Personal Reflection

“Daniel, stop it!” Those words were being shouted in my right ear as I was trying to prove a point that didn’t even have a clear understanding. All I did was make myself look like an asshole to everyone that was watching.

“Stop it” those words were ringing all around the interior of the car while the child inside of me kept saying, “No man, don’t listen to her; you got a point to prove God dammit.”

I lived in Nebraska for two years this coming June. This state seems be filled with inpatient assholes that love racing each other to the next red light. Were the fuck are these people going? Why the fuck are you trying to drive nowhere in a hurry?

I was sitting in my car outside of Walgreen’s thinking to myself, “why did you do that,” “you didn’t even prove a point,” “you just looked like an asshole,” “and you hate assholes.”

While my future wife was getting cash back I made a decision to get out of the driver’s seat and move over to the passenger side of the car.

About an half hour ago we were on the way to the movie theater. We were going to watch a movie. The whole length of the road I was on this blue Jeep was behind me. He was pissing me off, he was tailing me the whole time; because you know…50mph in a 45mph zone ain’t fast enough for his ass.

We both are turning right onto another street, he is still behind me. Right before the turn was completed I could see just what I thought was going to happen. I turn into the inside right lane, in my rear view mirror I can see he is turning into the outside right lane. He was going to pass me, because he has something very important to do…apparently.

In front of me in the other lane I see a black car, going about the same speed as the limit. This blue Jeep behind me was going to pass me just to switch lanes to pass this black car just to switch lanes again to get in a turn lane to go into a shopping center. Because we all know that shit is so God damn important.

It’s so important that we can’t wait 10 fucking seconds.

My foot presses down the gas pedal, “I’ll speed up to this black car and slow down, then he can’t pass me.” Why I was thinking that would prove a point to him I don’t fucking know. I wasting my time and looked like an asshole in the process.

I know why I did it, but it didn’t even do anything. So…if I could redo it, I’d just let his impatient ass pass me.

I didn’t have to be an asshole to prove that he was an asshole. All I did was end up going 75 in a 35 while he flipped me off.


Blinded by Infomation


Let me start this off by saying the issue of same-sex marriage is not about what you think God said, it’s about equality.

As some of you might know, I consider myself to be an Atheist; I hope that doesn’t make you think I’m approaching this topic as someone who wants to pass gay marriage because I do not believe in a higher power.

Let’s take any issue of religion out of this, because you know what? We should when it comes to legal issues. The First Amendment. In case you don’t know:

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

So I, or anyone else, can not stop you from practicing whatever religion you identify with. I don’t care how religious you consider yourself to be. Prayer and sing worship until your blew in the face, if it makes you happy who am I to tell you how you can or can not be happy.

However religion does or should not have any deciding factor in what laws we pass. Therefore by not passing same-sex marriage you are also suppressing human rights to a certain section of the human population. That’s just not right.

I don’t expect to change anyone’s mind. If your dead set on what you think nothing can be done to change it. I just need to get this off my chest.

I have a cousin.

I was born in Nebraska by the way.

So I have this cousin who is about 11 to 12 years older than me. He didn’t use to be that religious, after spending time in federal prison he turned into a very religious man. And you know what, that is fucking cool, whatever floats his boat.

It’s also Nebraska, so there is a high chance that he is a republican…and he is. His wife that he married a few years after he was put back into society is in the same political party.

His wife, and him, added me to Facebook, and after awhile I removed both of them from my feed so I didn’t see the bullshit they speak about.

As much as I say you can do whatever makes you happy, I too am hardheaded. It’s hard for me not to judge them because they think God, guns, the Bible, and the law all go hand in hand.

First of all I set my whole, or a good 90%, of my family as restricted; that way they can not see my posts.

Nebraska…the issue of passing same-sex marriage has finally came up in this state. When I talk about this on Facebook none of my friends really care; not because they don’t agree with me, but the vast majority of them are from Washington State, “So, what’s the big deal,” because Washington already passed that law.

If you follow this issue you already know the timeline and what the governor of Nebraska said about our judge…blah blah blah

For some reason one of her posts that are not supposed to pop up on my newsfeed appeared out of nowhere.

She does what she always does. On a side note her favorite news outlet is Fox News, if that tells you anything about her.

She posted a picture of what our governor said:


May I mention that 70% vote is also from 15 years ago.

And she said, “So happy we have a governor that is going to fight! A governor that will fight for God’s will.”

I just had to…You being against gay marriage is one thing, but telling me a political figure fights for God’s will… it pissed me off.

After I responded by saying, “sorry but this is not a matter of sin and whatever religion he calls himself. This should be about equal rights. Denying a man the rights to his close partner property because the other man is sick or dead but allowing a women to live in a man’s house after he dies does not sound very equal to me.” A very long debate with stupid people took place.

A guy, who I guess I’m related to by marriage, was the first to respond with the famous and beyond funny rebuttal of telling me that this was just opening a gateway for people to marry their animals.

Of course I had to respond with sarcasm, “you’re totally right man, there is nothing I want more in life than to marry my cat; because you know when I pass away I want my cat to have legal access to my bank account.”

He was okay, even though his argument was based on religion. He didn’t call me stupid, although I have a feeling that’s what he thought.

After I got him to admit this issue was not about sex, it was about rights. He came back with, “what about a will.” And that is just not the same, It just isn’t.

I ended it by saying, as I was thinking about how idiotic some of my family can be, “whatever makes you happy.” I said it like I was also saying, “fuck it, I’m done with this.”

Just as I think the pointless debate is over someone who I don’t even know popped up like a zit that you can’t get rid of.

After her coming in to tell me that Civil Unions give same-sex couples the same rights as marriage… I…

Civil Unions are not the same, they have rights…yes, but only some of them. And after finding a link, to a creditable website, that explained the difference between the two she proceeded to tell me that I could find anything on the internet. Yes, yes you can; that’s why I was particularly careful what website it came from.

I was mad, I didn’t want to talk to her. I had to go take a shower anyways. While I’m standing in the shower with soap all over my naked body my little devil on my shoulder kept bothering me. “You know what you should say?” “You know she is wrong.” “You need to totally say this.”

Before I got it the shower she told me that marriage was a privilege.

I sat back down on my bed and opened the Facebook app on my phone, went to this conversation thread and said, “is a privilege the same as a law?” And just as I expected she said, “no it isn’t.”

I then asked (I was trying to act like she was teaching me a lesson; like I was on her side). “And marriage is a privilege?” Once again she did what I was hoping…kind of, she said, “it’s a privilege to have a good paying job, it’s not a law that you have to have one. It’s a privilege to have kids, it’s not a law you have to have them. It’s a privilege to have good friends, it’s not a law you have to have them.”

At this point I was thinking, “how stupid are you? Fuck man. I’m not asking what a privilege is”, or even a law for that matter of the fact. But I don’t really blame her for going off on the tangent, however this was not my line of questioning.

So I ask again, “is marriage a privilege”? Just like I hoped she said yes.

The whole idea behind this basic line of questioning was so I could say what I said next, “so your telling me I can marry my fiancé tomorrow and we don’t need a marriage license”?

She then told me that I needed a marriage licence due to state laws. She said it! But she didn’t seem to understand. I asked, “What? State laws. What was that word you used”?

Shit kinda went off the rails and this point. She went off on a tangent about how you need to get a licence for a civil union too, “so that is protected by law too.” I’m smiling with anger, all she is doing is helping to prove my point while making herself look like an idiot blinded by secondhand information.

I didn’t even address this issue. She was fast to go onto another tangent, this time shr was telling me that a law was something you had to follow. Shit like not speeding, or paying taxes.

After this little tangent she went on that only proved to me how fucking stupid she was I continue by saying, “so let me get this straight. Is marriage a law or a privilege?”

She then goes off to tell me that a marriage is not a law because you do not need to get married, you are not forced to. Yes, in your second grader knowledge I guess I can agree with you. May I mention this women looks like she is 55 years old.

She just wasn’t getting it. My whole point was to blast the first amendment. But she didn’t even fall into my trap, maybe she planned it that way. She didn’t even agree that getting a license that was bound by the courts and is therefore a legal proceeding is also known as a law.

Just because something is the law doesn’t mean you are or are not required to follow it.

So just in case someone was reading this debate and did happen to silently fall into my trap or agree with me I left the First Amendment anyways.

I wasn’t making any type of personal impact. I was getting tired of her trying to tell me that a circle had corners. That part that make it better was this girl, who I guess I’m related to also, came in to the conversation and told me that she didn’t think I understood anything and she agreed with the other lady.

I already think this other girl is stupid based on a previous conversation that was a lot shorter and had nothing to do with politics or religion.

I ended after they said, “Look here is the thing Daniel: marriage has been’ since the beginning of time, a sacrament between a man and women, and yes in order to have that privilege of marriage to make it legally binding you have to have a marriage license, but because a license is required if you choose to be married doesn’t make marriage a law.”

I was done, she was an fucking idiot and I was tired of talking to a wall, so I just left.

Just remember, this is not an issue of your religion; this is an issue of equal rights. I don’t even think I need to tell you that marriage may not be a law you can break, but it is a law nonetheless.

That being said, a law is not bound by your religion. If you think it is than I guess I won’t change your mind either.

Equal rights people, it’s not about sex, it’s not about your religion. Equal rights…think about it.

It All Ended So Fast


It all came to a stop, like that of an insect flying into a windshield.

I got to go home, or closer to it.

A lot of you may know that I do not even call Nebraska my home anymore, even through I was born in the same state.

Idaho, well Idaho is not my home either but it is a lot closer and the scenery looks very close to that of Western Washington, it’s like trying to compare a Christmas tree from New York to a Christmas tree from California.

Speaking of tress…now I can understand why people asked me, “do you guys even have tress in Nebraska?”

Yes…yes we do, but really man, look at that picture and then tell me that Nebraska has the same amount of tress.

I missed 100 foot tall Evergreen tress all jammed next to one another like 350,000 people at Seattle Hempfest.

I didn’t know how much I would have missed that area, an area known to many others as the Pacific Northwest.

It was…oh my god dude, it made me understand how much I took that part of the country for granted.

We left Omaha, had a layover in Denver, and arrived in Spokane a few hours later.

I had a huge smile on my face all the way into Idaho. 100 foot tall Evergreen tress ran up and down both side of the freeway, the freeway itself had more than 3 lanes, the town was a lot bigger (as far as population goes), and I saw a Jack in the Box.

Speaking of Jack in the Box, I made sure that my father drove me there before we left. I got a Bacon Ultimate Cheeseburger with fries and a large drink. I made sure to get a large drink for one reason, and one reason only.

So I could take the cup “home” to Nebraska, a state that does not even have Jack in the Box…at all…nowhere…the closest one to me is 110 miles south in Kansas City, Kansas.

Not Missouri, Kansas.

I’m happy that I got to eat Jack in the Box. But, of course that was the day after I took it too far, way too far, too fast, and threw up at my sister’s wedding.

That is the whole reason we – my girlfriend and I – went to Idaho, North Idaho to be exact.

A little background: In Jr. High I was that kid that was the goody two shoes. When my sister told me she smoked pot in ninth grade I was shocked, I started looking at her like she was less of a person because of it.

At the time – 1999 – Marijuana was unknown to me and the only thing we were told about it was, “it’s going to kill you” or “it will turn you into a Heroin addict.”

Fast forward a few years – 2003 – things have turned around. My sister was now highly religious and stopped smoking pot, while me on the other hand started to transform into an atheist who started smoking pot.

I feel like I need to say something right now, just in case the wrong person finds my blog. I have not smoked pot since I left the state of Washington, at the end of the Fall Season, 2013.

Anyways, so years later my sister starts to date one of her co-workers, who just happened to be a co-worker of the same kid who I hung out with in high school, on of the many kids at least.

So, I guess you can say my brother-in-law is my friend’s friend. It was kind of a weird circle going on.

Throughout the night I was not being that nice of a boyfriend, I was not trying to be mean. I was just stuck in my own idea of hanging out with old friends, which was weird, and drinking free beer.

The problem is I drank too much, too fast, I wasn’t even really keeping track of it.

There I was, smoking a menthol cigarette and drinking Mac N’Jacks – another thing they do not seem to have in this flat state of nothingness and humidity – and my dad comes out to the beer garden and says to me, “if you don’t want to be sleeping on the couch tonight you need to go hang out with Shannon.”

I can’t say I blacked out, I get too sick before that happens. But from that point forward things don’t seem to completely string together.

Keep in mind, I’m a guy in a wheelchair.

I remember turning my chair around, in gravel, and going towards to main building. I don’t remember getting there, but there I was asking the bartender for a cup of water.

Then I end up outside resting my head up against a wooden pillar.

Like my wheelchair ran into the pillar – I didn’t actually run into it…I think – and then leaned forward.

Then I had someone, I forget who, but one of the dudes I was hanging out with earlier pushed me over to my moms van. That is where my stomach decided it didn’t like me anymore.

Security was going to kick me off of the property, but once that found out that I was the brother of the bride they choose not to, just gave me more water and cleaned up the mess.

My mom, my mom was super mad at me, like I did something evil. While I was spilling my food all over the place I remember my dad calling me an idiot.

And the best part about it is my sister didn’t really care, “he is having fun, which is what I want him to do. I know mom is pissed, but I don’t care.”

Before I went to bed, after we got back to the cabin that they rented, my sister looked at me and said, “what did you drink?” I remember saying, “too much.”

I think her and Shannon got a laugh out of that…then I went to bed while the rest of the house continued to party.

All in all, I had fun for my little short trip back to the Pacific Northwest. I do feel bad for a few things, but I’m glad my mom was the only one I pissed off. Which is not a hard thing to do by the way.

And I got some fucking Jack in the Box…damn I missed that place.

A Pissed Off Mom.


Do you always stare at something unknown? Do you stare at things you want to know?

Growing up with a physical disability that got and continues to get worse over time you kind of have to learn how to get used to the whole idea of people looking at you, and kids….kids just fucking stare like you are not aware of anything going on around you.

Because we are in a wheelchair, so we must be retarded, right?

Kids man… I understand they are just curious and mean no harm, they just want to know why I’m different. Or maybe its just because I’m so damn cool.

No matter how many times I tell myself the following, it does not make it any better. Even now of days, at 30 I still see kids staring at me, and it still bothers me.

Maybe some of you women can relate to this, because even thought I have a girlfriend… a thick bubble butt on some chick is hard not to stare at. I’ve heard girls have eyes in the back of their head, does it really make you feel better to know I’m looking at your ass as you’re walking the other way. Or does it bother you?

Kids staring at me in a wheelchair is like me and women’s asses as they walk by at the store. However the thought process is totally different.

If my girlfriend ever reads this, I’ll start getting smacked every time we go to the store and my eyes start wondering. Or, maybe she already knows and says what she means, “it’s okay to think another girl is attractive.” Who would have thought, a girl who means what she says!

Anyways…onto my story about two wheelchairs at the mall.

I got another post coming up talking about this, but I had three wheelchairs and I’m currently on my forth. But at this time I only had three, I will mention this in an upcoming post. All you need to know for now is that I had three wheelchairs.

Every now and again my friend Jason would come over to my house, before either of us had a car. And we would go on adventures around the neighborhood, sometimes we even went outside of the neighborhood.

In our adventures I would usually let him use one of my wheelchairs. Two people going all over the neighborhood, one of us actually needing a wheelchair. Every now and then Jason would freak out people just by walking, I got to admit it was pretty funny.

Then after we took the possession of vehicles and were actually able to go more than a mile in each direction, we were now able to go anywhere in town–or the massive towns all connected to each other.

On day we went to the mall. Even though we had cars, the notion of letting him ride in one of my wheelchair did not stop.

We were two kids, old kids, hanging around the mall and racing wheelchairs. We were eventually told to stop because we can sue the mall blah blah blah

So we then decided to go into Gamestop to look at stuff and…getting inside with one wheelchair-while A.D.A compliant-it is still a tight fit. Then when you got two wheelchairs, at the same time, trying to go into this store…

I let Jason in first, after he was in he was looking at some stuff saying, “check this out Daniel.”

While this was going on I let some little kid walk past me, he was not looking where he was going. He was only looking at me.

“Hold up man, I’m letting this kid stare at me, because none of us know what people in wheelchairs look like.”

You ever see a movie where a guy driving a car runs into something because he is looking at some girls ass? Well, I was the girl’s ass-in this case-and he was the guy driving the car.

All of a sudden his mom turned around and came up to me giving me an earful about why it is okay for her son to stare at me like I was a naked porn star walking through the mall.

“He’s just curious.” “He is a little boy.” So on and so forth for about a minute.

If I wanted to start some shit I would have been like, “look lady, I was made fun of by thirty…thirty…people everyday because of the fact that I’m disabled, and you’re trying to tell me that it didn’t hurt because we were young?”

She got done telling me that her son can’t do anything wrong-at this point everyone is Gamestop is looking at this lady yell at some guy, me, in a wheelchair-Jason and I just called her as bitch as she walked away.

We went on carrying about our normal business.

Does my story have a point? I don’t know. Will you find it entertaining? I hope so.





There he was, staring at me, from 150 yards away as both of us grip the tires with a lit cigarette hanging out of our mouth. The entire bar was now standing next to one another talking as the bar tender opened the door and asked, “what’s going on.”

Instead of getting any sort of verbal answer, he just had to sit there and watch what was about to unfold. Everyone standing outside of the bar listens and watches as a guy dressed in military fatigues shouts, “GO” as he quickly lowers his arm in a blurred arc.

One of my many friends is named Scoot, his name is Scott if you ask his birth certificate. He is a tall guy, about six-foot with a very muscular but fat look to him. He is covered up and down, both arms, full of tattoos. All small individual tattoos, nothing that seems to go into anything else, and the majority of them being black and white.

He now has the number 88 on his chest covered up another tattoo of two koi fish that are in the water with plants and shit. He used to hang out with the wrong type of people and has now covered all of his questionable tattoos with ones of a better and more appropriate designs.

Working as a logger in Washington State he typically dresses as if he is a redneck at a motocross race or a motocross racer at a redneck convention.

We were hanging out with our other friend Eric at the local sports pub that does not exist anymore, or maybe it does — maybe someone bought it in the past two years, or however long it has been.

Eric was a skinny yet average looking kid that grew up listening to punk music and thoughtout the years has turned into seven different types of stereotypical characters while he was trying to find himself, which didn’t happen until he moved to Colorado.

At the time he was into country music and wore cowboy boots, tight jeans, a blue flannel shirt, with a black cowboy hat — that has a hole going thought it. One drunk night he pulled out his gun — that he legally owns by the way — and shot his cowboy hat; the bullet making it out the other side and hopefully going into the dirt.

We were all at my apartment bored out of our minds. Trying to figure out something to do as Scoot spoke up and said, “hey man, can we take your other wheelchair to the bar with us”. 

After we all pile into my car and spend the next 15 minutes driving about 2 miles south, passing nothing but strip malls, residential neighborhoods — of houses that ranged from three to five-hundred-thousand dollars –, and coffee shops all mixed in with tall evergreen trees, we ended up at my parents house. After parking in the driveway and opening the garage door we see my dad sitting inside of the drift boat that he was trying to manufacture out of carbon fiber.

My dad was born in the 50’s and had grey hair with brown eyes. He is over-weight, but carries it really well, I would not call him fat — he has lost about 20 pounds after moving to Nebraska… again.

He was sitting inside the frame of the boat, made out of wood, with a cigarette in his mouth as Scoot was standing next to the wooden frame on wheels and talking to my dad about fishing.

While this is going on I get slowly walk back into the drivers seat as Eric is pushing my second oldest wheelchair over to car before folding it up, popping off the wheels, and throwing it into my backseat.

Scoot says goodbye to my pops and is walking back to my car as my dad shouts from inside the garage holding a piece of sandpaper with a block of wood rolled up inside of it and says, “have fun guys, don’t be too stupid, and if you need a ride home don’t be afraid to call me.”

Were now heading the opposite direction on the main street that runs though town filled with a bunch of other cars as the sun is starting to go down past some evergreen trees that are to the west of us. We pass the mall before descending a 400 foot hill leading into downtown, passing nothing but commercial, apartment, and office buildings.

We keep following the road before the name of the avenue turns into another name of a road that leads you into the industrial section of Tacoma — known to many others as the port of Tacoma. However we are not going that far, after passing Fred Meyer in a huge parking lot filled with other commercial buildings in the same area we turn into a connected parking lot as I jerk the wheel to the left and park in a handicapped parking spot in front of the sports pub.

As I’m pulling into the parking spot Eric Clapton is playing on the stereo — that is connected to my iPod — as Scoot speaks up over the song Let It Rain and says, “man, I love you Dan,” after pausing to take the last drag of his cigarette he continues to say, “you fucking get to park right in front of the buildings man, you get the best parking.”

While heading into the valley known as downtown, a few minutes ago, Scoot was talking to Eric and telling him, “okay man….so, I got into a motocross accident and fucked up my leg.” I speak up while stopped at a red light and say, “I don’t know man.”

“No, man, trust me,” Eric is now talking and goes onto say, “Poot –– another name he goes by — is the best at this shit, he can make everyone believe it.”

Scott goes onto say, “okay Tuck — one of Eric’s nicknames — the doctor told me that if I want to walk again I got to stretch out my right leg every half hour.” He then continues to say, “so you got to act like you’re helping me every 30 minutes.

“And I’ll act like I’m in pain.” He then addresses me and says, “So, Dan… don’t fucking say anything.”

As soon as my thumb pushes the button to the side and I move the shifter up into park Eric says to me, “okay man get your own chair out today because I got to help Poot.”

“Okay man whatever.” 

Whenever Eric was hanging out with me he would usually get my wheelchair in or out of the car for me, not because I couldn’t do it… but it did save us a few minutes every time — and if he wants to do it for me, I’m not going to stop him. However on this day he had to help Scott appear to be the one who actually needed a wheelchair.

He pulls out the older wheelchair with bald tires and black rims that were made out of a dense plastic. Pops on the wheels and rolls it around the back of the car as I sit down in my new wheelchair made out of Titanium with wire spoke wheels.

I’m now sitting there in my wheelchair and watching in amusement as Eric puts the breaks on the wheelchair and appears to be helping Scoot slide his upper body into place, pulling himself over the seat with one hand one each wheel holding him up and sliding his butt over the left tire — Scott was doing most of the work, he didn’t need Eric’s help, but, damn… it looked convincing.

We are both rolling into the bar as Eric holds the door open for us. We slide under the table as Eric goes up to order a nine dollar pitcher of Rainier. We get to talking to people, Scoot is a really captivating guy — with or without the wheelchair — I guess having that many tattoos and being dressed like a stereotypical skater made it appear like he was more of a inviting guy in the type of crowd that was packed into the bar that night.

The owner of the bar as well as most of the workers there already knew Eric and I, due to it being one of the few bars the we would frequent. But we never took Poot before, so he was a new face to everyone but a girl and her mother that he already knew from a previous occasion. Even they believed that he needed the chair — he didn’t break character the whole night.

After finishing the pitcher of Rainier I reached in my pocket to pull out some cash handing it to Eric so he can go get another pitcher of Pabst Blue Ribbon. While I’m sitting there drinking the last few chugs of my beer I listen to Scoot sitting next to me talking to some chick about his “accident.”

“Yea I feel off of my bike while it was in the air and broke my bone when I hit the dirt.”

“Awwww, I’m sorry baby.”

This chick was hot, way out of my league, but… Scott was very good at taking home random action. She was about five foot three, a pretty short and petite lady with a smile that could kill — you girls like tall men, we like short women.

She has a chest that she was not afraid to show off with the nice tight white v-neck shirt she was wearing. Her chest was tatted up with a new school heart above the center of both breasts. The heart that was in the middle of her chest was designed in such a way that the bottom of the heart was leading down in-between her perky C cups and stretching below her shirt. The heart was in the middle of a symmetrical design that was completed with a pistol, roses, skulls, and vines.

She even had on tight jeans that made her butt pop out like a pimped out turner car in a garage full of late 60’s to early 70’s muscle cars. It was so hypnotizing to watch her walk away, watching each perfectly bubble shaped ass cheek bounce up and down as her hips swing back and forth, the only thing I could think was…, “Oh, my, god. Becky, look at her butt.”

After listening to this chick feel so bad for Scott, Eric came back and filled up each class to the brim before setting the pitcher of PBR back down on the table. After taking a drink of beer I decided I needed to go outside for a smoke, Eric followed me out to the front of the bar — this particular bar did not have a beer garden, and the smoking ban just passed a year prior to this, so we had to leave our beer inside.

It was now dark outside, all the lights were on. As we smoking and talking we were also staring at River Road about 100 yards away from us watching yellow and red lights crisscrossing each other at high rates of speed, some of them faster than others. The front of the bar was held up by pillars of stucco and brick reaching up from the sidewalk, the same sidewalk stretched on to every other neighboring commercial building that was in this tiny strip-mall type of complex.

The sidewalk only went on for… about, five feet or so before a curb that was painted yellow dropped half of a foot into the parking lot.

“Dude that girl totally wants my dick,” Scoot comes outside and asks me for a smoke. After lighting the smoke the bar seemed to have some sort of evacuation order because all of the people — who smoke — came outside to do the same thing we were.

After sitting there smoking for a bit and watching Eric stretch Scott’s leg while he acted like he was in pain. Eric comes back to bull-shit with me as Scott wheels off in the other direction and talks to some people about his accident… or something else.

“Daniel, come here man,” Scott is now talking to a bunch of people from Ft. Lewis, one of who is still wearing his military fatigues. I’m rolling towards him, he was now about 50 feet away, on the same sidewalk.

“What’s up man.”

While looking at this group of five military guys, all of them who spent some time in Iraq, Scoot says, “it would make this guys night if he could watch us play chicken.” I now look up at a blond haired kid who appeared to be 21-years-old wearing a white DC shirt with a white flat-billed baseball cap still with the gold sticker still glued to the top of the bill, and he says with a really excited tone to his voice, “yea, dude, that would be so fucking dope bro.”

“Whatever man, I’m not turning away,” I say this as we both turn around and head in opposite directions from each other.

We both turn around when we are a football field and a half from each other. As we were rolling away from each other the guy must of yelled in the bar or something… because, after turning around and lighting another smoke I came to notice that the entire bar was empty and no one other then the owner was still inside.

Every single person in that bar was now standing against the wall or on the edge of the yellow curb, some were even standing in the parking lot. Scoot and I were able to see each other, as we had a clear path between the both of us, with the guy in military fatigues standing in between us acting as if he was a hot chick at a illegal street race.

His hand flies down in an arc as he yells, “GO.”

This guy backs into the crowd like a pen being dropped onto a table. Scoot and I are staring at each other while smoke is quickly drifting behind our heads, as if our lit cigarettes were polluted exhaust on the back of a car. Our hands are trying to take us so fast towards one another that you would think our hands where like gerbils running on a exercise wheel.

Neither of us turned away, we just keep speeding towards one another like magnets.

We made impact… both of our back wheels lift off of the ground and slide out from under us as the right side of my face impacts with the right side of his face. Because of the fact that we were both smoking a slight second after impact sparks go flying every which way, like a exploding electrical fire that was quickly put out by water.

We’re both laying on the pavement staring up at the ceiling above us as we both say in unison, “that was fucking awesome,” while we can hear the intoxicating sound of 100+ people screaming and laughing.

Eric runs over to us and grabs Scott under his armpits and lifts him up as someone is doing the same thing to me and two other people roll our wheelchairs under us.

We then light another smoke, because we didn’t get to finish the other one that flew into oblivion in a series of sparks. We sit there talking to the others while finishing our smokes and going back inside.

I felt like a goddamn celebrity for the rest of the night. Everyone was now talking to the both of us like we were a D list celebrity in a small town that doesn’t get any famous visitors. Eric just sits at the other end of the table and smiles at us as we all continue to finish our beer.

At the end of the night — this hot chick is no longer talking to Scott, apparently we are terribly childish. I think that is one of the reasons Scott is so attractive to multitudes of women, because he does his thing and does not care if they like it or not.

Eric is now helping Poot back into the car as I’m putting my chair away and walking over to get in the drivers seat to drive us back to my apartment. It was about two-thirty in the morning when we got back to apartment.

Once again Marcus was having another party, so we just continued to party until the sun came up.

Missing in Action


I never ever….ever….ever, thought I would be reading books. I always said that I hated reading.

When growing up in school, you always got to read books that you don’t want to.

I got to admit, To Kill a Mockingbird was a good book, but I still didn’t want to read it. Because of that, the Movie was a lot better.

The funny thing about that book is we were forced to read it in eight grade – when I still lived in Nebraska. Then I had to read it again when I was a sophomore in high school – in Washington State.

And my brain….well, I wouldn’t be too surprised if I start talking about running bulls in mexico or some totally unrelated random thought.

That being said, if I had to read a book that I didn’t want to… I’d sit there thinking about the process of running around in a circle or something else totally random and not even comprehend what I was reading.

Like my eyes were doing all the movements of reading one word after the other, but my brain would just read it in silence while I was daydreaming about something totally different.

I feel like that is the reason my wording goes off into — hey look at that over there.

See…I’m totally singing along with Tom Petty’s song Breakdown belting out the words, “it’s alright if you love me, it’s alright if you don’t, I’m not afraid of you running away honey  I get the feeling you wont.” And… I totally forgot what I was talking about.

Then Paint it Black by The Rolling Stones came on after jamming out to Life in the Fast Lane by The Eagles.

So…If I don’t really finish a thought before moving onto the next part — and… that is why I don’t like to read.

Anyhow, I starting reading as you might know based on the picture above.

I’m surprised that I didn’t start reading when I lived 50 miles south of Seattle. That is something people in the Pacific Northwest do… sit at one coffee shop reading a book while looking up every now and then to drink their coffee staring at the exact same coffee shop on the other side of the street.

Ever since I started this blog it kinda put me in the mood to write, and therefore read.

Then I found out that Robert Kirkman – the creator of The Walking Dead graphic novels as well as an executive producer of the hit TV series, of the same name – teamed up with Jay Bonansinga.

The two of them are making a fifth novel that takes place in The Walking Dead Universe.

I got the first four books, and so far I’m really enjoying it. Sometimes I got to read the same shit over again, to make sure I fully understand it. Sometimes when I’m reading I’ll drift off into another thought and just continue reading a bunch of words that are not making sense, like I’m reading a foreign language.

However I never tend to read more than one paragraph before I reverse and re-read.

I’m currently ten chapters into the first book called Rise of the Governor. I was kinda worried to read it, however the books are different then the show, and the comic books are even different, from what I understand – I never delved in the graphic novels.

You get a glimpse into Phillip’s life, before he became the Governor of Woodbury. Hell, Penny is even alive…but for how long? How does she die? It has me interested.

Because of the book I’ve been reading, I feel like I’ve been getting better at the whole comparing things to other things, as well as my basic writing ability.

I’m going to test that out in an upcoming post, a little short story about me and how I could have lost my hand, I’m going to try to refer to myself in the third person, kinda like I’m not the one telling it.

I also came to see that using words like ‘PFFFFFAAAPP’ to explain a noise is not a bad thing to do. And you can use the word and at the beginning of a sentence.

As long as the reader can understand what they are reading. But at the same time you might want to stay away from writing the following, “yo dawg im up n dis piece an Ill b ova in a grip 2 get all up n her pussy,” then you just sound stupid.

Even thought someone might be able to read it, you will not seem very educated.

Anyhow… I ordered four books, all hardback, and all of them The Walking Dead. Rise of the Governor is the first of the series, it is then followed by The Road to Woodbury. The last two are divided into two books called The Fall of the Governor Part 1 and 2.

The fifth book called Decent comes out on October 14th, 2014. So far I’m enough into it that I don’t see why I will not get the fifth one.

And….that is why I’ve been gone for a while, and might continue to be for a while. Then at some point I’m moving, and during that time I won’t have the internet for a while.

I Agree With Her.

omaha zoo


Many of you are not aware of what I wrote about at the end of 2013, so I’m going to bring it up again.

On a side note, I do not really like that picture of me, but felt like it was fitting to this particular “article”.

Many of you do not like to click on links… but I’m going to provide them anyways. For you who do not link to click on links I’ll summarize my own post and add my view point to the other post, based on my past experience of said situation, which will go to show why I agree with her.

I wrote a post back on December 20th, 2013 called My Experience with Bullies.

To give you a short view of the above link to my own post, it is as it sounds.

I was born in Nebraska and until I moved to Washing State I was constantly bullied/made fun of on a daily basis. Everyone tends to have a bad time in middle school/Jr. high. However the criticism that I received was focused upon my physical disability.

I have even been called a retard on several occasions.

The Jenny Jones Talk Show – that was on in the 90’s – changed my life. It wasn’t just the show, moving to a new state gave me a whole new start on life and how others looked at me.

Unlike my mom and sister who were crying about the idea of moving to Washington State, I was happy because I knew from day one that no one there knew me.

The talk show just gave me the knowledge how to do so. Let’s not forgot the population of Washington State is six times a large as Nebraska

Sure, you can say Lincoln, Nebraska is a fairly large town/city, but once you leave Lincoln you have a lot of nothing.  Then you got Puyallup in the state of Washington that is surrounded by many other towns that are than connected to many others. You can drive five towns over and never feel like you left town in the first place.

My point being that Washington is better at the whole disabled people thing, and in Nebraska I was the first and only physically disabled kid in my school.

This morning while I was laying in bed with my girlfriend sleeping right to me, I was searching other blogs and ran across this article/post called Dumbass Award of the Day Goes to…

I read it, I got to say I agree with her, and this is why….

(At this point I have been away from the computer for about two hours, my girlfriend had the day off of work so we went to get do stuff… now I’m back)

So I got back and Googled ‘Zeman Elementary School’ and got this story. That pretty much says that the origins of the pamphlet are unknown. Whether the principle is trying to cover her own ass or not, the pamphlet came from an unknown source.

Regardless of that, I still agree with it.

Based on that news spot, I think Lincoln Public Schools might be doing a bad job when it come to the whole anti-bulling thing.

Remember, I was made fun of by 30 kids per day – for 3 years – and a few less everyday for the 5 years previous to that in elementary school.

That’s 8 years people, I’ve been though some shit!

If you disagree with the following, just keep in mind I’m talking from personal experience.

Because of the turn-around I had between eighth and ninth grade, I have an insight that many others might not even see.

But keep in mind I’m also coming from a perspective of having a physical disability. Other kids don’t have a physical disability, because of that….I hope what I say has some kind of impact on people 

Rule #1 on the pamphlet says:

Refuse to get mad. Anger is a feeling we have toward our enemies, not our buddies. If a bully finds out he/she can get you angry, you become their puppet…

If you get mad, which they want you to do. You just end up giving them the reaction they are looking for.

As much as it hurts to not get mad and to walk away… you need to.

They might, and often do, think that you getting mad is funny to them. That being said kids looking for popularity might use you as a bonding moment.

If Joe thinks it’s funny, but Sam was the one that was making fun of you – Joe will then become friends with Sam. Now you got Joe and Sam making fun of you when Ryan, Steve, and David think it’s funny.

Now Sam, Joe, Ryan, Steve, and David are making fun of you and some more people think it’s funny, then more, then more.

So on and so forth. You just created a chain reaction until it gets too big to ever get away from until… you know… you watch the Jenny Jones talk show and move to another state.

These kids, being the age they are know that picking on you is not right, but all they see is the way to gain popularity… if you take that away from them, they wont be a bully to you – unless they are an asshole.

Don’t take that as me telling you not to get mad, but if you do it might not work out the way you want it to.

Tell a person of authority if someone is bothering you so much that it is unbearable. Ironically that has never done much for me, but then again a lot has changed since the 90’s.

As much as it sucks to ignore… you got to.

Rule #2 on the pamphlet says:

Treat the person who is being mean as if they are trying to help you. No matter how insulting or mean they may sound, be grateful and think they really care about you.

In a way… yes, however being grateful might end up giving them another reaction that they are looking for which can therefore be used against you.

If you are nice to someone who is being mean to you, it mainly does one important thing, it tells the bully, “I’m not giving you the reaction you’re looking for.”

On the same token, do not be too nice. This shows him that what he does has an impact on your emotions. It might backfire on you.

What you need to do is act like you don’t give a shit what they do or don’t do, you need to make it known that you do not care.

Rule #3 on the pamphlet says:

Do not be afraid. If you are afraid…you automatically lose.

This is very simple… if you are afraid of them you are then telling them, “you have control over my emotions.”

Rule #4 on the pamphlet says:

Do not verbally defend yourself…the defender is automatically the loser. If we defend, we lose.

This goes a lot into #2. When you’re mad, you often defend yourself – or give the body language of doing the same thing.

That being said, If you defend yourself, which they want you to do. You just end up giving them the reaction they are looking for.

Rule #5 on the pamphlet says:

Do not attack. It takes two people to fight, so it’s the person who retaliated or responds who actually starts the fight.

They want you to start the fight… don’t. Once again this just gives them the reaction they are looking for.

I can’t lie to you, if I was physically able to fight and win the fights I would have been suspended from school so many times.

On the same token, if you get into a fight and then win the said fight, you might change the playing field.

That being said, if you must do something violent, get into a fight. Never take a weapon to school, that is just a really bad thing to do, and does not make you a good person no matter what.

Overall it’s just a bad idea to get into a fight, if they want to fight you, they are pretty sure that you can not win, and therefore make them look cool and you look like more of a dork then they already think you already are.

Rule #6 on the pamphlet says:

If someone physically hurts you, just show that you are hurt; do not get angry. Did all the kids in town get exposed to gamma rays and there’s a bunch of little Hulks running around? If you get angry, they won’t feel sorry.

They won’t feel sorry, that’s why they hurt you. If anyone felt sorry for hurting you they would not do it.

Showing them that you are hurt however will let them know that they can get a reaction off of you… that they can thrive off.

I don’t really agree with this, however I do agree that the one that hurts you will not feel sorry about it.

If it bothers you, tell a person of authority, do not take it into your own hands.

And do not get angry, that’s just another reaction they are looking for.

I keep saying the reaction they are looking for… it kinda sounds like I’m being very confusing. It all depends on the person and how they are being raised. 

In my case the reaction they were looking for was anything that can be seen as funny to others, which therefore caused a gain in their popularity.

Rule #7 on the pamphlet says:

Do not tell on bullies. The number one reason bullies hate their victims is because their victims tell on them. Telling makes the bully want to retaliate.

True, telling on them will often come with a negative outcome.

However if you are truly hurt – emotionally or physically – you need to tell someone, whether they get the other party in-trouble or not, it’s good to have a counselor to talk to.

But on the other hand you need to find a counselor that actually cares about you and your emotions. In my experiences, the counselor’s where very quick to get you in and out, because all they cared about was their paycheck.

Rule #8 on the pamphlet says:

Don’t be a sore loser. Lose gracefully and be a good sport; kids will like you better.

I don’t really know what to say to this. I guess it speaks for itself.

People will often like you better if you accept who you are instead of trying to be someone you’re not.

That being said, if you lose, you might be angry that you lost or didn’t succeed, but be glad you tried and own it, don’t let it own you.

 And rule #9 on the pamphlet says:

Learn to laugh at yourself and not get “hooked” by put-downs. Make a joke out of it or agree with the put-down. For example: “If you think I’m ugly, you should see my sister!”

I might not say that line, it might not work out best for you… however I might say, “yes, I’m so ugly that you should not even be talking to me.” – Even though that is not really making fun of yourself.

I think this is the most important one – of all.

Do you know how much my life has changed when I not only learned how to keep from giving them the reaction that they were looking for, but also learned how to make fun of myself in a humorous manner?

People who are not even your bullies may end up becoming your friend because of the fact that you can not only handle such a situation, but you are funny on top of it.

Learning how to make fun of yourself was my most powerful defense, it more or less showed them, “if he says that about himself, I don’t really got much else to say.”

“If he is saying that about himself, he obviously does not care what I say and I wont get the reaction I’m looking for.”

Not only that, but you kinda turn the tables on them by making them look stupid, as if they did something trying to get people to laugh at you, but they laughed at them instead.

However you need to understand humor. if what you say is not funny to anyone besides you it will only backfire on you.