Go get your bird

 It is comissary day today!
By that i mean the habitual load guzzlers downstairs deliver
our items from the shop today..
 In the grand scheme of things, the items at
our disposal are fucking BUDGET and overpriced,
but hey it gues you something to look forward to, and in a
way makes you feel a little bit more human..
 ..If that makes sense..

 

 Considering most the people in here are PROPER criminals, career ones at that,
it's not suprising that the majority of heads are fucking LOADED..Their lockers
are always stocked to the brim with everything and anything on the comissary
listen, even strangely, the 'douche messengel' ..
:O !

 When they return from the line, most are clasping three to four bags stuffed
full of goodies..

 As you can probably gather by now, my situation differs GREATLY from the
majority of gentleman in this fine establishment.
 Firstly, i'm no career criminal. Far from it.
I'm used to working minimum wage jobs and surviving on the bare minimum.
 Any money i have had on my books, is down to kind people that have love for me..
..not an afluent family or a 'safehouse' full of dirty money stashed somewhere..

 Todays/this weeks items are,
regrettably, not for me.
 I am in debt. Which requires payment.
I must add that this is self-inflicted debt due to me ticking items off
my various associates/cronies in the jail, not the other
'gimme all your shit every week' kind of debt. Nonono.

 So, all of the items i have purchased, 38 dollars worth to be precise, what
luxuries do i have to spoil myself with this week?
 Sweets? Crisps (NOT chips)? Pepsi? Chocolate?
Better than all that monkey shit, i have..a pack of batteries and some stamps.
:(

 At least i knew i wasn't getting anything, no need for disapointment..
A couple weeks ago, i was kindly sent some buckeroonies from my Drongotastic brother
in Australia, so decided to 'spoil' myself with a load of pointless, unhealthy items,
guaranteed to turn my fecal discharge into a white hot lava stream of biblical proportions. :D
..It didn't quite go to plan..
 Instead of delivering me all the necessary items to turn my shitter into a cannon capable
of firing a Turkish Mr Hanky all the way back to the big smoke, i got a bill for

77 bags of plantain chips.

 I open the comissary bag, and there is only toilet paper and laxatives. Safe for that.

 

 My locker at this very moment in time has around four dusty packs of oatmeal in.
After some serious scrapadges of the remnants of my jar of Nutella, i head off to the
kitceh to nike this putrid pot of stomach bile, that i've somehow convinced myself is not
only worthy of consumption, but is going to taste 'banging'.
 My timing couldn't be worse.
It's chicken day today. I slept in.
Despite my cellie kindly waking me up, i didn't bother going to collect my 'bird'..
..It was either get out of my warm 'blanket' that resembles a string vest to go collect some undercooked, bloody, fox urine soaked piece of chicken, or go back to sleep..
..I dream often. Mostly of being outside. Mostly of getting laid..So my decisions was made.
 Bad decision.

Making decisions using my penis,
instead of the wonderfully under developed brain i was blessed with,
is exactly how i ended up in jail in the first place..
 Considering i had MANY opportunities to share my time with classy women,
from good backgrounds, that were all doing positive things and going places with their lives,
 Timothy Guvercin took it upon himself to get married to a broad that was unemployed,
and had found her true calling in life smoking weed, sucking dick, getting butt fucked and
obsessively watching the Maury Show..

..You can imagine how proud my parents were
 The moral of the story?
Use your fucking brain. If i would have done that, not only would
i more than likely not be on jail right now, an be in some kind of other
situation that doesn't involve being locked in a room with a man squeezing
out a turd every day, but i would also have a piece of chicken.
 That piece of meat would have,
in turn, guaranteed me entry into one of the various 'whips' that
are in full effect up in this kitchen..
 When you are in a 'whip', it means someone is cooking for you.
Despite there only being two microwaves in our unit,
the kitchen is exploding with colours, smells ands flavours..
..Like that scene from Hook with all them fucking annoying little kids
making all that NEXT LEVEL munch..there is even a big, fat, round individual
standing in the middle of the kitchen with a big golden sword shouting 'bangarang' ;)
 The only difference being he ain't a pre-pubescent kid, he's a 40 year old Puerto Rican
who looks uncannily like Patrick from Spongebob..really..that or a spanish uncle fester..
 The food these guys are whipping together smells so fucking banging!

..And i'm standing there with my fucking BATE bowl of oatmeal/anal discharge..i feel
like hanging up.