Tuesday, 17 May 2011


What a LOVELY day it is today!!

 I arise from my deathly slumber to the
smell of fresh fecal particles and Columbian Coffee

My cellie is the best.

Considering he's clasping hold of MY bag of coffee,
the burning question is, is he making me a cup too?

"what the FUCK do i look like,
Butler Benson? An you're King Arthur up in this motherfucker?
..FUCK outta here N****R.."


Onwards and upwards!

I slept through lunch,
i was having some crazy dream that involved fucking some chick,
and compared to reality, i deemed sleeping more important than
feasting on some testicular matter shaped into some kind of burger
or patty..A cup of tea and biscuits will do for now.

I'm trying to lose weight anyway,
i've built up a shitload of muscle but i still have some weight
to shed, my cellie is always full of encouragement..

"Don' worry kid, you'll turn all that fat into dick in no time"

No bullshit..

i head back to my cell, sit on the chair i blagged
from my last visit, and relax with my brew..

that was the plan, until some discombobulated
nincompoop took it upon himself to boot the cell
door open, screamin..


Tea and biscuits start scattering..

"Silly N****r!
Boogie ain't gonna let no one run up in
the spot, ESPECIALLY the castle!"

The dude then proceeds to talk pure blams,
mainly involving prison politics and possible
beef about to erupt..

My cellie is completely unfazed.

"I ain't no psychologist,
i'm just a live n****r, an i know
what shit's headin' for.."

At that, i take my leave..

As soon as i hit the floor,
i'm somehow drawn towards my Jamaican freinds,
who at this moment in time, are playing table tennis.

They offer to teach me.

Why the fuck not.

 The dude i am playing against seems to have
extremely little patience with the 'ras claat' noob
everytime we start to get a decent rally together,
he smashes the ball towards the direction of my
hench Turkish nose, at approximately a squillion
miles an hour..


Each time he does this,
it's followed by people shouting..


My freind who makes cards (prepare yourself, one's in the post) refers
to this particular shot as a 'mash shot', and tells me i'm not ready
to 'bus' one just yet..


I'm quickly getting the hang of this shit.

Press play

The pace of the game is getting faster, but i
ain't slackin'.

Man's standin' his ground.

..All the while i'm preparing to skyrocket this fuckin'
ball at this dude..

I just have to time it perfectly.

Then it comes!

My oppoent hits the ball and it bounces high up into the air..

..Everybody pauses in suspense..

This is my chance,
i'm takin' the motherfucker..

I gracefully rise through the air like Sagat,
ready to tiger the FUCK out of this ball CUNT of a ball..


The ball goes fucking FLYING through the air,
hitting the dude in the chest, then bouncing
all the way to the back of the tier behind him..


..The crowd erupts..


Even my card making bredren puts in his two cents..

Tim'a bus da mash shot already mun!"


My opponent was less than impressed,
reffering to me for the rest of the game as a 'pussyclat'
and winning by a considerable amount.

Dickhead min!

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