Each gives relatively poor excuses for why they can no longer
'get that money'.
i still ain't slacking.
Each day they but it off,
i work out on my own.
"Check Timdog, thas my n****r!
Gettin' that motherfuckin' money!"
Today, After chow,
i made my way down to F Tier to see what's poppin'..
It's a Saturday.
We usually work out on weekdays,
but i'm bored.
Puttin' some work in is as good a use of
one's time as any i guess.
The tier is ultra rammed,
everyone is jammin' down there chatting shit,
playing cards, dominoes, usual bullshit..
I'm carrying a matt.
I use it to do planks,
and pushups on my knuckles.
Timmboy's come to get that motherfuckin' money!"
I start my warm up.
followed by ten pullups,
I used to struggle doing pullups when i first came here.
I had lost a shitload of weight in a VERY short amount of time,
plus i hadn't really done any heavy lifting since my days as an
office messenger, lugging speakers and untold other crap
I used to purposely carry things by hand.
We had a cart,
i just didn't like using it.
My boss didn't clock why i would opt to carry
heavy equipment by hand.
I'd come back from jobs red faced, sweatin my balls off,
i could've comfortably rolled the crap around on that cart,
but manz was tryin' to get in shape!
You get me!
The closest thing i came to lifting weights after that job,
was after many a night out, carrying my drunken wife up
the three frightfully steep flights of stairs in our Bushwhick
apartment building, upto to our smokey little yard on the
After a few months in here,
i started to eat at least a meal a day,
take vitamins everyday (pronounced vit-a-mins, not vite-a-mins)
and spend time on the roof breathing fresh air and
soaking up some of the suns beautiful goodness.
Slowly, i was starting to look and feel healthier.
Pushups helped give my arms what one can only describe as
microscopic, hollow, atom sized particles of muscles.
They looked like pimples.
One on each arm.
The more work i put in,
the more these miniscule muscles started to grow.
In no time,
i was able to lift single grains of rise, a pube,
sweetcorn, paracetamol, eventually graduating
to weights of CONSIDERABLY larger and heavier
An orange peel, lip balm, even a plastic fork.
Now i can do pullups with relative ease.
I finished todays warm up quick fast.
By now, i'm aware i will not be joined by anyone else.
I dont particularly care.
Everyone is standing around spittin' bars to Hot 97.
It's keeping me amused for now,
plus they're throwing the odd motivational
comment my way every few minutes..
"Check this Turkish n****r here!
This n****r's goin' back to England lookin'
like motherfuckin RAMBO!"
Soon, the conversation turns to mockery.
Mainly focussing on how polite i am when requesting
a product, question, querie or favour from my fellow
incarcerated dribbling neanderthols.
"Yo, Yo, check this, 'excuse me do you possible have any sugar',
thas what that n****r Tim asked me"
" 'would you happen to know who is last for the computer' haha that
n****r Tim's stupid yo!"
"The thing you fail to realise, everytime i'm polite i always get what i want. I win, you lose."
I'm confronted by ten fulled grown (apart from mentally) men sporting puzzled,
confused looks on their faces.
One by one,
gradually, they understand what i said, and that politeness has been blagging
me all of their shit for almost a year.
before it sinks in,
the annoying female guard turns up.
She takes it upon herself to join in the conversation.
"You're always pullin' that fly English shit Guvercin"
"Yeah, an it always works. Especially on you."
Her asshole shaped face starts winking at me.
Instantaneously, homegirl transforms into what looks
like a bulldog chewing a mouthful of scorned female wasps,
drenched in vinegar and fermented tramps urine.
"Some somethin' funny Guvercin, ask me somethin' stupid soundin' in English,
ask me if i have any grey poupon"
All the inmates stop what they're doing,
turn and wait for my response.
I crack my knuckles.
Drop to the push-up position.
Pause, then reply.
"i don't do requests. I ain't a clown here to amuse you"
An continue my workout..
..followed by the sound of her hoofs clip cloppin' on the floor
as she gallops away sportin' the Gucci face,
and a squadron of baffoons fallin' around laughin', stomping
their feet on the freshly waxed floor..
The guys spittin' bars in the corner paid it all no mind..