The Time I Crashed A Golf Cart Into A Rental Car

The only time I have ever broken a real law was the time I hit a rental car with a golf cart. Let me explain. I’m eight years old, at my Late Grandma Evelyn’s 90th birthday party. My uncle, Bob Greene, had been driving around in his golf cart, for no particular reason. A cousin of mine, I forget his name so I’m going to call him Steve, knew how to drive a golf cart. Bob let Steve drive the cart for a while, and after about 20 minutes, I jumped in and ride around. Steve saw that I liked going around in it, so he asked me, “You want to learn to drive?” Obviously I said yes. After about half-an-hour, he tested me. He told me to go around the property. Now, that area is a little bit treacherous, with a couple of sharp rocks, and ramps and crap. So I’m about 3/4of the way done, so I think I’m all good. All of a sudden, I’m falling. It turns out, I had made a wrong turn, and fallen into a ditch. Everything turned slow-motion. I saw the ground approach. I was airborne. But then I realized that I was only a foot above the ground, and I was fine. Should’ve been my sign to stop that day but, whatever. About 20 minutes later, I’m driving around, and I see my Grandparents pulling into the driveway. Now, keep in mind that the brake is almost impossible for me to even see, much less reach and press. I wave at them, and BAM. I look forward to see that I put a big ol’ dent into the rear bumper of the rental. About 15 people saw it, and they all started laughing. Steve was nowhere to be seen, but Bob was right there, asking if I was OK, and “What happened?” I was fine, a little shell-shocked, but fine. I have not been allowed to drive a golf cart since. 

(Certain parts of this story have been exaggerated to create a better story.)

Outhouses, Bears, And Escapes

So,  my Ex-Step-Dad lives in the middle of nowhere by Cripple Creek, Colorado. His house is completely off the grid, which means that he has an outhouse. An outhouse is basically a porta potty, but not as disgusting. This was before he attached an actual bathroom to the side of the house. 

We had seen a bear in the area less than a week before, after it had raided a neighbor’s house, and taken a crap on a bag of cement. That was a little bit frightening in its own, but on with the story. So it was 5:00 AM, and I had to take a crap. I was 8 years old. So I started the 200 ft. walk to the outhouse. I got there, and started my business. 

Now at this point, I didn’t know any bear survival tactics, so if I had an encounter, I was screwed, but I was acting cautious. I didn’t see a bear when I went into the outhouse, so I felt safe. About half-way through, I heard a crash outside of the outhouse, which I’ll mention did have a locking door. This was good, but I had to leave eventually. I left about five minutes later and grabbed the biggest stick I could hold on my way out. 

As I was perambulating back towards The Dome (what we called the house) I heard something about 40 ft. away. It was the bear. I was just paralyzed, and my 8 year old brain was just like “Crap. What do? Can no run.” I knew at that point to not run. Man was that a difficult decision to make. Back then, and still a little bit now, I thought that I was a tough guy. I could take down anybody. To a little corner of my brain, the bear was only a punching bag. But the vast majority of my brain didn’t want to fight. In fact, the main conflict was whether or not to go back into the outhouse. I knew the outhouse was safe, but I would be safer at home. So I decided to go home, slowly. That’s the only bear survival tactic that I knew.

I was also upwind, so it didn’t smell me, and I’m sure now that if it had, it would’ve been gone long before that point. Especially since I could smell both the bear, and whatever just happened in it’s direction. Alas, it wasn’t, and if it noticed me it would be startled, and probably charge me. If Usain Bolt can’t outrun a bear, I was sure as hell I couldn’t. So, started the great escape. 

After thirty seconds of preparation I had come up with an adequate plan. The plan was, back away slowly, then run. I succeeded in the back away slowly part, but I never ran. When I was about 100 ft. away I turned around, bad idea I know, and kept walking. Since nothing major has happened, at least having to do with bears. I just never told anyone, but now, I realize that it’s one of the scariest moment of my life.

(The events of this story are based in reality, but have been dramatized for the effect of storytelling.)

Parody

All the world’s a poker game,
And all the men and women merely gamblers,
They have their bets and debts,
And one man in his time plays many games, His games being seven stages.
At first the kid with a fake ID,
Wide-eyed and wearing a $15 leather jacket, He brings a twenty his mom gave him.
Then, the obnoxious vacation dad, with his Polo shirt, And tan Khaki shorts, two sizes too small, Generously betting his kids college tuition away.
And then the gang member,
Poker face unrelenting, with a full house, Made to win for his family.
Then a boss, full of fake power,
And walking like a messiah,
Jealous in ranks, sudden and quick to fire, Seeking to accomplish anything at all, Even in the dumpster out back.
And then the dealer,
In a tailored suit with a 24 hour smile, With a mean shuffle and Rolex watch, He’s learned lessons of love and life, And so he sets up for another game
A new reality morphs,
Into a rocking chair and little to no hair, With a walker in front and Bingo on Thursdays, His old ways will always remain.

For his shaky hands, and his quick mind, Turning again to slow and sleepy,
And takes a moment to work.
Last game of all,
That ends his long gamble with life,
Is not just his first game, but all of them.
Resulting in an empty hand,
As he still went all in,
He may not have won life’s game,
But he played a mean match of Monopoly. 

How to Dance

Yo, yo, yo my homies. It's your boiiiiii xXMinecraftloverXx3000, and today we'll be learning how to be the best dancer in the entire world. I know what you're thinking: how can I be the best dancer if there's a person like you xXMinecraftloverXx3000? My answer is... you can't; but you'll get pretty close.

Step 1: Find the right beat. If you're having trouble finding or creating a lit beat, I've got your back baby. YO! Looks like the dankest rapper 'bout to lay down a sick beat: boooooooo ba bam ba bam wow wow chang ha hang. Also if you need more help, ask everyone's favorite beatboxer/rapper: Siri. Just ask her to beatbox or rap and she'll go off. Dank Siri Beatbox and Rap.

Step 2: Expand your arsenal. To really know how to dance like the best of us you need to have all those litalicious dance moves. You have to know how to slap down those sick hand movements on the streets while still being able to slow dance with Jessica Ferguson at the school dance. The Worm, The Macarena, The Electric Shuffle, The Billy Bop, The Whip and The Nae Nae, The Dab, and Breakdancing are some of the freshest dance moves out there today.

Step 3: Build up a following. You need to become the most trending dance star on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and even Tumblr. To become the ridonculously awesome hippidy hoppiest internet pop star you need to do some of the most trending things today. You need to yell really loudly at a Chick-fil-a and give a makeup tutorial while spinning a fidget spinner, making slime and whispering into a microphone. You will instantly get millions of followers and millions of dollars. Then just start dancing and your following will love it no matter how bad it is.

That's how you become the bestestest dancer in the groovy kingdom. Or as I like to call it moving your body in a rhythmic pattern to a combination of frequencies that appeal to you ears.

Outside a Book

Growing up in the real world, in American, outside the pages of a book is usually seriously boring. Like really, everyone has a cool backstory.

Harry Potter (do I really need to describe this?) - becomes wizard at the age of 11 and his life changes from there on out.
Farway McCarthy (from the super boss book, Invictus) - Pretty normal, except for that fact that he lives more a hundred of years in the future, was born outside of time, was born the son of a time traveler and a gladiator, and he's an time traveler by the age of roughly 17, even though he failed the exam to become a time traveler.
Nobody (Bod) Owens (Graveyard Book) - Born as a human, and raised by ghosts when his family is brutally murdered.

Pretty much everyone in books, or movies, or TV shows have exciting lives. Like seriously, my life couldn't be super exciting? Or like even depressing? (Not that I want it to be though….) Like Leonard Snart from DC’s Legend of Tomorrow where his father is terrible and he makes Snart do a whole bunch of things just so he won't hurt Snart’s little sister.

Real life sucks. It can either be super depressing and difficult, or super boring and normal. No one actually gets to be raised with adventure and magic. Trust me. I know, my mom tried to raise me with a lot of adventure and magic. It worked for a while, like a long while. But now the truth has caught up to me. Compared to everyone in a book, life is boring. At some point or any other, your life will suck. Everyone's will, everyone's has. Some people will try really hard and make a name for themselves, other will be born into it, some will just straight up fail at life. And the rest of us, we're what makes the world what it is. We're your plain Jane’s who you don't give a second glance. That try hard, but stay in the same place. We're the ones that watch TV shows, movies, read books, RolePlay, and live in the clouds because we'll never actually do anything worth writing a novel about. We try hard and dream bigger. I am one of those people. Those ones that are awesome if you know them, but no one else really cares about.

Trust me kid. Dream big and shoot for the moon, if nothing happens and you're still here on Earth with everyone's gazes drifting over you. Don't give up and try harder. No one will get mad at you trying to hard. Only if you don't try enough. Be the one that dreams and is awesome. Not the that dreamed and is fading away in their dream job. Cause they got what they wanted and never tried again.

Keep trying. Keep dreaming. And be effen boss while you're at it.

Net Neutrality

What is net neutrality? This is a vocabulary term that has recently been popping up all over the internet. This is the idea that protects certain websites from being slowed or blocked. Recently there was a vote to get rid of this idea, to make it so that certain internet providers can charge for certain websites. This is a great opportunity for companies to make money. This would allow them to partner with certain providers, so that their websites could be prioritized. While this could save money for some it could also cause others the opposite. The FCC (Federal Communications Commission) were the first to vote on this issue and they ended up repealing net neutrality. In simpler terms this means that a neutral internet may not exist. Though there is still a way for the FCC’s decision to be reversed, if congress decides to vote for net neutrality then nothing will change; however, if they don't, then we will soon be moving into a new system of internet.

Aim for the Heart

The snow crunched under Ruby’s feet as she ran through the rock formations of the area once known as Garden of the Gods. Behind her she could hear the pounding of paws and loud howls of wolves calling for the rest of the pack to follow. After dodging several trees, Ruby swung herself around to face them. Set, nock, pull, release; Ruby recited in her head as she gripped the wooden handle of her bow with her right hand. Using her left hand, she pulled an arrow out of her quiver and nocked it. One wolf lunged forward as Ruby looked him in his scarred eye, pulled the string of her bow back to her cheek, and released. The rest of the pack watched as the arrow found its place in the wolf’s heart.

Annador Chapter seven

Willow watched Lana exercise, thrumming her fingers along her thighs.

“You’re having fun,” she joked.

“Passes time,” Lana grunted, pushing herself from the ground in a push-up, the hair that had escaped from her braid drifting around her face like seaweed, pushed by the currents. “Plus, we gotta prepare.” Willow rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. Always good to be prepared.” Her eyes flicked up the the grate, noticing the faint shadows cast by the lowering sun. “Looks like it's about three. Food will be here any minute now.” She grinned. “I think it's scraps of turkey today.” Lana smiled too, rising from the ground to against a nearby wall, her skin glistening.

The hiss of the cell door opening confirmed Willow’s predictions, and the small maid whom Willow had seen on her visit to the king appeared, clutching a tray nervously. On it plate piled in leftover turkey, which released somewhat of a pleasant aroma into the cell, masking it previous smell of sweat and misery. She set it down with a faint, echoing thud, and backed out of the room, her gaze lowered. Before she could close the door, though, Willow leaned forwards, hope shimmering in her eyes.

“Thanks, Laurel.” At the sound of her name, the maid’s bright blue eyes widened with surprise, and she took a step forward, a question perched on her lips. She tilted her head a little, gaze darting between the two captives, and the darkening hall, whose walls glowed in the harsh lighting. The sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention, though, and she nodded briskly to Willow, then the door slid shut with a hiss.

Willow beamed at Lana, her bruised eye crinkling as much as it could, through the swelling. “I think it might work.”

“Is that so?” Lana smirked, then looked at the turkey, and leaned forward, grabbing a piece. Willow sighed, then tossed a piece of turkey into her mouth, savoring flavor. Though cold, it still had the underlying taste of royalty.

Willow watched Lana sleep, then looked up at the grate, and the light pouring down, waiting. Soon the guard would come, and question her again. Willow knew her plan was risky, and every day the King grew more impatient. She limped around her cell, rubbing the hem of her dress, which had become a habit for her.

Though her perception of time was warped by her lack of contact with the world outside her prison, it seemed that hours had passed until the muffled sound of the guards heavy steps approached the door. Her gaze snapped to it, and she dragged herself to the entrance of her cell, taking a deep breath.

As the door swung open, the guard stomped in, dark circles under his eyes contrasting against his pale skin. He scowled at Willow, and grabbed her arm, glancing at Lana. Then, he pulled her out of the cell, and with the press of a button, the door slid shut.

Today, the throne room was darker, the red curtains dull. The little light that shone through them fell to the floor, turning the white marble a faint shade of pink.

The king glowered at her from his throne, his wiry frame losing the regal pose, and adopting more of a defeated slouch. His eyes slid over Willow, frosted with dislike.

“It’s amazing how incredibly stupid she is.” The king remarked, to no one in particular. “Don’t you realize that it’s your family’s lives at stake?”

His words sent shivers down her spine, but she stood tall, trying to mask her fear, though her eyes betrayed her.

“I- I don’t know what you want!” She pleaded, her voice laced with desperation.

“Yes you do.” He glanced into the far corner of the room, where Willow noticed for the first time, a man stood, his face masked by the shadows. He walked into the light, his boots clacking loudly against the silence. Stopping by the throne, he leaned towards the king, whispering something. The king nodded, listening. When the man pulled away, the king’s gaze snapped to Willow. “How old are you?” Willow blinked, her green eyes snapping between the King, and the man beside him.

“Seventeen years.” The man looked at the King, whispering something to him. The king blinked, his lids snapping, snake-like over his icy eyes.

“Take her to the interrogation chamber.”

Short Colorado Story...

The mountains always kept Marie extremely busy. The sound of a rushing creek just above the small, smooth pebbles that took refuge under the freezing liquid, or the feeling of the wind gently pushing her hair from your shoulders, or that satisfying crunch of the stiff, frail leaves under her boot as she trudged through the brush early one saturday morning. In the fall, the air was cool, just about being cold. The perfect temperature for a cream orange sweater and a pair of dark high-waist blue jeans jeans. She wore a brown leather jacket as well as a wide brimmed brown hat. She also sported her camera, the strap around the back of her neck as she looked only for the perfect subjects to photograph. Photographing nature was her favorite way to waste a day in the mountains of Colorado.

Marie’s hands silently touched little brittle branches of each tree she passed, feeling the texture and roughness of the bark. The aspens, naked with only their bare wood exposed, were always something of interesting to her. Sometimes, she would come across an older aspen, one with a carving in it. She always made it a game to try and find the next tree that grew from it, the younger one sporting the same markings as its mother tree. Some trees had initials with a heart around them. Some had the dates of past days and some sported some, other things. When she came across initials, Marie tried to piece together what their names could be, what they were thinking when they took the knife to the thin skin. When dates appeared, she guess that most of them might be people’s anniversaries, birthdays, wedding dates, when people passed away, etc. Sometimes, she’d come across quotes in the bark, reading them out to the babbling creek that never quit talking and to the trees who always whispered little nothings in her ear as she walked by.

“Oh, here’s a good shot.” She said to herself, bringing the camera up to her face as she aim
ed the lenses towards a group of pine trees. They seemed huddled together in the midst of their aspen neighbors, protecting each other. The click of the button always brought a sense of satisfaction to her, calling the tension out of her neck and shoulders. The crisp air burned Marie’s lungs as she breathed, smelling the pine sap which was prominent in the musk of the damp dirt, undoubtedly getting stuck in the crevices of her boot. When she was satisfied with herself taking the multitude of pictures of the pines, she sighed, releasing all other tension which laid in her body.

The girl decided to go more towards the creek, following the sound of its calling pushing against itself in a hurry downstream, locked in a never-ending battle. Dawn was commencing, the colors of the sun casting the magnificent oranges with baby pinks to reflected off the rushing creek. The world around her displaying such colors lit an internal fire within her soul. Marie carefully bent down to wet her hand in the as the water welcomed it with a gentle touch. The cold had more of a bite to it than the air around her, the sensation bringing goosebumps to call all over her body. She smiled to herself, but the joy was replaced with fear when she heard the snap of a fallen branch in front of her.

Marie’s head whipped up her head in alarm, ripping her hand out of the water with a small gasp, but she realized she wasn’t in any danger.

What made the snap was a family of deer who called the Colorado mountains home. Three females with their four fawns at their side, them taking careful sips of the mountain’s tears. Others were feeding on the brittle brush that hardly held their green, something they seemed to fight to have every fall. Everything either a beige color, some aspens still have
yellow/orange leaves, all of which the wind hadn't taken away.

Marie would’ve sat down if not for the dampness of the gravel her boots sank in as she stood, so she substituted for kneeling, making the knee of their pants wet. She slowly drew her camera from its place hung place hung around the back of her neck, commanding the lense to open as the beautiful sight was begging to be captured, forever immortalized as nature’s masterpiece, not the first and hopefully won't be the last.

After taking a few more images of the deer, Marie stood up, admiring the graceful creatures as they walked. She always thought them as looking different, they almost disporporshianet to the rest of their bodies. She wondered what they were thinking at that moment, asking herself if they had seen her and are were so docile that they felt safe enough for them to be around her or maybe hey hadn’t seen her, her orange sweater acting like camouflage.

The morning breeze suddenly picked up as the air pressure changed with the warming of the Earth, the sound of leaves falling being heard through the forest, her curly hair swaying slightly, restricted by her hat. Her hands trailed down, crossing over her waist as she shivered. Marie’s eyes never left the sight of the dear. She felt a sense of home in the company of the creatures on the other bank and the creek, and the talkative trees always keeping up conversation. Then she felt the small vibration in her phone.

She took it out to respond to a text, her mother asking what time she would be home. She stood up not thinking, too quickly, frightening the deer. She looked and reached her hand out with an apologetic expression. Puckering her lips, looking to her phone in her hands. When she swiped the keyboard, the screen froze. Confused, she tapped the screen again, but soon realized her phone was dying, and after a couple more seconds, it had.

Oh, Colorado

So, this post was inspired by a quick section in Stephen E. Ambrose’s “D-Day.” In it there is a section where a French Maiden meets some American soldiers from Colorado. They treated her so well that she just assumed that Colorado was awesome. She was right, but this is an interpretation of how that happened.

The door of the house was splintered, the 200 year old wood slowly weakening. The French Maiden had heard of the invasion by the Americans a few months before, trying her best prepare. The Nazis had caused a huge divide in the community. There were two types of people. Those who fought the Nazis, and those who didn’t care one way or another. All sides were in pure terror. Those who fought were afraid of the Germans retaliating. Those in the middle were afraid of both sides. Those who fought with the Germans were afraid of the Americans. All cowering in their homes, waiting for one side or the other to take over. 

The woman in this particular house was named Amélie Lacroix. Her husband had gone off to fight against the Germans. He had gotten word about the invasion through their local Resistance leader. The warning had said, “Stay inside when you hear the words ‘Bacon, Bacon’ on the radio. This is the signal that the invasion is starting.” Once the signal had been said on the radio Amélie had barred the door, blocked the windows, and stayed upstairs. It had been five hours since this had happened. She couldn’t tell who was breaking down the door. She hoped it was the Americans. She couldn’t speak German, but she could speak English. Her father had been from England, and had taught her before he died in The Great War.

The door finally broke. The people were shouting in English. “Is anyone here? Come out with your hands up!” Amélie was afraid, yet she came out anyway. There were two soldiers, one tall one with what she recognized as a Browning LMG. The other soldier was small and had a Red Cross on the side of his helmet. Both of them has a weird flag on their arms. It wasn’t the American flag. It was a red C with a stripe through the middle. The white stripe had two big blue lines on the side. The bigger soldier spoke first. “Ma’am, do you speak English?” “A bit. It has been a while.” The smaller soldier spoke next. “Can you tell us about where we are. We are the last of the crew that landed here, and we landed at the wrong place.” Amélie considered this for a trade. “I shall tell you about this place if you tell me about where you are from. What does that flag mean?” The soldier immediately jumped into conversation. They talked to fast Amélie to understand completely, so she asked them to sit down and talk slower. 

After she served them coffee and crumpets they started to explain. The small one introduced himself as Jeff, and the big one as Bill. Bill started the conversation. “We are from a State in the USA called Colorado. In this State there is a town called Manitou Springs. Now you tell us about here.” Amélie, not satisfied in the least bit begins to ask more questions. “What is the flag on your arm? What does Colorado look like? What does Manitou mean?” Jeff answered next. “The flag on our arms is the Colorado flag. The C stands for Colorado while the red stands for our red soil. I think I even brought some with me.” Jeff pulls out a plastic bag with red dirt, which seemed dryer than the soil in France. “The white stands for the snow that we have on our mountains almost all year long. The mountains in Colorado are huge. Most of the peaks in our state are over 14,000 feet tall.” Amélie was confused by the use of feet. “Feet.” Jeff realizes his mistake. “Over 4200 meters.” This left Amélie astonished. The highest mountain in France was 5,000 meters, but the second highest was 3,000 meters. She then asks them, “How did you meet in such a big place?” Bill and Jeff look at each other. They think back to when they first met.

“You there! Boy!” Bill paused and turned to face the man standing in the doorway of the Red Dog Café. It was Mr. Jenkins. The old man had lived in Manitou for his whole life, and was considered to be annoying by everyone else. He had seen Emma Crawford get buried, and saw her coffin slide down hill. This made him a wise, yet bitter old man. Bill hesitantly responded with, “Yes Mr. Jenkins.” Mr. Jenkins himself replied with a “humph.” “Come in kid. I need help with this kid. I don’t understand him.” Bill, being the nice guy that he is, went inside to help. Inside there was a kid about 12 years old. He was sick in bed. Mr. Jenkins told Bill, “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He has had this fever for twelve hours. When he got here, he was fine. I need somebody t’ watch him while I find a doctor.” Bill just stood there for a second before stammering out, “Sir Yes Sir!” “Good boy.” Mr. Jenkins went outside to find the doc while Bill was left with the boy. After five minutes, Bill asked the boy a single question. “What is your name?” The boy shakily replied with, “Jeff. My name is Jeff.” Bill laughed and said, “Welcome to Colorado Jeff. Welcome to the land of mountains, red dirt, and altitude sickness.”

“And that is how we met. Within a week Jeff here was good-as-new, and we had become inseparable. I showed him the mountains, the skiing, and the sunshine. Best days of my life.” Jeff chuckled with a, “Mine too.” Bill quickly calmed, and asked, “Now, if you don’t mind my asking Ma’am, where are we, and how do we get to where we’re going?” After giving them soldiers directions, they stayed a while longer for some coffee. They departed with a, “Godspeed Amélie. Godspeed.” Amélie never went to Colorado, but she said to everyone, “Oh Sweet Colorado!”

Great News

So, basically, WE’RE BACK!!! I NEVER THOUGHT WE WOULD DO IT, BUT WE’RE BACK! WE ARE IN LINE FOR THE INSANE, AND WE’RE FINALLY BACK!