Thursday, March 8, 2018

Tattoo'd Hooligan @ Facebook

Here I am, down to my final few months.  Trying to stay low, under the radar and out of the way.  A Sergeant came to my dorm and began to ask around, "Who is the white guy who wears glasses and has all the tattoos?"  "The one who draws?"

Well, I take off my glasses and go sit in the TV room where there's a crowd.  Inmates know better than to volunteer information like that.  However, my dorm officer goes..."Oh yeah--that's Smith--he's in the back..."

So the Sergeant comes up to me and she asks why I didn't step forward.  I simply state, "I'm a convict and I didn't know why you needed me."  She looks at me and says, "I already know you're the tattoo guy---but can you paint?"

Well that's how I gave back to the community at my last camp.  Painted shit for them.  Signs, labels, murals; whatever they needed.  Now, at a new camp, I had just decided to lay low and chill for my last few months.  But, I went on in there and showed some skills and I'm now painting the officer's canteen and break lounge.  Lettering, murals...oh my!

The officer who has assigned me to this position pointed out to me that summer is already here.  Our dorms are hot and sweaty all day.  And I'm being given a job in the A.C. to paint.

I get to leave my dorm and go somewhere cool.  Put in my music and chill out.  Plus it frees my mind.  Like totally.  So I have another way to help me get through these last few months.  Here I was trying to duck out on them.  Now that I'm in this spot, I'm realizing I'm glad they came to me.  We can benefit each other.

I've had plans for many years now.  To come home, open my tattoo shop and make art.  I picked the name Tattoo'd Hooligan because I have been called Hooligan my entire time in prison.  I trademarked that logo so it couldn't be taken.  The Facebook page is now open and I would encourage you to check it out please.  I have a very small portfolio started just to get it going.  I will book my appointments and show my work on that page.

I am everything art.  It makes me happy and brings peace to my life.  It has helped me do my ten year sentence in the prison system.

Thank you for following my life on Jail Bird.  Continue to follow my art and the tattoo business on Facebook at Tattoo'd Hooligan.

Thursday, February 22, 2018

Young Love

Yesterday I spoke with my daughter.  It was the first time we spoke since October.  It's because of a boy, and it took me way back in time.  I was once that boy and her mom was that girl.  I remember the way her Dad looked at me.  Like I stole his princess and he wanted to kill me.  Still, we couldn't be stopped.

My daughter is 20, nearly 21.  This is the first time she's dated.  I pointed out to her that I respect that.  I asked her to be careful and guard her heart.  I had to do that, just as I know she will go and do what she has to do.

She's moved out, has a job, her own car and I suppose a broken heart comes next.  I shouldn't say that.  That's just me being jaded.  I should hope for the best, and I do.  Still, even now, you can sit there and look back over the times your heart was broken.  Unfortunately it's part of our journey to become adult.

I'm free in 9 months.  I'll meet this boy.  I'll size his shit.  He'll see my daughter has a gangster for a Dad.  I'll do this because I have to.  Just like a Dad sized me up once.  I understand why he did now.  I even know it won't work.  You can't stand in front of a train and "will" it to stop, anymore than you can control young love.  Still, I must do this.  I want to be the best Dad I can and I don't feel I would be doing that if I don't harass this young man.

I'm sure there are some Dad's who enjoy watching the nest empty out.  Less mouth's to feed.  I've seen that man do his thing as well and I'm not that Dad.  I missed half my daughter's life and was locked up for the other half.  There are things I want to do with her.  Right now I'll do this for her.  Love her from the sidelines.  Ready to rush in when she needs me.

It's  been this young lady who has taught me the greatest lessons in life.  I can tell most people to fuck-off when I don't like their point of view.  Except when it comes to my daughter.  I still stop in my tracks for her.  Perhaps that's because of all the times I missed the mark.  Falling short.  I try extra hard these days and will for the rest of my life.

Much respect to the Dad's out there who are going through this same thing.  To the Dad who tried to stop me, I understand why you did what you did.  Now I  attempt to do the same thing.

For what it's worth, you did scare the shit out of me a few times.  I fully intend to do the same to this dude.

Cheers to all the Dad's out there doing their thing and trying to be a great Dads.

Sunday, February 4, 2018

Personal Hygiene

This is because we all need to laugh sometimes....and I lack a filter in my thoughts.  Don't read if real shit bothers you. 

I encountered a small dilemma a bit ago.  Its become hard to masturbate due to the length of pubic hair.  I considered braiding it in pig tails to each side.  Something had to be done.  The pleasure is lost when your pulling on a hair attached to your ball sack.  It's quite painful.

After some thought I remembered seeing a comb in a buddies locker...I know, but he doesn't even have any hair.  At most he's doing the same thing with it.  So I ask to borrow the comb.  I then remove a blade and attach it to the bristles about half-way down.  Used carefully it will trim the hedges down to a comfortable length.  Taking my time and being extra careful, I completed the task of manscaping.

Then, the friend came by to chat.  He saw the comb in my locker and asked if I was done with it.  My plan had been to bleach it before returning, but I didn't find the bleach yet.  So I figure sure, you don't have any hair, what's the harm?  So I hand him the comb.  He takes the comb and begins to comb his beard!  Oh my!  Now I see why he has the comb.  It's all I can do to refrain from laughing out loud.  At this point what do I do?

After a few brushes through his beard, he then leaves the comb stuck on his cheek in a thick spot and continues to chat with me.  I'm watching the comb, affixed to his cheek, moving up and down while he talks.  All these thoughts in my head.  Almost 40 years old, and the shit I still manage to  get myself into.

Friday, January 26, 2018


Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moon light?  Perhaps not.

Have you stepped into the frigid cold and inhaled a breath so sharp it made your skin tingle?  Your senses screaming and fully awake, so much that you can feel your hair follicles on your scalp?  That's my level of awareness.  That's a fresh breath of freedom.  That's 2018.

I watched Neil Diamond's hand shake as he sang "Sweet Caroline"  in Times Square.  I saw the steam from Nick Jonas's vocals and I realized I'm freezing my ass off this next November in Michigan. ....I can't wait.

All my life I've set goals and met them.  I tried to set goals I could meet, but when I came up against this 10 years here, I wondered how it would go.  Well, it went.  One foot in front of the other and it's over now.  Makes me realize I shouldn't hold back in the future when I set a good goal.  I'm much bigger than I thought.  I'm stronger than I realized.  I didn't give myself the credit I deserved.  So watch out world.  Watch out Houghton Lake.  Watch out to anything that stands in my way.

Don't tell me about statistics.  Don't tell me about failure.  Don't tell me the decks are stacked against me and that I will fail.  Don't tell me people can't change, and don't ever tell me I didn't pay my debt for my sins.

If you don't have nothing nice to say-just keep your mouth shut.  I did my time, paid my debt and I owe exactly nothing.  All accounts cleared.  Time served.

I've been out-of-sight, out of mind for 10 years.  I've got nieces and nephews I've never met.   I have family who didn't write me once.  Friends who talked shit about me.  Friends who tried to bang my old lady.  I know how the knife feels in my back.  You talk real big when I'm not around.  You stand real tall when I'm behind a fence.  Remember this ships about to sail.  They don't call me the Tattoo'd Hooligan for nothing.  I earned my name.  I stood up in the valley.  On the battlefield where it really goes down.  I don't facebook bully or text all tough.  We don't have voice messages and talk behind your back.  We put our work boots on our feet and we come and crash your shit.  We make you walk around for two weeks with a black eye so you can be humbled.

I'm just playing man.  Told you the fresh air is energizing.  So is freedom.

Get you some!!!

Saturday, January 20, 2018


Just out of confinement...

I have a new bunk, new neighbors, and a new job assignment.  I'll be a house-man and clean my dorm.  This will enable me to clean in the mornings, then head to the reck-field.  This will carry me through the next 10 months and to freedom.  I work out with the suicide squad at reck and take yoga on Tuesday mornings.  Mind, body and soul.

Prison freezes your life on the street and your mindset pertaining to the outside world.  I came to prison at 28, and in many ways am still that guy.  More confident, wiser with a bit more gray.  Crows feet extend when I laugh real hard.

Which I can still do.

I laugh a lot.  I can laugh at myself and I can make you laugh.  It's indeed the best medicine...hands down.I like fast cars and beautiful women.  It used to be beautiful cars and fast women, but that will kill you.   I don't want to be dead.

I love food, but I love to look good more.  Opting to skip dessert so I don't need to run 4 miles tomorrow to burn the calories.  Fat and happy is definitely not me.

I intend to drink less.  Although I think we should get plowed from time to time.  Just not on a regular basis.  I don't want the next day wasted on a hangover.

I'm thinking less drunk-sex.  I want to remember it.  If it's sex I don't want to remember, I shouldn't be having it.  I don't feel sex should be sacred to marriage.  Sex can be as casual as a day at the beach or dinner and a movie.  Between consenting adults it creates a wonderful memory that you can enjoy.  Just save the memory, not the pictures.

This is the final countdown.  Jail-bird has always been (me) looking (out).  That's about to change.  You may not agree with my philosophy on life.  I don't feel we should rush things, but I'll actively  pursue happiness and a good time.

I have a lot of life to catch up on.  You won't find me stuck on my phone or glued to a TV.  And you can call me if you wish to reach me.  Save all the texts. I'll make time for you, and if I don't..take the clue.  That goes both ways.

Friday, December 22, 2017


A long time ago....
While riding my bike down the street, I observed a large box set at the curb.  What caught my attention was the wheels setting beside that box.  After a closer look I saw it was a small riding mower in pieces.  What they call a basket-case.  I used a wagon and carried the box home.  Over the next few days I re-assembled the riding mower.  I left the mower-deck off and it became a little tractor.  But to me, it was a 4-wheeler.  I took parts off my dad's snowblower to fix the engine and had it running soon after.  I would have been about 10.

It didn't go that fast being a lawnmower so someone gifted me a small mini-bike.  It didn't run, but I managed to work on it and somehow got it working.  I had to pour gas into the carburetor to start it and it basically exploded between my legs.  The heat from the muffler ignited the gas fumes.  I tried to save it, but I couldn't.

I liked the bike so much that I kept it laying around.  At that time my dad had a jail-ministry thing.  the inmates would be released and come work for my dad.  One of the guys saw the bike and wanted it.  He traded me 2-dozen rusty traps. 

About 2 miles from our house was a small airport with a swamp beside it.  The swamp was full of raccoons and muscrats.  So I began to trap that swamp.  I wasn't even a teen yet.  I would ride my bike to that swamp during the summer and after school to check my traps.  My Dad and Uncle would help me skin and clean the pelts so I could sell them at the fur market.  This was the 90's back when people still wore furs.

I saved my money from fur sales and bought a lawnmower.  A simple walk-behind.  I could tie it's handle to my bike seat, then drag it around the neighborhood cutting lawns.  Before long I cut a dozen lawns and a business's grass.  I would have been about 12 by then.

My parents never had extra money to buy us toys.  It caused me to work hard to get it myself.  I never had resentment, I just figured out a way.  This thinking created a survivor.

Shortly after that I began to wash dishes in a restaurant.  My parents' friend was the chef and he got me the position.  From there I took a seasonal job at a cross-country ski shop, grooming trails.   I was just 15 then.  I couldn't drive, so had to be taken to work.

When I came to prison I couldn't bear the idea of letting my family support me.  So I learned how to transform a $16.00 battery powered razor into a tattoo machine.  I've not only supported myself, but bought Christmas presents, paid to trademark 2 businesses and recently purchased a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Manufacturers place governors on cars so they can only go so fast, farmers place blinders on horses so they don't get sidetracked, they chain their dog so it won't run away, and they clip birds wings so they can't fly.....

And they put me in prison......

I didn't come here to die.  Nor did I come here to lay down.  I've worked out for my entire bid and have transformed my body.  I knew with diligence I could reshape my torn down self into somebody different.  And I did.  My body doesn't look the same anymore.  Likewise I graduated from lawnmowers and rusty traps.

I learn lessons the old way.  These 60 days in confinement has me thinking I'm too old for this shit.  This is a hard way to do time.  Which is fine, because this thing is over now.  I only have 10 months left and the two months I just did here  flew by.

I know the world has changed.  I've been gone a a minute.  But this was a foreign land when I came here.  I set back, figured it out, and took off.  Just like I'll come home and do the same.

I'm not simply lucky.  Nor will I accidentally accomplish what I do.  I'm blessed.  What I do will be because I planned it out over all these years behind this fence.  My tattoo shop has already been open for 7 years.  I'm just bringing it to the free-side of the fence.  This is my year to shine....

HELLO 2018!!!!

Friday, December 8, 2017


When everything is gone, stripped away-the lowest form of man is revealed.  I came to prison to die, then be reborn.

Christians baptize by water to receive the same effect.  Something is lost, laid to rest, so that a new man can emerge.  Prison made this real for me.

Being baptized as a boy was nice.  Then I grew into a man.  A man who lost his way.  I needed a baptism by fire---- WELL, I GOT IT!!

I came to prison with nothing.  And then was broken. Taken to my basic form.  I then received a second chance.  I took that second chance and never looked back.

When a person looks back, hopefully it's to see how far they've come.  Being so close to freedom, I'm allowing myself to do just that.  If you have ever been at a church and taken communion, they make a statement from the Bible...

"Do this in remembrance of me"...

I'm about to come home and show you all the stuff I've been talking about for all these years.  Right now I am looking back!  In remembrance of me.  Except that's not who I am anymore.  It's a beautiful thing that people can change.  But you'll see, because you'll be  watching me.

Sunday, December 3, 2017

I Am So Thankful

I just turned 39 years old.  I have become a man who understands himself.  When pushed, I know I will bend without breaking.  Should life try to break me, I know I have family who will stand beside me.

For nearly a decade I have been an empty chair at my mother's table.  A picture on my sister's refrigerator.  I have been a letter in my daughter's mailbox.  A memory my family holds dear.

I am thankful to have a second chance at life.  A second chance to be a father to my daughter.

I am thankful for second chances.  Without them I would have no future.

I'm also thankful for word searches and crossword puzzles that friends and family have sent.  I'm thankful for meals-on-wheels.  The food cart that rolls our trays to our door each day.  Thankful for courtesy flushes so you don't smell your cellie's dookie.

I'm thankful for friends and family who take time out of their schedule to let me know they care.

Wishing you all the very best Holidays, spent with those you love.

And to my year baby!!

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

- Mr. Jangles -

Mr. Jangles was a  pet mouse from the movie, "The Green Mile".  Mice, as well as spiders are common pets for men doing time.  Here in Florida there are small lizards and geckos men catch and keep as pets.  Anything to distract you from the present and occupy your time.

The confinement I'm currently living in is infested with mice and rats.  As soon as the main lights are shut off at 10 pm, the floors become alive with furry rodents.

During the days, I set aside something small from my trays.  A little lettuce here, a piece of cookie there.  At the end of the day I have a small mouse buffet assembled.  I find it entertaining to watch these little guys hop around and scurry back to their homes, carrying their treasures.  They cause me to laugh out loud at the comical way they chew an item in half to make it easier to carry.    Then dart off to stash it away somewhere safe.  While right behind them another mouse carries away the other half of their prize.  Shortly after the mouse returns and realizes someone raided his stash.  So he runs in circles looking and searching before he finally realizes he's been had.

And so, a few days into my stay I was given a room mate.  A young Haitian kid, age 24.  He was amazed by the mice and decided he wanted to catch one for a pet.  The plan was, lure the mouse into the room with food.  Then block his escape route.  The small slit directly under the door.  Meanwhile the name of Mickey Mouse has been given to any mouse he sees.

The lights shut off for the night.  Almost immediately Mickey Mouse shows up.  As soon as he's eating, the bunkie jumps down and sits on the floor in front of the door.  Pressing his leg longways against the crack.  Mickey Mouse is now trapped in the room.

In order to take the mouse, you must first catch him, then toss him into the stainless steel toilet basin.  The basin becomes a water-tread-mill as Mickey mouse tries to breast stroke, then doggie paddle his way to freedom.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, well---you get the picture.

Before long, he begins to tire and his head slowly drops below the surface.  At this time you extend your hand down to his level and allow him to climb into your palm.  You have become his savior.  He recognizes your scent as the hand that saved him.

And should he decide to run once he gets his bearings, repeat the process as needed.

Mickey Mouse had a hard time getting with the program.

After the third attempt to tire him out in the toilet bowl, he still had enough spunk to launch himself out of bunkies hand and race for the door.

In a last minute effort to stop his escape, bunkie throws himself in front of the door.  Mickey Mouse runs up the leg of his shorts and just shy of the mother-land, bunkie manages to grab him and hold him through the fabric.  As he reaches another hand up his short leg to retrieve Mickey, he lets out a squeal and screams--"Mickey Mouse bit me!!"

At this time I'm nearly falling out of the bed laughing.  There goes Mickey mouse back into the toilet.  Except this time bunkie is reaching for the flush button.

Now I'm the one jumping out of the bed to save the mouse.   I reach in and pull the mouse out, gently setting him on the floor by the door.

He looks at me and I swear his eyes don't say thank you.  I think they said screw you- as he drags his wet ass down the hall.

Needless to say, bunkie doesn't want a pet anymore, and the mouse hasn't been back since.  He's probably holding a little sign outside our door.

"Don't go into room 2102"
They'll drown you in their toilet!!!

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Hang My Head and Cry

Sitting in a small room on a cold steel bunk.  I'm once again left to my thoughts.  For every move we make in life there is some reaction.  Everyone has those days where your going a little too fast and before long the blue lights are chasing you.  As you pull over you sit there smacking your steering wheel and come up with a dozen things you could have done differently.  Once again I find myself in confinement.

The officer who walked me to confinement had a heart-to-heart with me.  He told me I only have one year left, its time I quit thinking like an inmate.  He's right.  I'm a calculated risk taker.  That's been my life for 9 years now.  Know the rules in and out, then decide if the punishment is worth the risk.

I'm sitting here now with my fate in someone else's hands and I don't like that.  It is indeed time to quit being an inmate and change back to a civilian.  This problem I'm faced with now, has the potential to change my release date.

I just told my mom the other day how much I will need to pay attention once I'm home.  If I jump into someone else's car and head to the store---get pulled over and there's a gun or dope, I'm headed back to prison.  If I'm in a car that's pulled over and records are checked, I'm the one they draw their guns on because I have a record with law enforcement.  I've stopped to consider all those things about out there....and just placed myself in a similar predicament in here.

Now I'm waiting for the officer to come and tell me the damage.  Please hold while I bang on the steering-wheel.