The End

Apocalypse Now, 1979

This is the end

Beautiful friend

This is the end

My only friend, the end


I’ve decided to no longer drive for Uber. Fuck those clowns. I’ve shamefully have neglected this blog, partly because I haven’t been driving, and when I have, nothing worth writing about happened.

I’ve enjoyed driving for them, but I haven’t done it in awhile for various reasons.t Ultimately because I don’t want to. It was fun. I liked helping and meeting people, but it’s a scam. They’re getting rich while drivers are struggling to get by.

I realize there are some drivers out there doing well, good for them (really), but they’re most likely in prime locations and working their ass off to do so. Not everyone is pulling in the same wages as the few lucky bastards making good money.

At first, there’s the excitement of the new job, the adventure of the road and the ability to decide when you want to go on the clock. That’s what appealed to me (after losing a great paying job I hated), and the fact that I didn’t have to take a drug test (as a returning medical cannabis patient after losing said job).

In the beginning it was thrilling, it was an adventure that was different everyday. But after a few months (and the increase of Uber drivers floating around, all fighting for the same customers), the reality of the Ube life started setting in.

I could hang in L.A., but the number of competing drivers is bigly (haha, fuck that douche) and I didn’t sign up to sit in traffic all day. Hells-to-the-nah.

I enjoy writing. It still remains to be seen if Im any good at it, but I love it all the same. I started another blog, SpiderBarks, geared towards writing, and I hope to publish an ebook or two later this year. So, for the most part, I will be spending my time over there.

Uber just isn’t for me anymore, and quite possibly not for anyone. These greedy schmucks at the top can’t seem to get their shit together after being rocked by scandal after scandal. They might be making some big changes here in the near future with Travis Kalanick taking a LOA and a new top dog behind the wheel, but despite what they may shake up, it’s too late for me. And positive change as yet to be seen.

And I’m not the only one who feels this way. It seems that anyone with a little bit of intelligence has seen the endeavor as it really is, past the initial excitement, a swindle that benefits the big guys more than the drivers bringing in the cash money.

Where does this leave people who don’t have many options, or currently stuck in the Ube life supporting a family?

Uber definitely benefits communities by providing cheap travel fare for it’s people, but at the expense of the driver. The average Uber driver, after you figure in gas, taxes and depreciation, makes far less than minimum wage. Sit down and do the math, the evidence is right there in black and white despite the propaganda Uber feeds us.

I had started to realize this a while ago, but was determined to make a strong effort to make it work in my community. But it’s just not possible. New drivers are getting on the road everyday, and that cuts into my pool of clientele. It’s just not feasible to pay the bills with Uber, that’s why they market it as a “side hustle”, but through propaganda, encourage drivers to devote more time to driving, swelling their pockets further.

A success of a business is measured by how rich the people at the top get without regard for the people at the bottom bringing in the profit (the workers). How is that not completely fucked?

It’s impossible to survive on minimum wage these days. One can’t even pay rent with that chump change, and everyone is hiring a grip of part-timers to fill the roster to avoid paying people benefits or handing out hours one can support a family with. This has become the new norm and we’re supposed to except this.

But that’s capitalism for you, hail the wealthy and fuck the people. Everything is going up accept wages, and that’s because profit always come first. It doesn’t make sense if someone isn’t getting rich because that’s how it’s designed.

Anyway, despite how you feel about all that jazz, it doesn’t change the truth. Fact is fact despite what you choose to believe. Belief will never Trump fact (see what I did there?).

So, will I ever drive for Uber again? Possibly. But it will never be for income, not anymore. If I choose to let strangers ride in my car for next to nothing, again, it will be for character research. One can learn a lot about how people talk and craft believable dialogue (for writing fiction) by driving for Uber.

I’m not sure how much longer Uber Legends will stay up, it has been fun, but the Ube life ain’t fo dis cat no mo.

On the Road Again


Finally, after the misery of a broken rib, I is back on the grind. I’ve been writing a lot lately, not about the Ube life, unfortunately, but some fiction and another blog I started geared towards that sort of thing.

I’ll share that down the road, once I get my dot com purchased and stuff.

I’ve been out on the road a few times, with no interesting rides. It has been dead for me. Either my area switched to Lyft, or there is a grip more drivers in my hood sucking up all my business. I used to own the nights. Sucks a fatty and I’ve been bored as balls.

I did drive a couple to LAX  a couple weeks back and I couldn’t help but think about running people over, bustin’ caps with my uzi and looking for stunt jumps. The last 300 times I had been there was on GTA 5.

I took another girl to L.A. just the other night. A friend hooked her up with the ride and she was so happy to be leaving the area, she had broken down in tears. She said she had been stuck here for awhile.

“I came out here on a quest for love and he turned out to be the biggest idiot ever,” she said. “I’m just so happy to finally be leaving this place, so excuse me if I breakdown crying back here.”

She cried for awhile with her head down. I felt bad for her, but I was happy that she was moving on to a better place.

I dropped her off in an alleyway—it didn’t appear that she had anywhere to go and that she was on her own. It was sad

“Good luck,” I said.

“Thanks, please pray for me. I’m going to need all that I can get.”

I wish her the best, whatever her name was—she never told me.

Last night I drove a small family with a baby in a dirty diaper that I had the pleasure of smelling for the fifteen minute ride.

This has been the extent of my adventures so far. I need to recalibrate and get my hustle on, nom’tom’bout?

It’s been slow and boring, but I’m optimistic about it, I hope to get back in the flow of things soon. I do enjoy driving for Uber, although they seem to enjoy sticking their foots up their asses and then in their mouths. Then, like they have forgotten what poop tastes like, they stick it back up their ass again. I hope Uber gets their shit together, because it just might be time to peep out Lyft, and see what’s cracking up in der.

Lunch Break Report vol. 2

This volume of the Lunch Break Report is coming to you from my recliner, where I have been stuck for sometime now with a broken rib. As I sit here wishing I could be out getting my Uber on, or puffing on this bomb Strawberry Kush and wax cumble I have (can’t risk the cough), I recalled a lame little unimportant story to share with y’all. I give you…

The Three O’clock Free Crack Give Away


img_4318 A late night round trip to the gas station booked by a young new couple all touchy and feely in the back seat. We traveled from gas station to gas station, but they were all closed at three in the morning. The girl, a self proclaimed Youtube personality (she was reluctant to talk about), asked me to shoot up to 7/11.

Ms. Youtube wanted to take a trip into the hood–well, from one hood to another. I was actually on my way home from late night bar runs when she ordered the ride. I figured why not squeeze in one more. Melven (another Uber driver), as she named him, cancelled her ride before I snagged it up, she wasn’t too happy about it. Ms. Youtube kept the early morning lively with her unique sense of humor.

As I pulled into the parking-lot, the three of us observed a congregation gathered just outside the front doors huddled next to a trash can a boom box with speakers that lit up sat on top of. There had to be five, six people in this group and another small group inside. The look on the guy’s face behind the counter said it all.

I felt bad for the guy.

The fare got out from the back seat manuevering throught the circus, and the dude ghosted her the entire time. It was kind of sickening, like high school kids on their first date with hormones ready to explode–been there, done did that. They disappeared into the Kwik-E-Mart while a fine upstanding citizen stopped right in front of my car and put on quite the demonstration on how to smoke crack.

It was absolutely–well, I’m not sure exactly what word to use to describe that experience, but it definitely was an experience. The bulgy wide-eyed junkie smacked his beak lubing up his snake skinned lips with his Jabba the Hutt tongue.

All the crack must’ve been gone, because in a matter of minutes the crowd soon dispersed, and it was almost quiet again, as it should be at three a.m.

I was soon greeted by some number in a tight white dress showing off each roll she was stacked up upon. This hotty noticed the Uber sticker in my windshield.

“Oh, you looking for someone to give a ride?” She said as she shuffled over in some clunky high heels.

Oh hells nah, I thought to myself, “No, my passengers are inside, I’m just waiting.” I smiled.

“Oh ok.”

She crouched down to get a better look at me, “Didn’t you give me a ride earlier?”

I shook my head.

“Don’t you drive for Lyft?” She looked back at the decal stuck to my windshield, eyes bugged out on the verge of falling out of her fucked up face and onto the hood of my car. She was gross–and probably could’ve supplied me with a years worth of stories from one single ride.

The lovely couple exited the Crackheads-R-Us, with the dude still getting his ghost on behind his girl. I’m not sure how they acomplished any shopping in that position, but I guess they had experience, because she had a bag of merch.

They piled into the backseat 0nce again. Ms. Youtube was a fast talker, funny, witty and I’m betting a superb shit talker and as entertaining as the trip was, and as funny as Ms. Getting Felt Up was, I would have rathered Melvin took that one.

Club crackhead was an event I could have done without.

Sake Bomb dot com


“It’s not like I don’t have a 357 magnum at home,” some fifty year old dumpy woman blurted out from the passenger seat.

Behind her sat her sister, and behind me her twenty something daughter. All three were drunk, particularly the gun toting blob next to me. They were very friendly and very talkative, but homegirl was tore up.

She told me about how her ex husband had left her–several times, and about her two ungrateful children (two other children) getting iPhones for Christmas or something. She told me that story a few times too, so you’d think I’d remember it.

I hate to sound cynical, because I know divorce sucks for all the parties involved, but this bitty was a bit irritating. It can be hard to maintain a conversation with a drunk when you’re not sauced up yourself.

“We had too many sashi bombs,” Ms. Magnum informed me before she launched into an hysterical roar of laughter about her misspoken words.

As we closed in on their destination, the intoxicated woman to my right pointed out which house was hers, “But don’t try and come back here later tonight, I have a 357 magnum, remember.”

I don’t know why this woman was worried that I was coming back later in the night. Maybe she was trying to throw some reverse psychology my way, to lurer me up into her room to have her way with me.

But it didn’t work. That costs extra.

I stopped in front of the “home of the magnum” and her sister hooked me up with a five spot. The trio wobbled up the driveway to try and sleep off the rice wine and hopefully the cougar left the biscuit alone.

Strip Club Blues


On my way back from Oceanside, half past three a.m., I managed to snag another ride on my way home. I recognized the address on my phone, because I had been there a few times before–⏤but for Uber needs only.

I was booked to pick up a customer from one of the local strip joints.

Once in the parking-lot, some big guy opened my passenger door and flung his fat ass inside.

I know that sounds mean of me to say it like that, sorry dude if you stumble upon this, but this is for entertainment purposes, and that’s how this muhfucka entertains yo.

The big belly next to me smelled of booze, but as I already knew and he made a point to inform me, they don’t serve alcohol up in there–⏤just O’Doul’s–⏤and who the hell wants to drink that shit?

“Man, I think I got drunk on O’Doul’s,” Captain Placebo said.

Dude must’ve smuggled in some booze or something, because he sure talked like he was drunk, repeating his story how he moved up here because of a stripper ex girlfriend.

Captain Placebo didn’t have anything good to say about the club, which made me wonder why the hell he went in the first place, but he kept circling back to some fifty year old titty hanging bitty that was trying to hustle him.

“The whole time I was there, I forgot to look at a vagina. It was right there in my face, and I didn’t look at it.”

What the fuck was that guy looking at then? Old, ugly or not, if there was a vagina in my face, I’d be looking yo. Maybe not necessarily enjoying it, but I’d sure as hell would notice beef curtains draped in my field of vision.

“There were vaginas all over the place, and I didn’t look at any of them!” Mr. Placebo said sounding genuinely disappointed in himself. “I want to go back.”

It must have been awhile since dude got laid–⏤I kind of felt sorry for him. Aside from his O’Doul breath and his drunken loudness, he was a pretty cool guy, a good passenger, and he was a tipper too. Tippers are always awesome in my book.

I hope he remembers to look at the meat wallets next time–⏤maybe if he lays off the O’Doul’s.

Fecal Matters

It was Friday. TGIF, right?

Fuck no.

It was a quarter to 2 am, and I sat in the small parking lot of a ginormous house, with a huge water fountain, and a big ass garage on the large lot of land.

Sitting there looking at the beautiful home with my headlights blaring into the property, I hoped for an interesting story, but I got much more than I wanted.

I sat there for five minutes or so and wondered if I was at the right location. Uber said this was the spot, but Uber has been wrong before. Finally a young man came out and told me he had to go back and get his friend.

Great, I thought.

I sat there for awhile and I knew what was up. I regretted accepting the ride. He eventually came back out with another guy, who was helping him drag an unconscious friend out of the mansion.

I was tempted to cancel right then and there, and bounce up out that bitch–⏤but I didn’t. It took them forever to get Dickhead, as the young man called him, in the backseat.

“He said he wanted to go beer for beer with me and you can see how that turned out.

“What’s the fee for someone puking in your car?”

I closed my eyes and breathed. Dickhead started gurgling and dry heaving. His friend reached over and popped the door open with a quickness pushing the drunk’s head out. I didn’t even bother looking back and told him about the barf bag in the door.

The young man was nice and apologized a bazillion times, but each apology went unanswered, because we had’t even left yet. The clock was running, but we weren’t moving, and that fifteen cents a minute wasn’t worth this bullshit.

We had been sitting there for fifteen or twenty minutes at this point and I was fucking annoyed. I wanted to kick those two out so bad–⏤but I didn’t.

Eventually he shoved his unconscious friend back inside before plopping in himself, and finally we were off.

“He’s not going to puke in your car bro.”

Yeah, keep telling yourself thatbro“, I thought to myself.

His parents were out of town and they decided to have a small kickback with some friends. The young man’s destination wasn’t far at all, but I took it slow, in fear of a bump causing Dickhead to chew backwards all over my seats.

When we got there, it took him two and a half months the get Dickhead out of my car and into his house. I couldn’t leave just yet, because he left some stuff in my car he said he was coming back for.

The seconds ticked away like hours. I don’t get paid jack when I’m not moving and I was tempted to leave his shit on the curb and jam–⏤but I didn’t.

I noticed something on the seat where Dickhead was sitting. I didn’t smell anything from the driver seat and it appeared to be dirt or sand, so I wasn’t too concerned.

Total time on the ride was almost forty-five minutes before he ran back out apologizing again and again. He handed me an eight dollar tip thanking me and once again apologizing for the inconvenience before yanking his belongings out of my car. I was off to see what was left of the bar scene.

I pulled over down the street to inspect the backseat before picking up the next ride. I was ready to free the small car vacuum in the trunk when I noticed a wet spot⏤

The dirt or sand wasn’t dirt or sand.img_4302 Captain dumb-fuck done shat his pants and done dookied on my seat.

I was livid.

Then, I could smell it, and home was a twenty minute ride away.

I had made a little over three bucks from the ride (+ $8 tip) for a fucked up forty-five minutes of my life, and I missed out on the rest of the shift (I’m usually out till 4-430am on weekends).

That’s that Uber life. It can’t always be hot chicks and fat tips.

*My seat is dookie free and I’m one hundred and fifty dollars closer to becoming a thousandaire.

Just the FAQs


As an Uber driver, I encounter many different people each month, and for the most part, each person asks some sort of variation of the following questions.

1) How long have you been driving for Uber?

Since right now, you’re my first ride.

2) Do you like driving for Uber?

It’s okay, I  really don’t mind it. Besides its the only job I could get after they released me from the institution.

3) Do you do have another job besides driving for Uber?

Everyone wants to know the answer to this question. Yes, I pee on people for money.

4) Do you make good money?

Nope. I just like secretly recording passengers with hidden cameras, but not for YouTube.

5) Where are you from?

It was a place in a time before the great catastrophe that occurred on this planet and the other seventy-five planets which formed the Galactic Confederacy seventy-five million years ago. It has since that time been a desert, and there has been a handful who have tried to push it’s technology up to a level where someone might adventure forward, penetrate the catastrophe, and undo it. 

6) Have you ever been in a dangerous situation?

There was this one time I picked up a one armed little person in high heels and panties only—but I’d rather not talk about it.

7) Are these snacks for free?

Only if you follow my blog, my Twitter, and like my Facebook page, otherwise them bitches is five bones a pop son.

8) What’s the farthest you’ve ever gone?

I once dropped off at passenger at the Lone Pine Mall in Hill Valley.

9) Can I smoke in your car?

Only if it is crack or meth.

10) Does anyone ever tip you?

Sometimes, usually by passengers who work in the service industry. One guy even promised to give me the tip, but he bailed before making good on his offer.

This isn’t too frequent of a question, but I find it funny that the ones that ask, never tip.