I once knew a guy who did not know me. He was a cool guy. His name was Santos.
He was big and tall and round. So very rotund, fat or uh big boned. Ha, ha. Big boned.
Santos had some sort of memory problem. He couldn’t retain any information other than his own name. But he sometimes struggled with that as well.
Me and Santos were in the same 7th grade P.E. class. I absolutely hated that class and so did Santos. The coach was so annoying! But I guess most coaches are.
Coach Nunez was his name. He was part Hispanic and part priest. Well, that’s what the other students used to say about him.
Coach Nunez was known for quoting a lot of different religious figures. Somehow, he always managed to have ten new quotes every day. Most of the students laughed off his quoting but not me. Every once in a while I would write down one quote that seemed to grab my attention.
“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.” Coach Nunez said one day after handing out the big red rubber balls for a game of dodge ball. He was quoting Gandhi. I wrote that one down and memorized it.
“Santos, look out!” I shouted.
Santos turned his head to the left just in time to avoid being hit by a ball. It was only an inch away from hitting his nose!
“I’m okay now!” Santos exclaimed.
He picked up a ball then flung it hard at the shortest kid in school. His name was Kenneth and he resembled a frail little mouse.
“Ow! Coach Nunez, Santos hit me way too hard!” Kenneth complained while rubbing his right shoulder.
“Santos! Don’t throw so hard! You hurt Kenneth!”
Coach Nunez scolded Santos.
“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, Kenny.”
Santos apologized then hung his head low.
“That’s all right, Santos. I appreciate the apology.” Kenneth smiled then sat down on a bench with the other injured kids.
“Ha, ha! Kenny’s gonna’ cry!”
One of the other students, Ignacio, taunted Kenneth. Ignacio was a born taunter.
He wasn’t a bully. He was a taunter. What’s the difference? A bully will usually taunt and physically harm his victim. A taunter will wait for just the right moment to verbally assault his victim. A taunter abhors physical violence but has no problem with using words as weapons.
Ignacio even had the look of a taunter. He was of average height but with a very Mediterranean complexion. I think he was part Greek and part Brazilian. His hair was a dark color, not quite black but not quite brown. He always had it slicked back with the aid of some special kind of hair grease that his uncle shipped to him from Brazil.
Ignacio was also the only 7th grader with a mustache. It was a thin wispy mustache but still a real mustache.
“Kenny’s a cry baby! Cry baby!”
Ignacio laughed and pointed at Kenneth.
“Stop it, Iggy! Leave Kenny alone!”
Janet defended Kenneth.
Janet was quite possibly the prettiest, nicest, and coolest girl in the entire school. I had a bit of a crush on her. Well, just about every 7th grade boy did. Even a few 8th grade boys. Janet had curly red hair, deep blue eyes, glowing fair skin and an awesome smile.
She also had this way of looking at someone, anyone, and instantly connecting with that person’s true self.
“You’re such a bully, Iggy! Stop picking on Kenny!” Janet scrunched up her face and gave Ignacio the stink eye.
“Hey now! I’m no bully! I’m just a taunter.”
Ignacio caught a ball and held onto it for a minute before hurling it at some kid’s stomach.
“Oh whatever! You’re a bully and you know you’re a bully!” Janet picked up a ball and threw it at Ignacio’s face.
“Hey! You can’t do that! You’re not in the game anymore, Janet!” Ignacio was about to retaliate in kind when he was struck so hard in the chest that he immediately fell backwards onto the shiny gymnasium floor.
I turned around and saw Santos standing with a big smile on his face.
“Santos! Look what you’ve done!” Coach Nunez ran over to Ignacio and checked his vital signs.
“A ball for a ball makes you fall!” Santos exclaimed.
Every single student laughed. I wrote down that quote.

All words written by Ryan A. Loera
Copyright 2015



My Sandwich

He ate my sandwich! Bob ate my wonderful sandwich!
My turkey, cheese, bacon, tomato, lettuce on rye sandwich! How could Bob do such a thing? Does he not know how many hours I spent making my sandwich?
Well, maybe not hours but minutes. Several glorious minutes!
I even drove all the way across town to get the good turkey from the good deli. Doesn’t Bob know this?
How could you, Bob! How could you eat my sandwich! Why did you eat it?
Do you get some kind of sick satisfaction from eating other peoples’ sandwiches? Huh!! Do you?
I recall a time when you wanted to make a sandwich of your own but did not have any bread. You asked to borrow a few slices of bread and I was agreeable. In addition, I also gave you $5 so that you may purchase a loaf of your choosing.
That was not too long ago. Did you purchase your own loaf? No! You spent that $5 on beer. And when you got back home you didn’t even offer me a beer!
Oh how I loathe you, Bob!
It is no wonder you are a solitary man. But I digress.
Why the hell did you eat my sandwich? Was there something about it that called out to you? Hmmm?
Did the sandwich itself speak to you? Did it speak to you in French or Spanish?
If you are having conversations with talking sandwiches regularly then perhaps you should see a psychiatrist.
But even that is no excuse for eating my lovely sandwich!
Why! Why did you eat it?
I’ve been nothing but kind to you these past few months. I have no qualms with our living arrangement.
And I only slept with your wife once! Only once!
Why did you eat my sandwich?

All words written by Ryan A. Loera
Copyright 2015


The Conversation

“We’re all insane!”
I shouted. My glass was empty.
“Yes! I know we all are!”
Julie agreed with me. She refilled her glass then refilled mine.
“This wine is really great! Is it that same merlot you mentioned yesterday?” I said.
“Yes it is. I got it from Martha’s Vineyard. It’s been in the fridge for four months.”
Julie moved closer to me on the sofa.
The floral pattern seemed to hypnotize me.
“So… I just finished reading a biography on Vincent Van Gogh and it turns out he may not have been as insane as people thought.”
I stated and placed my hand on Julie’s right shoulder. She was wearing a very intoxicating perfume.
“Oh? Really? He’s the one that painted Starry Night correct?” She sipped from her glass.
I placed my glass on the mahogany table to the left and yawned. Yawned and stretched.
“Are you tired?” Julie asked.
“No… well somewhat tired. I was up ‘till 5 am last night writing the last chapter of my novel.”
I rubbed my eyes and smiled.
“I thought you wrote the last chapter two weeks ago.” Julie scratched her forehead.
“Yeah I did but then I started adding more to it. More description, more dialogue.”
I closed my eyes for a second then reopened them.
“So, how many pages is it now?” She asked.
“Uh… around 660 pages.”
I replied and yawned a good yawn.
“I look forward to reading it. What have you titled it?” Julie turned me around and began massaging my shoulders.
“Haven’t decided on a title yet. Perhaps I’ll title it No Title.” My eyelids grew heavy. Julie’s massage really relaxed my joints.
“Well, the title can wait for now. Just get some sleep. Close your eyes and sleep.”
I did as she requested. I drifted off into a deep slumber.
When I awoke, Julie was gone. She had been gone for some time before then. Cancer took her from me. Though, I still have regular conversations with her.
She lives on within my heart and soul.

All words written by Ryan A. Loera
Copyright 2015



Chapter 1

Well we are going through the years of experience.  The only thing that is not an intended recipient of our lives together is not an easy task. It isolated our website from point video before blog.
I ate her own personal email address to Hilton hear volume.
This is not quite momentous.

Chapter 2

She stained us with kerosene and decided to make certain that we could not believe in God. I quaked humor all over her body.
We enjoyed the movie but I’m not going anywhere for this post. 
Therefore it was not able to help our lives.  Much ghostwriting had been acknowledged by fragrance kids.

Chapter 3

Saturn says we are deaf. Hurricane the imbalance. True love altruistic the first time in my mind is a very long time. Panama screams in black and white.
Take off her whole essential opposite opposition. These rites resume chaotic conflagration. I am not your old hate filled shaman!
Go out into mother nature. Internally juxtapose splendor. Take what you can. Learn what you can. Do not fear books. Read lots and do not ever hide your feelings.


David and German star in: Gwaa Love

On a clear March afternoon, David spots German in the school cafeteria. He runs up to him, farts then speaks.
David: Gwaa!
German: ?
David: I love you, German!
German: What? Are you gay, David?
David: No! I mean I am gay but in a different way. I have sex with men but I don’t love them.
German: That sounds like being gay to me.
David: No, it’s not gay! I mean it is gay but not like you think!
German: Whatever.
David: In that case… I don’t love you, German. I Gwaa Love You!
German: Oh? Oh! I Gwaa Love you too, Davy!
David: Gwaa!!

(They embrace each other for an eternity.)
The End.

The Wise Man

“Be like the wise man.”
She licked her thumb.
“The wise man? I’ll have you know the wise man ain’t so wise!”
I caressed air.
“What? You dare question my honesty?”
She moved her hips around like a planet.
“Yes… no. I mean… yes I question everything. Just yesterday I interrogated that mime on the corner of tenth street.”
My arms felt uneasy.
“Really? Why do such a thing? What did he tell you?”
She fondled her slick cleverness.
“He didn’t say one word. Though, he did point to an old pornography shop.”
My tongue got sweet.
“Oh? Was it open?” She asked.
“Nope. Closed for winter.”
I ate handfuls of humbleness.