Eric Manson

Despite all of my cellmates annoyances, and almost knocking him into next tuesday, i was a little bit apprehensive about sharing a cell with a 6ft tall 260 pound individual, who is known as 'criminal shy'. He looks like, in his own words, Denzel Washington on steroids, who is 260 pounds but 40 pounds of it 'is dick'.
 I ask around to get an idea of what this guy is like, and no one has a bad word to say about him.
 So i agree, my old cellmate gets his shit the fuck out in a flash, and Sha (pronounced shy) moves in. Then i am told he is a notorious bank robber, who has appeared on Americas Most Wanted on numerous occasions in the last 20 years..i'm now in Prangville tennesse.

 So, he moves in, no problemo. We get along suprisingly well, he informs me that when he asked around about what kind of person i was, he was greeted with the information "Timdog is the cracker with tattoos, but he's a real N****r". Charming!
 As my English bredders will know, in our neck of the woods, that word is not used often, at all. Even by black people. Here, it is used every other word, and i am reffered to by this term more than my name. Which after 3 months, i'm still not used to.
 Example.
Sha overhears someone making jokes about my ex wife turning out to be a regal bitch, and replies with
 "YO, TIMDOGS MY N****R, I HEAR YOU TALK SHIT AGAIN I'MA BREAK YOU N****R THE FUCK OFF!". Nice.
 At this point of my incarceration, i was still in a state of shock and serious deppresion, and at this point, you could see it just by looking at me. My hair and beard was CRAZY long, i looked dishevled, like teen wolf's dad. On top of this, i wasn't keeping my cell in the best of conditions.
 Sha is a very clean dude. He's been in and out of the prison system for a long time. He knows the deal, and would point things out to me that i didn't know, or that i had forgotten, and inform me of certain prison rules of hygiene and conduct.
 One day my uncleanliness got too much, and Shy decided to let me know..
When this day came, i had court. I woke up at six, got breakfast, then headed back to the cell. When it was time to go, i left my dirty bowl on the table and noticed i had split some crumbs from the cake on the floor..didn't think much of it, and just assumed i'd clean it when i get back.
 I get back, my bowl is in the rubbish bin, and the atmosphere is cold as FUCK. Sha enters, and slams the door.
   "Cellie, we gotta talk.."
Our talk goes on for perhaps an hour. It is very productive, insightful, interesting, helpful and also terrifying at the same time. Sha tells me that he is very fond of me, that i am a good kid and i obviously don't belong in the prison system (no shit). But, if he didn't think so fondly, i would've come back to find all my belongings thrown into the hall, and a beating i wouldn't forget..When that's coming from someone who looks like he could crush a coconut with his bare hands, you listen..
Thanks for the heads up!
 I am taught a valuable lesson, that in prison, you need to be on point all the time and think about what you are doing. He points out that walking around feeling sorry for myself, behaving like a 60yr old that has been given a life sentance, will lead to problems with other inmates.
For example..
 Sha explains that i can't sleep most of the day away, not just because it's unhealthy, but because what would happen if i had a problem with someone, a problem i didn't know about, and they decided to stab me while i was asleep?
Point taken.
 So..apologies made, we bury the hatchet over some tea and a bean pie. How civilised! But i am extremely grateful to Shy for the tips and advice he has given me, as they help me to start thinking more intellectually, instead of emotionally. In the coming weeks i start to change from the unfit, quiet, depressed, shaggy haired 'cracker'...so the confident, six pack sportingm gangster limping Timdog/Timmy Magic/T-dizzle/T-dizzly/Dat N****r T-murder/T-money/Afrika Timbata and so on..
 As i'm writing this, i glimpse out the window and make eye contact with someone who is in here for distributing 20 keys of coccaine, and has two bodies on the street (murders). He gives me the thumbs up.
 Could my life possible be more fucking random?
 The teenwolf look is gone..i pay a fellow inmate two packs of tuna to cut my hair. With surgeon like precission, Mikey sculpts my hair into a work of art..Hands down, the best haircut i've ever had. EVER. How did he do it?
 As one might probably guess, you are not allowed scissors in jail. So how did he do it?
This guy cut my hair using the blade from a disposable razor, snapped off, and celetaped to a comb. That's it. Seriously.
 For now, i'll leave you with a few golden quotes and pieces of information from my Cellmate Sha..
"Dude, you start working out, you'll turn that fat into dick in no time"
"Yo cellie, it's hot as bull balls in here, why you got all these lights on? You tryin'a get a tan up in this motherfucker?"
When hearing about me not wanting to be deported
"man, shit, right now i'd rather be in the jungle eating bugs and snakes an shit"
"You stay in the bozo section, you come in the real n****r section, you gonna get hurt"
"who's miss Anderson?"
"kid, the biggest chocolate booty up in this motherfucker"
"she fine?"
"She ain't nothin to rizal hizome abizle, you feel me?"
"WHEN THE KILLERS AND GORILLAS COME OUT, THE MONKEYS SCATTER..AND I'M A SILVERBACK, N****R"
"If there's a motherfucker that's robbed more than me, id like to meet him"