We Aren’t Talkers. We’re Doers
December 6, 2025
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When I said I was going to divorce my mother at 13, I divorced my mother. When I said I was joining the Navy, I didn’t ask permission; I signed
Explore raw, unfiltered reflections on life, loss, identity, and love. From monogamy to madness, these real-life stories pull no punches — and they just might hit home.
When I said I was going to divorce my mother at 13, I divorced my mother. When I said I was joining the Navy, I didn’t ask permission; I signed
I’ll admit it. I have a problem. I don’t blow up often. I don’t run around screaming like a lunatic. I’m a generally good dude. But I have a Code.
I come from a marriage where I was a utility, not a priority. I was the generator, the ATM, the problem-solver. But I wasn’t the point. And looking back, past
I’ve been thinking about loneliness. Not the sad, weep-into-your-pillow kind, but the structural kind. The kind that is the necessary tax you pay for Freedom. See, freedom is selfish. By
I didn’t take a job. I took a hiding spot. I could have started a business. I could have been a 1099 cowboy, riding the range, eating what I killed.
I listen to people rant. They scream about the Federal Government. They scream about the State. They scream about the police affecting their rights. And I look at them and
Why do men cheat? Why do we have side chicks? The women, God bless ’em, they think it’s about them. They think it’s because we found someone younger, someone prettier,
We established the rules: Men are keys. Women are locks. A man’s value is determined by how many doors he can open. A woman’s value is determined by how well
I was in my twenties, working at Continental Maritime in San Diego. Hard work, good money, and a liver that hadn’t yet learned how to quit. I had a buddy,
I was born and raised in Southern California, in the shadow of the mouse and the berry farm. But we didn’t live the E-Ticket life. We were the discount kids.
We lived in Whittier, right off the 605, a place where the smog was thick enough to chew on, but the dreams were still clean. My father, Jim—the man who
It was my first year on the Rock. Oahu. I was living in a chicken coop—literally, a goddamn converted chicken coop—out in Haleiwa on the North Shore. My first two
