trust a con...
I will discuss my views on my narrow escape from death (this time) on a different entry...
One night, as I was getting ready to go home from work, we (my team and I) were advised that several of these disruptive adults were causing an issue in a discipliary section of our facility.
Now, on that shift, I was needless to say the largest boy in town. I don't stand too tall, but at 6'3, and 380 lbs, I was certainly the largest. My boss' usually used me as a caged monster to regulate certain types of problems. You know the type, break glass in case of.....
The subjects in question were under federal indictment on what is known as the RICO act. (too long to explain). They are members of a prominent Aryan Nation / White Pride organization.
On the very first extraction, there was a failure in communication between the guys managing the section and our handler. Apparently the overgrown child (the leader of the gang) in the room had a weapon, known as a shiv, shank, home made knife. Noone advised us. I was at the front of the group that was to enter the room, and regulate.
At entry, I hit this idiot so hard that I snapped a riot shield I was carrying in half. I drove him into a corner, and then the knife appeared.
There was half of a shield, and nothing else to keep this guy from trying to mark up Hoss. Now I never speak in the third person, but Hoss got pissed off.
The shank struck my left tri ceps muscle several times. Then when it didn't have the effect he wanted, he attempted to stab the weapon into my left femoral artery. I ditched the shield, what was left of it, and wrapped what I call my "dick beaters" around this dirt bag's neck. I pulled him out of the corner he was in, and flipped him over my right shoulder, both of us landing on the ground. Me on top.
I have practiced a martial art known as Jiu Jitsu a little in my life, and I utilized an incredibly efficient chock hold on this guy. I allowed his eyes to roll back into his skull several times, while asking him "so you want to fucking shank me, mother fucker?". Apparently I did not allow enough oxygen for the kid to answer.
Once restraints were on his ankles and wrists, I let go of him, and let him live. Even though he had wanted me dead.
The joy of being a good guy... I guess.
Is this a grandstanding story? Am I trying to convince you how cool I am? No fucking way. I'm not that cool.
My point is this. I knew this convict for 4 years. I had several long discussions, that were not only amiable, but enjoyable. I am several years older than he, and he had asked my opinion on several subjects. I never was flattered by this, but I thought that even if we "tangled", it would not amount to anything serious.
How wrong I was. Never trust a con...
I will discuss my views on my narrow escape from death (this time) on a different entry...
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Here I am.... where is that?
During the past couple of years, I have wanted to write down experiences in my life, to have something "on record". It just seemed so difficult to write it down in a book, as idiotic as that may seem. I contemplated keeping it on my computer, but always worried about saving it on the hard drive, and what if the drive becomes corrupted?
This is my attempt to remember things in my life (to the best of my knowledge and memory), but you must remember that I am somewhat twisted, and the story line may parrallel that characteristic.
Also, some memories may be boring, to which I apologize, but this whole desire is actually an attempt at being therapeutic. The stories will all be true, but the names may be changed to hide the identity of my friends and loved ones.
This is my attempt to remember things in my life (to the best of my knowledge and memory), but you must remember that I am somewhat twisted, and the story line may parrallel that characteristic.
Also, some memories may be boring, to which I apologize, but this whole desire is actually an attempt at being therapeutic. The stories will all be true, but the names may be changed to hide the identity of my friends and loved ones.
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