10 July 07
Odds & Ends
I was the laughing stock of inmates on the 4th of July. While they feasted on pancakes and pastries, I stared at a tray containing bread crumbs, twelve lentils, seventeen bran flakes, ten grains of rice, and a small piece of pineapple. Taunts such as, “Ain’t it time you went home on the banana boat you came on,” and “Why don’t you bugger Tony Blair,” could be heard.
Later on, down at Yard 4, Slope, delighted that his plan had worked shouted, “Ya goddam Limey. How’d ya like that tea party?”
I reached a milestone in my short-story career. I received a rejection notice from The New Yorker for my story “Do I Have a Haemorrhoid?” The New Yorker receives over 5000 submissions a month, but it was something I had to get out of my system. Following the rejection, I had a burst of short-story writing. I wrote seven stories in three weeks, all dealing with crime and punishment in Arizona. Heavy on prison violence, rapes, shankings, and gang behaviour. Most of the prison short stories I’ve read were not written by prisoners, so I’m hoping to present a more realistic picture. The stories are based on true characters and events. I sent one of them "Amazing Grace" to Francis Ford Coppola’s magazine Zoetrope All-Story to be entered in a competition judged by Joyce Carol Oates.
The next food visit is on the 18th of August. I received a menu for the New Delhi Palace Cuisine of India from Royo Girl. So it looks like she will be visiting soon. For reasons nothing to do with me, Royo Girl expects to be moving to England for a period of time at the beginning of 2008, and she has agreed that we should meet and hang out.
Thank you to everyone who has sent books from my wish list with Amazon. Not only have you helped me pass the hours, you’ve helped fill the library here, which doesn’t receive many books at all.
Good lookin’ out, dawgs!
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
08 July 07
The Royo Romance (11)
The Royo Romance (11)
Click here for Part 10.
“We’re talkin’ about you and Royo Girl. You ain’t reversin’ this on me,” T-Bone said.
“It was worth a try though.”
“Have you been honest with her, told her what your feelings are, your desires are, your aspirations are?”
“I’ve covered it.”
“But it must really come from the heart. Put a little soul into it, brother.” T-Bone pointed to a bird gliding overhead, slowly and majestically, as if it owned the sky. “That’s a hawk. It’s a sign for me that the day’s gonna be alright. I’ll catchya on the weekend.”
“See you then.”
“Tell your family hi from me. God loves 'em.”
“Will do.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
06 July 07
Lost in the System
Returning from Property, I ran into Slingblade.
“How the hell are you doing?” I asked as I shook his hand.
“Jon,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Are you from England?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Is that where Buckingham Palace is?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He remained silent.
“I’m getting out soon,” I said. “I’d like to see you get out too. What’s going on with your release?”
“I’d like to go to Florida. They’ve moved the Hope Diamond to Florida for me. It was in California.” He then started reeling off the names of famous people he hoped to stay with.
“Look, you’ve served almost twenty-eight years! You were eligible for release three years ago. It’s time you were out of here! You’ve more than paid your debt back to society. You’re stuck in here because you need some help getting your release package filed and processed correctly.”
“But John McCain - ”
“Forget about John McCain! I don’t think he’s gonna come through for you.”
“I wrote to the President of the United States and the Queen of England.”
“The Queen of England!”
“Yeah. She was here two weeks ago. I saw her on the TV, so I wrote to her.”
“To help you get out?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think these people are gonna help you get out. You need an organisation that has some legal expertise in getting prisoners released, and we need to establish a place that will take you. Look, when I post stories about you on the Internet, I’m gonna mention that you’re stuck in here, and see if we can get you some help. Would you like that?”
“Yeah. Do you know my name and number?”
“Yeah. I know who you are. And if nobody helps you, then when I get out, I’ll be able to contact organisations myself.”
“Gee, thanks.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Lost in the System
Returning from Property, I ran into Slingblade.
“How the hell are you doing?” I asked as I shook his hand.
“Jon,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Are you from England?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Is that where Buckingham Palace is?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He remained silent.
“I’m getting out soon,” I said. “I’d like to see you get out too. What’s going on with your release?”
“I’d like to go to Florida. They’ve moved the Hope Diamond to Florida for me. It was in California.” He then started reeling off the names of famous people he hoped to stay with.
“Look, you’ve served almost twenty-eight years! You were eligible for release three years ago. It’s time you were out of here! You’ve more than paid your debt back to society. You’re stuck in here because you need some help getting your release package filed and processed correctly.”
“But John McCain - ”
“Forget about John McCain! I don’t think he’s gonna come through for you.”
“I wrote to the President of the United States and the Queen of England.”
“The Queen of England!”
“Yeah. She was here two weeks ago. I saw her on the TV, so I wrote to her.”
“To help you get out?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think these people are gonna help you get out. You need an organisation that has some legal expertise in getting prisoners released, and we need to establish a place that will take you. Look, when I post stories about you on the Internet, I’m gonna mention that you’re stuck in here, and see if we can get you some help. Would you like that?”
“Yeah. Do you know my name and number?”
“Yeah. I know who you are. And if nobody helps you, then when I get out, I’ll be able to contact organisations myself.”
“Gee, thanks.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
03 July 07
Odds & Ends
A Lakota Sioux Indian of the Teton-wan tribe was found hung in his cell. At first it was thought he had committed suicide, but now a murder investigation is underway. Five suspects, including Repo, were moved to the hole.
Xena was diagnosed with – shock of shocks – gender identity disorder. He is cellbound and on painkillers due to an enlarged prostrate. He has been scheduled for a biopsy.
Weird Al went to St. Mary’s hospital to get the polyps in his rectum removed. He awoke mid-operation to hear the doctor cracking a joke to a female nurse about Al’s behind. Al interjected some sarcasm and was promptly put under again.
Thanks to our friends at www.lostvault.com (including Don) Frankie has found some romance by way of Cuban Boy, who wrote to me: “I cannot fool myself or Frankie to blurt it out that I love him…I want to spend some quality time with him, and see how it goes…It might be possible that he has plans in store for me, and as I can tell by his letters to me, he has some fucking dirty things on his mind.” He also wrote: “Frankie is doing well under the circumstances. His neighbour is a gay guy, so what more can he wish for.”
The hot weather is adding new dimensions of torture to my workouts with Iron Man, who has a penchant bordering on homicidal for the phrase, "Embrace the pain." He has us doing sprints in the evening, and my heart beats so fast it's hard to get to sleep afterwards. Iron Man insisted I drink powdered milk to help gain weight.
Sheriff Joe Arpaio appeared on CNN offering Paris Hilton a cell at his jail. CNN terminated the interview when Arpaio began to boast about the pittance it costs the taxpayers to feed his inmates. What Arpaio didn't boast about was the millions he is costing the taxpayers due to all of the lawsuits he has generated. Nor did he boast about how the lawsuits are farmed out to his attorney friends, who bill the taxpayers outrageous sums. Nor did he mention the kickbacks he receives from them– including political contributions.
The library was closed because hooch was discovered brewing in there.
I’ve been receiving visits from an inmate who states he likes to hold his urine in for as long as possible - until it hurts. He then basks in relief when he finally lets it go. He keeps insisting I give it a try. I haven’t done so.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Odds & Ends
A Lakota Sioux Indian of the Teton-wan tribe was found hung in his cell. At first it was thought he had committed suicide, but now a murder investigation is underway. Five suspects, including Repo, were moved to the hole.
Xena was diagnosed with – shock of shocks – gender identity disorder. He is cellbound and on painkillers due to an enlarged prostrate. He has been scheduled for a biopsy.
Weird Al went to St. Mary’s hospital to get the polyps in his rectum removed. He awoke mid-operation to hear the doctor cracking a joke to a female nurse about Al’s behind. Al interjected some sarcasm and was promptly put under again.
Thanks to our friends at www.lostvault.com (including Don) Frankie has found some romance by way of Cuban Boy, who wrote to me: “I cannot fool myself or Frankie to blurt it out that I love him…I want to spend some quality time with him, and see how it goes…It might be possible that he has plans in store for me, and as I can tell by his letters to me, he has some fucking dirty things on his mind.” He also wrote: “Frankie is doing well under the circumstances. His neighbour is a gay guy, so what more can he wish for.”
The hot weather is adding new dimensions of torture to my workouts with Iron Man, who has a penchant bordering on homicidal for the phrase, "Embrace the pain." He has us doing sprints in the evening, and my heart beats so fast it's hard to get to sleep afterwards. Iron Man insisted I drink powdered milk to help gain weight.
Sheriff Joe Arpaio appeared on CNN offering Paris Hilton a cell at his jail. CNN terminated the interview when Arpaio began to boast about the pittance it costs the taxpayers to feed his inmates. What Arpaio didn't boast about was the millions he is costing the taxpayers due to all of the lawsuits he has generated. Nor did he boast about how the lawsuits are farmed out to his attorney friends, who bill the taxpayers outrageous sums. Nor did he mention the kickbacks he receives from them– including political contributions.
The library was closed because hooch was discovered brewing in there.
I’ve been receiving visits from an inmate who states he likes to hold his urine in for as long as possible - until it hurts. He then basks in relief when he finally lets it go. He keeps insisting I give it a try. I haven’t done so.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
02 July 07
The Eve of Max’s Freedom
“How does it feel to be getting out tomorrow?” I asked Max.
“After eight years and eight months of prison, it feels surreal, like it’s not really happening. I’ve done half my teens and half my twenties in here.”
“Are you excited?”
“Yeah. I’m excited to start living again. I see so many people worried about getting out. What is there to worry about?”
“Not having friends, family, or money.”
“Even if you didn’t, getting out homeless is better than being in this place. I’d feel more comfortable sleeping in a cardboard box at a bus stop than being in here – ain’t nobody to tell you when to eat sleep, and shit.”
“Where will you live?”
“With my mom in Las Vegas. She’s gotta guest house behind her house. I’ll be there for a quick minute.”
“Las Vegas is a wild city. How will you stay out of trouble?”
“I think I can handle being at parties without engaging in illegal activity.”
“So you’re going to be strong minded?”
“Unless it involves debauchery or sodomy. I might overstep those boundaries. I think I deserve that though, dude. I went through puberty in here. The kind of stuff I’m thinking about is: what’s it gonna be like talking to a twenty-five-year-old woman? Will they look at me like I’m smart or stupid? Will I be able to carry on a conversation? I should probably go out and get laid before I go to a pole-dancing joint. Otherwise, I’ll probably fall in love with the first dancer I see: ‘Oh my God, I’ve got fifteen grand in my pocket. I love you. Will you marry me?’ I’m gonna whore around. I’ve earned that.”
“Will you be going places like the Spearmint Rhino or the Green Door up there in Vegas?”
“The Green Door…if I work up the nerve. Actually, you know what, dude, I’m gonna go.”
“What stuff can you do for fun away from the club scene?”
“Skydiving, kayaking, riding the wave runner.”
“What food do you want to eat the most?”
“Adobo. A Filipino dish. Chicken, beef, pork, simmered in soy sauce and vinegar until it melts in your mouth. It’s got bay leaves, peppers, and garlic in it. But as soon as I get to the store, I’m gonna get sunflower seeds, chocolate milk, and a pint of ice cream.”
“I hope you use some of that Indian casino money to further your education.”
“I will, but I’ll probably blow some of it. I need a car and a wardrobe. Mom’s already got me a Kenneth Cole watch, a pair of wraparound Oakley sunglasses, a Nokia cell phone which is also a camera, and a wallet. But I don’t want a wallet, I want a fly-ass money clip.”
“Do you have street clothes already here at the prison?”
“Yeah. Old Navy cargo shorts. A Ralph Lauren shirt with a flower design. A pair of Vans. I got little ankle socks 'cause I got nice legs.”
“Are you coming back to prison? You’re not gonna do a Piggie are you? He’s back for the second time this year.”
“Only if my brother goes to prison. I’ll visit him.”
“I wish you luck, and hope you stay in touch.”
“I’ll be commenting on your blog when I get out.”
“And no more car jacking or scalping people – alright?”
Max laughed, and said, “I’ll try not to.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Eve of Max’s Freedom
“How does it feel to be getting out tomorrow?” I asked Max.
“After eight years and eight months of prison, it feels surreal, like it’s not really happening. I’ve done half my teens and half my twenties in here.”
“Are you excited?”
“Yeah. I’m excited to start living again. I see so many people worried about getting out. What is there to worry about?”
“Not having friends, family, or money.”
“Even if you didn’t, getting out homeless is better than being in this place. I’d feel more comfortable sleeping in a cardboard box at a bus stop than being in here – ain’t nobody to tell you when to eat sleep, and shit.”
“Where will you live?”
“With my mom in Las Vegas. She’s gotta guest house behind her house. I’ll be there for a quick minute.”
“Las Vegas is a wild city. How will you stay out of trouble?”
“I think I can handle being at parties without engaging in illegal activity.”
“So you’re going to be strong minded?”
“Unless it involves debauchery or sodomy. I might overstep those boundaries. I think I deserve that though, dude. I went through puberty in here. The kind of stuff I’m thinking about is: what’s it gonna be like talking to a twenty-five-year-old woman? Will they look at me like I’m smart or stupid? Will I be able to carry on a conversation? I should probably go out and get laid before I go to a pole-dancing joint. Otherwise, I’ll probably fall in love with the first dancer I see: ‘Oh my God, I’ve got fifteen grand in my pocket. I love you. Will you marry me?’ I’m gonna whore around. I’ve earned that.”
“Will you be going places like the Spearmint Rhino or the Green Door up there in Vegas?”
“The Green Door…if I work up the nerve. Actually, you know what, dude, I’m gonna go.”
“What stuff can you do for fun away from the club scene?”
“Skydiving, kayaking, riding the wave runner.”
“What food do you want to eat the most?”
“Adobo. A Filipino dish. Chicken, beef, pork, simmered in soy sauce and vinegar until it melts in your mouth. It’s got bay leaves, peppers, and garlic in it. But as soon as I get to the store, I’m gonna get sunflower seeds, chocolate milk, and a pint of ice cream.”
“I hope you use some of that Indian casino money to further your education.”
“I will, but I’ll probably blow some of it. I need a car and a wardrobe. Mom’s already got me a Kenneth Cole watch, a pair of wraparound Oakley sunglasses, a Nokia cell phone which is also a camera, and a wallet. But I don’t want a wallet, I want a fly-ass money clip.”
“Do you have street clothes already here at the prison?”
“Yeah. Old Navy cargo shorts. A Ralph Lauren shirt with a flower design. A pair of Vans. I got little ankle socks 'cause I got nice legs.”
“Are you coming back to prison? You’re not gonna do a Piggie are you? He’s back for the second time this year.”
“Only if my brother goes to prison. I’ll visit him.”
“I wish you luck, and hope you stay in touch.”
“I’ll be commenting on your blog when I get out.”
“And no more car jacking or scalping people – alright?”
Max laughed, and said, “I’ll try not to.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
01 July 07
The Fifteen Commandments of Xena
I asked Xena to write a code of conduct for Cult of Xena members.
Thus shall Jon say to Cult of Xena members:
Thou shalt not use thy Lady and Lord Xena’s name in vain unless thy art screaming in pleasure with two or more partners.
Thou shalt not murder neither genital or genitilia unless they belie thy identity or cause thee to suffer without pleasure!
Thou shalt not look at thy neighbour without lust.
Thou shalt not steal unless it is tasty and oh so sweet.
Thou shalt never hurt children or animals.
Thou shalt not hate others who are different than thee unless they hate thee first in which case thou shalt smite them with thy wasps.
Thou shalt not become discouraged in bed unless thee feel inadequate in which case thou shalt aquireth anal love beads from the Egyptians.
Thou shalt not become depressed if thee feel inadequate – instead practice with thy love beads.
Thou shalt use thy imagination when having sex.
Thou shall share partners when thy can.
Thou shalt touch thyselves openly amongst thy friends especially when doing so may arouse thy sexual partners or thyself.
Thou shalt explore thy sexual inhibitions unless they involve Commandment Five.
Thou shalt always dress sexy and smell good.
Thou shalt always lust after and think covetousishly of thy Lady and Lord Xena.
Thou shalt always be thyself when out in public especially when being thyself is controversial to the populace.
Questions for Xena – unusual or otherwise – are welcome
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Fifteen Commandments of Xena
I asked Xena to write a code of conduct for Cult of Xena members.
Thus shall Jon say to Cult of Xena members:
Thou shalt not use thy Lady and Lord Xena’s name in vain unless thy art screaming in pleasure with two or more partners.
Thou shalt not murder neither genital or genitilia unless they belie thy identity or cause thee to suffer without pleasure!
Thou shalt not look at thy neighbour without lust.
Thou shalt not steal unless it is tasty and oh so sweet.
Thou shalt never hurt children or animals.
Thou shalt not hate others who are different than thee unless they hate thee first in which case thou shalt smite them with thy wasps.
Thou shalt not become discouraged in bed unless thee feel inadequate in which case thou shalt aquireth anal love beads from the Egyptians.
Thou shalt not become depressed if thee feel inadequate – instead practice with thy love beads.
Thou shalt use thy imagination when having sex.
Thou shall share partners when thy can.
Thou shalt touch thyselves openly amongst thy friends especially when doing so may arouse thy sexual partners or thyself.
Thou shalt explore thy sexual inhibitions unless they involve Commandment Five.
Thou shalt always dress sexy and smell good.
Thou shalt always lust after and think covetousishly of thy Lady and Lord Xena.
Thou shalt always be thyself when out in public especially when being thyself is controversial to the populace.
Questions for Xena – unusual or otherwise – are welcome
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
30 June 07
The Royo Romance (10)
The Royo Romance (10)
Click here for Part 9.
“How come Royo Girl hasn’t been visitin’ lately?” T-Bone asked.
“She’s found someone else,” I said. “I can’t blame her. How can I be there for her when I’m stuck in here?”
“It’s because you haven’t stepped up to the plate.”
“What are you on about?”
“I forgot, they don’t play baseball in England, they play cricket. You need to stick it in her wicket: tell her how you truly feel about her.”
“When I did that last summer she backed away.”
“And so did you back away. You need to tell her to leave lover-boy alone, and to get back down here so you can give her a bit of old English know-how.”
“I can’t satisfy her needs from in here though can I?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s fascinated with you. If she’s with someone else it’s just 'cause it’s convenient for the moment.”
“I can’t expect her to put her life on hold for me.”
“She already did, obviously. She’s been comin’ to see you.”
“Yeah, but she’s been keeping her options open.”
“Has she found a yoga expert who can get into positions and ticklin’ her thang?”
“No, but at the last visit she said she’s getting bored with the English accent, and thinking about moving onto the Australian one.”
“She really said that?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s tryin’ to push your button, tryin’ to tell you somethin’.”
“Like what?”
“Step up to the plate. She’s wantin’ to hear it. How many times did she visit you?”
“Maybe half a dozen or so.”
“She’s in love with you then.”
“How do you figure?”
“For her to be messin’ around with a guy in the joint like that she’s gotta be up to somethin’ serious.”
“I dunno.”
“At least you’re not thinkin’ with your thang – but I think you may have stepped on it. Do you love her?”
“In a way. I was ready to marry her last summer.”
“Then tell her.”
“Are you still looking for a woman with a little junk in the trunk?”
“Yeah. One with meat on her bones. The kind that’d shake you off. I’ve got somethin’ to work with see.” T-Bone raised his hands, and held them about a foot apart.
“What kind of mind are you looking for in a woman?”
“Stable-minded. Believes in a one-man relationship. Well-read. Not afraid to do the hump a few times a day.”
“I asked you about minds. See how quickly you reduced it to the hump.”
Conversation to be continued.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
29 June 07
The 4th July Plot Thickens
Will they serve me a dead pigeon? Or maybe a toad? I thought on my way to see Slope after being tipped off by sources close to the kitchen that Slope had called in favours from Yard 1’s diet cooks.
“I’m onto you, Slope,” I said.
“Menu change, dawg,” Slope said. “Believe that. No tax dollars from no American workin’ man oughta be feedin’ your Limey ass on the glorious Fourth.”
“Don’t make me bribe the diet cooks.”
“Bribery comes in two forms: you have bribery and the power of persuasion.” Slope shook his fist. “If the motherfuckers don’t give you what you’ve got comin’, they’re, by God, treasonous sonsovbitches, and deserve a tall tree with a short rope. That would be domestic terrorism. The only thing bribery might get you is a coupla boogers on the dead pigeon, you frickin’ Limey pond-skippin’ Queen’s-sock-eatin’ motherfucker. Even though you’ve moved to Yard 1, the Yard 4 octopus still reaches.”
“You can bribe,” Bones said, “if you want to get some butter on your stale bread – but that’s all! And you oughta save the butter as you might need it to make your cornhole feel better later in the day.”
“It’s like that is it?” I said.
“Like that!” they both replied.
“I just wish I could be there,” Slope said. “I’d immediately get to slingin’ vulgarities about the queen across the chow hall.”
How do I outsmart Slope? Bear in mind he and the kitchen workers go back a long way.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The 4th July Plot Thickens
Will they serve me a dead pigeon? Or maybe a toad? I thought on my way to see Slope after being tipped off by sources close to the kitchen that Slope had called in favours from Yard 1’s diet cooks.
“I’m onto you, Slope,” I said.
“Menu change, dawg,” Slope said. “Believe that. No tax dollars from no American workin’ man oughta be feedin’ your Limey ass on the glorious Fourth.”
“Don’t make me bribe the diet cooks.”
“Bribery comes in two forms: you have bribery and the power of persuasion.” Slope shook his fist. “If the motherfuckers don’t give you what you’ve got comin’, they’re, by God, treasonous sonsovbitches, and deserve a tall tree with a short rope. That would be domestic terrorism. The only thing bribery might get you is a coupla boogers on the dead pigeon, you frickin’ Limey pond-skippin’ Queen’s-sock-eatin’ motherfucker. Even though you’ve moved to Yard 1, the Yard 4 octopus still reaches.”
“You can bribe,” Bones said, “if you want to get some butter on your stale bread – but that’s all! And you oughta save the butter as you might need it to make your cornhole feel better later in the day.”
“It’s like that is it?” I said.
“Like that!” they both replied.
“I just wish I could be there,” Slope said. “I’d immediately get to slingin’ vulgarities about the queen across the chow hall.”
How do I outsmart Slope? Bear in mind he and the kitchen workers go back a long way.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
28 June 07
The Distaste Harboured by Two Tonys for the Marriage Between the Media and the likes of Cho Seung-Hui
“The world is full o’,” Two Tonys began, “West Nile virus, AIDS epidemics, avian flu; there’s nuclear warheads pointed at every major population on the planet; the Chinese are zappin’ shit outta space like they’re playin’ fuckin’ Star Wars; there’s tsunamis and all kinds of natural disasters: and what are the people of the fuckin’ world most worried about? They’re worried about whose sperm Anna Nicole Smith sucked up into her vagina! Now picture this: you’re a lonely motherfucker, maybe twenty-four-years old, you live in a flea-bitten studio apartment in, let’s say Manhattan or Chicago (it doesn’t fuckin’ matter), you’re a nobody, and you haven’t got your fifteen minutes of fame yet, you turn on the news – CNN, CBS, NBC all the major channels – and whattaya see? A crazy fuckin’ South Korean blew thirty-two people away at Virginia Tech with a Glock 9mm and a Walther P22. The worst shootin’ massacre of its kind: outdoin’ even those crazy-ass Texans like Charles Whitman and George Hennard. And what are all of those fuckin’ news channels showin’? What Cho Seung-Hui’s favoutite colour is. What he likes to eat for breakfast. How he did at school in his creative-writing class. What kind of music he listens to. Whether he likes to wear Gold Toe socks or not. And how often he picked his fuckin’ nose. The motherfucker got instant immortalisation just like Judas fuckin’ Iscariot did, Lee Harvey Oswald, Brutus the fuckin’ Caesar slayer, the list goes on. And why? 'Cause CNN and all them fuckin’ channels gave him instant infamy – which is just whatthafuck he wanted! Instead of buryin’ the motherfucker in some pauper’s grave, puttin some lime on him, and pissin’ on him ('cause the piss activates the lime) they made him immortal in a heartbeat. Now if you’re a twenty-four-year-old nobody watchin’ this shit, lookin’ for your fifteen minutes of fame, whattya gonna do? Maybe grab an AK-47 and bump off some old blue rinses on their way to the bingo hall. Maybe strap on a suicide bamb and hit Mall of America. Maybe go postal on your fellow cubicle workers at Intel. Now I say to you: whatthafuck is wrong with the unwashed masses lappin’ this shit up?”
“In some ways this country’s going to shit,” I said.
“It’s goin’ to shit in a fuckin’ handbasket! “Two Tonys said. “I have no fuckin’ doubt about it. The media made Cho Seung-Hui into a fuckin’ rockstar. Mick Jagger ain’t got nothin’ on that guy. How many more Catcher in the Rye shitheads is the media gonna make into rockstars?”
“But what can be done about it? Isn’t it up to us to try and see the good in the world?”
“What the world needs now is a modern-day Genghis Khan to ride across it with a golden horde cullin’ all those stupid fuckin’ unwashed masses.”
“So you’re advocating genocide?”
“Genocide for motherfuckers who just wanna obsess on the plight of poor students gettin’ shot down like wharf rats.”
“I see.”
“In America today, all any loser who wants to go big time has to do is to go out and massacre motherfuckers. If you wanna be on Larry King Live, talk some fool into gettin’ ignorant, and Larry’s people will be suckin’ your dick to get you on. The news media is motivatin’ people to do these types of crimes. Just look at the video Cho mailed to NBC. Before everyone had fuckin’ idiot boxes guess what people did?”
“What?”
“Had fuckin’ conversations with each other. Dad would look at you and say, ‘How did your day go, son?’ Now there’s TVs in every fuckin’ room: the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room, the den, the outside patio, and even the shitter. My daughter visited two weeks ago, and her and the kids talked about what movies they’d watched on the trip. It used to be you’d be cruisin’ along watchin’ the ocean, green trees, cows eatin’ in a fuckin’ pasture. Now you’ve got tinted fuckin’ windows and TVs in the car. You can watch Jean-Claude Van Damme do a jumpin’ spinnin’ hook kick and crack someone’s skull with the heel of his foot. You can watch Jet Li break someone’s nose, or shatter someone’s teeth with a tiger-claw palm strike. Or you can watch Bruce Willis blow the back of some motherfuckers skull out with a 9mm – and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that if the motherfucker had it comin’.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Distaste Harboured by Two Tonys for the Marriage Between the Media and the likes of Cho Seung-Hui
“The world is full o’,” Two Tonys began, “West Nile virus, AIDS epidemics, avian flu; there’s nuclear warheads pointed at every major population on the planet; the Chinese are zappin’ shit outta space like they’re playin’ fuckin’ Star Wars; there’s tsunamis and all kinds of natural disasters: and what are the people of the fuckin’ world most worried about? They’re worried about whose sperm Anna Nicole Smith sucked up into her vagina! Now picture this: you’re a lonely motherfucker, maybe twenty-four-years old, you live in a flea-bitten studio apartment in, let’s say Manhattan or Chicago (it doesn’t fuckin’ matter), you’re a nobody, and you haven’t got your fifteen minutes of fame yet, you turn on the news – CNN, CBS, NBC all the major channels – and whattaya see? A crazy fuckin’ South Korean blew thirty-two people away at Virginia Tech with a Glock 9mm and a Walther P22. The worst shootin’ massacre of its kind: outdoin’ even those crazy-ass Texans like Charles Whitman and George Hennard. And what are all of those fuckin’ news channels showin’? What Cho Seung-Hui’s favoutite colour is. What he likes to eat for breakfast. How he did at school in his creative-writing class. What kind of music he listens to. Whether he likes to wear Gold Toe socks or not. And how often he picked his fuckin’ nose. The motherfucker got instant immortalisation just like Judas fuckin’ Iscariot did, Lee Harvey Oswald, Brutus the fuckin’ Caesar slayer, the list goes on. And why? 'Cause CNN and all them fuckin’ channels gave him instant infamy – which is just whatthafuck he wanted! Instead of buryin’ the motherfucker in some pauper’s grave, puttin some lime on him, and pissin’ on him ('cause the piss activates the lime) they made him immortal in a heartbeat. Now if you’re a twenty-four-year-old nobody watchin’ this shit, lookin’ for your fifteen minutes of fame, whattya gonna do? Maybe grab an AK-47 and bump off some old blue rinses on their way to the bingo hall. Maybe strap on a suicide bamb and hit Mall of America. Maybe go postal on your fellow cubicle workers at Intel. Now I say to you: whatthafuck is wrong with the unwashed masses lappin’ this shit up?”
“In some ways this country’s going to shit,” I said.
“It’s goin’ to shit in a fuckin’ handbasket! “Two Tonys said. “I have no fuckin’ doubt about it. The media made Cho Seung-Hui into a fuckin’ rockstar. Mick Jagger ain’t got nothin’ on that guy. How many more Catcher in the Rye shitheads is the media gonna make into rockstars?”
“But what can be done about it? Isn’t it up to us to try and see the good in the world?”
“What the world needs now is a modern-day Genghis Khan to ride across it with a golden horde cullin’ all those stupid fuckin’ unwashed masses.”
“So you’re advocating genocide?”
“Genocide for motherfuckers who just wanna obsess on the plight of poor students gettin’ shot down like wharf rats.”
“I see.”
“In America today, all any loser who wants to go big time has to do is to go out and massacre motherfuckers. If you wanna be on Larry King Live, talk some fool into gettin’ ignorant, and Larry’s people will be suckin’ your dick to get you on. The news media is motivatin’ people to do these types of crimes. Just look at the video Cho mailed to NBC. Before everyone had fuckin’ idiot boxes guess what people did?”
“What?”
“Had fuckin’ conversations with each other. Dad would look at you and say, ‘How did your day go, son?’ Now there’s TVs in every fuckin’ room: the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room, the den, the outside patio, and even the shitter. My daughter visited two weeks ago, and her and the kids talked about what movies they’d watched on the trip. It used to be you’d be cruisin’ along watchin’ the ocean, green trees, cows eatin’ in a fuckin’ pasture. Now you’ve got tinted fuckin’ windows and TVs in the car. You can watch Jean-Claude Van Damme do a jumpin’ spinnin’ hook kick and crack someone’s skull with the heel of his foot. You can watch Jet Li break someone’s nose, or shatter someone’s teeth with a tiger-claw palm strike. Or you can watch Bruce Willis blow the back of some motherfuckers skull out with a 9mm – and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that if the motherfucker had it comin’.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
25 June 07
What Max Did For The Booty Bandit Buyer Of Semen
“I thought,” I said, “I was aware of the most depraved things the booty bandits get up to in here, but this just blows my mind. How did you hook up with this person?”
“My buddy,” Max said, “told me about him and the jizz. And I said, ‘What? Are you serious? What does he do with the jizz?’ And after my buddy told me what the guy does with the jizz, I asked him, ‘Well, how much does he pay?’ He said, ‘It depends, dude, on your look factor, age, and shit.’ I figure, I’m young, I’m not bad lookin’, maybe I can get somethin’ from the motherfucker. I needed the money at the time.”
“How much did you charge?”
“A forty-dollar sack of store.”
“For how much jizz?”
“I dunno, a coupla’ teaspoons, I guess.”
“How often did you provide jizz?”
“Every week and a half or so. Whenever my store ran out. I only did it five or six times.”
“How did you get the jizz to him?”
“In a baggie. He told me to put it in a little baggie. And the crazy thing is, if you’ve ever studied your own jizz, it stays solid for a while, it has a gelatine-like consistency, but after it’s been in the open air in a warm environment it turns runny. You know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“Not really. I’ve gone my whole life without ever having jizz lying around the house. But I’ll take your word for it. So you delivered it in a baggie?”
“Yeah, I’d walk across the pod with the warm jizz in a baggie in my hand with all eyes on me. I was tryin’ to keep it a secret, so the dude would keep buyin’ me store. What could I have said if someone had stopped me and asked what I was doin? How do you say to someone, ‘I sold my nut, dude, to an old perv who uses it as lotion or does whatever the fuck with it. Maybe it’s an age revitalizer’. ”
“Did he demand a certain consistency or freshness?”
“Yes. He did want it as fresh as possible.”
“Was your conscience plagued by the uncertain fate of millions of your potential babies?”
“It wasn’t on my conscience. It’s not like it was genocide, dude. The way I figured it, my boys were takin’ one for the team.”
“So there were no qualms when you jerked it out.”
“No.”
“What were you thinking during the manual labour?”
“I got a Fox magazine. He didn’t say, ‘Hey, you’ve gotta think about me when you jack off.’ If he’d said that shit, I’da never gotten off, dude.”
“How do you feel about it now?”
“You’ll compromise a lotta morals to survive in prison. I imagine a lotta people woulda done the same in my situation: needin’ soap, shampoo and food. Forty-dollars worth of store is a lifesaver sometimes.”
How many of you, if in Max’s situation would be willing to sell your secretions?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
What Max Did For The Booty Bandit Buyer Of Semen
“I thought,” I said, “I was aware of the most depraved things the booty bandits get up to in here, but this just blows my mind. How did you hook up with this person?”
“My buddy,” Max said, “told me about him and the jizz. And I said, ‘What? Are you serious? What does he do with the jizz?’ And after my buddy told me what the guy does with the jizz, I asked him, ‘Well, how much does he pay?’ He said, ‘It depends, dude, on your look factor, age, and shit.’ I figure, I’m young, I’m not bad lookin’, maybe I can get somethin’ from the motherfucker. I needed the money at the time.”
“How much did you charge?”
“A forty-dollar sack of store.”
“For how much jizz?”
“I dunno, a coupla’ teaspoons, I guess.”
“How often did you provide jizz?”
“Every week and a half or so. Whenever my store ran out. I only did it five or six times.”
“How did you get the jizz to him?”
“In a baggie. He told me to put it in a little baggie. And the crazy thing is, if you’ve ever studied your own jizz, it stays solid for a while, it has a gelatine-like consistency, but after it’s been in the open air in a warm environment it turns runny. You know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“Not really. I’ve gone my whole life without ever having jizz lying around the house. But I’ll take your word for it. So you delivered it in a baggie?”
“Yeah, I’d walk across the pod with the warm jizz in a baggie in my hand with all eyes on me. I was tryin’ to keep it a secret, so the dude would keep buyin’ me store. What could I have said if someone had stopped me and asked what I was doin? How do you say to someone, ‘I sold my nut, dude, to an old perv who uses it as lotion or does whatever the fuck with it. Maybe it’s an age revitalizer’. ”
“Did he demand a certain consistency or freshness?”
“Yes. He did want it as fresh as possible.”
“Was your conscience plagued by the uncertain fate of millions of your potential babies?”
“It wasn’t on my conscience. It’s not like it was genocide, dude. The way I figured it, my boys were takin’ one for the team.”
“So there were no qualms when you jerked it out.”
“No.”
“What were you thinking during the manual labour?”
“I got a Fox magazine. He didn’t say, ‘Hey, you’ve gotta think about me when you jack off.’ If he’d said that shit, I’da never gotten off, dude.”
“How do you feel about it now?”
“You’ll compromise a lotta morals to survive in prison. I imagine a lotta people woulda done the same in my situation: needin’ soap, shampoo and food. Forty-dollars worth of store is a lifesaver sometimes.”
How many of you, if in Max’s situation would be willing to sell your secretions?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
23 June 07
The Royo Romance (9)
The Royo Romance (9)
Click here for Part 8.
Royo Girl wrote saying she wouldn’t be visiting for a while. I wrote back:
Thanks for the letter. I will immediately cease grooming myself on the weekends on the off-chance of enjoying your company – unless you tell me you are resuming visiting.
It’s great that someone has sparked your interest. I hope you find the happiness you deserve.
Rereading the blog "What Royo Girl and Some Sexy Others Wrote" I couldn’t help smiling as I was reminded of the fun we had. Now you aren’t coming, I'm reminded of how much I enjoyed your visits. I treasure the letters you wrote because they captured an emotional state that refelected my own. I don’t want you to feel bad for not visiting. If you do, just remind yourself that you provided me with some of the best moments of this incarceration – memories and feelings that nobody can take away.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
20 June 07
Yard 4 Plots to Give Me a Dead Pigeon or Toad on July 4th
Slope told me his life sentence was nearly up, so I suggested he get a job as an extra for movies like Deliverance.
“A fricken extra!” Slope said. “I’ll play the lead. Whaddaya mean extra? There’s a couple guys on this yard playin’ Deliverance. And some be screamin’ like pigs.”
“What do you really want to do when you get out?”
“I ain’t made up my mind. I’d like to get on a motorceeckle, and go for a ride until I get cold and tired.”
“Do you have people to stay with?”
“Oh yeah. Hell, I can go three or four different states, dawg: Oklahoma, Texas, Idaho, Oregon.”
“What about Ruby Ridge?”
“I’ve got people right down the road from there.”
“Why don’t you come to England and find yourself a good Englishwoman?”
“I’ll put it on them Englishwomen. I’ll have them singin’ the 'Star Spangled Banner' – O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light. By the time I’m done, they’ll all be puttin’ in for green cards.”
“Are you going to miss me on the Fourth of July?”
“It ain’t the Fourth yet. Don’t hold your breath, dawg. And remember: you’ve gotta eat somewhere if you eat at all. Across the yard ain’t far away enough from us. We might have a pigeon carcass thrown on yer tray – feathers included. If Short Dog gets a toad from the garden, we’ll dehydrate it, and that’ll be your main meal, man. Be glad you ain’t English Bob.Thought he was a gunslinger, and he got fucked off. He was a pseudo-gunslinger. Nowadays they be takin’ our guns away. A fella ought to be able to pack some iron anytime he wants to.”
“You’re certainly covering some ground today, Slope, but I don’t think you guys have enough pull to influence my holiday chow on Yard 1.”
“Dontcha? Just watch us.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Yard 4 Plots to Give Me a Dead Pigeon or Toad on July 4th
Slope told me his life sentence was nearly up, so I suggested he get a job as an extra for movies like Deliverance.
“A fricken extra!” Slope said. “I’ll play the lead. Whaddaya mean extra? There’s a couple guys on this yard playin’ Deliverance. And some be screamin’ like pigs.”
“What do you really want to do when you get out?”
“I ain’t made up my mind. I’d like to get on a motorceeckle, and go for a ride until I get cold and tired.”
“Do you have people to stay with?”
“Oh yeah. Hell, I can go three or four different states, dawg: Oklahoma, Texas, Idaho, Oregon.”
“What about Ruby Ridge?”
“I’ve got people right down the road from there.”
“Why don’t you come to England and find yourself a good Englishwoman?”
“I’ll put it on them Englishwomen. I’ll have them singin’ the 'Star Spangled Banner' – O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light. By the time I’m done, they’ll all be puttin’ in for green cards.”
“Are you going to miss me on the Fourth of July?”
“It ain’t the Fourth yet. Don’t hold your breath, dawg. And remember: you’ve gotta eat somewhere if you eat at all. Across the yard ain’t far away enough from us. We might have a pigeon carcass thrown on yer tray – feathers included. If Short Dog gets a toad from the garden, we’ll dehydrate it, and that’ll be your main meal, man. Be glad you ain’t English Bob.Thought he was a gunslinger, and he got fucked off. He was a pseudo-gunslinger. Nowadays they be takin’ our guns away. A fella ought to be able to pack some iron anytime he wants to.”
“You’re certainly covering some ground today, Slope, but I don’t think you guys have enough pull to influence my holiday chow on Yard 1.”
“Dontcha? Just watch us.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
17 June 07
From Frankie
Englandman,
What’s up my friend? I know it’s been a while but you’re not forgotten. I hope my letter finds you in the best of whatever. As for me, I’m still here, you know! Slow motion.
Anyway, let me get something straight with you. As you know you had lots of opportunities to get some weenie off me but you were playing the part like you didn’t mess around, and now that I’m gone I know you’re hot for me. My bitch [Cuban Boy] thinks you’re over there smoking weenie. So I’ve got a plan for your hairy ass. As you know, I’ll be getting out right behind you. Well, my queer is going to need some booty action, and since you’re new at this I’m thinking of letting him break you in, so you’re ready for me. That way you’ll be able to take it like a champ when the time comes. And believe me, it’s coming. You’re only a passport away, Englandman. I don’t want to hear you say No! No! No! This is Frankie’s world and I’m taking over.
If all goes right I should be back on Yard 4 before you leave, so keep your fingers crossed and your booty shaved.
Well my friend, take care and forget me not.
Tell your Mom and family that I send my love and regards,
Remember: I’ll dee-cide!
Much love and respect,
Frankie
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
From Frankie
Englandman,
What’s up my friend? I know it’s been a while but you’re not forgotten. I hope my letter finds you in the best of whatever. As for me, I’m still here, you know! Slow motion.
Anyway, let me get something straight with you. As you know you had lots of opportunities to get some weenie off me but you were playing the part like you didn’t mess around, and now that I’m gone I know you’re hot for me. My bitch [Cuban Boy] thinks you’re over there smoking weenie. So I’ve got a plan for your hairy ass. As you know, I’ll be getting out right behind you. Well, my queer is going to need some booty action, and since you’re new at this I’m thinking of letting him break you in, so you’re ready for me. That way you’ll be able to take it like a champ when the time comes. And believe me, it’s coming. You’re only a passport away, Englandman. I don’t want to hear you say No! No! No! This is Frankie’s world and I’m taking over.
If all goes right I should be back on Yard 4 before you leave, so keep your fingers crossed and your booty shaved.
Well my friend, take care and forget me not.
Tell your Mom and family that I send my love and regards,
Remember: I’ll dee-cide!
Much love and respect,
Frankie
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
16 June 07
Two Tonys is in the Hole
In an attempt to reduce the rate at which cellmates have been murdering each other, the prison has introduced a new policy directing cellmates to be housed on the basis of "like crimes." The implementation of this policy led to Two Tonys being housed with an inmate classified as a mass murderer. The move didn't work out, and Two Tonys is now in the hole.
Two Tonys wrote to my parents:
How’s things going? Maybe you know by now I’m taking a little time out. It’s no big deal. I can probably use it. I haven’t been to court [to see the DHO (Disciplinary Hearing Officer) ] yet but I’ll get word to you as soon as I know something. I’m relaxing and into thought ‘mostly good’. I’m going to read some Tom Wolfe tonight, and do a little Biblical research for some questions Jon wants to blog. Give a shout out to the blog readers from Arizona’s hole. To the bloody birds and blokes in England: stay safe, and Empire forever. Stay happy and strong across the pond. I shall soon rise up out of here (this ain’t no thang but a chicken wang).
L’n’R
Two Tonys
Two Tonys intends to write some blogs and mail them to my parents. We hope to hear from him soon.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Two Tonys is in the Hole
In an attempt to reduce the rate at which cellmates have been murdering each other, the prison has introduced a new policy directing cellmates to be housed on the basis of "like crimes." The implementation of this policy led to Two Tonys being housed with an inmate classified as a mass murderer. The move didn't work out, and Two Tonys is now in the hole.
Two Tonys wrote to my parents:
How’s things going? Maybe you know by now I’m taking a little time out. It’s no big deal. I can probably use it. I haven’t been to court [to see the DHO (Disciplinary Hearing Officer) ] yet but I’ll get word to you as soon as I know something. I’m relaxing and into thought ‘mostly good’. I’m going to read some Tom Wolfe tonight, and do a little Biblical research for some questions Jon wants to blog. Give a shout out to the blog readers from Arizona’s hole. To the bloody birds and blokes in England: stay safe, and Empire forever. Stay happy and strong across the pond. I shall soon rise up out of here (this ain’t no thang but a chicken wang).
L’n’R
Two Tonys
Two Tonys intends to write some blogs and mail them to my parents. We hope to hear from him soon.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
13 June 07
Bon Voyage Balls (Part 3)
I asked Gina why he cut off his testes.
“Ovaries – I like to call them. I cut off my ovaries to feminize myself. Testosterone is the secondary sex hormone responsible for the production and maintenance of pubescent male characteristics such as body hair, having a deep voice, and the major contributing factor to male pattern baldness.”
“Are you happy with the results?”
“Yes. Since removing my ovaries – or, as my beloved puts it, my underies – my voice has softened, my skin is softer and less...much less oily, even the large spider-like veins in my arms became one hundred percent unnoticeable. Plus I’m not subject to getting colon cancer, and I won’t develop DHT, which can cause baldness.”
“So how does it feel to be in a men’s prison with no balls?”
“Being in a blokes’ prison without Lenny and Squiggy is a plus. I am a woman. My orchiectomy sets me apart from the error nature made, and moves me closer to the woman I am within.”
“Are you doing much time?”
“I was sentenced in 1990, and I have eighteen years to serve before I’m eligible for parole. In a nutshell, I have twenty years at the earliest before I can get a doctor to lob off the remaining burden.”
“What! You are serving almost forty years!”
“Yes. My crimes were related to my sex-change goal. I wanted the operation now-now-now!”
“Perhaps you’d care to run that story down for me sometime.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’m sure my blog readers would love to hear it. What are your plans for when you finally get out?”
“I want to have breast augmentation. I can reach a B-cup, and I look hot when I jack my stuff up a cup higher – especially with my little waist. I plan to have rhinoplasty, teeth-whitening procedures, and then to move to England. It must be London. I love rain and fog. It’s so sexy to be in a field of tall grass with someone you love, inconspicuous to others. As for the fog, it’s the same scene as being in tall grass in the rain, but when the fog lifts…yes! England and a soul mate are my obsession. By the way: you’re the first English accent I’ve heard face-to-face.”
“Really. And you’re the closest to an attractive woman I’ve seen in the prison system. Perhaps we can continue these sessions outside the prison walls some day.”
“Maybe in old London town…when the fog's out, eh?"
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Bon Voyage Balls (Part 3)
I asked Gina why he cut off his testes.
“Ovaries – I like to call them. I cut off my ovaries to feminize myself. Testosterone is the secondary sex hormone responsible for the production and maintenance of pubescent male characteristics such as body hair, having a deep voice, and the major contributing factor to male pattern baldness.”
“Are you happy with the results?”
“Yes. Since removing my ovaries – or, as my beloved puts it, my underies – my voice has softened, my skin is softer and less...much less oily, even the large spider-like veins in my arms became one hundred percent unnoticeable. Plus I’m not subject to getting colon cancer, and I won’t develop DHT, which can cause baldness.”
“So how does it feel to be in a men’s prison with no balls?”
“Being in a blokes’ prison without Lenny and Squiggy is a plus. I am a woman. My orchiectomy sets me apart from the error nature made, and moves me closer to the woman I am within.”
“Are you doing much time?”
“I was sentenced in 1990, and I have eighteen years to serve before I’m eligible for parole. In a nutshell, I have twenty years at the earliest before I can get a doctor to lob off the remaining burden.”
“What! You are serving almost forty years!”
“Yes. My crimes were related to my sex-change goal. I wanted the operation now-now-now!”
“Perhaps you’d care to run that story down for me sometime.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’m sure my blog readers would love to hear it. What are your plans for when you finally get out?”
“I want to have breast augmentation. I can reach a B-cup, and I look hot when I jack my stuff up a cup higher – especially with my little waist. I plan to have rhinoplasty, teeth-whitening procedures, and then to move to England. It must be London. I love rain and fog. It’s so sexy to be in a field of tall grass with someone you love, inconspicuous to others. As for the fog, it’s the same scene as being in tall grass in the rain, but when the fog lifts…yes! England and a soul mate are my obsession. By the way: you’re the first English accent I’ve heard face-to-face.”
“Really. And you’re the closest to an attractive woman I’ve seen in the prison system. Perhaps we can continue these sessions outside the prison walls some day.”
“Maybe in old London town…when the fog's out, eh?"
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
11 June 07
The Royo Romance (8)
Click here for Part 7.
Response to Royo Girl’s latest letter:
I appreciate you venturing to Gandhi’s to bring me food. A person in my position is lucky to get any outside food at all. You mentioned a next time, so I’m assuming we have a date soon.
That you tell me more than anyone else means a lot to me. I didn’t mean to baffle you or to make you feel that I lack an appreciation of your straightforwardness. You sharing with me the things in your heart means a lot to me. But I still think you are holding some things back. I may sound demanding, but it’s because I am set on getting to know you better. You carefully considering what you say to me is flattering. The way you scrutinise your thoughts suggests a sharp mind. When we talk I feel an intense chemistry – something that keeps me interested in you.
I’m going to skip reminding you of your beauty. I will mention this though: while reading The Economist I came across a quote from Shelly Lazarus of the ad company Ogilvy & Mather: “Only 2% of women in the world think they are beautiful”. There’s no prize for guessing whose face I envisioned.
Royo Girl, I have no clue where, if anywhere, our relationship is heading. Forces continue to keep our friendship growing against significant odds. I hope you are enjoying our friendship as much as I am.
Lovingly yours, Jon
PS) Your letter smells great! I shall keep it near the head of my mattress in the hope I dream of you.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Royo Romance (8)
Click here for Part 7.
Response to Royo Girl’s latest letter:
I appreciate you venturing to Gandhi’s to bring me food. A person in my position is lucky to get any outside food at all. You mentioned a next time, so I’m assuming we have a date soon.
That you tell me more than anyone else means a lot to me. I didn’t mean to baffle you or to make you feel that I lack an appreciation of your straightforwardness. You sharing with me the things in your heart means a lot to me. But I still think you are holding some things back. I may sound demanding, but it’s because I am set on getting to know you better. You carefully considering what you say to me is flattering. The way you scrutinise your thoughts suggests a sharp mind. When we talk I feel an intense chemistry – something that keeps me interested in you.
I’m going to skip reminding you of your beauty. I will mention this though: while reading The Economist I came across a quote from Shelly Lazarus of the ad company Ogilvy & Mather: “Only 2% of women in the world think they are beautiful”. There’s no prize for guessing whose face I envisioned.
Royo Girl, I have no clue where, if anywhere, our relationship is heading. Forces continue to keep our friendship growing against significant odds. I hope you are enjoying our friendship as much as I am.
Lovingly yours, Jon
PS) Your letter smells great! I shall keep it near the head of my mattress in the hope I dream of you.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
08 June 07
Shane Arrives at Yard 1
“I think I’m gonna die,” Shane said. “My heart’s beatin’ like crazy after pushin’ that cart fulla crap from Yard 4 to here.”
“Well,” I said, “you’re here now. Minimum. Your last stop before freedom. How short are you?”
“Four years. I get out in 2012…probably…like April, I think. If my federal appeal goes through I could be out in 2010.”
“So the Value Options case was dismissed?”
“Yeah, but I’m appealing it.”
“Are you suing anybody else?”
“Yeah, DOC and all of their medical people, over my hep C suit.”
“But they are treating you now?”
“I’m takin’ the medication. They started it about nine months after I began suing them.”
“What’s the meds?”
Shane pulled out a bag full of pills. “The main one is the Ribavirin capsules, and I’m takin’ a shot of peginterferon alfa-2a once a week every Friday. Also, they’re givin’ me vitamin K for my low blood cells.”
“How long’s the treatment?”
“Forty-eight weeks.”
“Will the hep C be completely cured by then?”
“Probably. There’s an eighty-percent chance. But right now the doctor’s tellin’ me I’ve got low red and white blood cells, and low platelets.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means I’m dying.” He laughed. “They’re killin’ me with their meds. It means don’t touch me, I might bleed out.”
“What does it really mean?”
“I’m anaemic.”
“You are starting to look like a proper pasty Englishman.”
“Orroight, mate,” he said with a grin.
“What psych meds are you on these days?”
“Just lithium. They asked me if I wanted to stop the lithium and I told them, ‘When I feel like being crazy again and hurtin’ myself I’ll let you know.’”
“Have you had any more spontaneous ejaculations since they guinea-pigged you on that other psychotropic med?”
“You mean Desipramine – no. The only side effect I’ve got now is I’m blind when I go out in the sun. I’m getting special glasses.”
“Sun City specials?”
“No. They’re the Chomo 2000s. I’m gettin’ the ones that turn dark in the sunlight and go back to normal in the shade. I’ll look all gangsterish when they get dark.”
“I can’t imagine you all G’d out. Are you staying focussed?”
“Not until I get my glasses?”
We laughed.
“Are you staying focussed on life, are you keeping your head together?”
“Yeah. I’m in college takin’ environmental tech. I now realise how easy it is to be an ecoterrorist. Anybody can put somethin’ in the water supply 'cause water-treatment-plant operators don’t go through background checks or anythin’. I finished the Men in Recovery classes and all the other classes they have here. I entered the Writers Digest contest this year. I’ve got people visitin’ me. I’ve got a Write A Prisoner ad up that’s received one response in five months.” He laughed. “And here I am at minimum security. Clearly I’m stayin’ outta trouble 'cause this is the lowest I’ve ever been.”
“Let’s hope you stay outta trouble.”
“Whatta you tryin’ to say? You plottin’ on me? I ain’t had my pysch meds tonight yet.”
Jon tells us what he has learned about himself during his incarceration.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Shane Arrives at Yard 1
“I think I’m gonna die,” Shane said. “My heart’s beatin’ like crazy after pushin’ that cart fulla crap from Yard 4 to here.”
“Well,” I said, “you’re here now. Minimum. Your last stop before freedom. How short are you?”
“Four years. I get out in 2012…probably…like April, I think. If my federal appeal goes through I could be out in 2010.”
“So the Value Options case was dismissed?”
“Yeah, but I’m appealing it.”
“Are you suing anybody else?”
“Yeah, DOC and all of their medical people, over my hep C suit.”
“But they are treating you now?”
“I’m takin’ the medication. They started it about nine months after I began suing them.”
“What’s the meds?”
Shane pulled out a bag full of pills. “The main one is the Ribavirin capsules, and I’m takin’ a shot of peginterferon alfa-2a once a week every Friday. Also, they’re givin’ me vitamin K for my low blood cells.”
“How long’s the treatment?”
“Forty-eight weeks.”
“Will the hep C be completely cured by then?”
“Probably. There’s an eighty-percent chance. But right now the doctor’s tellin’ me I’ve got low red and white blood cells, and low platelets.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means I’m dying.” He laughed. “They’re killin’ me with their meds. It means don’t touch me, I might bleed out.”
“What does it really mean?”
“I’m anaemic.”
“You are starting to look like a proper pasty Englishman.”
“Orroight, mate,” he said with a grin.
“What psych meds are you on these days?”
“Just lithium. They asked me if I wanted to stop the lithium and I told them, ‘When I feel like being crazy again and hurtin’ myself I’ll let you know.’”
“Have you had any more spontaneous ejaculations since they guinea-pigged you on that other psychotropic med?”
“You mean Desipramine – no. The only side effect I’ve got now is I’m blind when I go out in the sun. I’m getting special glasses.”
“Sun City specials?”
“No. They’re the Chomo 2000s. I’m gettin’ the ones that turn dark in the sunlight and go back to normal in the shade. I’ll look all gangsterish when they get dark.”
“I can’t imagine you all G’d out. Are you staying focussed?”
“Not until I get my glasses?”
We laughed.
“Are you staying focussed on life, are you keeping your head together?”
“Yeah. I’m in college takin’ environmental tech. I now realise how easy it is to be an ecoterrorist. Anybody can put somethin’ in the water supply 'cause water-treatment-plant operators don’t go through background checks or anythin’. I finished the Men in Recovery classes and all the other classes they have here. I entered the Writers Digest contest this year. I’ve got people visitin’ me. I’ve got a Write A Prisoner ad up that’s received one response in five months.” He laughed. “And here I am at minimum security. Clearly I’m stayin’ outta trouble 'cause this is the lowest I’ve ever been.”
“Let’s hope you stay outta trouble.”
“Whatta you tryin’ to say? You plottin’ on me? I ain’t had my pysch meds tonight yet.”
Jon tells us what he has learned about himself during his incarceration.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
05 June 07
Psychotherapy with Dr. T. (Part 3)
“How are you doing?” Dr. T. asked.
“Much better than last time,” I said. “I realise how silly I must have sounded worrying that I’d never get out. I think what happened was this year began and I spent months in a state of euphoria telling myself that this is the year I get out. Then from that state of happiness there was a backlash, and I spent several weeks fully convinced I was never getting out. I’m over that and I can feel the euphoria building again.”
“When are you getting out?”
“I’m eligible to be released to Immigration in November.”
“But it usually takes a few weeks for them to pick you up.”
“Yes. And then I’ll be processed at Florence. But according to the British Consulate, if I have a passport, that should only take a few weeks, so I’m hoping to be home by Christmas. If you get a HNR from me in January then you’ll know we’ve got problems.”
“So are you ticking things off a list of things you need to do?”
“I’m beyond ticking. The things have been ticked, and worked to death. I think my stressed-out-about-never-getting-released phase was productive in a sense that I kicked and screamed to my parents, my attorney, and CO3 Rose so much that everyone is now doing as much as they can to ensure that my release is processed. We’re getting regular emails from my attorney updating the status of the proceedings for my deportation order.”
“So if you expect to be home by Christmas where will you be living?”
I laughed, and said, “It’s kind of funny actually. It’s become a joke among my family and friends that I’m going to be living in my parents’ garage and they’re going to be feeding me orange trays through the cat flap.”
Dr. T. laughed, and said, “What are you going to do when you get out?”
“My goal is to be back in a university some time in 2008. I aim to do a creative-writing master’s, and a senior academic at a university in England has asked me to consider going to his college. He also pointed out that if I went there a certain best-selling author would confer my degree.”
“So you wouldn’t be living with your parents then?”
“No. That university has living quarters for its senior students.”
“And how are you going to afford all of this?”
“That’s the only thing holding me back at this stage. The State seized all of my assets, so -”
“Why did they do that?”
“To offset some of the costs of my case, I believe. They said it was in lieu of racketeering proceeds that they couldn’t prove or find. Anyway, I can’t fall back on my parents because I owe them a fortune for my legal bill. So, I’m making inquiries as to scholarships and loans available to someone in my position. Prisoners Abroad have provided some useful info, and I’ve written to them with more questions.”
“So how are things on the yard?”
“Everything is going great. I’m doing college classes through Rio Salado. I just finished a philosophy course, and really hit it off with my teacher. My heart and soul are demanding that I take a shot at a career as a writer, and as I’ve only got a few months to go, I’m making a final push in that direction. I’ve submitted some short stories to magazines. I’m reading books on writing, and tearing through the classics. I can feel changes coming on in my prose. I believe that all this effort now will help me succeed when I get out. I have manic energy that I’m focusing right now. I think that being bipolar can be an asset for a writer.”
“Not if you’re suffering delusions of grandeur of being the next Shakespeare, and all you are writing is gibberish.”
“Believe me, I’ve written my fair share of gibberish, and gone through some peculiar phases which I’m embarrassed about - I can’t wait to re-write that stuff. But there have been some gems among the rubbish. It’s a question of culling the gems. And look at all of the legendary bipolar writers and poets: they range from Virginia Woolf to Lord Byron. I’m not so delusional I’d place myself in their league, but if I didn’t have this manic energy I couldn’t sit and write for twelve hours feeling on top of the world, not wanting to take a break for a shower or to go to chow.”
“So you are familiar with the diagnostic criteria for bipolar.”
“I’ve read books on it.”
“You do get talking very fast. Do you have racing thoughts?”
“Yes.”
“Do they prevent sleep?”
“Yes. They can keep me up for hours at nights, but I do eventually get to sleep.”
“You’ve mentioned times during your life when you have contemplated suicide, and you’ve mentioned times when you’re on top of the world. So you do seem to experience the bipolar extremes.”
“I spend most of the time happy hypomanic though.”
“And doesn’t it feel great?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why a lot of people with bipolar disorder don’t want to take meds. They want that high.” “And I’m certainly one of them. My dad asked me if I had a choice not to be bipolar would I take it. I told him I would stay as I am even though it may have contributed to my propensity for doing drugs and partying. Being bipolar gave me the energy to succeed at many things including stockbroking and stock trading.”
“Do you think stockbroking contributed to you breaking the law?”
“I think I was attracted to investments due to my risk-taking nature, and that same character trait certainly contributed to me breaking the law.”
“What about the office environment you worked in?”
“I went from being a university graduate in England to working in an office full of feisty New York Italians – some of whom liked their cocaine and strippers.”
“It may be a stereotype, but when I imagine stockbrokers I see coke-snorting macho types.”
“Yeah, it was quite an experience, but that was nothing compared to the levels of drug consumption among my friends and I in the rave scene. That’s what pushed me over the edge. And I’m not going back to that. I’m determined to succeed in literature and to get back to trading my own account, neither of which I’ll accomplish if I cloud my mind. To me prison has been a necessary step to grow out of those old ways. I can’t imagine who I would be without all of this personal development. It’s been such a good thing. The main downside has been the effect on my family, and that pain has motivated me to make amends. My sister asked me if I had just intellectualised to mollify my parents – which kind of hurt – and I tried to explain to her the ongoing development of my new self, and the continuous shedding of skin that’s occurred as I’ve attempted to transcend this punishment.”
“How is your sister?”
“She’s doing phenomenally well. She’s about to get married. Her and her fiancé recently bought a place in London where they both have high-powered jobs. In the eyes of my parents, I see her behaviour as compensating for my misbehaviour. She’s doing us proud.”
“It’s great that you seem to be so happy today.”
“Thanks. I’ve a lot to look forward to.”
“Are you sad about leaving America?”
“There are some people here who I’m going to be sad to leave. But I broke the law and its part of my punishment isn’t it? America was good to me. I prospered, thought I was invincible, and overstepped myself. Maybe I can arrange to come back legally some day. If not – oh well – there’s plenty of the world I haven’t seen. The East is booming, and I have some ideas in my mind that I could put into place there. I enjoy the challenge of fighting the odds, of building things up. If I can do well in prison I should be able to thrive anywhere.
As funny as living in my parents’ garage sounds, being reduced to rock bottom has put me in my element. I can’t wait to get to work on my comeback. That seems to be the way I’m hard-wired.”
“So no more worrying about not getting out eh?”
“Definitely not. In my most recent Siddha Yoga lesson Gurumayi points out that if we were to view a videotape of our lives and see how much time we spend worrying over things that don’t materialize we’d be slapping our heads and wishing we could do it all over again.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Psychotherapy with Dr. T. (Part 3)
“How are you doing?” Dr. T. asked.
“Much better than last time,” I said. “I realise how silly I must have sounded worrying that I’d never get out. I think what happened was this year began and I spent months in a state of euphoria telling myself that this is the year I get out. Then from that state of happiness there was a backlash, and I spent several weeks fully convinced I was never getting out. I’m over that and I can feel the euphoria building again.”
“When are you getting out?”
“I’m eligible to be released to Immigration in November.”
“But it usually takes a few weeks for them to pick you up.”
“Yes. And then I’ll be processed at Florence. But according to the British Consulate, if I have a passport, that should only take a few weeks, so I’m hoping to be home by Christmas. If you get a HNR from me in January then you’ll know we’ve got problems.”
“So are you ticking things off a list of things you need to do?”
“I’m beyond ticking. The things have been ticked, and worked to death. I think my stressed-out-about-never-getting-released phase was productive in a sense that I kicked and screamed to my parents, my attorney, and CO3 Rose so much that everyone is now doing as much as they can to ensure that my release is processed. We’re getting regular emails from my attorney updating the status of the proceedings for my deportation order.”
“So if you expect to be home by Christmas where will you be living?”
I laughed, and said, “It’s kind of funny actually. It’s become a joke among my family and friends that I’m going to be living in my parents’ garage and they’re going to be feeding me orange trays through the cat flap.”
Dr. T. laughed, and said, “What are you going to do when you get out?”
“My goal is to be back in a university some time in 2008. I aim to do a creative-writing master’s, and a senior academic at a university in England has asked me to consider going to his college. He also pointed out that if I went there a certain best-selling author would confer my degree.”
“So you wouldn’t be living with your parents then?”
“No. That university has living quarters for its senior students.”
“And how are you going to afford all of this?”
“That’s the only thing holding me back at this stage. The State seized all of my assets, so -”
“Why did they do that?”
“To offset some of the costs of my case, I believe. They said it was in lieu of racketeering proceeds that they couldn’t prove or find. Anyway, I can’t fall back on my parents because I owe them a fortune for my legal bill. So, I’m making inquiries as to scholarships and loans available to someone in my position. Prisoners Abroad have provided some useful info, and I’ve written to them with more questions.”
“So how are things on the yard?”
“Everything is going great. I’m doing college classes through Rio Salado. I just finished a philosophy course, and really hit it off with my teacher. My heart and soul are demanding that I take a shot at a career as a writer, and as I’ve only got a few months to go, I’m making a final push in that direction. I’ve submitted some short stories to magazines. I’m reading books on writing, and tearing through the classics. I can feel changes coming on in my prose. I believe that all this effort now will help me succeed when I get out. I have manic energy that I’m focusing right now. I think that being bipolar can be an asset for a writer.”
“Not if you’re suffering delusions of grandeur of being the next Shakespeare, and all you are writing is gibberish.”
“Believe me, I’ve written my fair share of gibberish, and gone through some peculiar phases which I’m embarrassed about - I can’t wait to re-write that stuff. But there have been some gems among the rubbish. It’s a question of culling the gems. And look at all of the legendary bipolar writers and poets: they range from Virginia Woolf to Lord Byron. I’m not so delusional I’d place myself in their league, but if I didn’t have this manic energy I couldn’t sit and write for twelve hours feeling on top of the world, not wanting to take a break for a shower or to go to chow.”
“So you are familiar with the diagnostic criteria for bipolar.”
“I’ve read books on it.”
“You do get talking very fast. Do you have racing thoughts?”
“Yes.”
“Do they prevent sleep?”
“Yes. They can keep me up for hours at nights, but I do eventually get to sleep.”
“You’ve mentioned times during your life when you have contemplated suicide, and you’ve mentioned times when you’re on top of the world. So you do seem to experience the bipolar extremes.”
“I spend most of the time happy hypomanic though.”
“And doesn’t it feel great?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why a lot of people with bipolar disorder don’t want to take meds. They want that high.” “And I’m certainly one of them. My dad asked me if I had a choice not to be bipolar would I take it. I told him I would stay as I am even though it may have contributed to my propensity for doing drugs and partying. Being bipolar gave me the energy to succeed at many things including stockbroking and stock trading.”
“Do you think stockbroking contributed to you breaking the law?”
“I think I was attracted to investments due to my risk-taking nature, and that same character trait certainly contributed to me breaking the law.”
“What about the office environment you worked in?”
“I went from being a university graduate in England to working in an office full of feisty New York Italians – some of whom liked their cocaine and strippers.”
“It may be a stereotype, but when I imagine stockbrokers I see coke-snorting macho types.”
“Yeah, it was quite an experience, but that was nothing compared to the levels of drug consumption among my friends and I in the rave scene. That’s what pushed me over the edge. And I’m not going back to that. I’m determined to succeed in literature and to get back to trading my own account, neither of which I’ll accomplish if I cloud my mind. To me prison has been a necessary step to grow out of those old ways. I can’t imagine who I would be without all of this personal development. It’s been such a good thing. The main downside has been the effect on my family, and that pain has motivated me to make amends. My sister asked me if I had just intellectualised to mollify my parents – which kind of hurt – and I tried to explain to her the ongoing development of my new self, and the continuous shedding of skin that’s occurred as I’ve attempted to transcend this punishment.”
“How is your sister?”
“She’s doing phenomenally well. She’s about to get married. Her and her fiancé recently bought a place in London where they both have high-powered jobs. In the eyes of my parents, I see her behaviour as compensating for my misbehaviour. She’s doing us proud.”
“It’s great that you seem to be so happy today.”
“Thanks. I’ve a lot to look forward to.”
“Are you sad about leaving America?”
“There are some people here who I’m going to be sad to leave. But I broke the law and its part of my punishment isn’t it? America was good to me. I prospered, thought I was invincible, and overstepped myself. Maybe I can arrange to come back legally some day. If not – oh well – there’s plenty of the world I haven’t seen. The East is booming, and I have some ideas in my mind that I could put into place there. I enjoy the challenge of fighting the odds, of building things up. If I can do well in prison I should be able to thrive anywhere.
As funny as living in my parents’ garage sounds, being reduced to rock bottom has put me in my element. I can’t wait to get to work on my comeback. That seems to be the way I’m hard-wired.”
“So no more worrying about not getting out eh?”
“Definitely not. In my most recent Siddha Yoga lesson Gurumayi points out that if we were to view a videotape of our lives and see how much time we spend worrying over things that don’t materialize we’d be slapping our heads and wishing we could do it all over again.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
2 June 07
Mum’s Sixieth
Today is Mum’s birthday. She’s having a sixtieth party to celebrate. The guests are going to wear '60s style dress. There’s going to be a band playing '60s music. My sister and her friend are doing a cabaret act with an Austin Powers lookalike. I feel sad not being there, but I’m happy that my parents are able to celebrate after all they’ve been through.
Happy Sixtieth Mum
XXX
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Mum’s Sixieth
Today is Mum’s birthday. She’s having a sixtieth party to celebrate. The guests are going to wear '60s style dress. There’s going to be a band playing '60s music. My sister and her friend are doing a cabaret act with an Austin Powers lookalike. I feel sad not being there, but I’m happy that my parents are able to celebrate after all they’ve been through.
Happy Sixtieth Mum
XXX
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
1st June 07
Kat (Part 3)
With long dark hair not lacking a Pantene shine, Kat sashayed into my cell and sat down.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said. “What are you in prison for?”
“An accident,” Kat said. “Two people had stalled at 7th Avenue and Dunlap. Instead of pushing their car off the road, they opened the hood and stood in front of the car. I came up right behind them and pushed the car over them. One died and one was seriously injured.”
“Wow! That’s awful. Was alcohol involved?”
“Yes. People had been buying me drinks at the bar. The bar was sued for serving me over the limit.”
“How much time did you get?”
“I signed a plea bargain for twelve years for vehicular manslaughter.”
“How much time do you have left to serve?”
“I get out in twenty-one months. This was never a part of my life plan. Who knew?”
“Taking someone’s life must have devastated you?”
“Yes. What happened will haunt me forever. It’s completely changed my life and the way I see the world. How a life can change overnight.”
Seeing the inner pain in Kat's eyes, I changed the subject.
“How come your skin looks so good? Do you have an exfoliation routine? Or use Jergens?”
“I put vitamin E on my face at night, and wash it off with Camay an hour later.”
“And your hair.”
“I just cut my hair. It’s dark auburn, two-tone.”
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions about prison sex?”
“No. Go ahead.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Kat (Part 3)
With long dark hair not lacking a Pantene shine, Kat sashayed into my cell and sat down.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said. “What are you in prison for?”
“An accident,” Kat said. “Two people had stalled at 7th Avenue and Dunlap. Instead of pushing their car off the road, they opened the hood and stood in front of the car. I came up right behind them and pushed the car over them. One died and one was seriously injured.”
“Wow! That’s awful. Was alcohol involved?”
“Yes. People had been buying me drinks at the bar. The bar was sued for serving me over the limit.”
“How much time did you get?”
“I signed a plea bargain for twelve years for vehicular manslaughter.”
“How much time do you have left to serve?”
“I get out in twenty-one months. This was never a part of my life plan. Who knew?”
“Taking someone’s life must have devastated you?”
“Yes. What happened will haunt me forever. It’s completely changed my life and the way I see the world. How a life can change overnight.”
Seeing the inner pain in Kat's eyes, I changed the subject.
“How come your skin looks so good? Do you have an exfoliation routine? Or use Jergens?”
“I put vitamin E on my face at night, and wash it off with Camay an hour later.”
“And your hair.”
“I just cut my hair. It’s dark auburn, two-tone.”
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions about prison sex?”
“No. Go ahead.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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