So, You Want to be a Professional Knife Fighter?

An interesting career choice. Are you currently living in the Philippines…? Because there’s not much out there looking for professional knife fighters.

How to Become a Professional Knife Fighter

FIRST: Ask yourself, “Why is it necessary that I become a professional knife fighter?“

If becoming a professional knife fighter is somehow the solution to “whatever-ails-you”, you may want to rethink about your current lifestyle.

Anyway, if learning how to become a professional knife fighter will get you out of a rut – please, continue on…

…but first, let me explain something to you before you continue reading:

• there’s no such thing as a professional knife fighter

Yes, this is true, there is no such thing as a professional knife fighter

Do you even know the correct & proper way to sharpen a knife let alone fight with one?

But hey, if you were hoping to gain some tips on how to become a professional knife fighter, I might be able to help you out – not.

For real, think about it.

If you’re still reading this…okay, I’ll tell you what I know.

A dull knife can be just as dangerous as a sharp one

As odd as this sounds, let me explain something to you.  A  knife is mainly used in the kitchen – not on the battlefield.

More people are injured in their own kitchen than on the streets.  It’s in the kitchen is where the knife is used for its true intention; to cut, chop & slice.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand that there are hunting knives and they are used for hunting, but something just doesn’t set with me…that term…”hunting knife”.

Most hunters I know (and I am NOT one), use some kind of instrument that uses projectiles to bring down their prey.

Do you know anybody who goes out hunting with just a knife…?  And comes back with a deer, bear, wild hog, mountain lion…?

I know a lot of people, but I don’t know anyone who would go out and hunt with just a knife – and come back with something (even something as small as squirrel).

Or come back at all.

{Because there are people that do}

Anyway, back to having a dull knife

A dull knife is a dangerous knife.

A knife is considered a tool; an instrument of the culinary art.  It’s used to slice, cut & chop – stabbing, not so much.

When the knife is dull (which does happen to sharp knives), the person using a dull knife will try to compensate by applying more pressure.  This could be extremely dangerous because when applying more pressure than necessary, you risk slipping and possibly cutting and injuring yourself.

Keep your knives sharp and then hang them.  Great idea.

I know, you’re waiting for the professional knife fighting tips..hold on.

SAFETY FIRST

Always treat a knife as if it were extremely sharp when alone and especially with others around.  This will prevent accidents and is also good practice until you do handle extremely sharp knives.

If your knife comes with a sheath make sure you use it.  Store your knife in a safe, dry place.  Away from harm.  If you’re going to hang your knives, please be sure that they are firmly secured and away from danger.  I recommend strong magnets.
$15.79
The Little Black Book of Violence: What Every Young Man Needs to Know About Fighting

Professional Knife Fighting Tip #1

You’ll NEVER see it coming!

This is so true…it almost makes me laugh.  If you’re thinking that knife fights are like how they’re portrayed in Hollywood…you’re (gonna be) dead wrong.

When an assailant is coming at you with a knife, it’s going to be a covert move – guaranteed.  If you think that some guy is just going to standby & wait until you get up and go to the bathroom (in some restaurant or bar) so he can make his presence known to you…think again.

Most assailants will more than likely walk near you (rather quickly) and take a few stabs at you.  Even those who claim to be professional knife fighters would rather strike an opponent without them knowing.  This allows for vital targets to be exposed without defense.

It’s a “coward’s move”, but that’s fighting with a knife.  The trick is to know who could and even possibly know who is actually carrying a knife.
$2.99
Knife Fighting: Multiple Attacker Training Drills for Faster and Better Reactions

Professional Knife Fighting Tip #2

Even if you win – you lose.

Law enforcement officers frown on knife fighting, even if it was declared a duel with all parties involved (that means even if everybody involved agrees to a fair knife fight).  This isn’t the wild west and there’s no such thing as a fair knife fight.

So that’s two things to remember:

1. There’s no such thing as a professional knife fighter
2. There’s no such thing as a fair knife fight

There is such a thing as “self defense”, however, most deaths that occur by knife wasn’t because of self defense.

If you are defending yourself with a knife, you are to try and make an escape as soon as possible.  If your attacker is down but still alive, you are NOT suppose to finish him off.

You may get arrested or worse…you may go to prison.
$26.99
Philippine Fighting Arts by Julius Melegrito Vol. 3: Knife Tactics and Applications

Professional Knife Fighting Tip #3

The Final & Most Important Tip of All
[Never Claim to be a Professional Knife Fighter]

That’s right.  First of all, like I said earlier, “There’s no such thing as a professional knife fighter.”  So don’t go claiming that you’re something that you’re not.  There may be people out there that aren’t professional knife fighters, but there are people out there that know how to fight with knives.

Other interesting articles

• How to Spot a Liar
• Become the MOST Perfect Getaway Driver
• There was a PIG-MAN Living in my Basement

ABOUT ANNA

ABOUT ANNA.

30 Days in the County Jail

As I walked away, I thought about what I just agreed to do.  Oh well.  I looked down to see what book I grabbed off the shelf.  It was “Bag of Bones” by Stephen King.

I walked in my cell and Byron was already in his rack reading a letter he received earlier that day.

I crawled up on my rack and laid on my back.  I held the Stephen King book up and stared at its cover.  I opened the cover and noticed a near-perfect square torn out of it.                                 About the size of a jailhouse cigarette.

Time to Talk while on the Toilet

[continued from April 23, 2013]

The book I read while in the county jail.

As I looked at the section missing from the page I wondered if the ink on the paper would affect you some how.

Smoking an actual page from a book has got to be harsh – let alone, totally unhealthy; possibly toxic.  Makes my throat burn just thinking about it.

It was the first page of the book so the actual story wasn’t missing.  It was just a review that was ripped out.

I was about to turn to the next page when I heard Byron rustling with his letter.  He said some profanity under his breath, sat up and slipped on his Bob Barkers.   He got up and walked over to the toilet.  Figuring he had to pee, I blocked my view from him with my book and turned to the next page – the title page.

As I started to read, I got about halfway through the first page when I noticed something – I wasn’t hearing anything.  What I mean by that is…I thought Byron walked over to the toilet to pee.  How come I wasn’t hearing any pee?

I slowly picked up the book off my chest to see what he was doing.

Oops…there he is.  He’s shitting.

He sat perfectly still with his pants down to his ankles.  His mouth was sort of open and his head was somewhat Facing down but his eyes were up and looking at me.

Talk about feeling awkward.

I put the book back down.  I thought to myself, “How degrading.”

“Hey, man,” Byron says in deep voice.

Oh shit.

“Hey, man.”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.  Did I piss him off?  Is he pissed off?

I didn’t want him to think I was blowing him off so I quickly answered back with a “What’s up?”

“You know where Hammond High be at?”

Hammond High…?  Did he just ask about Hammond High?  Of course I know about Hammond High.  With the way he spoke I would have bet that he was a student of Hammond High School – at one time.

“Really…? You’re going to take a shit in front of me?”

“Yeah, I know.”  I tried to sound relax, like I was an “old hand” at this whole incarceration thing.  ”It’s on Calumet Avenue.”

I was relieved that he wasn’t upset that I looked at him.  I’m not quite sure how this works…the whole toilet/jail cell thing.  Is there some silent code that goes unsaid (common sense almost, I think) – “Don’t Watch your Cell Mate Shit“.

Kind of goes without saying…right?

“Is it by the police department?”

“No, that’s just City Hall now.  They used to be there.  The Hammond Police Department moved several blocks north to Douglas Street.”

Suddenly, I heard his ass explode.

Are you kidding me?

“That’s where my auntie be at right now.”

Seriously?

“Oh yeah?”

I didn’t know what to say.   Why is he telling me this?

I blurted out, “That’s too bad.”   That’s all I could think to say.

“Naw, naw, it’s not like that…it’s not like that,” Byron said with a little chuckle. “Naw, she works there.”

How odd.  I, too, have relatives that work (have worked) for the Hammond Police Department.

“If she knew I was up in here, whoa boy!”  I heard Byron grabbing for the toilet paper. “She would try and get me out,”  I could tell Byron was really digging up in his ass by the slight strain in his voice, “just so she could kick my ass.”

I sensed Byron getting up.  You had to push in this steel button in order to flush the toilet.  It was a bit stiff, but you learned how to finagle it a bit to make it work.

Byron washed his hands and went to go lay back down on his cot.

That was totally weird for me.  Talking to a guy I’ve only known for a few hours while he’s taking a shit.  It doesn’t seem right…but he started the conversation.

Great..now I have to shit.

[TO BE CONTINUED SOON]

30 Days in the County Jail

[continued from April 4, 2013]

One time, I noticed an inmate had somehow smuggled in some tobacco and was about to smoke himself  a jailhouse cigarette.

What did he use for rolling papers?

But most importantly, how in the hell was he going to light it?

The Jailhouse Cigarette

It was a Mexican dude with long hair, a bit on the thin side, is who I noticed smuggled in some tobacco.  He used a blank page out of a paperback novel to roll the tobacco in.

There were books available so I made the best of it (in fact, I do believe I was the only one).

It was a little thinner than a normal size cigarette, it looked more like a marijuana joint.  The Mexican dude then had with him a long string that was made from toilet paper.

The idea is to have something that can light this jailhouse cigarette, and that’s what the rolled up toilet paper was for.  He unrolled about 15″ of toilet paper and then rolled that into the thinnest string he could make.  It had to be tight, it resembled a wick.

He then had two small bare wires, small enough to fit into an electrical outlet.  The Mexican dude then had one of his associates to keep an eye out on the guards.

The guardhouse had tinted windows, but you were still able to see silhouettes of people standing around.  There were cameras also, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Now that I think about it, that’s kind of scary.

When the Mexican dude got the signal that the coast was clear, he brought the toilet paper string up to one of wires which he placed in the outlet.  At the same time he touched the other small wire which was stuck in the other socket.  A spark would shoot out (a couple of times), then eventually lighting the toilet paper string on fire.

The match is lit.

He then took the toilet paper string to his cell where he and his cohorts smoked their jailhouse cigarette.

My First Writing Assignment

Get your own County Orange jumpsuit for only $29.99

On your lunch/dinner trays you were given a small plastic container of some sort of juice.  Whether it be, pineapple, apple, orange or even the occasional cranberry it was one of the few items I looked forward to.

Funny how jail brings out the simple pleasures.

Like I said, it was a small container with a tin foil cover that you could peel back.  I carefully peeled back each one I received and kept the foil.

Why did I keep the foil?  I don’t know.  I’ll figure something out.

After a days worth of collecting, I managed to keep two.  I kept my foil collection to myself.  I didn’t tell Byron about my collection for fear that it might upset him or that he might want it for himself and try to steal it from me.  Besides, what does it matter?  He’s suppose to be getting out in a few days anyway.

But what if he steals my foil anyway and then gets let out?

Yeah, I’ll just keep this to myself.

Later that night…

Just before the Lake County Jail put us on lock down for the evening, I went out and grabbed a book…any book.  I don’t care which one.

As I turned around I heard a voice say, “Hey…you read?”

I looked around.  It was a black guy sitting at a table looking about the same age as me.  He had a wild look about him, like he hasn’t been this sober in a very long time.  He didn’t act crazy or talk crazy – he just looked crazy.  Maybe if he would have brushed his hair;  it just looked like he had a bunch of spiders in it.

“Talking to me?” I asked him.

“Yeah…you read?” he looked directly at me with a blank stare.  The light was on, but nobody was home.

“Hmm-hmm, yes,” I starting feeling a little nervous.  I started to think that this guy was seriously psycho and was about to shank me or something because I could read and maybe he couldn’t…I didn’t know.  I was ready for anything.

“You think you could write me a letter tomorrow?” he asked me.  I noticed a small pencil and a single sheet of loose leaf paper that was very wrinkled on the table behind him.

“Okay…yeah, sure.” I didn’t know what to take of that

“I gotta write my lawyer.”

“Alright,” I started to walk away slowly, “tomorrow then.”

“Thanks, man.” He gave me the peace sign.

As I walked away, I thought about what I just agreed to do.  Oh well.  I looked down to see what book I grabbed off the shelf.  It was “Bag of Bones” by Stephen King.

I walked in my cell and Byron was already in his rack reading a letter he received earlier that day.

I crawled up on my rack and laid on my back.  I held the Stephen King book up and stared at its cover.  I opened the cover and noticed a near-perfect square torn out of it.                                 About the size of a jailhouse cigarette.

[CONTINUED ON MAY 5, 2013]

Mayhem at the White Castle

Have you ever seen the movie
THE GREAT SANTINI?

If you haven’t, then this won’t make complete sense…well, maybe

It was like any other summer week day night.  Bored as hell, drinking beer like a fish drinks water and hanging out with three or four friends.  I noticed a large can of Campbells Cream Mushroom Soup in the cupboard and remembered the movie starring Robert Duvall, “The Great Santini“

If you have never seen the movie, let me explain a certain scene to you:

• Duvall’s character has an open can of soup inside his jacket
• He acts as if he’s throwing up and pours the contents of the soup on the floor
• His friends, who are in on it, run up to the fake vomit and start eating it off the floor
• People get sick and throw up for real

If you would like to see how it went down, buy from AMAZON

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Here’s how it went down at the WHITE CASTLE

White Castle – Calumet Avenue & 165th Street
Hammond, Indiana – Early 90′s (?)

We took some leftovers from a friend’s house (peas, carrots, &c.) and opened the family size can of cream of mushroom soup with a can opener.  I dumped a little bit of the soup out into the garbage can, & filled it with the leftovers.  I did this so the contents would not be so thick because I wanted it to  pour out of the can a bit more easily when it was tilted over, we were trying to make it look as realistic as possible.

And it did!

It looked like REAL puke!

The plan was fairly easy to follow, all we needed were the characters.  Since somebody had to eat the fake vomit, that character role will be played by “yours truly” and by somebody else who had just as much low self esteem as me, Rash Key.

Next, we needed somebody to carry the fake vomit in the Campbell’s soup can into the White Castle.  We nominated our “large-and-in-charge” red-headed friend to do the honors, Jay Jee.

We had Jee walk in with another friend.  Jee then walked straight to a booth and sat in it, while the other friend went to place an order.

After that, Rash and I walked in and stood in line right behind our friend.

That was the signal.   The plan was under way.

All of a sudden, Jee started making some loud dry heaving noises…and they just got louder.  People started to turn and look at what was going on.

Before anyone knew it, Jee made a very loud and quite a long sound of himself throwing up.  He sounded possessed.  Hollywood would be proud.

The next thing you know, there was this, what looks like, a puddle of PUKE on the table.  Jee made an excellent performance and soon made a quick get-away out the north exit.
(This was a common exit)

Exit – stage left.

People were confused, everyone looked at each other in amazement as if they couldn’t believe what they just witnessed.

But they ain’t seen nothing yet.

Rash and I looked at each other – we were on.

We walked out of line and headed for the vomit-like substance on the table.  I heard our other friend in line say to himself, “Oh my God.”

Oh my God was right, because the next thing I’m about to tell you actually happened:

Rash and I approached the vomit and started picking the mushrooms out of it and eating it.
Yes.  Eating it.

It was fake of course, but if you didn’t know you would have swore that two crazy idiots were eating chunks of vomit that came from a some stranger off the street.

A man had to cover the eyes of his two little boys, while looking at us as if to say, “What the hell are you doing?”

I heard people gasp.  Our friend, got out of line and left the restaurant.  We followed.

We walked out with cream of mushroom soup dangling from our chins, making sounds as if we were the undead.

Ah…good times.

[WANT TO READ THE FIRST "Mayhem at the White Castle"?]

30 Days in the County Jail

I’m probably getting “eye-fucked” right now.
Motherfuckers – I need some fucking underwear!

[continued from February 21, 2013]

Entering Population

Trust me, it’s not as cool as it sounds

I got my two-piece orange jumpsuit and my jailhouse Bob Barker slippers. Luckily I wore white socks that day so I have at least had that going for me. They gave me a pad that they were trying to pass off as a mattress, some dingy bed sheets and a worn blanket.  They gave you some toiletries along with an old brown towel & washcloth.
No pillow.

I was “free-balling” within my orange county pants, a feeling I’m gonna have to get used to for a while.  I walked up to the second tier and headed to the cell I was assigned to.

I walked in with a mesh bag full of personal items over my shoulder and this “so-called” mattress under my arm.   The cell was about 8 feet wide and about 12 feet long.  There were two beds, one top of the other off to the side, a small table and chair that was securely fastened to the cement floor and the concrete block wall. There was also a toilet that was in the corner close to the cell door, of course there wasn’t a toilet seat.
Stainless steel my ass.

Lake County Jail, Crown Point, Indiana

My First Jailhouse Cell and Roommate

I stood at the doorway and saw that the top bunk was empty, this is where I was going to sleep.  I noticed a black dude laying in the bottom bunk reading a book.  He looked back at me and went back to his book.

“What’s up?” he said to me. “The top bed is yours.”

“Right on,” I answered back.  I know he asked “What’s up?”, but  that’s street talk for “Hello.”
Just in case you didn’t know.

I’m just glad that he spoke to me first, he broke the ice first.  ”Jailhouse ice” can be rather difficult to break, if you didn’t know.  I’ve never spent this long in jail before, so I’m rather new & unsure on “jailhouse etiquette” so I just came right out and introduced myself.

“My name is Jimmy.”

“Byron.”

“Right on,” I said softly.  I thought maybe I should quit with the “right-on’s” while I’m in Lake County Jail, I may sound a bit too white.  But I couldn’t help it.  I kept on saying it.

Outside my cell door, over the railing and down below was the recreation area. It had about eight tables, each one surrounded by four stools and everything was securely fastened to the floor. There was also a television set that was set up on top of a metal shelf.

I was in the first cell when you came up to the second floor.  But immediately to the right out my cell door, you could take the stairs down to the recreation area, but to left that’s where the phones and showers were.  The phones and showers were down a hall by themselves, with a security camera in the far right corner.  I thought that this would be the perfect area where a jailhouse rape could take place.
I avoided that area as much as I could.

I climbed up on top of my rack, put my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling.  A moment later, Byron spoke.

“What they got’cha up in for?”

I told him what I thought I was in there for and then asked him the same question.

“They got me in here because they think I stole a car.  I didn’t steal no car, my sister’s got the title.  It’s my sister’s car.  They’re just trippin’, that’s all.”

There was a moment of silence.  Then Byron got to his feet and looked at me.  He was clean cut, nice teeth, slender build, a bit on the skinny side.

“I mean, who drives around with the title to their car?  You know what I’m sayin’?”

He was a bit upset, it was obvious.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Two days.  Soon as my sister gets her ass up here and shows them the title to the car I’m getting the fuck outta here.  I don’t know what the fuck is taking her so long.”

They announced that dinner was about to be served.

The Chow Line – Jailhouse Style

Remember the school lunch line?  Well, this is nothing like that.  You file in a single line, and walk into a small room where your tray is handed to you underneath a shatter proof window.  A single carton of milk is handed out by an inmate.

You walk out of the chow line, and if there’s a seat open, you go and sit down.  If there’s no place to sit, you may take your tray to your cell and sit at that little table I told you about that’s secured to the wall and floor.

My cellmate sat at one of the tables in the recreation room so he would be able to watch a little television.  I didn’t care if I watched television or not, so I went to my cell and stood at my rack…fuck that little table.

After dinner and after all the trays and things have been accounted for, inmates sat around and watched television quietly.  I stayed in my cell and kept my cell door open, so I could occasionally walk out and peek over the railing and see what’s going on.

One time, I noticed an inmate had somehow smuggled in some tobacco as was about to smoke himself  a jailhouse cigarette.

What did he use for rolling papers?  But most importantly, how in the hell was he going to light it?

[continued on April 23, 2013]

Saved by the Sprinkler

I’m not really sure why I did it, but at 17 years-old I did a lot of things that today I’m not really sure why I did. Teenage rebellion…? Anger issues…? Simple stupidity…?

Fuck…who am I trying to fool?
It was all of it…and then everything else.

Setting the Garage on Fire (accidentally)

Boredom can Lead to Trouble

My grandma Peters got me this bad-ass vest coat. It was blue, bulky and had pockets everywhere. It being a sleeveless coat made it that much cooler.
I sported the shit out of it. I even wore it in the house.

It was starting to get cold out, perfect weather for my vest. I was bored and wanted to do something outside; I wanted to do something outside while wearing my vest coat. I decided to go next door and see what my friend Tyrone D was doing.

He answered the door so I asked if he wanted to come by and hang out in the garage. He agreed and said he’d be by in 10 minutes.

The Infamous Eaton Street Garage

The Eaton Street Garage

I’ve thrown parties, had BBQ’s, built weapons, even held a cock-fight in the garage on Eaton Street.

I loved hanging out in that garage on Eaton Street, a lot of people did. So the last thing you think I want to do is burn it down…right?

Well, I nearly did – completely on accident, of course.

Here’s how it went down:

Tyrone was taking his sweet ass time getting over to the garage so I figured I’d played a joke on him.

• I grabbed a pair of handcuffs from the house and brought them into the garage and secured them near the garage door
• filled a metal pail a quarter of the way with gasoline and placed it in the center of the garage
• a pack of matches from Lauer’s Pub

The plan was that I just wanted to scare the shit out of Tyrone, so when he finally came into the garage I managed to get him handcuffed to the garage door.

Don’t ask me how I did it – I just did it.
Wearing my bad-ass, blue vest coat.

Now I was going to mentally torture him.

I first told him that my dad gave me permission to burn the garage down because we were going to build another one, and that’s what the pail of gas was for.

Then I told him that I was going to burn him alive and say that it was an accident.

Tyrone doubted me. He said that there’d be no way my father would allow me to burn the garage down.  Besides, he pointed out that there were still items of value in the garage.

I looked around and realized that he called my bluff.

Damn it.

Hold on…I got this. I’m gonna do something that will really freak him out.

I looked at Tyrone and smiled, then I lit a match. “You’re right,” I said laughing a little to myself, “you’re right.”

Tyrone’s eyes got wide. “What’cha going to do?”

I gave him a serious face.

“I’m gonna burn this motherfucker down anyway!”

I dropped the match.

Tyrone screamed, “Nooo!!

*PAUSE*

Now I meant to miss the pail…but I didn’t.

This is what pictured in my brains when that pail of gasoline went up in flames

All I remember was Tyrone screaming when this tower of flame came shooting straight up.

It startled me so bad that I stepped back, but when I did, I kicked the pail over.

Now there was a pool of fiery gasoline in the center of the garage.

I freaked out and took off out of there, and even shut the garage door behind me.

I began to run toward the house for whatever reason, but then I heard Tyrone.

“Jimmy!”

Oh my God!  I forgot about Tyrone!

I ran back to the garage and opened the door.  There was smoke and fire everywhere.  I saw Tyrone in the back of garage, he was sitting on the ground with his one arm hanging in the air handcuffed to the big garage door.  He was trying to stay as low as he could to the ground to avoid the smoke. Just like we were taught in school.

Right on, Tyrone!

Anyway, I still had the handcuff key in the pocket of my bad-ass, blue vest coat. So I took it out and held on tight to it.  I then ran and jumped through the flames to get to Tyrone.

When I unhandcuffed Tyrone, he quickly bolted out of there, causing me to drop the handcuffs and the key.  He also ran through the fire, kicking the pail and causing the fire to spread even more.

By the time I was able to pick up the handcuffs and the key, the fire had spread mostly over  the entire garage floor.  I hesitated.

I had to get out of there.

Things were getting out of hand; things were getting out of control.
I was getting scared.
And that ain’t good.

Finally I gathered enough nerve to just run through the fire.  I ran out the garage door and found that Tyrone was nowhere in sight.

I quickly grabbed the garden hose that still had the sprinkler attached.  I ran back towards the garage, at the same time trying to remove the sprinkler.
And I’d be a son-of-a-bitch, if I couldn’t take off that damn sprinkler.

So instead of messing with it, I just threw the whole the thing in there – hose and all!

Guess what?
Bad idea!

The water started pushing the fire towards the back of the garage, right up against the big garage door, right where I handcuffed Tyrone.  The garage door was about to catch fire.

I had an idea.

Then I got an idea!

I thought if I was quick enough, I’d be able to run into the house and grab the key to the big garage door.  I knew right where it was it, I figured it’ll take me 5 seconds.

After that, I ran and unlocked the big garage door and let the water push the gas and fire out into the alley.

When I lifted the garage door, I ran back around and pulled the hose in.  By then, the sprinkler had melted and even the hose got damaged.

I did the best I could by spraying the gas out of the garage and into the alley.  Luckily, the fire started to die down by itself.

Everything was under control.  Miraculously, there was hardly any sign there was a fire in the garage (besides the smell, but that could be aired out in an hour).

Just as I stomped out the last little flame, a Hammond police car pulled up rather suddenly. The officer who was driving, looked at me, shook his head and then drove away.

He knew.

The Broken Heart

A Man’s First Broken Heart

Dealing with a Broken Heart isn’t Easy

REMEMBER…A Broken Heart can be Mended

An old friend of mine (since elementary school) has a son who now attends college. He’s a smart, bright kid who never got into any serious trouble and spent most of his days studying.
Don’t get me wrong, he was a typical high school kid who drank alcohol on the weekends and on occasion smoked a little marijuana. No big deal.
What’d ya gonna do?

It seems he graduated high school a virgin, and wanted to wait until he attended college to maybe start a serious relationship.

And so he did.

He lost his virginity to this girl.

The relationship was going well, the two were in love. They called and text each other all the time. They talked all the time & went everywhere together. This relationship is going to last forever!

Well…so he thought.

Things started to change, as things do. The talking to each other started to slow down. Shortened text reply’s with big delays in between messages.
Then it happened.
They started doing their own thing without the other…all the time.

This is usually a bad sign in my book. Especially in the first few months of a relationship.

Eventually, the ax fell and they broke up.

RESULT: A serious broken heart.

It feels as if she stabbed me in the heart.

Oh yes it does.

And I know, I know…”it came out of nowhere“.
It sometimes does.

My Explanation of the Woman’s Mind

Women are Five Steps Ahead
(well, they try to be)

Women like to plan, there’s no “spur of the moment” kind of thing going on with them. And if they do decide to do something spontaneous , it’s because they planned it, and more than likely they REALLY don’t want to do it.

• EXAMPLE: If you and your woman have dinner plans, she already has your clothes you’re going to wear picked out that morning.

BONUS INFORMATION Most women DON’T like surprises, because it makes them pee a little bit.

The “FALL BACK GUY“

Younger women (those between the ages of 18 -25), like to have “fall-back guys” around.
Fall-back guys are those fuckin’ douchbags that always seem to be around; they’re always invited over and they call anytime – day or night.
“THEY’RE JUST REALLY GREAT FRIENDS! “

Whatever.
Shut the fuck up.

Chances are he’s a little pussy boy, probably has a girlfriend (even married) but there’s some connection the two of them have…right?
You can’t explain it – it’s just there.

I can explain it!
You like the fact that he makes a lot of money, he’s “okay” looking (or at least, you can work with it) but you just can’t get over his tiny penis.

And he knows it.

It was NEVER really spoken out loud, it was kind of like a silent understanding. You both know it would never work out.

You’d cheat on him eventually. You prefer girth.

But these kind of guys are still nice to have around, especially after you get into a fight with a boyfriend who knows just how to pound the shit out of you.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

Sex Position of the Week

The Linguini is the Sex Position of the Week

Sorry about missing last week's Sex Position of the Week.

Long story.

Searching the Internet for a Sex Position of the Week

As I searched the World Wide Web for an interesting “Sex Position of the Week“, I came across this Cosmopolitan article. It had this sex position called the Linguini sex position.

Linguini…?

Do they mean Linguine?
Is Linguini pronounced the same as Linguine?

I think so.

Well anyway, this article went on to say that this particular sex position, although  rather difficult to perform, it can quite possibly give you an orgasm like you’ve NEVER felt before – both male & female.

The Linguini Sex Position

In the Linguini sex position, the female’s thighs will be closer together and the male is positioned in a way where he can penetrate the female deeper. This position also enables  the male to gain access to female’s breasts and clitoris while teasing her G-spot with his penis.

As Cosmo says…

“The combo of these two will make even the tiniest guy feel like a god!”

Go and check out MORE sex positions at www.cosmopolitan.com, they have some GREAT sex positions.

Last Week’s Sex Position [none]

30 Days in the County Jail

[continued from last Thursday, February 14, 2013]

“Thought you said you didn’t see anything?” the sheriff asked.

“I didn’t…I mean, I didn’t have anything to do with this.” I started to sound like I was lying…I guess I was.

“I didn’t ask that, now did I?” the sheriff started to sound agitated.

“I don’t know,” I stammered back. “It just happened. I didn’t see any of this coming.”

“They never do,” the paramedic said.

The Infamous Drunk Tank

So after all that, I found myself alone – in the “drunk tank”.  I was looking at the pay phone, then I looked at that huge puddle of piss right beneath it.

Nope – not going to use it quite yet.  Besides, I don’t even remember anyone’s freakin’ phone number anyway.  Stupid cell phone.

I was in the drunk tank for a long while before someone else finally got thrown in with me.
And of course, it has to be the Prince of the Homosexuals.

This black guy walks in barefoot, wearing an outfit that TOTALLY belongs to a woman.  The makeup he was wearing was beginning to wear off, except for the white sparkly eye shadow – that was going strong.
Oh my God.

As soon as the sheriff let him go he walked straight to the phone.  I heard his feet slapping against the wet, piss-puddled pavement.  This guy actually stood in the puddle of piss while he used the pone – I mean phone.

You want to know the kicker?
He actually wiped down the phone receiver with his girly shirt before he placed it against his face.

Are you kidding me?
Dude, you’re standing in piss, and in your bare feet no less.

Listening to his conversation was painful.  I wanted to stick a Phillips-screwdriver in my ears.

This dude was so gay, he was like a cartoon.  I felt he deliberately acted this way to make me feel uncomfortable; or he was trying to amuse me; or he was… never mind.

Eventually the drunk tank started to fill – how unfortunate. Some of these people made me wonder how I became such a pathetic loser.

As I sat on the concrete slab looking over to my “future roommates” for the next several weeks, I imagined myself sitting among them, shooting the shit, discussing stabbing techniques and/or the best way to snatch a chain off someones neck.
Yeah, that’s me.

Funny how some guys come in here and know one other, and they start talking like they’re picking up right where they left off.

After a while, a sheriff opened the cell door and yelled in.

“Who wants a blanket? I only got so many.”

Fuck that.

There’s no way I’m going to get a blanket. That’s a “for-sure” fight starter.

Oh look.
The Prince of the Homosexuals is in line for a blanket.

It was about a half hour after the blanket hand-out is when I began to realize why they were passing out blankets.

I’m Spending the Night

Guess I’m spending my first night in jail in a drunk tank.

Then my name was called out by a Lake County sheriff  as they opened the cell door, “JAMES PETERS!”

Guess not.

So once again I’m fingerprinted and photographed, but now I go in a room and told to strip down to white underclothing only – WHITE ONLY.  If you DIDN’T have white underwear on, they will give you a new pair of white boxers.  I somehow, misunderstood this simple rule and kept my Yoda underwear on. They’re not white, they’re green and Yoda’s face is on the ass.

We put our clothes in these wire baskets that were numbered, similar to the ones I remember at my city’s public pool.

You put your clothes in these baskets, hand them through this window where another (clothed) inmate takes your basket and files it away.  Behind him was like the BIGGEST room of baskets I’ve ever seen.
Well, the only one I have ever seen.
This room reminded me of the last scene in the movie “Raiders of the Lost Ark”, when the old guy is pushing a crate through a huge room full of crates.
But instead of crates, it was baskets.

After that, you stood out in the hall against a wall. This little, bald-headed Lake County sheriff walked down and looked at each one of us. There were like twenty of us standing against the wall and when he got to me he looked at my underwear.

“Cute, but you’re allowed WHITE underclothing only. Lose’em and put them in this bag.”
An inmate held out a plastic garbage bag.

I never saw those Yoda undies again.

So, once again, I’m the odd-ball out.
Everybody’s got underwear on – but me.

This is NOT starting off well.
This is how it is when you’re about to go to Hell.
Naked, in jail; walking around naked – in jail.

I’m probably getting “eye-fucked” right now.
Motherfuckers – I need some fucking underwear.

Entering Population

Trust me, it’s not as cool as it sounds.

[continued April 4, 2013]