Happy Halloween

......from the Tattoo'd Hooligan!

(Copyright M.S. 2011, All Rights Reserved)

Locomotion

About a month ago Ester sent me a picture of a train.  She said she liked the train, and asked if I would draw it.  I told her I would.

When we were kids our parents took us to Canada.  We spent the day on the Ottawa train ride.  (Or whatever it's called.)  My point...that's a memory I have carried all my life.  The scenery you see along that ride is breathtaking.

And....that's my memory of a train.  Like Ester, I think there is something cool about the old steam engines.  Smoke billowing around them as they blow down the track.  I love Kid Rock's song "Cowboy".  When he says, "you can hear my whistle blowin' when my train rolls in...like dust in the wind..."

Trains are bad-ass.  You all know my sissy is also bad-ass, and more so than a train ever will be.  So...as you observe this art and exclaim, "what the fuck!?"  Instead, think "wicked!" 

Ester, here is your train....with a twist of course. The only thing badder than that train is your bad-ass brother.  When you see this picture, you see you.  Now, see the train...that train is me.  We're both rollin' into your town.  Full-steam ahead.  Middle fingers in the air.  We're a memory you will not soon forget.  My sister and I will leave our mark.  That's what we do.  So put a finger in the air and yell..."Fuck You!"

(Copyright M.S. 2011, All Rights Reserved)

Me?...Cute?...W.T.F!?

So today I was on the phone.  Mom and I still have coffee.  Detroit Tigers have done well this year.  They made it to the play offs (congrats!).  My mom was excited to tell me that she had been to a game.  I took advantage of her good mood and let her know I am about to blast her on the blog.  Mom laughs....then says, "Oh, you are so sweet Michael."

Thank you mother.  Only a mother's love could see me as sweet.  My grandfather used to tell me I was full of piss and vinegar.  That I can believe.  My mother telling me I am sweet...well, that's just nonsense. 

Next month I will turn 33.  I am a Scorpio.  Very passionate about love, life and being an ass in nearly every way possible.  As a kid, I had to fool my mom.  We've all done it.  You go do all your dirt away from your house in hopes your parents won't find out.  Now I'm an adult.  Well, that goes to be seen as well.  However, today I don't hide shit.  I write for a blog.  And if I love you, changes are I'll write about you.  So, mom....just remember I love you!

No, I wouldn't say I'm sweet.  However, both my mother and my woman feel I am.  Well....perhaps I am getting old.  No, I'm not gonna claim that.  Cheers to never growing old! 

My next call is to summon the wind in my sails.  Speak to the person who rocks my boat.  Reach my place of zen.  The apple of my eye.  And I was shut down.  They said J.Lo doesn't accept calls from prisoners.  You mean to tell me Jennifer Lopez is too busy for me!?  And, the 'ass' in me is shining bright.  My J.Lo answers the phone any time I call.  And...like my mother, she thinks I am 'sweet'.

What the fuck!  I'm suppose to be the Tattood Hooligan.  The jailbird.  The convict.  The law breaker.  Societies reject.  But, then these women.  These women that love me and tell me I'm 'cute' and 'sweet'.  Kind of puts a damper on my bad boy image.  There must be some of that image left.  My woman says that's why she loves me.  Go figure.  And mom...well, I'm locked up, I'm off drugs, and the strippers are gone.  Instead of avoiding mom, I love to talk to her.  She's my friend.

So, I think what mom means to say is not that I'm sweet, but that it's sweet I'm at a place in my life where I have time for her.  That's OK mom.  I get this.

Enjoy this time mom.  Because I still need you to bring my woman with you when you pick me up.  And, don't be surprised when I hug and kiss you, then haul ass with my woman for a couple of weeks.  I guess you can figure that one out.  I'm using you now for 'moral' support.  My woman is my 'physical' support.

Oh, yeah!  Hey mom....could you put a few bucks on my canteen?  I'm broke.  Oh, is this a bad time to ask for money?  I'm your kid.  That's our job right?  To ask our parents for their money?

Last week I called home and caught my little brother.  I think he was excited to talk to me.  Right up until I had to put down on him.  It went something like this...

"I love you man...but for the love of God quit breaking the law!  Every time mom has to bail you out, your fucking up my canteen money!  I'm on limited funds and you keep docking my pay.  Tighten up and obey the law!"

I know this confused him.  First, I'm the one breaking the laws.  Well, the bigger ones anyway.  I mean, if you're gonna get wet, just dive in already.  Fuck pussy-footing around.  The next part he probably can't process is the fact that he's the 18 year old kid.  I'm the 33 year old kid.  So, I'm guessing he's more entitled to mom's money than me.

Still, if I enter the scene waving my arms all around, shouting at the top of my lungs, and throwing my weight around...I must be right...right?  Here, in prison, we call this 'booing' someone up.  I'm dead wrong, but I'll play it off as if I'm 100% right.

Well...this is nice.  I've put my mother, my woman, and my little brother on blast.  Just remember it's because I love you all.  No, for real...I do!  Just keep telling yourself I'm 'cute' and I'm 'sweet'.

Oh, Lord help us all!

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Grafitti

(Copyright M.S. 2011. All Rights Reserved)

Who Are You?

Water takes the path of least resistance.

(Ausable River Morning East Branch from Michigan Paddlesports Directory)

Many things in life do the same.  People, for instance, many times choose the easy route.  And...many times you are back at a later date paying the price.

Buying the car with the four-cylinder as opposed to the supercharger, which can be a nice choice. Don't expect me to do that, but it's a wise choice.  You'll save at the pump.  Buying things at thrift stores or bargain houses can save you money as opposed to designer labels.  Again, don't expect me to follow those guidelines.  However...don't cut corners on important things.  Spend extra for the good tires on your car.  Cutting corners at the tire shop is about as wise as buying birth control off the expired, discount rack.  Come on...you know some jackass totally does this.

Looking back over my life, I realize I cut a lot of corners.  I cut corners at work, at home, and in my relationships.  I'm at a place in my life where I have an opportunity to fix this.  So, today I'm thinking about water.  How can I stand strong under opposition?

So, I'm in prison.  I love the people who say I'll be back.  Thank you!  You are my driving force.  And no...I won't be back.

I got married at the ripe old age of 19 years old.  Yes, I am now divorced.  Does that mean I'll marry and divorce again?  No.  I'm not 19 anymore.  When I choose to marry again, it will be forever.  Yeah, I know I preached about choosing each other over each day.  And you should.  But if that's working out for you, why not make it official?  I'm just saying...

When I was on the street I used a lot of drugs.  I have been clean for over three years now.  Life gets me high now.  Laughing, crying, being happy, or even sad...people, I feel.  I don't need drugs to hide behind.  I'm facing my fears, I battle my demons every day.  I don't feel the need to run, or numb myself anymore.  But again...I like the person who is waiting for me to fail.

These days I love a challenge.  You tell me I can't do something...watch me!  They can't hold me here forever.  I'll be back.  This time I won't be cutting corners.  No path of the least resistance for me.  Prison has taught me to be ALL-IN.  Prison is a large helping of shit every day.  Never fails.  Same old shit, different day.

Question is ~ what will you do with what you are given?

I don't like being here.  But, I look at my family.  If statistics say one of us had to come here, I'm the one.  I don't see any other member of my family being able to do this.  Well, Ester could, but she's just as crazy as me.  Well, probably not anymore.  I was half-way sane before prison.  These days I have no filter.  I'll tell you just how I feel.  I have no problem telling you "no" and meaning it.  Bottom line...don't tread on me.

If you're looking for the path of least resistance, don't come down my street.  School of hard-knocks and a brick wall are what you'll hit.  Honestly, I want you to have good tires on your car and birth control that works.  I may be an idiot, but I'll never be a hater.  I will never forget that a woman scorned is impossible to live with.  Either don't scorn her, or don't get married.

Recovering drug addicts should not be around drugs.  Nor should you hide the fact that you are recovering.  Let people know.  Good people will step up to help you.  Haters will do what they do best. 

I have a plan for never coming back to prison...I'm gonna find a hater and marry her.  Nah...I couldn't choose a hater over and over again each day.  No, the real changes have to take place within ourselves.  That is the only way they will stick.

I think shallow people cut corners, take the easy route, and never understand what it means to be tried by fire. I need rock solid people.  The ones that when the going gets tough, they get going.  Who are you?  When you see the opposition rise up, do you throw a fist in the air, or do you sit down?

I need to go...slip into my Diesel jeans, fire up my Dodge Challenger with the Hemi V-8 and Pirelli tires.

(2011 Dodge Challenger)

Then I'm off to pick up my supermodel girl.  We have dinner reservations.

Don't hate!!  You know I love you. 

~The Hooligan~

P.S.  Where's the discount rack at anyways?  I need to get some birth control.

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Jailhouse Religion? Probably… NOT.

Going to church is where I found some peace in my life.  My life was shit.  Using drugs every day.  My girl was a stripper who worked the late shift.  She came in at 3 a.m.  There was not a damn thing “normal” about my life… except for Sunday morning church.

Perhaps that’s why I chose to go every Sunday.  Not only that, but I felt when I went to church.  Like I would stand there by myself, people all around me are singing, clapping their hands, praying.  Some raise their hands, others kneel down at the pew.  Husbands and wives holding hands, little kids singing with their little voices….

Many times all I could do was cry.  Here I am, with a stripper passed out at my house, I just snorted two Oxys off my dash-board.  I’m on felony probation.  My family is several hundred miles away.  My life is in shambles, yet this God in this church is touching me and all I can do is cry.

How many times I looked up at that altar and tried to will my feet to carry me up there…but they wouldn’t.  Wishing someone would see me and reach out to me, but they didn’t.  Their God was speaking to me, doesn’t He speak to them too?  Why can’t they see me?

I wanted help.  But I couldn’t make my feet carry me to the front of that church.  All it would have taken was one person putting their hand on my shoulder and asking if they could pray for me.  Not once did anyone ever do that for me.

I have been writing for this blog now for nearly a year.  As you see, I don’t preach.  No, I guess I want to be the guy who puts his hand on your shoulder just to let you know you don’t stand alone.  You don’t have to carry your burden by yourself.  That’s what I needed and couldn’t find.

Not long ago, someone called me out.  …Asked if perhaps I had found jailhouse religion.  No, what I have is a personal relationship.  I take my God with me everywhere I go.  My God doesn’t live in a church.  A pastor doesn’t bring Him to life on Sunday morning from 9-10:30.  My God has become my personal savior.  He puts His hand on my shoulder every day.  He walks with me, He talks with me.

Want to know why I’m free today?  How even in here, in this prison, my spirit is free?  My personal savior, Jesus Chirst. 

My friend, I challenge you to get some.

Having God in your life doesn’t mean you have no life anymore.  Not hardly.  Don’t get me wrong – some days will still suck.  That’s when you feel that hand on your shoulder and find the strength to carry on.

Jail-house religion.  I don’t know what that’s doing for anyone.  Then again, I don’t know what going to church and sitting in the front pew is doing for a lot of people.  If you still find time to point fingers at others, then there’s your answer. 

Instead of pointing fingers, try placing the whole hand on the shoulder of someone who needs it.  …A soul that is crying out for love, for freedom – someone who is dying to live.

That’s the problem: The joy of God in your life became just that - Religion.  


I’m gonna take this even a step farther.  If you’re looking for some answers, try stepping into a church on a Sunday morning.  Find yourself a quiet corner and just chill.  Relax and listen.

Whatever you do, don’t look to the people there for answers.  Chances are you’ll be let down.  However, someone there has what you’re looking for.  God will be there.  He’s always there…looking for that person who is broken.  The one who can’t make his feet carry him to the front.  The one that fell between the cracks.  The one nobody else notices.  He sees you.  Trust me, He will place His hand on your shoulder.

I have robbed people, hurt people, cut people, shot at people.  I have spit on God, my family and everyone who loved me.  I have broke the law my whole life, and God still put His hand on me.  He will do it for you too.  You want some peace then look at the cross.

I’m trying to do more of this myself.  It’s only when I try to do it myself that the road gets hard to travel.  If I look to the cross, I feel peace.  Those, my friend, are the best days.  I wish this for you.  I challenge you to get some!  Get some God, just beware of religion.

I have felt this way since this blog started.  Nothing has changed.  I’m still gonna speak my mind.  You won’t ever classify me under a title.  I can make you laugh, I can make you cry.  I can’t save you, but I can try and make you believe.  I am not a preacher.  More like a pilgrim passing through.  “Probably” not a preacher?  …No, definitely not a preacher! 






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The Guardian

(Copyright M.S. 2011, All rights reserved.)

Angels come in all shapes and sizes.  Cherish the angels in your life.

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Snowboarding...

When do you push the limits?  C'mon Hooligans, tell us a little about you....

(Copyright M.S., 2011 - All rights reserved)

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Bike Week (NSFW)

"Someone recently subscribed me to a biker magazine – “V-Twin.”

Ever since, I have had motorcycles on my mind.  It beats having women on my mind.  They will both kill you.  I’m not quite sure which one is a better way to go, but a motorcycle is quicker.  A woman will kill you slowly.  You can leave your bike at home alone or out in the cold and it won’t complain.  Best part!  You can jump on your bike and ride any time….

Bikes have become a huge part of my life.  The farthest back I can remember was at age 12.

It was a Sunday and our family was headed to church.  A large group of bikes passed us and a smile slowly spread across my face.  Men with long hair and tattoos, bikes with loud pipes that made our car vibrate.  …And the women hanging on to those guys.  I thought to myself, If only I had a motorbike, I could win my crush’s heart.

After that, my BMX was transformed with the help of a crushed soda can jammed into the rear tire-tread.  I cruised my neighborhood as a little boy with huge dreams.

Funny, where life takes you.  I have been on a long, hard journey for many, many years.  Over 20 years have passed since that silly boy had that BMX and a dream.

I finally got me a real Harley and I have a ton of bike stories.  Even funnier: I heard from that girl I mentioned – the crush – she’s now a woman and looked me up to check on me.  I smiled and couldn’t help but remember that silly 12-year-old boy.  I told her I owe her a Harley ride.  So if you’re reading this, the offer still stands.  And whenever I’m stopped at a traffic light with a cutie riding behind me and see an eager face stuck to the window in the car next to me, I give him a smile and a thumbs-up.  Maybe I just gave him a dream as well.

I said I had some stories, and I do.  The most vivid would be of Bike Week in Key West, Florida.

…Stopped at a red light on Duvall Street, an underdressed woman steps into the street and climbs aboard my chariot.  Ah… the life of a biker!  All I know is that a whole heap of tits, ass, and high heels is now straddling me.  I was young and eager at the ripe old age of 24.  I was also naïve and failed to notice my passenger came from the local transvestite bar.  Although the body behind me had tits, it wasn’t born with them.

(I've been fooled, too)

He exited my bike at the next light.

I caught hell for that from my riding partners.  What I couldn’t see in my rear-view, they all had seen from the start.  If only objects in the mirror did not appear smaller than they are, I may have noticed the dick.  Then again, I’m a guy.  The tits had me fooled.

That’s OK, I got it right and had two hot, naked women making-out on my bike later that night.  God, I hope my Mom didn’t find those pictures when she packed up my house….

If you ever find yourself in Key West, check out Captain Tony’s and have a sandwich at Sloppy Joes.  Two fine places to chill.  …Just watch out for the night life.  That place can be dangerous!

Another year, we did the Myrtle Beach bike rally.  I had a Road King then, and my friend and I rode the 800 miles to the event.  Nearly the whole ride was in heavy rain.

We pulled in to our campground soaked.  Our women had followed in a van with tents and camping supplies.  That night it rained and everything was soaked.  The general out-look of a biker is fuck it!  So we cracked beers at 8 a.m. and drank breakfast.

The bar in Myrtle Beach to check out is Suck, Bang, and Blow.  It’s a well-known biker bar.  It’s a burn-out bar.  You ride your bike in a side door, pull up to the bar, and do a burn-out.  Many guys will completely smoke their whole tire off.  They even have a tire shop that replaces tires.

The bartenders wear chaps with thongs and, standing on the bar, shoot the crowd with super-soakers.  Bikers have a hard life.

(Just more of God's children, making daddy proud...)

After a big day of drinking and staring at boobs, we return to our flooded campsite.  Everything is now soaked.  We build a campfire and then sit around in lawn chairs butt-ass naked.  Yes, naked.  …Drinking beer and laughing our asses off.

It’s late, and we’re the only campers still up and carrying on.  An older biker walks up and begins to chat with us.  My buddy stands up to grab him a beer – naked, dick swinging.  The old-school biker takes the beer, cracks the top and says, “Looks like you all are having a good time.”  He then casually walks away.

These are the things you see at biker events.  …Especially at the campgrounds.  Personally, I love it.  Miss the hell out of it.  Hello, Sturgis!!  As soon as they let me out of this chicken coop, I’m ready for some more boobs!  Anybody for camping?

Bikers are a different breed.  Loud pipes and wind in your hair spells freedom for this group of people.  You see tattoos, muscles, chains and leather, long beards and even longer hair - Lots of skin - boobs are a given.  Nudity is common.  It’s an adult good time.

Bikers are a good bunch of people, always looking out for their own.  …Just think of all the charity rides that bikers organize each year for those in need.  Toys for Tots is a huge, well-organized ride for families in need.  Gathering presents so children can have a Christmas.  There’s nothing cooler than seeing a hard-core biker headed to a charity event holding a teddy-bear.  It touches your heart.  Personally, I think angels come in all shapes and sizes.

(Thanks to the Texarkana Gazette)

A nice afternoon would be cruising down some back road.  Wind in my hair.  My woman leaned up, whispering something in my ear, her arms wrapped around me.  Steppenwolf and “Born to Be Wild” on the stereo.

They say you can tell a happy biker by the bugs in his teeth.  For that very reason, I like windshields.

Sometimes at night, when the prison is quiet, I can hear a Harley’s pipes cutting through the air.  I wonder if that rider is calling out to his brothers on this side of the fence.  …Makes me remember that 12 year old boy and his big dreams.

I also remember that I owe someone a ride.  On my Harley, of course!"      


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Eviction Notice!!

I have a new bunkie!!  Well, the chick that hangs above my head by a piece of tape is still here.  She's not going anywhere... I enjoy waking up to her.  She can stay, the other one had to go.

We began to clash after the first three weeks.  Kind of like a good ole' fashion marriage.  The honeymoon wears off, and all of a sudden her hair in the drain becomes a hurdle you just can't jump anymore.  In this case it was smelly feet... moldy shoes... candy wrappers... the list goes on.

At some point or another we have all been in that relationship where our wheels are spinning.  The only thing left to do is leave.  Yet for one reason or another, we stay.  In prison, you are just shit out of luck.  So, I lived next to this guy for a year longer than I should have.  Good news!!  The bitch hit the curb!  Uhh... the "dude" hit the curb... the chick is fine.  I guess when you find a woman that you wish could leave her hair in your drain, well, don't let her get away.

So, the old bunkie is gone.  I had three days of freedom.  I'm now one month into this new relationship.  That would be the relationship with my "male" bunkie.

God, this is confusing.  Trust me... living my life is one wild ride.  There is never a dull moment in either my romantic life, or my prison life.  My woman is the breeze that fills my sails and rocks my boat.  Prison is the motherfucker shooting cannon balls at my helm.  Or is that the stern?  Why am I talking like I'm some sort of captain and my life is a ship?  In all reality I'm chained below deck to a freaking oar, rowing for dear life.  Nah...I run this ship!   

So the new bunkie is cool.  I asked him what he does for work... he defrauded the government for two point 3 mill.  Yes, sir.  I like this guy already.

He then asked me what I do.  Well, what do I do?  I talk shit to people all over the country.  And I draw pictures.  And I shave my balls.

Last week the chain broke off the bat.  So they took the bat... no more softball.  I still enjoy America's best pastime.  I still give myself one game a week.  On occasion, we play twice a week. I've been known to pull a double-header, but that gives me jet lag... "minus the jet"... that leaves the lag.  Ahh... but isn't life about pacing ourselves?

Don't forget to pace yourself.  Don't sweat the hair in the drain... that means your baby is a little closer to you than mine is to me.  Smile, it's great to be alive.  :)

~The End~
J.J.

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Alright, Now, Everybody

1. This is Ester.  Hey, how are ya?

2. Where you been?

3. I live in a campground right now.  Isn't that kind of hilarious?  ...Only I'm not kidding.  I really just moved in to a campground last weekend, just for a couple months, but we are still trying to figure out the ancient wreck they're calling "wireless internet" over there, and in the meantime, I kind of look a lot negligent, don't I?

4. I really want you to stop around more, so the fact that I'm writing this from a McDonald's parking lot (only cause it's crowded inside - this is totally legal) should show I HAVE NOT FORGOT ABOUT YOU!

(No, I'm not shitting you ...and don't call me Shirley).

5. While I'm getting my act together, this is what I need from you:

• Patience
• Perseverance
• Diligence
• Non-frivolousness (just kidding, and I can't believe my spell-check didn't go ape-shit on that word... we DO want frivolousness from you, but mostly I wanted a rhyming list)
• FOLLOW THE BLOG!  (Technically, the link says "Join this site," but all they mean is that your cute little face is going to show up in a cute little box and we will feel very loved).

6. Yep, I know we ask a lot of you, but we also try and give you something for your troubles.  So here's what I'm going to give you if you just follow the blog (via Google Reader or Google Friend Connect) AND then are the name I draw at a later date:

Some home-made kind of crap that I labored over, which is nothing like Michael's skill in artwork, but will be either hilarious or badass, I haven't decided yet, ALSO: a rad tote-bag that advertises J.J. for us and also makes you look really edgy for reading a blog written from a prison cell (and is neither too femme or too masculine for anyone any sex, any gender to happily carry groceries or schoolbooks in it without shame), AND, finally, another thing which will be a badass Tattoo'd Hooligan shirt you have never seen before and will be the Best of All Time! It will also make you look totally bad-ass (not that you're not already!).

So here's the deal: I am not going to do this drawing until there are 200 followers, OK?  ...Right now we have 26 followers.  You can see ---> Over there?  ...In the right-hand column.  It says "Join This Site."  You just gotta sign up.  It's easy.  I am going to keep track of your asses, but I also need you to leave comments so that I know that you want the pile of wonderful crap that we have to offer, OK?  ...So, you know, some effort needed.  However, the thing we really need from you is patience.

SO!  Follow the blog, leave your comment letting us know your intentions, and hold your horses while I settle in for the long haul this winter.  We will be with you shortly!  

(Oh, did I tell you yet today how very good-looking you are?  I miss you.  I miss your face.)    

Gone To Fish

(Copyright M.S. 2011. All rights reserved.)