Another day is drawing to a close.
I just waved goodbye to the guard.
she closes the door to my cell,
signifying another day down.
She's a nice lass..
Whenever i do something wrong,
i quickly put on my most polite Ye Olde London town
chimney sweep accent..
Shit like that.
"Silly, that fly English shit don't work no more"
It clearly does.
My body is sore as hell,
one might come to the conclusion that i've been brutally beaten
with cricket bats for a considerable
amount of time..
Just to clarify to my freinds, family and goons, i havn't.
It's the result of the Herculian workout
the man dem have me doing every morning.
Each day it gets harder.
Anytime they sense i am in anything
remotely close to being pain-free,
they make me do double. Or Triple.
"Do it for the queen, motherfucker"
"Look at this bitch ass n****r, tweny' more motherfucker"
I chopped my beard off today too.
It looks really good.
My spanish barber was cutting my hair,
and my Jamaican buddy Cash Money walked
"Teem, you look like Abraham from de bibal, hahaa!"
There an then, i decided to cut it off.
almost every inmate in the unit has felt
the need to comment on my freshly shaven
Cash Money's verdict?
"Moch better B, you look like Vladamir Putin!"
The guard likes it though.
She said i look like a Calvin Klein model.