If you are constantly waiting to be happy, for the external situation to change or dependent on another to provide it, you are not in charge of it – your happiness is reliant on something outside your control.

Instead determine how to create your own source of happiness; a feeling not dependent on anything external – but internally developed, maintained and controllable. When you find yourself unhappy or starting to lose your motivation, you personally are able to cultivate these feelings – without requiring anything outside of you. I call this an internal addict.

Some people use substances such as nicotine, alcohol or drugs to create a feeling of happiness or act such as gambling, shopping, eating or womanizing, they become an external addict. And, all of these outlets actually create more pain – the feeling of happiness is temporary, while the negative feelings they create can last much longer.

Cigarettes, for example, put nicotine into a person’s body – creating craving; suffering. The cure to this unhappiness is often to have another cigarette. Soon you believe you feel that the cause of your happiness is nicotine – when actually it is the cause of your suffering. Suffering leads to action; but with cigarettes that action is normally to have another one – an unproductive continuous cycle leading to personal destruction.

Besides just seeking happiness from a source outside of themselves, a person feels stuck repeating the cycle of self-inflicted pain and then temporary relief. The negative reaction they receive from people creating more suffering – making them feel a need for another cigarette that much more.

I find from experience that when I look outside of myself to solve something on the inside – I lose control and while I may feel better for a bit, I end up worse off than when I started. I start to focus on how to receive more to get back that feeling of happiness. This change in focus takes me away from working towards my vision, goals, dreams, and takes my life to a place I did not want to go in the beginning.

Now, there are some exceptions, such as removing toxic people from my life. But, this creates happiness by allowing a person to focus more on their objectives – dreams, vision, perfect life and goals: by removing unnecessary distractions, a person focuses and subsequently will make more progress towards their objectives.

By making progress towards what matters to us, the feeling of happiness in a person naturally increases and a desire to continue in their path grows stronger. The short-term and long-term consequences of this behavior are positive. Instead of deterring our focus from our objectives, we become more closely focused on them and we realize them sooner plus find the process of getting them more enjoyable.

What we focus on will get our attention and effort. Rather than spending energy, time and effort towards a temporary fix, find the answer internally. The external is a dead-end; the internal provides long-lasting returns plus will open up new doors and opportunities to you that you have not yet even considered. The difference occurs when a person begins to look at life, not from the view of,

“How can the world give me what I need?”


“How can I give the world what it needs?”

How do your objectives, skills and passion address a need that the world has – your dreams, goals, vision and ideal life – where do they fit in? And, how can you take action towards meeting this need.

Instead of feeling that you are dependent on the external environment – a sense that actually the world needs you, begins to take hold. You realize that you matter: the world needs you. As you see this intersection – perhaps, there is also a way to turn this into a revenue source? To use your passion, skills and wisdom to address a need and elevate yourself; the ultimate achievement – to do what you love: to live everyday with purpose, passion and towards greater profit.

We will overcome, if no one sleeps tonight.


I find that the way to start on this path is to first take action, direction is not important; figure out how to create happiness internally. This feeling can be an addiction just as powerful as any drug; become addicted to it. And then when you find yourself needing a boost, you control it. Addiction to a positive is not a bad thing.

You stop searching externally as soon as you become addicted to the feeling of happiness, inner peace and fulfillment that are a byproduct of action towards a dream and means to increase your quality of life, expectation of success, and realization that you matter.

I put down the book and close my eyes; no thinking now, I think, and HR gets the videotelepathic message.

Waking up the first thing I can see is that we are in a different place; where THE FUCK am I?, I think.

I look at my videowatch; new video from Bryan Frenk was released last night.

These videos SUCK!, I think; best to stick to writing, I think as the message is sent.

I hit #playAF:

Hope this works. First two chapters. Adult material lol :

The whiskey hit his throat. Not even good whiskey at that. His taste buds thankfully had gotten used to the discount Canadian whiskey. He lived for the burn and the instant clarification the liquid gave his outlook as it poured down his throat.

Even pushing his mid-fifties, fat Jack, still bought the cheap shit. He was a man rich beyond his wildest dreams, but why change up a good thing. After a few glasses he just simply held the cheap plastic bottle in his hands, what was the point in pouring it into a new glass just to shove it down his throat.

Like many evenings he stood out by his favorite window. A window that he personally oversaw the builders put it in. Fat Jack didn’t have many things he cherished but he loved the overly huge picture window. It was easily over one hundred inches wide and probably at least the same in height.

Ah, he loved the burn.

Anita, his house maid of five years, had left for the day so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a nice fresh Marlboro red cigarette. Not that he even cared what his maid said or thought but he didn’t feel like hearing her bitch about the harms nicotine could do to a man his age.

He took a long drag and exhaled just as slowly.

Fat Jack could see the clouds forming dark in the distance and he couldn’t help but raise his whiskey bottle to the window and offered it cheers of sorts. Fat Jack loved the view, he loved the rain more. What was not to love after all? His house sat up top a huge sand dune that overlooked the beautiful Atlantic Ocean. The property had been strictly forbidden to build upon, but fat Jack had money and money did the talking in this small costal beach town.

More burn as he took the next to the last swig.

Fat Jack eyed the bottle and shook it to get a better look to see if he needed to go into the cabinet and grab another endless supply of four dollar whiskey bottles. He was enjoying the Marlboro and the view too much to even bother.

The sky grew orange and he heard rustling behind him. It must be Darla; this was usually the hour she showed up. She loved his leather mini sofa. It was nestled right between his all too expensive coffee table and a nice recliner where fat Jack slept many nights.

Fat Jack finished his cigarette and dropped it in the empty glass he had been using for whiskey. It still had enough liquid in it for Jack to hear the Marlboro fizzle out. He knew Darla was going to be in her business attire, which consisted of a fitted top and light grey short mini skirt. She had some killer legs on her. Fat Jack loved her legs. He loved what was between the legs more. In her life he had fought hard to get between those legs in her death she was pretty much a slut.

The last burn that the bottle provided went down his throat.

“When I turn around I hope that skirt is off. You can leave the top on. Fuck it, why don’t you grab a bag from the pantry. All this whiskey and I probably will lose my boner if I have to stare at your face.”

Fat Jack heard the rustle behind him but didn’t bother to turn around, not yet at least. He heard the cabinet door open, then close again.

“You don’t have any paper bags, will the plastic bag work?” Darla asked.
“Your dead you stupid bitch, plastic bag is fine. Double that shit up. I don’t want you oozing through it.”

“Yes sir”

Fat Jack waited until the clouds began to produce the rain he loved. Then he turned around. Darla was standing in the kitchen, double bags over her face and no skirt or panties. Her legs still looked great as ever. He could see a little bit of the red showing through the blue bags but he was ready to go.

“Why don’t you bend over and grab me a bottle of whiskey before you come over and do your fucking job.”

Fat Jack had a grin on his face a mile wide as Darla bent over and reached into the cabinet and grabbed a whiskey. Thank god he didn’t do anything to her body only her face. He stared at her inviting women parts as he lite another cigarette and imagined what he would do with her.

“I think I am going to stick it in your ass. It’s been awhile for that”

Darla shrugged, the bags making an almost swift sound. “I’m dead you bone head. I can’t feel anything either way.”

“Good. Not that I care so long as those bags don’t leak your shit all over the place. I’m almost sixty and thankfully can still get a boner. If I see your insides I’ll lose that shit quickly”

Carla, double bagged and ready to go began walking his way. Her heels clanked on his expensive Italian tile. She briefly bumped into the granite island before she used her hands to get around it.

“Actually, get on your knees and crawl to me”

Like a robot, Darla did as she was told. She kept her hands out in front of her to use as a guide and she made her way to him. Leakage began to slowly drip out from underneath the bag and onto her business blazer.

Darla was bent over hanging limply over the sofa and he was a few pumps in when he heard the noise coming from the basements stairs.

Darla turned her bagged face his way. He could still make out the “mart” of Wal-Mart written on the bag as it covered her face.

“Are your kids here?”

“Fuck” fat jack said as he brought his expensive Rolex up to his face. It was the time they came to visit.

He took one last look at her legs and butt, bent over in perfect form, before he shoved her over the sofa. Her body crashed into the coffee day and scattered the newspapers and magazines that he had laid out on it.

“What was that for”, Darla asked, her vagina still exposed.

At this point her bag was filled with her blood and puss and the once blue bag was a murky purple.

“Put your damn skirt on, the god damn kids are here. Act like you have some fucking sense”.

The Wal-Mart bag crinkled as Darla turned her head in innocent disgust as to why she had been thrown on the floor.

Fat Jack had just enough time to pull up his pants as the basement door flung open.

“Come on Joey. Do I have to help you up the steps every damn time?”

“Language Joey, please be mindful of Stewarts condition,” Jack reminded him.

Jack had taken the coward way out with Joey, he did not have the nerve to shoot him face to face so he had snuck into his room and put the tiny revolver to the back of his head. The tiny gun had done more than Jack had figured possible. 

Joey was nine when fat Jack took his life and now had a permeant hole the size of tennis ball, creating a tunnel of blood and puss that started from where his left eye used to be and continuing all the way to the back of his head. Stewart on the other hand had been run over with Jack’s then new Cadillac, his legs basically mush that slithered behind him when he crawled. Stewart was sixteen.

Darla had adjusted her outfit and took to sitting on the leather sofa; the bag still clung to her face.

“Do you mind if I take off the plastic bags?” Darla asked.

“I don’t know dear, I have a feeling the kids are going to want pizza. It’s bad enough I have to look at Joey’s hole and Stewart’s legs. Maybe if we were eating hamburgers or something. Your face looks like a fucked up piece of pizza as it is.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to eat?”

“Jesus Darla did you not hear me. You look like a fucked up meat lovers deep dish pan pizza. If you must eat you can you sit by the window with your back to us”

“Oh fuck you fat Jack”

That had been his nickname forever it didn’t mean that he liked it. But what was he going to do, he was stuck with her. He was stuck with them all.

Jack turned his attention to Stewart, doing his best to make his way up the last couple steps.

Thump. Thump.

He moved Joey out of the way and reached down to drag Stewart into the kitchen. He had bought a bean bag chair specify for Stewart. Stewart loved it and it was much easier than picking him up and setting him on the sofa. The bean bag was not very high and Jack could leave his food on the plate on the floor. Stewart would eat his food like a dog. Jack had always wanted a dog, but these people had become basically his pets. He feed them, he bathed them and in Darla’s case he fucked them.

“Can we have pizza tonight?” Joey asked.

Figures, Jack thought as he decided to open up another bottle of cheap whiskey.
Man he loved the burn.

*It was 2014; Jack was broke and very unlucky. In fact Jack would only have been considered Lucky once. That was when he put Jonas Gray in his fantasy football lineup. Jonas Gray tore up the Colts with over two hundred yards and four touchdowns. Jack made a few thousand dollars that night. For once his skill had paid him off.

You see Jack was a stat man. Always had been. Girls, drugs, sports, they weren’t what he was good at. It was in the numbers. “Numbers don’t lie” was probably the only useful thing his dad ever taught him. That and how to beat your wife senseless if dinner was cold.

He really had two claims to fame. The first being that he could spout off a batting average of a baseball player on a seconds notice. The second was that even at any early age Jack looked like a fatter version of Jack Nicholson, hence the name fat Jack.

His childhood was not filled with sports trophies or getting the homecoming queen to give him a blow job, his childhood was filled with sitting in front of a barely clear TBS superstation watching the Atlanta Braves play. He was fascinated with statics and his mother would routinely buy him college lined paper notebooks for him to record every stat he could. Another thing that got her beat on an almost nightly basis.

So naturally with the boom of daily fantasy sports sweeping the world, Jack thought he had found his calling. In his mind it was finally the one time he could stand up and over his peers and say “fuck you, I’m better than you”. He had never been able to even think something like that.

He was so confident that he had found his place in the world that after depositing his two week paycheck from “Edgars Hardware” into his fantasy sports account that he promptly quit.

Some might even say on that fall day all those years ago that Jack had swag about him. Maybe it was the thought of finally winning money using his skills. Whatever it was his walk had rhythm as he made his way to teller and deposited his check into the bank. All seven hundred and eighteen dollars of it.

It couldn’t be this easy Jack thought as he logged into his fantasy sports account. A mere forty eight hours later Jack realized it wasn’t easy.

He had spent the Friday before purchasing his favorite Canadian whiskey along with a few other snacks. Having zero friends made it very easy for Jack to plan his weekend around his fantasy sports. He was giddy and for the first time in a long while he felt happy. Fat Jack wasn’t used to feeling happy so this was a first for him.

The list of possibilities seemed endless. NFL season had just kicked off, EPL was in full swing, and the last remaining weeks of MLB was on as well as a MMA fight and a NASCAR race. Fat Jack was going to play them all. Hell fat Jack was going to win them all.

The burn of the cheap whiskey hitting his throat, nothing quite like it in the world.
Jack scooted his office chair over to his computer and hit the on button. The apartment was otherwise pretty bare. It was something of a studio apartment but even calling it that gave it more glamour than it deserved. He lived in a run down one room shack above a rundown laundry mat.

The few items he did have he inherited from his mom and dad when they passed sometime a few years ago. Honestly Jack couldn’t recall the dates, wasn’t one hundred percent sure he even went to the funeral or if there was one even.

His living quarters consisted of an old desk, a relatively new computer however, and an office chair that his father had passed onto him. He had no bed, only a recliner and another stiff wood rocking chair, again from his mom and dad. The apartment had been furnished with a mini fridge and Jack never upgraded to a regular size one. There was no TV in there he used his computer for Netflix and whatever else he needed.

His one complaint was the room had no windows, minus a small one over his shitter in a bathroom that even a ten year old girl would have trouble maneuvering around in. To make up for his lack of view Jack had hung a huge picture of the ocean and hung right in the center of the wall.

In the picture the world was right, the world was peaceful. The waves crashed down over an orange evening sky, the tall weed like grass that tends to gather on the sand dunes seemed to be blowing in the wind. Some nights when the whiskey was feeling just right Jack could stare at the picture and the scene would almost seem to move. One day, one motherfucking day he used to think as he sucked down whiskey.

Fat Jack was not getting any younger or leaner for that matter. He sat in front of the computer screen and wolfed down three bologna, cheese and cheese puff sandwiches. Sure there were sites he could go on that gave fantasy sports advice, but Jack felt much superior to anything some stupid website could offer him, he was determined to do this on his own merits.

He logged in to his account and smiled, his balance was a hair over seven hundred dollars. In theory he should’ve used four hundred of that to pay the asshole running the laundry mat, who was also his landlord. However by weekends end that money would be doubled maybe even tripled and he could maybe even get out of this dump.

So he went to task, motivated, which was not how one would normally describe Jack. Two hundred dollars toward NFL, another two hundred for MLB, one hundred to MMA and EPL respectively and fifty a piece in both NASCAR and NHL, fuck it. 

Arsenal had been on a tear, one of the highest scoring teams in EPL, so Jack stacked them. Had however was the key word. Stoke shut them out 5-0. Out of the nine players that Jack had been allowed to put into his fantasy lineup, six of them had been on Arsenal. Oh well just one game, he wasn’t much of an EPL fan anyways. He still had NFL, MLB, MMA and NHL. One shitty EPL day wasn’t going to set him off just yet.

More whiskey burn as he dumped the remains of his second bottle down his throat.
MLB was just about to kick off. The clock on his computer had it almost at one o’clock. He poured over his lineup one more time. He was happy. Stacking the Blue Jays was the way to go. After all they were playing in Arizona which was a very hitter friendly park and coming off back to back games Jack was sure that they would be a low owned sneaky play.

He was digging into his desk drawer; he swore he had a few Marlboro’s left. He could barely look at his computer screen. The clock on his computer was quickly turning into evening. He finally found a few smokes and quickly lite one and hopped up to stare at his picture in the center of the room.

Breathe. Inhale. Feel the burn of the whiskey.

The cigarette was only slightly helping and he did not want to turn to look at his computer but he couldn’t help himself, he looked. Blue Jays lost 11-0. Again most of Jacks players had been on the blue jays.

MLB is such a hard game to predict, even to a stats man like himself he thought. On to MMA. He took in one long glance at his picture, doing the best he could to suck in all the positive energy that emitted from the scenic beach layout.

He was making his way back to the desk chair when he heard a loud knock on his apartment door. Jack froze, not from fear, but these old floors were creaky and whoever was at the door he did not want to clue them on that he was there. His old apartment did not have a peep hole and Jack was certainly not going to open it to check to see. That would mean he had to engage in conversation with somebody. That was not on his agenda today.


As graceful as a fat ballerina, Jack tiptoed to his desk. He did not need this shit now.


Jack did not move, he hardly even took a breath. One more knock followed by a swoosh sound and Jack looked down to see a hand written note on his floor right by the door.

He stayed frozen for another minute until he was sure that the knocker was long gone before he went over to investigate the note. He glanced over at the computer; he had about an hour before he had to enter his MMA lineup. He didn’t want another fuck up.

The note simply said: “Rent was due two days ago. I know yesterday was your pay day. I need rent by Monday morning at the latest. Thanks.”

Jack crumbled the note up and carried it with him to his desk where he promptly threw it in his waste basket. He opened up the drawer closest to the floor and pulled out another bottle of whiskey. The note about rent already far from his mind.

He submitted his lineup and leaned back in his chair, the weight putting more stress than the chair wanted to take and he fell back. His thin hair, normally slicked back now left a few strands hanging in his eyes. He cursed, but mainly because he had spilled the bottle of whiskey. Jack drank the whiskey like water and only had three bottles left. It would be a long weekend with only three bottles.

Three hours later he was down to only one bottle of whiskey. He had drunk one and the other was splattered all over his wall. Four out of his six fighters had been knocked out cold. Not only was Jack not winning the big prize he wasn’t even hitting the cash line. Three contest down and four hundred of the seven hundred dollars was down the drain.

He stood and stared at the beach picture, even that was not bringing him any comfort. He had NFL, NHL and the stupid redneck NASCAR race tomorrow, still plenty of time to turn a nice pretty profit.

It was a long and sleepless night. For a few hours he changed his lineups for tomorrow’s contests at least thirty times before giving up on it for the night.

When sleep finally did come it was interrupted by the sound of rain. Jack did love the rain; in fact he enjoyed watching the rain just as much as the sound of it. Still dressed in his stupid “Edgars Hardware” uniform from Friday he walked to the small shitter window and looked out.

Odd he thought no rain. He turned to go back to his recliner when he heard it again. Wiping his eyes he looked out the window and still no rain. The night was dark but he did have a few streetlights lining the shops by his apartment and he still couldn’t see where it was raining. He was however wide awake and the unmistakable sound of rain was there, for that he was sure of.

Now his curiosity was peaked and he momentarily forgot about both doing so shitty in his first attempt at fantasy sports and the fact that he was dead tired. He flipped the toilet lid up and drained some of the whiskey out of his body and into the toilet bowl. His piss was an unhealthy murky yellow. Flushing the toilet he glanced outside once more, still no rain, visually at least but damn if his ears weren’t picking up a storm.

He was about to chalk it up to having too many bottles of whiskey and was making a beeline for the recliner when motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Unsure at first but his eyes began to focus on the painting in the center of the wall.

What the fuck, he thought.

Fat Jack continued to inspect the picture; he had to be drunk or dreaming for that matter. The rain storm appeared to be coming from the painting. How impossible was that though he thought. He was almost too scared to investigate further but this was something that could not be ignored. He grabbed a Marlboro that he had left on the desk and fumbling for a lighter, his eyes never leaving the scene.

He lite the cigarette, inhaled then exhaled. Doing his best impression of somebody who was relaxed.

The orange sky from the painting began to turn dark and the clouds shifted as well. Paintings could not and should not do this. Jack kept his attention on the painting. Small wet spots began to form on the floor below the painting. The rain was spilling over into real life, or whatever real life was anymore.

“What the fu….” Jack managed to mutter.

Before he knew it he was inches away from the picture with his hand out stretched so he could physically feel the wetness of the rain. Jack loved the rain. There was more going on than just the rain however and Jack first saw him out of the corner of his eye.

He had been standing so close to the painting that at first he could not take in the whole scene, but something dark caught his eye. Jack took a few steps back than cocked his head forward in the direction of the bottom left of the picture. There was somebody moving in the painting.

Whoever or whatever it was wasn’t very clear. The figure was dark, whether dressed in all black or a shadow, Jack did not know. The figure was making his way over the sand dunes and seemed to be waving his hands as if inviting or trying to get Jacks attention.

Fat Jack let out a laugh. The sound surprised him because honestly he was pretty scared. It surprised him because the laugh was maniacal. Finally all this cheap whiskey was catching up to him, he thought. Jack laughed again and again.

“Who? Me?” Jack found himself asking the little shadow man who was now fully standing on top of the sand dune in the picture.

The little shadow man had his hands on his hips and every so often he would motion to Jack, followed by a gesture as if showing him the scene in all its beauty. The shadow man had no mouth, was probably no taller than a whiskey bottle, but for some reason Jack knew what he was saying. The shadow man had come to tell Jack one very important thing.

“This could all be yours Jack. Everything you have ever wanted is right here. All for you. All for a man like you.”

Let’s take advantage of this promotion.
Dialed “*264” from a TELCEL service provider cell phone.
Chose option “2” at the initial menu for quick English assistance.
Gave agent my full ten digit number.
Verified information including my name, address, and last credit recharge.
Used one of my three available phone number slots.
Could call back later to fill other slots.
Received a confirmation code.
Would have to wait two hours before calling my friend for 5 minutes free in Mexico.
That was it.

I put down the instruction manual; but does this shit work, I think.

I pick up the phone.

“Hey”, HR calls out, “whose number are you going to add?”

I look at her as I start to scratch my beard; let me think of something clever, I think as I tap my right pointer finger on the keyboard at the internet cafe.

“I’m going to”, I tell HR, “add #youAF, of course, y tu mama tambien, Yo!”

“You’re not adding me?”, HR asks as her big brown eyes go the guilty looking route; seeking attention, I think.

Just then the TV turns on again; got to get this FUCKING SHIT fixed, I think; anyways, I message to HR, the TV did it again! *frowny face* #lolAF

Are you sitting on the remote control again, HR asks via videotelephatic message.

I laugh; I AM SITTING ON THE REMOTE, AGAIN!, I think and HR gets the particlecharge, nearly, instantly.

“So how many fingers am I holding up”, I ask the class as I turn off the telepathicslide projector.

“1”, the class answers, nearly in unison; I’ve been teaching at #unisonAF College, I think, for too long–they’re starting to get my jokes, Yo! #lolAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

But”, I ask the class, “which finger?”

The class looks puzzled; my hand is in a brown paper bag and they can’t see; all they can do is guess; and whatever they guess, I can change the finger so they are always wrong; or always right, I think, but don’t tell them.

“The pointer finger!”, the class yells out together.

“HOW.DID.YOU.KNOW.”, I say dramatically as I pull my hand out of the bag.

“But”, I continue, “you are wrong.  It was this finger.”

I put one finger up in the air.

“So which finger was it”, my wife asks me as she passes the #HAKI to me.

“The index finger”, I tell my wife, “#oviiAF.”

“You did try your thumb?”, my wife asks me, “And, then tell them that the thumb is not a finger.  It’s a #thumbAF? Like you did last week at that other school?”

“Nah”, I tell my wife, “I like to mix it up.  The jokes get #staleAF.  Like relatives visiting, they start to get annoying after the #thirdAF day on the #couchAF.  Know what I mean?”

“No”, my wife tells me as she reaches her hand into the bag of #HAKI, “how many fingers am I holding up?”

I look at her; it’s a #trapAF, I think.

“I think”, I tell my wife as I turn my head away, “that’s not the real question.  What do you want to talk about? It’s about taking the #trashAF out again, right?”

“Yeah”, my wife looks over at me, “why do you keep #forgettingAF?”

I get up from the couch; let me just get this over with, I think.

If you want original thoughts, you have to #liveAF an original life; copycats don’t break molds.

 “Be the villian”, I tell HR at the dinner #tableAF.

“Are you sure, dad?”, HR asks as her big brown eyes look away and then down at the ground, “I don’t think that I can.  I’m just TOO good.  No one will believe #itAF.”

“Trust me.”

“Are you sure”, HR replies as she looks at me; at least, I got her looking at me again, I think.

Have rock hard absolute loss of thinking that can’t help when you are down in a hole looking for gold; mining for precious metals that only exist in subconscious states; meant to be taken at the cost of one who has lost everything; what you look for you find; what you are you lose; what you have?

“Mister”, the human sleeping on the front porch asks.

“Mister”, he repeats, “are you going to give me change?”

“Yes”, I reply as I put my hand in my pocket, “I’ll give you change.”

Continuing, I look back at him, “You’re know not an asshole. You’re welcome.”

I zip up my jacket; walking by him, I start to count in my head:

1… step 2… step 3…

“Hey MISTER”, the human sleeping on my front porch calls out.

I don’t turn; no acknowledgement, I think.

“Hey asshole”, the human continues as he sits up.

By this time, I am on step 6 in my head; whatever, I think.

“MISTER”, he calls out as I take the last step on the front porch down to the walkway.

Continuing, “I’m sorry.  Don’t call the cops, again.”

By the time he makes the last sentence, I am on the walkway and with the music playing in my headphones, can’t hear him; looking down on my phone, I hit the button #playAF; the cops are called, again, and the human will be going to jail, shortly; YET AGAIN, I think.

I SIGH… another wasted life.

“In the class, everyone learns the backstroke.”

“I can’t wait until we can go again”, HR exclaims as the leave the local #albercaAF.

“She loves it!”, I tell HR; my wife is a Gold medal swimmer for the Zimbabwe collegiate team, I think, but doesn’t talk about it much; such a shame! I’m so PROUD OF HER! 🙂

“Find a place that #fitsAF”, I tell HR, “I think you will be the villian.  You are so nice and sweet #irlAF; the play you did last year.  You’re a natural to switch it up.  Remember that show where my friend started as this great guy and turned into a #creepAF? Well, the secret–is that when you rearrange the episodes in reverse; he turns into a great guy that eventually recovers from drug addiction and starts a new career; one that he really #lovesAF! It was brilliant.  I think that you need to remember–it’s all about #perception: 

Manufacture Perception (in your favor).

“Remember”, I tell HR, “that some people will always be the #heroAF, others always the #antagonistAF, and, then, for all us normal people, we’ll have choices to make: these choices will create points where our life goes up or down.  Perhaps, we have a point at the end of the night at the bar where we can get in the car, drunk, and chance it, or we can call a cab? This is a point, in our lives; diverging lives lead from singularity moment, I tell her; sometimes, you will get away with it, while other times you will be caught; regardless, it will be prefaced by a moment where you could have done the right thing.  Calling a cab, for example? The law is for consequences of actions following moments; consider in the moment, and sleep at night, peaceful.  Right? So what I’m saying is that you have the opportunity to be the villain in your play at school.  The audition is tommorow. Right?”

HR looks at #meAF, “yes, it’s in the morning.”

“Hey look”, I tell HR, “I’m flattered that you want to talk to me, but, in this point, do you think it’s better to talk to me about how you don’t think you can or to use the time before the audition to get your lines ready for the play?”

“Will you help me prepare for the part?”, HR asks me as her big brown eyes plead for me to say yes.

“No”, I tell HR, “of course, not.  It’s your life. Take responsibility.”

We hug; she’s going to be one hell of a #villianAF, I think.

“See you next weekend”, I tell HR as I step out of the house.

“Of course, dad”, HR yells back as I walk down the street to my car, “good luck this week!”

I smile; you too, I think, and the charge is sent, near instantly, to her; hopefully, she’ll wake up to some good news on her phone for once, and get the part, I think as I continue down the street.  I smile, as the message is sent, nearly instantly, to her videotelephatic receiver.

The message came in; original publication date: July 17th, 2014.

What I recommend is writing down on a piece of paper your ideal/perfect/dream life – no detail TOO small.  Then take that paper and put it in storage – somewhere were you won’t see it.  Go about your life – the ideas will still be in your head.  Basically you’ve just created your compelling vision – now, check out Tamara Price’s class on Udemy entitled, “Achieving Your Dreams” – something like that.  One of the cornerstones is to believe you can achieve it/believe you are capable of doing it.  I’m not convincing you – just believe it in your subconscious mind (Check out HMI Theory of The Mind – for reference).  Again, go about your life – you’re creating a new “known” – mixed with your “compelling vision” and you’ll have both your “Why” and “Why Not” 😉 Maybe get a trinket to remind yourself – although, its said in Buddhism that this is a form of attachment (Ask Me) – but I have a Green Bracelet (Pulsera) that I wear that just somehow is connected to my subconscious mind that just works for me.  Don’t focus on the goal – focus on your feelings/get in touch with your feelings – and be AWARE of how they change – a goal is a limiter unless its attached to a date or amount of money (The more important the stronger the desire to reach it).  I have been rejected so many times on my book, “FUCK YOU: I Won’t Do What You Tell Me” but what keeps me going, is I know (or believe) what will happen to me if I don’t complete it!!! That feeling sucks – I don’t want to feel sucks – so I take action so I don’t feel SUCK.  Start Making Action Real Today – Live a S.M.A.R.T. Life!!! 😀

“Let’s just enjoy our lives”, I tell HR.

“OVII”, HR replies as she passes me the #HAKI and #palomitasAF.

“Would you like a #redAF or a #whiteAF”, the #mesaro asks #usAF on the TV.

“I’ld go #redAF”, I tell HR.

“You would”, HR replies as she #chucklesAF, “I’ld go red too! #whiteAF wine sucks, Yo!”

The director yells cut. The crew comes out on the set and tells the guests that it’s all a joke.

The look on their faces!, I think and my wife gets the charge, nearly, instantly.

I know!, she replies via the videotelepatheticdevice.

“Hey you going to eat all the #HAKI”, I ask HR.

This is our father-daughter boding night; we try to do this once a week; look forward to this night all week, I message my wife.

I know!, she thinks back to me (I see on my phone).

“It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.”

“What did we learn today?”, I ask the class as I set down the pile of papers on the desk.

“You are an alcoholic?”, Jim-Bob asked.

“That you’re a drug addict?”, Margie questioned.

“That we ALLLL are hiding something?”, Stewtar buzzed in from the Planet FOMBNE.

“You win!”, I tell the class.

Continuing, “now don’t forget your homework for tomorrow or you’re going to be expelled.”

I slam down the top of the laptop; picking it up, I take a step; 1…, I count to myself, 2…

Oh! What THE FUCK EVER, I think as I grab in my pocket for my cigarettes.

Lightening one up; I inhale the fumes; IT’S FUCKING DISGUSTING, I think; BEST CIGARETTE I’VE EVER HAD.

I finish the cigarette and open the passenger’s side door; don’t smoke in the car, he says.

I close the passenger’s side door; he puts the keys in the ignition; slowly, we pull out of the driveway.

It’s going to be a long ride, I think; I know, he replies via his audiotelepathic device.

I recline the seat; within a few minutes, I’m asleep; in the morning, I wake up.

“Where are we?”, I ask.

“I’m telling you!”, I telepathicmessage my wife, “this is some good shit, this #HAKI!”

The music starts playing as the car passes; there’s a line of people waiting; it’s all black today, I think, from the media strikeno news is being broadcast today, HR thinks and the charge, nearly, instantely, is sent to my phone.

*Static Sparkle Servitude*

The TV turns on; this message is being broadcast universally across the visible spectrum universe; I hope this works, I think as I hit play on the button on my right ear; the chip starts broadcasting again to HR; well in general, I think, we’ll start broadcasting.

The message goes out.

“Now we wait”, I broadcast to HR.

“What are you doing?”, my wife asks me as she turns on the TV.

“I’m a SUPER HERO!”, I tell my wife.

“You’re a SUPER #IDIOTAF”, my wife replies as she reclines her chair and picks up her bag of #HAKI.

She looks at me, “I can’t wait to see the next episode of “Beyond The Living”, I lie.”, my wife says as she passes the bag of #HAKI to me.

“Thanks”, I say as I reach in and grab a #handfulAF.

The TV starts playing;

I sigh… this show is getting #goodAF, Yo!, I think and the message is sent to HR.

“You notice that they don’t eat #HAKI in the show”, I ask my wife.

“Yeah”, my wife tells me.

My wife continues, “#LameAF!”

“I know”, I tell my wife, “the editors make me cut that shit out.  It’s #bullshitAF. They are just scared.  Scared of reality, I think”, I tell my wife.

“I know what you mean”, my wife says as she turns up the TV on the show.

“People have this idea that you can live an illusion for all your life and it won’t affect the people around you”, my wife says, “like you have to pretend to be something else.  I’m really sick of this bullshit.  I’m so proud of you for doing this. My friends were talking about it today at work.”

She hits #pauseAF on the remote on the show; she kisses me on the lips, lightly.

My wife hits #playAF on the remote and the show continues…

“Don’t dump your shit on me”, I tell the person sleeping on the front porch.

“Yeah”, the person replies, “fuck you, #manAF!”

“Look you can do WHAT EVER THE FUCK YOU WANT, man”, I continue, “just don’t dump your shit on me. Your only requirement for doing #whateverAF you want is that you don’t dump your problems on someone else. Look handle your shit. Do whatever the #fuckAF you want, man.”

The person gets up from the front porch. Taking a step, he stumbles a bit on the uneven concrete.

“Hey man”, I call out, “remember to count 7 steps!”

“Yeah”, he replies as he turns to me, “fuck you, #manAF!”

I pick up my #bookbagAF and run down the steps; late for work, I think and the charge is sent to HR.

Be there in a second, HR replies.

I hit play on my videowatch and continue the #showAF. Dude’s on to something, I think, I told HR last night and I meant it.

This is good.

“Good for you!”, I think and the charge, nearly, is sent to HR.

“And”, he continues as he places my hands on the hood of the car, “who might these be? Who are your clients?”

The hood IS HOT, I think; I take my hand off the side mirror of the 200SX; the mechanic is right; the transmission isn’t working right; got to give my boss a call, I think; then I remember, WAIT, I DON’T HAVE A BOSS, YO.

“Do you remember what we talked about yesterday, class”, I asked myself in the mirror.

Breath. Stay Calm. You got this shit, today, bitches, Yo! 😉

I repeat the mantra in my head as I pick up the razor blade; shaving cream; controlled stoked; FUCK, man, I’m going to look FUCKING FLY AS SHIT, YO!, I think as I put on socks; never forget socks, I recall her saying once; man, FUCK, she talked A LOT about socks, wonder what that was about, I think; any way you can make your dreams come true, within the confines of the law; love is dreams.

I close the front door as I call out, “Bye!!!! See you tonight!”

Step 1…Step 2… at this point, it’s become automatic, I think.  Step 5… Step 6… Step…

“Oh! FUCK!”, I say as I twist my ankle on the last step.

“Oh! DAMN It!”, HR calls out to me, “dad, did you twist your ankle again.  I swear you are SO FUCKING CLUMSY. Two left hands, man!”

“Well, the expression is 2 right feet”, I say as I bend over to untie my shoe, “but anyways, can you give me a hand?”

HR starts clapping.

I sigh…

“You want me to call your wife?”, HR asks as the front door of the emergency room automatically slides open.

“Yeah”, I tell HR, “just let her know that I’m ok.  Nothing to worry about. We should be done in here in a couple hours, then I’ll be back tonight. Let her know that IT’S ROUTINE STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE for a clutz.”

“Yeah”, HR replies laughing, “I think she KNOWS YOU JUST A LITTLE BIT, Yo!”

I sit down in the waiting room.

Because, we’re all in the waiting room so find something good to read, Yo! 😉

“I’ll let you know that I waited 17 years”, I tell HR as the doctors scurry by from one room to the next.

“For what?”, HR asks me as her big brown eyes get big.

“To try macaroni and cheese for the first time”, I tell HR as I recline the seat; getting comfortable.

I continue, “yeah, I don’t know why–always had a fear of it. Pretty #irrationalAF, huh?”

“No”, HR says calmly, “I… I get it.”

The nurse enters the room.

“The doctor will see you now”, she asserts in one breath; take your time, Yo, I think.

5 minutes later, we are back on the freeway; heading back; me with my ankle in a brace; HR with a box of macaroni and cheese; she says that she’s going to give it a try tonight; we’ll see, I think.

I get back home; turn on the front door light; take my shoes off; have a quick shower; let me sleep quickly, I think; 5.3089 seconds after setting my head on the pillow, I’m out, like a #lightAF, Yo! 😉

The morning is going to come quickly; sleep when you can.

I have no dreams that night, in my sleep; peaceful like a baby, Yo! 😉

I turned on the videotabletprojector.  The page where I had been last was still open; the music started playing #automaticallyAF.

“Hey Vanity!”

“Hey Jamie”, I replied as I turned on the #micronadaAF to #palomitasAF; the lunch would be done in a second; my turn to watch #DannaAF; loved babysitting, I thought:

Hey! You ready? Ya estas lista?

I scribble the message on the screen and it’s played in #robotAF voice; #DannaAF loves to listen; she calls it her #magictalkboxAF; this is more or less how we communicate, I think and the charge is nearly instantly send to HR.

“For today’s lesson”, I tell the packed house of students at my guest lecture gig; this was my 2nd 10 millionth day of class, I thought and HR’s phone beeps a moment later to let her know I was thinking about her.

I continue to the class:

We’re going to learn a new language; formulaic pattern repeat with fluxuating variable to create, nearly, unlimited possibilities; how many books are written and how many letters in the alphabet of our homeplant of Earth, I think: 26 letters changing the galaxy, the postcard said from HR’s vacation spot in the 45th Nebula of the 23rd Variable of the 1.5th Alternate Visible Universe; spectrum’s of color diffused give us vision; how do we hear if not through vibrations in our inner ear, the lecture to the class goes.

“Now”, I tell the class, “put that paragraph into the program here.”

“Are we recording this album or what”, my wife asks me as she pushes the green peas and potatos across the table.

“I like the idea of scrapbooking”, I reply to my wife, “but the glue makes me nauseas.  Can we use something else to paste the digitalphotos to the digitalphotoalbum?”

I cross off the date on the calendar; looking at the week, I ran 3.1 miles 5 times this past week, I think and HR gets the charge on her phone.

My receiver beeps; a new message has come in.

“Not bad, dad”, HR’s message says, “but, I RAN 6 DAYS THIS PAST WEEK, #slackerAF!”

You can’t win them all, I think and the particlecharge is sent to HR’s phone.

Oh! Shit!, I think, I didn’t mean to send that message!

And, HR’s phone gets notified of yet ANOTHER message; I hit pause on my rightear and my autotelephaticmente stops transmitting; got to get that checked out, I think to myself.

My phone beeps; HR has sent another message; see you tonight for dinner at the Tavern?

I hit #dialAF on the receiver (these things are so #juvenileAF, I think) and HR’s phone rings.

“Claro que si”, I tell HR.

“Ah! Ok, dad”, HR responds, “see you at 7.2pm Dorinto time.”

HR continues, “I really wish you would get your autotelephaticmente checked out.  You know they have #mechanicsAF for that. Electrical Dysfunction, it’s called.  Just tell the operator that you have ED and they’ll know what to do.  The mechanic’s will fix it quick.  Please dad.  I’m at work, right now, and can’t talk anymore. Thanks! Bye! See you tonight!”

I turn on SETI’s; a new message has come in from HR & two messages from #itAF.

“We ain’t born from nothing”, I tell HR.

“Where do we come from, dad?”, HR asks me as her big brown eyes fill with curiousity, “you think there’s life out there?”

Pro-choice vs. Pro-Life; the same side of the 2-sided coin; am I pro-gay rights or a supporter of gay rights, I think as I turn the channel on the TV in the living room.

“So what are we going to watch tonight?”, HR asks from the other room as I hear a crash.

“What was that”, I ask HR.

“Ah!”, HR screams to be heard over the TV, “it was tonight’s dinner. It feel on the floor.”

“Ah!”, I tell HR, “well don’t tell me about it.  Pick it up! 8 second rule.”

“We watching this again?”, HR asks as she sits down on the couch.

“Yeah!”, I tell HR as I turn up the volume, “haven’t seen this FUCKING SHIT in a while!”

“Was one of my favorite movies”, I continue, “when I was a teenager.”

“You ever ride a bucking bronco”, HR asks as she turns away at the sex scene (I think there’s a sex scene, I don’t recall the movie LOL).

“Ah!”, I tell HR, “KINDA. I broke my wrist in elementary school when my horse, Junior, spooked on a trail. Had to walk 5 miles back home, uphill, in the snow, during a tornado, in the rain, in a hurricane”

“Oh! Stop it!”, HR says as she punches me on the shoulder, “you ALWAYS exagerate.”

“Yeah”, I tell HR with a chuckle, “like the time I went surfing on 2 sharks in the Great Barrier Reef of Australia.  The true story is that it was ACTUALLY 3 #tiburones.  You know the water propelled small boats.  But, that story sounds boring. #LOL.”

“She gives me a light kiss on the lips”, I tell HR as her eyes get big.

“That’s how you met your wife?”, HR asks as she fidgets with her ponytail.

“Yeah”, I tell HR, “we met through a mutual friend.  I was visiting her at work and she introduced me to her.”

“How’d it go the first time that you saw her?”, HR asks as she turns to look at my eyes (she wants to see if I’m lying, I think).

“I had 1 thought”, I tell HR.

“I thought

“Returning to the scene the next day, I recalled when the creature was stuck in the quicksand; how easy it had been to get it out”, I tell HR.

“I don’t recall this story”, HR asks me as the stenographer transcribes the phone conversation.

“Ah!”, I tell HR, “that’s RIGHT! I never told you what I did.”

“You been here before”, I ask the #manajador as we pull into the conveinence store #estacionamiento.

“Nah”, he says, “never been to this part of town.”

I go in and get the #papitas and an orange soda; that’s what I always get, almost; where do we go from here, I think.

Returning to the car, the driver is asleep.  Shaking him, he comes out of his slumber and looks around.

“How long was I asleep?”, he asks me.

“What?”, I say.

He puts the key in the ignition and we slowly leave the parking lot.

“You get directions?”, he asks me as he turns the #RADyo on.

“Yeah. Take a left at the #alto.  Right at the #semoforo. Straight 3 #cuadras. The topless bar is on the right.”

“You bring dollar dollar bills, ya’ll?”, he asks.

“We’re just going there for work”, I tell him, “so don’t try anything funny.”

He puts down the detachable headset and reclines his seat a bit; get comfortable, I think; this is going to be a long ride.

I lied about the directions; I have no clue where we are going; but, the funny part of this:

You don’t either, I think.

Let’s see what happens, Yo! 😉

Dear two homosexuals playing the song

Or, was it this song?

Normally, when you hold a gun you hold it UPRIGHT; cockeyed handling a gun is dangerous and you could get your eye blown out; premature discharge is a problem when you touch your #pistolaAF that way; try to take a gun safety class on the proper way to handle your firearm, before robbing me next time.


slowly rubbing your nipple while your friend, I think, touches your private parts is SUPER unprofessional.  I would consider having all your clothes on next time you do this; shirts are cute, and the whole bandana thing over your mouth is clever, so I don’t identify you, but consider that I recall what your mouthpiece, I mean bandada looks like, also, I saw your car as you drove away.  Normally, you would not give me your license plate number; like leaving your business card with you home address after sticking up a joint, know what I mean?

Any more advice that I can give a couple (plus driver) young #muchachosAF about taking people’s things.

Oh yeah!

Communication Styles: Assertive Communication Examples

{Link Bit.ly/2s31IHH}

Examples of Assertive Communication

“I would like you to read this information I wrote about assertiveness.” This is an example of an assertive statement. Here are some more examples:

  • “Thanks for your suggestion. I’ll take that into consideration”
  • “No, I am not busy on Tuesday, but I want to keep it that way.”
  • “Could you tell me more information so that I can understand what you are trying to say?”
  • “I will have to get back with you about that.”
  • “I think I understand what you are saying, but I am in disagreement.”
  • “When is a good time for us to talk about something that has been bothering me?”

Speaking Up Appropriately

Almost anyone can stand to learn to be more assertive. Learning assertiveness will give you and those around you an easier time. Communication becomes simple, straightforward, and appropriate. Whether you have a tendency to communicate passively and let others walk over you, or you have a tendency to bully others with aggressive pushy communication, you are probably not the best communicator you can be. Assertiveness can allow you to practice active and appropriate communication.


Instead of saying, “where is the money?” (in English, no less! LOL), try this handy phrase, that has helped me out a lot:

I am not making much money at work, THESE DAYS.  Can you loan me $50 bucks, #amigoAF?

It’s really important not to add a 🙂 smiley face, this would make it be agressive-passive, I think.  Instead, it’s important to make your demands, I mean desires, known, this lets the other person understand what it is that you want.

Now, I know that you want $$$.  But, when you say vague questions in the passive tone, it makes things really uncomfortable, because besides having a gun pointed at my heart (I think you would actually aim for my head, right?), now I also have to try to translate your weak language into something strong that I can understand.  I know that you are trying your best (I can’t imagine how many gangster movies that you’ve seen to copy the EXACT FUCKING style??), but I can’t help someone who doesn’t help themselves, you know what I mean? 🙂

So, hey guys, how about you consider that gun safety class (before you blow your eye out) and taking a primer in effective assertive (Google Non-violent Communication Styles) before attempting that.


You stole a bunch of credit cards that don’t work and a #chafaAF shitty smart (barely) phone that I bought for like $25 bucks off some dude, more or less, in a dark alley.

Get ready for my Mexican mom to start calling you 20 times a day to make sure you are eating right and being upright & responsible young men.

Have #funAF with that, Yo! 😉

“Oh! One last thing”, I thought before reaching over to grab the lotion (dry skin).

“Did you #considerAF: why a #whiteAF guy was walking by himself at 3am in the morning with a shitty backpack full of nothing (couple packs of #cheapAF #cigarros)?? Or, how that #whiteAF guy got a #nicknameAF of Güero in Tijuana? And, you may not have heard of it, but are you aware of Prey Project?”

HR, my daughter looks at me as her eyes sparkle, “because when it seems too good to be true–maybe check your assumptions? It probably is.”

Be in #touchAF soon, Yo! 😉

I hit play on the MP3 player and leave my house.

7 steps, I think, ok… let’s go!

“You know how to #trabajar.  You know how to #trabajarAF, real good.  But, do you know how to play?”, HR asks me as she puts on her backpack.

“No”, I ask as she looks over at me, “No.  I don’t know how to #trabajarAF.  I mean #playAF.”

“Ok”, HR says, “here’s the rules:

From Bit.ly/2t3uEiP:



gerund or present participle: geotagging
  1. assign a geotag or geotags to (a digital photograph or video, a posting on a social media website, etc.).
    “the device also has a 3 megapixel camera which can be used for geotagging”

10 Fun Outdoor Games to Play Using GPS-Enabled Smartphones

Who says gaming is only for lazy, basement-dwelling bums or geeky, nerdy, dorky losers? That’s nothing more than a myth that’s long since been debunked. Thanks to the smartphone, gaming is now for everyone.

This includes outdoorsy types who love exploration and adventure.

Using the GPS functionality that’s built into all modern smartphones, you can now walk out the door and start exploring the world — and make a fun game out of it. In fact, dozens of location-based games already exist, and you can start playing most of them right away without paying a single cent.

1. Geocaching

{Source Bit.ly/2t3yl7Y}

“Where can I do #itAF?”, I ask HR.

“Check out Meetup.com/TijuanaOutdoorAdventures. They’re the leader in fun events, I’ve heard.”

“I don’t listen to hear-say”, I tell HR.

“Well then”, HR tells me as she hands my bookbag to me, “check it out for yourself, #yoAF, Yo!”

HR looks at me, “1…2…3… let’s go!”


Can I give you Badass Thinking for a $5 spot? Get it now, Yo! ;)


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