12 Reasons You Need More Water

The link below is one of my nonfiction article samples. Check it out, and be aware! Click on my name and scroll through my list of published articles if you want to read more.

Familius | 12 Reasons You Need More Water

A Father’s Day Tribute

Happy Father’s Day, you half-swass of a dad. Your sperm was a huge contributing factor to my procreation, so despite your pathetic, absent nature, this day is yours. This card is more than you ever gave me, but I am trying to have an ounce of class you never did. I did get this from the dollar section; 99 cents even. And the joke on the front is terrible, so I knew you’d hate it. Something about another tie or lame. Read it your lazy self.

I’m going to see an Indians game with Phillip’s dad later because he actually makes himself present and available. I hate the Indians because you liked them, but I like hanging out with quality male figures. So I’m just going to vandalize all the bathrooms I can get to during the seventh inning stretch.


Anyway, thanks for your pathetic genes. Wish me luck in ever getting in to college with your IQ of a hedgehog and work ethic of rotting tree stump. I’ll leave this at the baseball field the same place you left me for good when I couldn't get a hit at my little league game. Because I don’t have a clue where you are. Come and get it when you have a chance.

*Note: This is fiction.

Master of Pong (Second Half)

He must have given me this look on purpose.

He turned slightly to the side so he was no longer facing me. The man behind him mimicked his movements. The smaller man was wearing a huge trench coat that went all the way down to his ankles. His right sleeve was hanging limply, and his right arm was being concealed by the inside of the jacket. Suddenly I noticed the gleam off of a silver barrel pushed right into Chung’s back. He was not walking with superiority. He was arching his back away from the gun pointed into him!

All my breath escaped me again for the second time in the past five minutes. My stomach churned, and I tried to keep down the chicken marsala I ate for lunch in the food court. The small Chinese man saw me staring at my hero and headed right toward me, pushing Chung before him. I backed up several steps and almost ran into Maurice’s cage when they approached me.

“I thought you would be older,” the small man said with a thick accent, his expression harder than asphalt.

“Uh.” I had nothing.

“Here,” he handed me a black briefcase with gold clasps and a combination panel. “You make sure it gets there one hour or Chung Feng Nguyen,” he said my idol’s name extraordinary fast, “will see end of days of pong.”

I looked to Chung and his eyes widened. That never happened. I had to do something. The master of expertise’s life was in danger.

I saw a small movement and something fall from the cage in front of the man. His small eyes missed it as they were set in full glare at me.

“Got it,” I said and walked around him with the briefcase, nodding him forward. They both took a step away. The small man’s foot slipped forward on a yellow peal. He lost his balance, and I swung my dustpan at him faster than a paddle toward a ping pong ball with spin.

The man fell on his back with debris and trash snowing down around him. The look of rage in his eyes was sent straight from the depths of hell. I could not miss it though I wasn’t entirely sure whether his eyes were even open.

“You will pay for this, you scum.” He flopped his arms around in search of his gun, his anger evident that he would kill me the moment he secured his weapon.

He saw the gun out of the corner of his eye. His head toward it and looked into the barrel pointed right at his skull. It was held by a furry, orange arm.

Master of Pong (Short Story)

I swept the last bit of peanut shells, a chip bag, a piece of banana peel, and some leaves into my dustpan. My area was now clear, and I leaned against the bars behind me to admire my work. I felt a poking in my side again. “Cut it out, Maurice,” I said to the small orangutan. He was much too small for his age, but stronger and more mischievous than those several years his senior. He was the most flaming ginger in the zoo as well, aside from me. We had a bond, so I requested his area for trash duty every single transfer even though it was always the grimiest.

I was in training to become an In-House Custodian Associate, a huge step up and raise from a Zoo Grounds Trash Boy. I would be in charge of cleaning up the feces and trash inside my assigned animal’s cage rather than outside of it. That would be the dream. But I would have to wait another eight to twelve months for that promotion.

Maurice noticed my boredom and started pulling off leaves from his perch and tossing them through the bars to give me something to do. We were a team, him and I. I headed around the other side of the cage to keep up with the monkey’s mischief when my heart faltered, and I stopped stone-faced. I tried to catch my breath as I took in the vision before me.

There was no mistaking this man with his paper-edge thin eyes that could scald any surface on which they rested. His hair was black and buzzed short and somehow still able to be parted deep on the right side. His stride was precise and quick, as if he possessed too much skill and control to make any unnecessary movements. This man was a god. Chung Feng Nguyen was the best ping pong player that has ever lived. He was the Wayne Gretzky of ping pong. The Michael Jordan, if you will! This man knew he was an idol too, the finest human specimen to ever walk these ungrateful grounds. He wore designer slacks and a luxury leather jacket. He walked with his back arched, his chin raised, each step with power. His face held a sneer.

I needed to get closer to him, maybe make eye contact, sniff his jacket. Could I bring myself to asking for an autograph? This was all too surreal.

I was the reigning Westminster Valley High School ping pong class champ three years ago for the entire four years I attended. I was worshiped in the ping pong club. “Oh no, comrades,” I would say when their praise would become too great, “don’t look up to me. He’s the true master.” I would point to the wall sized mural of Chung in the club room. “We must all strive to be like Him.”

This, right now, was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I had to meet the man who had influenced me to become the man I was today. Maurice jabbered at me in annoyance as he realized that I had been ignoring his cleanup game for the past several minutes, but I headed toward the glory a few yards ahead of me.

The crowds started to part as I got closer and I noticed there was another much smaller Chinese man with the same angry glare right behind his left shoulder. He must have come to the zoo with a brother or friend! I got more excited and picked up my pace. Chung finally met my eyes, and I would have shed a tear of happiness if he hadn’t betrayed a look of alarm in his eyes. It would have been very easy for Chung to have hidden any emotion in his eyes because they were mostly concealed. He must have given me this look on purpose...

*Stay tuned next week for the second half!

Intro

Hello future readers. I am in the process of writing some truly excellent novels right now and think you guys would have a lovely time reading them. For your viewing pleasure, I will post sneak-peaks of what I am working on, short stories, nonfiction excerpts, and a variety of fun stuff. Please let me know what you think of my work because I am trying to get better. I will keep you updated on where to find my published writing. You guys are gems for checking me out!