They are respectful,
professional and generally do this like of work for one
reason and one reason only.
To get paid.
Others are not so cool.
The worst,
by far the worst guards we have,
are the ugly females.
Not because they're ugly..
These women have clearly little to
no male attention in their lives.
Now they're surrounded by a shitload of
men who are absolutely catting for some pussy,
(even if the owners face looks like an inverted asshole)
these chicks start bugging the fuck out.
They ain't used to the male attention, get a complex
and forget that if most of the guys in here were on the street,
they wouldn't throw cum in their face.
Me included.
I go out of my way NOT to run after these purely ugly ducklings,
in turn avoiding any possibiliy of inflating their already astronomically
misguided ego's.
Press Play
"If a dude in jail ain't checkin' for you,
you KNOW you ain't shit"
My one year wedding anniversay,
and on the 31st July it's my birthday.
Joy.
One might come to the assumption that
considering my 'killer an gorilla' murderous surroundings,
no one gives a fuck about your birthday.
Negative..
It all depends on your status in the prison.
I've seen people have substantially dope meals
cooked for them, feasts that have taken a seriously
long time to prepare, which is really nice!
I've also seen people presented with birthday cakes
that are mostly comprised of stool softener and laxatives.
Also nice.
A couple months back,
it was a guys birthday that is pretty
respected/feared in the jail.
A large proportion of the inmates in here run around
after this guy like bloody slaves, doing everything he asks,
and in turn he publically abuses, humiliates and violates
them on a daily basis.
It's jokes.
Anyhow,
He's in his cell, brushing his teeth.
They baked him a cake for his birthday,
and had some kind of extremely retarded
plan of giving him birthday beats as a desert.
One of them boots his door open,
and shoves his freind, shouting
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!"
The guy flies straight into R,
who spits toothpaste onto the floor.
"You n****rs plannin' on givin' me beats yeh?"
They both smile.
Before either of them can actually answer,
he grabs foolio number two and starts smashing him,
head first, into every surface in the cell.
Sink.
Toilet.
Walls.
Table.
Corner of the bed.
Everything.
With brute force.
Then with one mighty lob, the guy goes
flying out the cell an splats onto the wall.
R Steps through the doorway,
still with toothbrush an toothpaste in his mouth,
and stars at the other bozo who is frozen..
..Then quickly places the cake on the floor, mutters
"Yo enjoy the cake"
..and runs off the tier.
I asked him later that day why he didn't go in first,
and also why he didn't help his freind.
He shrugged his shoulders, stared at me blankly and said
"Don't get it fucked up, i'm smarter than the average bear"
Fair play!
Come the 31st of July,
think of me.
Press Play
By the looks of things i'll either be fighting numerous goons,
hiding in my cell or shitting white hot,
softened stool.
My cellie is snoring away below me on his bed,
he doesn't give a fuck.
I do.
It's the middle of the day, they should have let
us out over an HOUR ago for chow.
They didn't.
I'm trying to occupy myself listening to tunes
and sketches, but after the one gwillionth variation
of a throwup i know i'm not painting for at least A BLOODY YEAR,
it get's a tad tedious.
I want to check my email.
At this time of day, due to the time differences and this
email system being a COMPLETE PILE OF SHIT, i usually
get a couple emails around now.
I checked earlier, i didn't have none.
As you might imagine, that was fucking dry.
Moving on!
The cell is really hot.
I've resorted to flossing only a pair of very small shorts,
and a t-shirt that i crudely tore the arms off.
Rude.
My cellie got me some African Pride for my
hair and beard the other day.
You know what's coming right?
It's only a matter of time..
I'm not the only one annoyed by this libertarionist
lockdown of doorinary pisstaketions..
My fellow inmates are not happy.
They're letting it be known,
in the form of punching, kicking and
running shoulder barging their doors.
The guard keeps screaming at everyone to
shut the fuck up.
Good luck with that scrap.
I'm really, really bored.
When i get this bored,
i do really stupid shit.
Like spontaneously shaving my facial hair into
new, possible utterly retarded combinations.
My beard is long, MAD long, the longest it's
ever been, by a long shot.
Someone said i look like 'Captain Morgan' the other day.
I told him he looked like he chain-smoked dicks.
My cellie just farted,
and it fucking stinks.
Subsequently,
i am now writing with a t-shirt tightly bound
around my face.
He's now taking a piss, with his back turned to me.
Farted again.
Joy.
The guard has now opened the door..
With precision timing,
non-fecally fragranced, stale air is flowing through the room
like diarrea in an incontenant mans pants..
Time for chow.
My day is getting better and better.
I'm expecting the type of feast the likes man hath never fathomed,
something similar to that next level yamdown in Hook, except without
that fat kid that makes MC's wanna resort to violence..
Ain't happening.
We've been given a bread roll, some lettuce, what looks like
tuna that has been steamed in a tramps asshole and some soap.
The icing on the cake?
My cellies tray has a cockroach in it.
A live one.
The guy in the cell opposite to me isn't keen on his food either.
He is bald, has many missing teeth,
is a methodone addict and has numerous
chunks of flesh missing from his face.
"If my wife ever fed me some shit like this, i'd slap the shit out of her"
:O
"An i ain't slapped that bitch in 35 motherfuckin' years."
I'm surrounded by ignorant cock smoking retards that
constantly polute my precious breathing space with their foul,
fecal infused breath.
They force me to relenquish the precious little
moments of the time i have left on this earth answering border-line
retarded questions such as..
"where is Paris in England?"
and
"how do you spell mhmm?"
There is some form of temporary salvation from
this brain destroying shithole, in the form of visitations..
I've been lucky enough to have some people jump on planes to come
and keep me company for a few hours.
This usually consists of catching
jokes, eating some biscuits, my visitor getting groped, my penis profusely
ejaculating into my brown standard-issue prison jumpsuit, me getting
groped by my visitor, then with a sticky ectoplasmic hand i wave them
farewell as they return to the human realm, leaving me in the demon realm
waiting for the Chojin.
Long.
On a serious note, i love getting visits.
:)
The thought of spending some time with another human being that i
know has made the effort to travel all the way just to see how i am doing,
knowing that someone gives that much of a fuck about me,
makes me very happy and my time in here way more bareable.
To those that have made the effort, i love you all, thankyou.
x
It's always a fucking creasefest on the dancefloor,
you never know what the fuck you are going to see or hear.
..The standard of conversational pleasantries exchanged between
the magnificent stock of male cattle imprisoned in this institution and the
high class amazonian godesses accompanying them on their 'bids' is always
something one can marvel at and really aspire to, such a magnificent
level of class and respectability..
"Fuck you talkin' bout n****r,
i ain't fuckin' your mother no more,
tell that fat bitch to holla!"
Word.
I have a potential visit coming up.
My partners in the unit have been dropping jewels of wisdom on me,
with the intent of passing down the knowledge on how i can maximise
this opportunity for female contact as much as humanly possible..
"Yo son, first cut a hole in your jumpsuit."
..Sounds promising..
"You can get a bitch to jerk the bone on the sly, no problem Kid"
As you can tell, i'm getting advice from the best.
The cream of the crop.
I'm talking about dudes that have actually managed to FUCK on
the visitors floor, in front of a room full of wives, grandmothers,
children, great grandmothers, like it ain't a ting. U get me.
Pure. Jokers.
However,
despite me and my ever erect Sujuk's insatiable craving for any
type of female contact, i am still trying to carry myself with some of
the class and dignity i was was known for pon road..
..this doesn't go down well with my 'killer and gorilla' buddies..
"N****R, you wanna be down with a pack of silverbacks, you
gotta start acting like a mother fuckin' baby gorilla, shit.."
"N****r, a fly English motherfucker like you could easily
get a blowjob on the dancefloor"
Yeah?
"for real my n****r, you just gotta be fly about it,
sit under the camera and just let everyone know
'yo, no disrespect but you don't want the kids to see this'"
"Trust me dog, once a minute she chomps on the hammer for like, ten seconds, whatever"
If coming to a federal holding facility to keep
an Englishman company for an hour sounds up
your street..
..or you fancy your chances chomping on a Turkish
hammer in front of a visiting room full of children and grandmothers..
write to me.
Timothy Guvercin
63906054
MCC New York
150 park row
New York, NY
10007
From the time i got up in the morning, to opening the office,
running around the city all day then heading home after a long day,
i really enjoyed my job.
Most jobs i've had in my short time on this earth,
i usually habitually take the piss and turn up late everyday.
For some reason,
this never happened while i was working as an office messenger
in Manhattan. I guess it was the first job i've ever had that i truly
gave a flying fuck about.
I'd get off the train at 42nd street and actually
be happy to arrive at work.
After a quick stop to yoink my daily sugar supply
from one of the many unfortunate local cafe's,
it was time to start delivering some shit.
I think the secretary had a soft spot for me. I had told her
how i didn't really have much dough, and back when i first started
the job i was eating about a meal a day at BEST, so whenever she was in,
i wasn't going anywhere until i'd eaten a proper breakfast.
The business was located on West 37th street,
and most of my deliveries were based around central
Manhatton.
Our biggest,
or should i say the most business that came in,
was from the Conde Naste Publishing,
which required yours truly to dash between their
many different locations dropping off and collecting
all manner of utterly useless, unimportant and meaningless
documentations..
..But i enjoyed it...
I was always on my feet,
moving from one building to the next,
rinsing the English accent on as many
of the interns at Vogue, Architectual Digest
and GQ as possible
I was a wide eyed 25 year old,
living his dream in the big city.
Nothing seemed out of reach for me.
Speaking of reaches,
as i was always on the move, i constantly spotted
anything new that had been blammed around the city,
a lot of nice shit was happening on the streets of New York City,
I just tried my best to keep my eyes open to capture it all..
