Eviction Notice Part 2

Check this out!  So, not long ago we ran 'Eviction Notice'.  Quick recap....

My last bunkie sucked, and pissed me off daily.  After over a year of sleeping below this guy, he finally transferred.  Meet my new bunkie...

The new kid moves in.  He's 26, and we get along good. He sits and watches me draw.  He likes art.  He's clean, and he is silly stupid...just like me.  We can make the whole dorm laugh, much like me and Scottie use to do.  "HI SCOTTIE!!"  :)

So late the other night, me and the bunkie are still awake.  The dorm is quiet.  No noise.  We can whisper and be heard.  All of a sudden my bunkie pops his head over the edge, like a freakin' squirrel and says, "Mike!" in his normal, loud voice.  I say, "What dude?"  And this is our conversation, in the middle of the night.  Lights off.  Voices at normal volume...so the whole dorm of 72 dudes hear this shit...

"Mike!  I know you're a panty snatcher!" 

I say, "What the fuck are you talking aboug?"

He goes on..."Dude, I know you're stealing my panties." 

Ok, this is fine.  So we're gonna play.  You put me on blast, I'm gonna put you on blast.  So I reply with, "Bro, I don't want your panties, and quit leaving your high heels beside my bed.  You're making the block hot." 

Now, dudes are waking up.  People are now laughing.  Hooting.  Cat calling.  We are center stage.  He then points at my laundry bag, which is full of clothes and says, "Bro, I see your bag is full of panties.  You can't hide that bag!" 

"Ok, yeah, you caught me bro.  Maybe if you smelled more like a man we wouldn't have this problem.  But you smell like a chick." 

The bunkie is laughing.  The whole dorm is laughing.  And I'm inspired.  So, I continue, "And listen.  I'm only gonna tell you about these high heels one more time.  Quit puttin' them by my bunk!"  He continues to laugh, and yells, "Panty-sniffer!"

So, I continue..."And, if your gonna stay out all night 'trickin' you need to start coming home with some food.  At least some soup or a honey bun.  Don't tell me you just give that ass away!"  (Uhh...see what I am dealing with here?) This kid is funny.  Super witty.  I dig the guy.   

Right now it's 2 a.m. and again, he just leaned over the side of the bunk.  "Dude!  Dude!  Put your radio on 101.5 fm!"  (He's really excited.)  He goes on...."Marilyn Manson is on and Beautiful People."

This may not be that crazy to you.  However, my bunkie is black.  And he listens to country and rock & roll.  He hates rap music.  This kids is a fuckin' trip.  And together, we're nuts.  He only has two months left before he goes home.  I swear he's the best bunkie I've ever had. 

I do a heavy chest routine.  My pecs are freaky.  This nut-bag calls them my "man boobs."  He either calls me 'dude' or 'man boobs'.  Yeah, it's funny as hell.  I can't help but laugh.  Some days I have the upper hand. The other day he tore me up with "Hey, man boobs!  You know when you get old, you're gonna have titties!  Then you can wear those high heels for sure." 

All I can do is laugh.  The kid's funny.  Plus, I'll get beat up for a good laugh.  He went off.  Man boobs.  God, the people you meet here. 

I've been blessed.  It helps your time pass quicker when you keep it light.  This kid is 24-7 pulling pranks.  I'll get up at 2 am to piss....come back and he's in my bed curled up.  Fuckin' idiot.  So, really this has no point.  Just Part II of Eviction Notice. 

I hope that you are blessed with a great bunkie.  If you are not....hit him (or her) with an eviction notice!  And don't snatch panties or leave high heels out.  Someone could get hurt...or the wrong idea. 

Word!!

Happy Holidays

"The Holidays are here.

Isn't this the time of year you look back and reflect?  ...Make your silly little resolutions that sound nice, make us feel better, then we never do them and leave ourselves feeling like failures.  Like the gym membership that will be used once or twice.  A vow to quit smoking that lasts only until your in-laws show up to have dinner.  Then you're on the back porch, sucking down a Camel.

(Yeah -- this kind, you sick-o!)

Or how about drinking less?  Isn't that what the holidays are for?  If you're a kid, you think presents.  If you're an adult...you think booze and food.  I like to booze while I hang the lights.

So I'm looking back.  ...All those nice memories.  Like the time I crafted the perfect ice ball, then hid in the bushes to catch my big brother when he stepped outside...only to have him duck and my ice ball smashed into his six-year-old daughter's face.  I am instantly the worst uncle in the world.  "Sorry Sheila!"

Then the time I demonstrated my immense skill to pedal a BMX bike to record speeds.  While passing our campsite, my little brother Phillip steps into the road and I hit him dead center.  He goes flying, blood is everywhere, and once again....all fingers are on me."

(*Note from Ester: Drugs did something bad to Mike's memory, because that was on Spring Break one year, and all fingers were pointed at Ester because I hit him... riding Mike's bike, which, unbeknownst to me, had NO brakes.  Phil has a black eye and a concussion and my mom couldn't look at me for a couple hours, so my brother and Dad took me to see the movie Sgt. Bilko.  We were camping in Biloxi, Mississippi, and Mike's stinker ass was sneaking into an Aaron Tippin concert, which I didn't know 'til I typed up this post for him.  Just to clear all that up - We all would have corrected him if he had tried to make this claim around the holiday dinner table too, so... anyway.  Sorry for that detour.  On with the show:*)

"Of course, there are all the hunting and fishing memories.  My dad put me in the front of his canoe one year.  Big mistake.  Ten year old boys love big splashes.  So it didn't matter if we were fishing sunfish, I was using a deep-sea lure with half the hooks in my tackle box.  I guess I wound up to cast that sucker all the way across Houghton Lake.  And...my lure must have resembled a bug.  For that quick second it dangled in dad's face, he felt the need to swat it out of his way.  At that very second I hooked my dad and made a memory that we will both never forget.

That's really my life in a nutshell.  The picture perfect days, well...they are really only remembered for a short time.  It's those major mishaps that last a lifetime.

Giving tattoos in prison is frowned on.  So, it's an undercover operation.  You need a look out, and a hidden corner.  We have both.  Personally, I sew a hidden pocket on the inside crotch area of my pants.  For special occasions.  Like when the cops come in and you're in the middle of a tattoo.  Very quickly, I cram the tattoo machine and battery pack into this hidden pocket that hangs between my legs.  The idea is if they search me, hopefully they won't go high enough into my crotch to feel my nuts, or my stash spot.

So, the machine is stashed.  The cops walk past.  ...Doesn't get five feet away from me and the power wire reconnects to the machine and the needle is now piercing my ball sack.  Intense pain follows.  Just as the officer turns to look, I smack the machine to disconnect the power wire.  Thing is, the officer and all the guys just see me smack myself in the nut sack.  Bottom line, I got away that day.  That's good.  However, I tattooed, then smacked, the family jewels.  I have been called a freak, but even that was a little far for me.

These memories, at the time, make you feel two inches tall - make you wish you could just disappear - yet later down the road they make you laugh.  Those are the memories you will never forget.  They're the memories that become the very staples of our lives.

What are you grateful for?  Ask yourself that.  I'm thankful for my peeps.  My family.  My woman.  I would like to tell you Happy Holidays.  Thank you all for being a part of my life.

May the Detroit Lions rule the field Thanksgiving Day.  And don't get tangled in the lights and fall off the roof.

On a sidenote, J.J. is thankful to Sevendust, as it took 1st place for the most used keyword, bringing in a ton of traffic to the blog. At number two: "Porn for Women."  ...This touched me somewhere deep inside.  God bless you.  I take the first place award previously given to Sevendust, and bestow it on you.  May God also bless whoever linked that as a keyword.  Fuckin' genius!  And...if J.J. is bringing in MEN searching for "porn for women," then shame on whoever used that as a keyword. 

ESTER!!  Are you playing jokes on me again?  I told you I don't need anymore pen pals.  Silly wabbit!  This dick is for my chick.

Ok, before I am completely sidetracked.....hug your family, call your momma, kiss your wife.

Happy Holidays from the King Hooligan!"


***Hey guys and girls!  Remember to "Follow" the blog through Google Friend Connect for a chance to win great prizes!  We'll have a drawing when we have 50 followers!

Happy Thanksgiving

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

Sex, Chair-Lifts, & Falling Space Debris

I’m looking back at the month of October.  Fall is here.  The temperature begins to cool off.  My boy Scottie is a free man.  This month I hit 33 years old, and J.J. is soon going to hit the one-year mark.

The other day I went and shaved my head.  My head, silly.  But now I have you wondering, huh?

“Manscaping” was posted and my own mother said it’s the funniest piece she has ever read.

Then again, I called my mother last weekend and she was at a ski-resort.  She had been riding the chair-lift the night before.

*Not really our mother

(Also not the kind of chair-lift she was probably riding... Probably.

...Who knows?  Man, I want one now.)

I guess there’s a bar at the top of the hill and one at the bottom.  That is so that during the winter, people who are there to ski can warm up and have a drink.  Please note, it’s not winter and my mother doesn’t ski.

…So that leaves the drinking and riding the ski-lift.  In the late summer.  So you think I’m a crazy-ass dude?  Apples don’t fall far from the tree.

I heard a guy down the street from me got a D.U.I. while driving his lawn-mower to the store drunk.  Why he didn’t just lower the deck and cut the median on the way… seems that would look less conspicuous.

Then again, they said he was drunk, right?  I wonder what gave him away?  The lawn-mower pulled over the curb in front of the 7-11?  …Or was it the case of beer between his legs? 

Uhh… stick to the chair-lift, Mama.  And I love you.  Coffee?  Say… Saturday around 8 a.m.?  Will you be up?  OK – see you then!

Scottie!  So main-man, what’s up?  Miss you brother!  You know I have to ask…did you get laid yet?  Right!  How was it, anyway?  A case of premature ejaculation?  She grabs your hand and pulls you toward the bedroom… hello, release #1.

OK – I’ll cut you some slack.  So you made it to the bedroom.  Panties drop, and you drop…your load.  Was she laughing?  “But Scottie…you didn’t even put it in yet!”

I’ll bet once you get into to the deed, you’ll sound like a traffic cop: ‘Slowly proceed… OK, slower… STOP!  No! Stop!  Hold still…don’t move!’ 

It’s ok dude – every man has been there.  Finally you’ll just say fuck it, thrust like a jack-hammer, then collapse.  That’s what women expect anyway J

Do what I would do.  Get off before you even go to meet her.  Try to get off twice.  Lose some tension.

I would say to try that disconnect thing – like thinking about something else.  But, my friend, that’s not going to help either.  As soon as you see her London and France, you’re gonna pretty much lock in.  God… you lucky bastard!

I hear guys say, “Well, my first meal will be a baked potato with steak.”

Yeah, I’ll take some meat.  RAW.  And eat at that Southern joint.  I think that comment just went south on me….

Scottie, be nice you little shit! 

The day I’m out, I’m gonna hug my Mama, tell her I love her, then grab my own girl and go off to do my own premature ejaculation.  I figure about two weeks should cure me of that.  I’ll leave as Cabin Boy and come back as Superman.  I wonder if she wears panties.  Hmm…I’ll find out.

So, homie – I see you checking in as “Scott-Free” – I dig it!  Stay true.  I love you, brother!

Just one last topic before I go. 

A dude steps up to me the other day and says, “Don’t go outside on Friday.  Space Debris will be falling and may kill you.”

Umm… what the fuck did you just say?

Now, we have some whack-jobs in the chain gang.  However, this dude is pretty stand-up.

So I’m waiting for some punch-line. 

Then he says, “You know – pieces from satellites, shit from airplanes, a screw from a space shuttle, so on.”

I’m still looking at him sideways.  Space debris?  Is this for real?

(Sorry guys - this is how out-of-date this post became while Ester's been camping...)

He tells me most will be burned up before reaching Earth.  However, some pieces will make it through.

Well, people, if you’re walking your dog and get killed by a screw from a space shuttle…then I’m afraid it was your time to go. 

So just in case… let’s just say a broken satellite chunk comes and kills me while I’m running the track.  Ester, you’re in charge, OK?  I love you all!!

Nah- I’m putting my faith in God and superheroes.  Just in case some shrapnel takes me out – Ester, sell the damn thing.  Put it on eBay (the space shrapnel) for sale – “slightly used.  Make an offer.”  Ha!

Rock on, Hooligans!

Watch for falling debris.

-J.J.    

Butterflies

Note from Ester: Shortly after Michael's daughter started writing to him, I noticed his artwork suddenly broadened into lovely, soft, feminine pieces.  ...Like this one :)

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

Oh yeah!  I decided to do an early drawing, because if we wait til we have 100 or even 200 followers, my child will be old enough to say "Hooligan."  So all you have to do to enter is FOLLOW THE BLOG.  That's it.  I;m going to do a drawing soon and if you are a follower, you'll have a 1-in-50-chance of being The Winner of Rad Shhtuff.  So follow the blog.  And win something.  Maybe :)   

Meet My Daughter

"Since the beginning, I have thrown myself under the bus.  I began J.J. with a short series called “My Life.” That created a time-line.  Many parts from during that time went unmentioned.  For various reasons.  I had no idea the direction Jailbird would take.

Let’s go back.  Way back.  Some of you may know more about me than others.  I’m gonna fill in some blanks.  …Like the fact that I have a wonderful 14-year-old daughter.

I was 16 years old.  My parents dragged me to church every Sunday.  Only one thing made this bearable: A beautiful young lady who attended my youth group.

We began dating and, at the age of 17, learned we were going to be parents.  Being kids ourselves, we had no idea what we would face.  It didn’t help matters when I cheated on my daughter’s mother.  That for sure made it all around our little town.  Just having a baby at 17 was news enough in a place like that – add to that, I’m now a cheater.  I fucked it all up.  And I’ve said sorry a hundred times.  It doesn’t help, but I learned a lesson.

After a little over a year of me being a royal pain in the ass, my [now] ex-girlfriend and I sat down.  It was time to decide what we would do.  We both loved our little girl.  Yet we were also kids.  We made the hardest decision of our lives way back then, many years ago.  We decided to give our little girl up for adoption.  We chose the parents, and the day we met them in that courthouse to sign the papers… me and my high-school sweetheart signed our lives away.

That is the day I broke.  I walked out of that courthouse, packed my car, and in two days was in Florida.

I began to run that day.  Been running ever since.  Ran so long and so hard, I forgot what I was running from.  I was running from failure, and drugs became my numbing agent.  I became a slave to them.

Nearly four years ago, I came to prison.  Many years had passed and I hadn’t seen or contacted my daughter.

During my stay here in DOC (department of corrections), my daughter came looking for me.  Bless her heart!  She found one broken-ass, angry man.  Not a man to be proud of.  Not a man to call Dad.  No, not much of a man at all.

Now…you read my blog.  You have read about the old me, and you have come on a journey with me.  You see where I am in my heart today.  Thing is… my daughter had the biggest part to play in the best changes in me, and until now I have kept her off the pages of J.J.

Ester wrote today and suggested that I write about my baby.  There was no hesitation.  She’s half me.  She’s the only thing, to this day, that Mike Smith didn’t fuck up.  She holds my heart and she is the very best of me.  If you have kids then you know what I’m trying to say.  She is perfect.

I see myself in her eyes.  Her eyes are blue.  So blue they penetrate you.  She writes me.  She calls me her birth-father, she calls me Michael.  But when that 14-year-old girl writes Michael, I hear a thousand angels singing my name.

If this blog wasn’t personal enough already, it is now.  This is my kid.  My baby.  My heart and soul.

My daughter is an artist and we draw pictures for each other.  She asks me to show her new techniques.  Different styles.  She’s the best.

I don’t care if she ever calls me Dad.  She knows who I am, and she knows I love her.

Going back to that day allowed me to be healed.  I just hope having me back in her life can heal a little part of her as well.  I’m sure it will… she came and found me. 

My baby will be 20 years old when I am free.  She will be a woman.  In some ways, I am missing her growing up.  In other ways, she is right here with me.  I was given a second chance.  A second chance to do it right this time.  Baby, your birth-father loves you.  God, you make me laugh.  You keep your chin up, little lady.  I’ll be home before you know it.  Hey – you owe me a letter!"

A Hooligan Turns 33

On November 14, 1978 I was born in a small farmhouse in Lawrenceport, Indiana.  The first son to Guy and Debby Smith.  We had very little.  We had one-other and a chicken coop full of chickens.  Those were simple times.  That was a lifetime ago.

From that farmhouse, we moved several hours north to a small town in Michigan.  My dad bought an old school bus, packed our things, and moved us to the very place my mother still lives today.  There was no house there nearly 25 years ago when we moved North.  My dad built the house while we lived in that school bus.  Those too, were some simple times.

During my teenage years we moved to yet another small town nearby.  I went to the local high school, hunted deer, fished nearly every bit of water in that area, and in the winter raced sled dogs.  ...And then life became complicated for me.  You can read it.  The 'My Life' series you see on Jailbird began.

I'm about to spend yet one more birthday in prison.  This year I will turn 33 years old.  And I am looking back.  ...Catching a glimpse of a blonde hair, blue eyed little boy.  A boy who was happy.  Then I see that boy grew up.  Turning into a chunky teenager with bad acne.  Struggling to pass classes, beginning to notice girls, and being a teenager.  Tough times...tough times.

If I could go back, there's a couple things I would change.  Then again, those are the very scars I see, and remind me of who I am.  Who knows just how many more birthdays I will spend back here.  Time will tell.

As a kid you get excited about gifts you'll get.  As an adult, well, you just say..."Damn! One year closer to 40!"  Really, come on 40!  I'll turn 40 out there.  That's the best part about me reaching 40.  I'll be a free man.  This year I hope to give a gift back to my family.  That would be me.

I wasn't born in a hospital.  No, my dad delivered me in that simple little farmhouse, 33 years ago.  Just me, my mom, my dad, and God.  To hear my mom tell it, God was right there.  And tell it mom does.

That's our yearly tradition.  My mom tells me about that day.  The day she had her son.  I've heard this story every year.  I can recite it word for word.  Doesn't matter...every year I ask mom to tell me 'my' story.  And she does.  As if I've never heard it before.  As if it's the very first time.  This year I will call my momma.  She'll tell me Happy Birthday.  We will visit.  We will chat.  And mom will wait...

She will wait on me to ask..."Mom, will you tell me about the day I was born?"  I will hear her smile over the phone.  She will smile with pride, as if I've never made a mistake in my life.  As if I'm still her little angel.  She will smile.  And say, "Of course, son."  And she will begin...

"Well, Michael, I woke up that day and I knew...I knew this was the day you would be born."

I will be quiet and I will listen.  I will try not to let mom hear the tears that slide down my cheek.  But I can picture my mother.  The woman who brought me into this world.  Sitting on the other end of the phone line.  Pride and love in her voice as she tells me once again the story of me.

It won't matter that I'm in prison.  ...Broke the law all my life.  Hurt people.  No, my mother will smile and swear I'm still her little blonde hair, blue eyed boy.  Chasing chickens in the yard.  And I will be real quiet.  Because for that minute in time that's exactly who I am.  A little boy who needs his mom to love him.  Take his side and hold him.

So mom, you know I'll be calling.  33 years have went by.  Do you think I'm tired of hearing my story?  Not a chance.  Matter of fact, every year it becomes more important to me.  So, when you hear me get real quiet, just keep on going.  I'm right here.  And, in some crazy way you're right here with me.

It won't be much longer mom...I'll be coming up the back trail.  I still have the blonde hair and blue eyes.  That little boy grew up, but the man turned out OK.  Diamonds in the rough...

The 14th is on a Monday this year.  I'll call you between 8 and 9 mom.  We'll do that thing we do.  Hey!  I love you!

Aaron, Abigail, Ester, Grace and Phil...your big brother loves you.  All I want this year on my birthday is for each one of you to call mom and tell her you love.  Do that for me.  That's all folks.

Much Love.

Slash

A short time ago Ester posted me and my guitar.  I sang some song by Pearl Jam.  I love Pearl Jam, but one of my biggest influences was learning from Slash of Guns 'N' Roses.  One of my first CDs was "Use Your Illusion" I & II.  'Civil War,' 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door,' and 'November Rain' were some of my favorites on those records.  As a band,Guns 'N' Roses has pumped out hits over and over again.  'Paradise City', 'Sweet Child O' Mine'....just to name a couple. Slash is a phenomenal guitar player.  So I drew him.  The guitar is probably my favorite part (as far as the detail goes).  If you look through their band pics, they were always near a bottle of Jack Daniels.  Cheers to great music, killer guitar players and good liquor!

Rock On!
The Hooligan

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

~21~

Last week I was introduced to another prisoner's blog: The Death Row Poet.  I read the article.  He has been on the local news and he is making quite a splash. 

This man has a name.  His name is Ronnie.  Ronnie writes about how corrupt the prison system is.  Ronnie is also quick to point out the side effects his writing has caused him to experience at the 'Hilton' (a.k.a Raiford Corrections Institute).  I noted that he stated you have to choose your battles carefully.  I agree.

(Ronnie Clark from his blog)

However, Ronnie has balls.  This man is single handedly taking on the prison system.  A world to itself.  Sure, these prisons may be in your backyard, yet they make their own rules.  On your side of the fence, you are suppose to be innocent until proven guilty.  Step on this side, we're just guilty.  Sadly, 80% of these guys will just sit back and eat the shit sandwich fed to them each day.  Not Ronnie.  No, Ronnie is standing up. 

Ronnie, your gonna get this message.  I'll see to it that you do.  I'm a fellow brother in blue.  Your voice is not only heard on the outside, but we hear you on the inside too.  I don't need to tell you what it means to be 21.  (For those of you that do not know....being 21 is a statement in the chain-gang that means 'I am a man.'  I still have a set of nuts between my legs.  When push comes to shove, I'll stand up.)  Ronnie, X53314 is 21.   

There is good sense in choosing battles 'wisely'.  I know full well what happens behind these fences.  Things that you, out there, will never know because we are a world to ourselves.  I handle what's handed to me the best that I can.  I also have a mother, three sisters, a 14-year old daughter and a woman - all who want me to come home.  So, these days I remind myself of this when I choose my battles. 

At my very first prison, I was given the tour.  The full tour.  I waited two weeks before I called my mom and told her.  Now, we have a system...if I don't phone home every three days, them my mother calls the warden to find out where the hell her son is.  It's possible to get lost back here.  Many dudes get lost in confinement.  So me and my people set up safeties.  My people don't play.  They get involved.

I'm lucky to have this.  It saves me all the time.  Plenty of dudes back here have no one.  No one to help them.  I do.  I also have a voice. For this very reason I will step up and let Ronnie (a.k.a The Death Row Poet) know that his voice is heard.

I read his article in a Jacksonville newspaper.  After reading it, I called my girl and asked her look it up.  She then sent me some of his material.  Just reading his blog lets me know he has people who care.  Ronnie's mat on Death Row may quite possibly be the only comfort he has.  Yet that will keep you warm.  Yes, knowing that you are not forgotten will indeed keep you warm.  Even if the food sucks! 

One of the biggest points I would like to make is how good it is to feel supported.  It's good for the guards and staff to see that we have family, friends and even strangers who care.  This will cause them to hopefully rethink and consider what form of punishment they decide to hand down. 

There is a set of rules.  For both guards and inmates.  Ours are constantly being revised and changed to rule over us better.  But who enforces their rules?  Ask them and it's all under control.  Ask Ronnie, myself, or any other person who has done time...you'll get a different answer. 

It's a spark that creates a flame.  That flame becomes a fire that begins to burn.  Nascar says...."Gentlemen start your engines!"  The U.F.C. says...."Let's get ready to rumble!"  I like the way my girl says it the best..."Let's throw some rocks, Baby!" 

Well, baby, we're throwing rocks.

Bottom line, I'm 21.  We named the project the Judicious Jailbird.  I want it to also be 21.  We will stand up.  I see you Ronnie.




------> (Psst!  Remember to follow the blog for a chance to win great J.J. merchandise!)

Give Me One More Chance.

Last week I read about a man who writes for a blog from Death Row.  He made front page of the Jacksonville paper due to his blunt basking of the Florida prison system.  You go Mr. Death Row Poet.

He was given an interview in which he was asked, "Do you feel ready to be released?"

Since reading that article I have asked myself that same question a hundred times.  Over the past 3.5 years of my prison sentence I have many times thought about that day.

What is the American dream?  Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  Is that still your dream?  Just prior to coming to prison, my life was anything but.  I was pursuing the other American dream...get high...stay high.

When I read the Death Row Poet's interview, I was taken by his response.  Today, for me, my life is a mission to better myself.  Even my blog is used to reach out.  Sometimes, it is just about a simple laugh.  Other times, I am serious and use my life experiences to make a point, but let's move on.  Let's move toward something.

My goal is no longer to get high.  Ask me!  Ask me if I'm ready to go home.  Ask me if I'm ready to be a man to my woman, a role model to my child, a big brother to my siblings.  My answer is YES!

Every day of my life is spent planning for that day.  Making sure that I'm ready.  Fixing my relationships, putting drugs and past addictions further behind me.  Replacing the bad people in my life with ones who love me for me, people who stand beside me, and see me as a changed man.  My support group.

Ask me if I'm ready to go home...I'll give you the opposite answer the Death Row Poet gave.  Then again, we are different in many ways.  From day one, the Judicious Jailbird has been used to spark change...To inspire you to think.  To not take life for granted. To enjoy your freedom.  To grab just one more kiss from your partner before you head out that door.  To remember to call your momma and tell her how much you love her.  To be a better parent.  To smile, laugh, be silly and be ALIVE!

I'm not writing to point fingers.  I do not blame my fuck-ups on anyone else.  I'm a full-grown man and I accept responsibility for my mistakes.  This is the only way you can then work through them and fix them...fix yourself!

So instead of being angry, pointing fingers at others, talking bad about the prison, or how it's ran...I speak bad about drugs, crime, and the real issues that brought me here.  At the end of the day, I brought me here.  My mission now is to get right so I can get me back out there.

Yeah, I'm ready to go.  I have my woman, my daughter, and a solid business plan.  My family knows that I love them.  I know where I'm going.  I know how to get there.  The people who doubted me, pulled me down, held me back...well, they were the first ones to go.  Some days I see these prison bars as a giant sifter.  These bars have sifted out the good and the bad...separated me from the good in me and the bad that tried to overtake me.  I came into prison and the bullshit stopped here.  The bad in my life slowly sifted away.  Now you meet the man who stands here today. 

The drugs are gone.  Bad people are gone.  The wrong woman is gone.  My old views are gone.  Yes, the bad in my life has been sifted out by the very bars meant to confine me.  Hold me down.  Lock me in.  Punish me.  The very bars that in the end...saved my life.

Today, I'm glad that I came here.  The judge saved my life in September of 2008 when he handed me a prison sentence.  I'm just happy that instead of ranting and raving about how prison sucks and I'm angry...I used this experience to better myself.  To change my life.  Today I put a whole new price tag on freedom.  People, it's priceless.  Until you've lost it, you can't see what its full value is....unless...

Unless I can paint you a picture you can appreciate.  A picture you can fully grasp.

So, did you go in for a second kiss lately?  Did you put a love note on the seat of your spouse's car?  Have you made plans to take your kids somewhere special this weekend?  Why don't you get on that.  You only live once...enjoy your freedom.  I am going to keep fighting to get mine back.

About Me

Ok.  Since coming to prison, I have attended the wellness program offered to inmates for personal fitness.  Once completed, I was awarded a certificate and then asked to join alumni and teach the next class, which is ran by inmates with the direction of a correction officer.  I taught and assisted in two classes after my graduation (classes last 12 weeks each).  The wellness program is the only program offered to inmates at the Gulf Correctional Institute.

In August of 2010 I was transferred from Gulf C.I. to my current location, Wakulla Correctional Institute (W.C.I.).  This prison offers a handful of courses.  Most courses have a waiting list of six months or more, depending on the desired class.

The first class I was able to enroll in was Credit & Debt Management.  Most inmates come into the prison system and leave bills in the outside world unattended.  Myself included.  This class takes you step-by-step through repairing damaged credit.  I was able to order my credit report and begin to fix areas that needed help.  I graduated this class and then moved on to a business class titled Developing a Business Concept.

Many times it's a struggle for newly released inmates to find work.  Developing a Business Concept provided a step-by-step course in showcasing how to take a trade you enjoy and create a business.  Then, how to setup and manage this business.  We were asked to decide on a business, then during class we setup this business by applying for insurance, business licenses, certificates, permits, etc.  We also had to choose our target market, and create an advertising plan to reach that market; choosing forms of advertising such as a local paper or fliers.  I enjoyed this class.  The business that I created during class was a commercial real estate office, serving the central Florida area.  I passed this class and I have a certificate of completion.

During this time, I also took a yoga class and a bible/devotional fellowship course.  I am currently on a waiting list for Creative Writing and Money Marketing.

I find it exciting to learn new things.  I play sports and lift weights, but it's encouraging to know that I'm learning things I can use in the free world.  My goal is to better myself while I am behind bars.  That's a struggle, at times, since many of the prisons do not offer classes.  Or, they did at one time, but due to budget cuts classes and extra-curricular activities have been cut.  Many of the Florida prisons use to offer classes.  However, currently only a handful now offer any self-help programs.  Many of which are also being removed as the Florida prison system struggles with housing issues.

I am currently eligible for a transfer to the prison of my choice.  I am basing my choice on prisons that offer classes I have not yet completed.  However, those prisons have a long waiting list for that reason.  Presently, it is nearly a two year wait to be transferred to the camp that I choose.

I will continue to better myself, even though it seems frustrating at times.  It would be much easier to just lay down, shut up and fade into the brick walls.....something I can not do!

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