Monday, 13 June 2011



What did you wake up to today?

Anything live?

A naked chick?

Some nice breakfast?

A fryup perhaps?

Some hot pussy?

I hope something good.

The image that got barbarically scarred into
my still quivering, half functioning eyeballs this morning.
was anything but 'live'..

As i kissed the little taste of freedom i get every time i sleep goodbye,
i was confronted by a sight that would terrify most men in my position.

Timothy Guvercin woke to the sight of a naked 220 pound
six foot tall african american.

 At first i couldn't understand what the fuck he was doing,
it looked like he was washing his leg,
and in his other hand had managed to get hold of a
large pair of coconuts..


He was actually standing there, bollock naked,
soaping up his cock and balls.

Not cool.

Really not cool.

Don't get alarmed though,
i'm not about to start describing some next level nightmarish
bum raping scenario that one might fear being incarcerated in
a maximum security federal holding facility, nono,
far from it.

There was no need for me to reach for the assorted mass of
crude weaponry stashed in arms reach, this situation requires
nothing to fear, or the need to defend one's honour (and asshole)
with brute force.

It's only my cellie.

He's washing his penis in the sink,
and thought it rude to disturb my slumber,
so didn't bother waking me up.


To make matters worse,
a couple seconds after i clock him standing there,
another inmate busts open the door, looks at me,
looks at my cellie standing there naked with a soaped
up hammer, and completely unfased asks if we have any
sugar, like it ain't a ting.

An in all fairness, it ain't.

Just another day.

On a serious note though,
i feel a part of me died today.

In the early afternoon, i made a cup of coffee.

I put a wee bit too much milk in it, and sadly,
it didn't quite agree with my digestive track as
well as one would've hoped.
 My breakfast consisted mostly of a rather arrogantly
large bowl of strawberry (gimme a break) oatmeal,
again, comprised mostly of milk.

This totally ingenious combination could only lead to
one thing, and one thing only.. aggresively turbulent exercise in secreting scatty
logs down the toilet canal, at top speed.

I knew this epically biblical battle with a milky shit
demon was inevitable, but my stubborn Turkish side of
me told me to try and staunch it out as long as possible, hoping
the delay might have some kind of magical solidifying effect on
the molten stream of hot shit awaiting to erupt at any moment.

..made it about half way through lockdown,
before reluctantly submitting..

I did it.

I shat in front of my cellie.

The gates of Mordor opened,
releasing a hellish shower of diaria,
a meager five feet away from where
my cellie was sitting.

he pointed at me.

Laughed at me.

He was laughing at a broken man,
pirched upon a gleaming metal throne,
looking down at the shattered pieces of what
was left of my dignity and self respect, which
where now sprawled across the floor in tatters.


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