I'm locked in my cell.
It's real bate.
My cellie is snoring away below me on his bed,
he doesn't give a fuck.
It's the middle of the day, they should have let
us out over an HOUR ago for chow.
I'm trying to occupy myself listening to tunes
and sketches, but after the one gwillionth variation
of a throwup i know i'm not painting for at least A BLOODY YEAR,
it get's a tad tedious.
I want to check my email.
At this time of day, due to the time differences and this
email system being a COMPLETE PILE OF SHIT, i usually
get a couple emails around now.
I checked earlier, i didn't have none.
As you might imagine, that was fucking dry.
The cell is really hot.
I've resorted to flossing only a pair of very small shorts,
and a t-shirt that i crudely tore the arms off.
My cellie got me some African Pride for my
hair and beard the other day.
You know what's coming right?
It's only a matter of time..
I'm not the only one annoyed by this libertarionist
lockdown of doorinary pisstaketions..
My fellow inmates are not happy.
They're letting it be known,
in the form of punching, kicking and
running shoulder barging their doors.
The guard keeps screaming at everyone to
shut the fuck up.
Good luck with that scrap.
I'm really, really bored.
When i get this bored,
i do really stupid shit.
Like spontaneously shaving my facial hair into
new, possible utterly retarded combinations.
My beard is long, MAD long, the longest it's
ever been, by a long shot.
Someone said i look like 'Captain Morgan' the other day.
I told him he looked like he chain-smoked dicks.
My cellie just farted,
and it fucking stinks.
i am now writing with a t-shirt tightly bound
around my face.
He's now taking a piss, with his back turned to me.
The guard has now opened the door..
With precision timing,
non-fecally fragranced, stale air is flowing through the room
like diarrea in an incontenant mans pants..
Time for chow.
My day is getting better and better.
I'm expecting the type of feast the likes man hath never fathomed,
something similar to that next level yamdown in Hook, except without
that fat kid that makes MC's wanna resort to violence..
We've been given a bread roll, some lettuce, what looks like
tuna that has been steamed in a tramps asshole and some soap.
The icing on the cake?
My cellies tray has a cockroach in it.
A live one.
The guy in the cell opposite to me isn't keen on his food either.
He is bald, has many missing teeth,
is a methodone addict and has numerous
chunks of flesh missing from his face.
"If my wife ever fed me some shit like this, i'd slap the shit out of her"
"An i ain't slapped that bitch in 35 motherfuckin' years."