Ester found this video on Sociological Images.
(Click on the link for a more in-depth analysis of the video).
Tell us, what WOULD you do?
Tell us, what WOULD you do?
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Live Fast. Ride Faster.
J.J. lives by this motto himself. In the car. On the Harley. On a bike. Really, J.J. is ready to go as fast as possible whenever, wherever. How about you?
Friday, February 24, 2012
Right 2 Remain Silent!
Tonight I'm sitting on my bunk in prison. I just blew a kiss to my girl. Said a small prayer for all my peoples, and now here I sit. I will celebrate the day I am free. Never will I take my freedom for granted again.
My woman just sent me Jesse James' book, American Outlaw. All afternoon I have been reading it. Uhh...I'm talking about the tattooed biker, not the bank robber. I see we have some shit in common. He knows Kid Rock. So do I. Well, his name is Bobby, and he was screwing my ex-wife for a while. And, obviously, I don't know him quite as well as she did. And that's quite alright.
Back to the book...I like the book. I watched Discovery Channel's Biker Build-Off and Monster Garage . But, it's a tad hard to keep up on those shows from here. The officers like to leave the channel on the nature station, which is great if you want to learn more about the grey-dwarf barn owl. It's real peaceful.
So, thank God my woman loves me and sends me cool stuff to read. I blew her a kiss, said a prayer, put a book mark in my new book, and grabbed a pen and paper. Here I am. I am thinking about how time passes by. My art for the New Year was 2011 in a blender. Basically saying "let it go." Thing is, it wasn't a bad year for me. I learned a lot. I grew as a person. I fell in love. I became part of my family again. And, of course, I pissed some people off as well. It seems I will always do that no matter how many changes I make in my life.
My sister Ester has left Alaska and returned to Michigan. I have talked to her many times since she has returned to Michigan. It had been a long time since we spoke. Even longer since I last saw her. Gosh, it's been many, many years. She sounds good. Ester and her husband are having a baby. I am so excited for them. During 2011 Ester and I built the Jailbird Project. In 2012, Ester will be moving on to tackle motherhood. There will be some changes. I'm guaranteed to still talk mad shit. Fairly certain I will piss someone off. But the project will still roll on. This project, and writing or drawing for it, helps me do my time. Some don't like that I have this freedom. Let's not forget this freedom came at a huge cost. I don't live on your side of the fence anymore. I can't watch Monster Garage anymore and the food is nasty. There are other down falls as well. My mother only sees her oldest son once a year. Other than that she get me collect. Fifteen minutes at a time. That's the same way my woman gets me. At 14-years old, my daughter is without her father.
Yeah. I like to know that times keeps moving. I like to know that another year rolls by. That ball drops in Times Square again. That ball falling sure does beat the judge's gavel when it fell and sentenced me to 12-years in prison. My judge is the same Judge Perry that sentenced Casey Anthony. Maybe he was having a bad day the day he saw me for a probation violation.
Some days I don't understand things. I understand that I will be fed a breakfast tray at 4:30 a.m. And it's nearly that time now. I understand I have the right to remain silent. Anything I say will be used against me. That's true in both life, and the courtroom.
I was silent that day in court. But today? I'm not so quiet.
 |
| Nope, that is not the one and only J.J. |
My woman just sent me Jesse James' book, American Outlaw. All afternoon I have been reading it. Uhh...I'm talking about the tattooed biker, not the bank robber. I see we have some shit in common. He knows Kid Rock. So do I. Well, his name is Bobby, and he was screwing my ex-wife for a while. And, obviously, I don't know him quite as well as she did. And that's quite alright.
Back to the book...I like the book. I watched Discovery Channel's Biker Build-Off and Monster Garage . But, it's a tad hard to keep up on those shows from here. The officers like to leave the channel on the nature station, which is great if you want to learn more about the grey-dwarf barn owl. It's real peaceful.
 |
| See? Real peaceful. |
So, thank God my woman loves me and sends me cool stuff to read. I blew her a kiss, said a prayer, put a book mark in my new book, and grabbed a pen and paper. Here I am. I am thinking about how time passes by. My art for the New Year was 2011 in a blender. Basically saying "let it go." Thing is, it wasn't a bad year for me. I learned a lot. I grew as a person. I fell in love. I became part of my family again. And, of course, I pissed some people off as well. It seems I will always do that no matter how many changes I make in my life.
My sister Ester has left Alaska and returned to Michigan. I have talked to her many times since she has returned to Michigan. It had been a long time since we spoke. Even longer since I last saw her. Gosh, it's been many, many years. She sounds good. Ester and her husband are having a baby. I am so excited for them. During 2011 Ester and I built the Jailbird Project. In 2012, Ester will be moving on to tackle motherhood. There will be some changes. I'm guaranteed to still talk mad shit. Fairly certain I will piss someone off. But the project will still roll on. This project, and writing or drawing for it, helps me do my time. Some don't like that I have this freedom. Let's not forget this freedom came at a huge cost. I don't live on your side of the fence anymore. I can't watch Monster Garage anymore and the food is nasty. There are other down falls as well. My mother only sees her oldest son once a year. Other than that she get me collect. Fifteen minutes at a time. That's the same way my woman gets me. At 14-years old, my daughter is without her father.
Yeah. I like to know that times keeps moving. I like to know that another year rolls by. That ball drops in Times Square again. That ball falling sure does beat the judge's gavel when it fell and sentenced me to 12-years in prison. My judge is the same Judge Perry that sentenced Casey Anthony. Maybe he was having a bad day the day he saw me for a probation violation.
Some days I don't understand things. I understand that I will be fed a breakfast tray at 4:30 a.m. And it's nearly that time now. I understand I have the right to remain silent. Anything I say will be used against me. That's true in both life, and the courtroom.
I was silent that day in court. But today? I'm not so quiet.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Mail Call!
Communication tends to vary from one person to the next. Like your lover may have greeted you at the door with nothing on...only a rose in her mouth and a can of whip cream in her hand on Valentine's Day. Here, our lovers would need to send a photo of that. And.....the mail room isn't going to let that type of greeting in. No, I'm afraid you will be shut down. But! If it's the thought that counts...
This is my personal conflict. Mail that comes into the prison. I understand security needs to make sure no pipe bombs have been put into that sweet Valentine's Day card. What about the mail that goes out? This prison shakes us down once a week. Their officers come into our dorm and sift through each article of our personal property. To top it off, this is a faith and character based camp. They are really over the top here. Which brings us to the mail.
Tampering with mail is a federal offense. Not a small offense...a federal offense! Before the mail is inspected the people inspecting are suppose to be certified. They are then instructed to 'scan' the content of the mail. Looking for items that could be deemed a 'threat' to the institution.
Up until a year ago, there was a large mailbox at the front gate where we put outgoing mail. That mail was picked up by an office, then taken to a sorting room where it was dumped on the floor and kicked around a bit. My art is usually bent in half; at times torn, and other times completely lost. That was the old system.
About six months ago maintenance came around and installed mailboxes in each dorm. Most camps then send a certified mail carrier to each dorm to pick up mail each night. Not this camp. Prison mail is divided into two categories. Legal mail and personal mail. Personal mail can be inspected by officers. Legal mail may not. This is for security purposes. Your dorm officers are not privy to your charges and offenses. Personal problems then arise and many times a conflict of interest. For this reason legal mail is done by a personal call-out. All personal mail comes directly to your dorm to be passed out. The problem?
With mailboxes being installed in each dorm now the dorm officers collect our mail. Then, they sit during their 8 hour, midnight shift and read our personal mail. First problem? They are not certified. Second problem? They are our dorm officer and are not privy to that level of personal information on us, nor our people's personal lives. And last but not least....they don't scan read....they read word-for-word. The problem in this is that we openly talk about family issues and many times legal issues with our family. The very topics, that for security reasons, our dorm officers are not suppose to view our mail. And, in a couple cases those very officers have approached inmates because they took personal offense to a topic that was discussed. This is the very reason a certified mail handler is to scan read outgoing mail.
Instead, we watch officers sit and laugh at our jokes, ponder our personal problems and read when we comfort our siblings. I'm left feeling violated. There is a difference between protecting and serving. Wait....my bad. That's your cops out there that respond to that call. The motto here? Never walk alone.
I broke the law. Not only is my house torn down once a week for an inspection of all I own, but my family is dragged into the mix as well. Some officer back here knows way too much about my family and loved ones. Now they know my legal issues and when I talk sex with my woman. Are there any lines? If so, where are they?
This is my personal conflict. Mail that comes into the prison. I understand security needs to make sure no pipe bombs have been put into that sweet Valentine's Day card. What about the mail that goes out? This prison shakes us down once a week. Their officers come into our dorm and sift through each article of our personal property. To top it off, this is a faith and character based camp. They are really over the top here. Which brings us to the mail.
Tampering with mail is a federal offense. Not a small offense...a federal offense! Before the mail is inspected the people inspecting are suppose to be certified. They are then instructed to 'scan' the content of the mail. Looking for items that could be deemed a 'threat' to the institution.
Up until a year ago, there was a large mailbox at the front gate where we put outgoing mail. That mail was picked up by an office, then taken to a sorting room where it was dumped on the floor and kicked around a bit. My art is usually bent in half; at times torn, and other times completely lost. That was the old system.
About six months ago maintenance came around and installed mailboxes in each dorm. Most camps then send a certified mail carrier to each dorm to pick up mail each night. Not this camp. Prison mail is divided into two categories. Legal mail and personal mail. Personal mail can be inspected by officers. Legal mail may not. This is for security purposes. Your dorm officers are not privy to your charges and offenses. Personal problems then arise and many times a conflict of interest. For this reason legal mail is done by a personal call-out. All personal mail comes directly to your dorm to be passed out. The problem?
With mailboxes being installed in each dorm now the dorm officers collect our mail. Then, they sit during their 8 hour, midnight shift and read our personal mail. First problem? They are not certified. Second problem? They are our dorm officer and are not privy to that level of personal information on us, nor our people's personal lives. And last but not least....they don't scan read....they read word-for-word. The problem in this is that we openly talk about family issues and many times legal issues with our family. The very topics, that for security reasons, our dorm officers are not suppose to view our mail. And, in a couple cases those very officers have approached inmates because they took personal offense to a topic that was discussed. This is the very reason a certified mail handler is to scan read outgoing mail.
Instead, we watch officers sit and laugh at our jokes, ponder our personal problems and read when we comfort our siblings. I'm left feeling violated. There is a difference between protecting and serving. Wait....my bad. That's your cops out there that respond to that call. The motto here? Never walk alone.
I broke the law. Not only is my house torn down once a week for an inspection of all I own, but my family is dragged into the mix as well. Some officer back here knows way too much about my family and loved ones. Now they know my legal issues and when I talk sex with my woman. Are there any lines? If so, where are they?
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Start Your Engines......
The Giants won the Super Bowl. Kelly Clarkson nailed the National Anthem. Madonna did her thing. And companies spent millions of dollars on commercials. Yep, football season is a wrap. That means only one thing......NASCAR SEASON! Dayton 500 is just around the corner. Cheers to cars driving around in circles!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Call Me "Forest"....
Fall has past, and winter is here. Depending on where you live, the leaves have changed colors and snow has covered the ground. The days get shorter and the evenings get cooler. Birds migrate South, along with old people who have arthritis. We call them both snowbirds. For some reason that makes me laugh.
For me, this means another year has come to a close, and another year has started. Time passes by. This is good. Other than that, the fence and concrete pretty much stay the same shade of grey. Not too many times do I walk along and have a "Kodak Moment!"
Today, while walking the track, I did have a pleasant flashback. The smell of fresh-cut grass. God, I love that smell. All of a sudden I was walking down the street in my old neighborhood, watching my dog pee on a mailbox, and hearing the homeowner say "Can you get your fuckin' dog?!" And.....I was homesick.
No. Not in a bad, tears-run-down-my-cheek kind of way. Nope, it was different. Have you have seen Forest Gump? He's running...and running...and running. One day he stops. He's ready to go home.
I know exactly what Forest Gump felt that day. You have completed a mission. You have reached a milestone. You have reached the end of the road. So you turn around.
This is not a bad thing. It's not a bad thing if you reach to the next plateau and climb higher. I just wonder how much higher I can climb from here. Don't get me wrong. I get that this is punishment and I am supposed to rehabilitate myself. But really, prison is not rehabilitation. The state really gives you next to nothing to better yourself. You really have to want to better your situation because it is by NO means a requirement to live here. You can use drugs, gamble, fight, and fuck if that's your mission. Trust me. Plenty of dudes live that life.
During my stay of nearly four years, I have worked towards bettering myself. My daughter is in my life. All my family and I are tight. My sister created a blog and trademarked a logo for a business. We reach out to nearly every state in the U.S. and even further. I am already making preparations for my tattoo and clothing shop. I am establishing my name in the art community. And I have a super "rad" woman in my life.
So today I smelled fresh-cut grass and had a flashback. This caused a chain reaction and made me reflect back over my life....here I sit, wondering what else can I do? I'm ready to go home.
This too shall pass. I will lay down tonight and stare up at my girl. And like Pinky & The Brain, we will come up with some new way to "take over the world." God, I miss those guys! And I miss you too Boo! :)
So Baby, what should I do now? I don't gamble. I hate drugs now. And, I'm trying to refrain from gay sex. Uhhh....that was a joke! Jenny, that leaves fighting. Fighting is fun. Really, I have no problem with that. Prison was not designed to "rehabilitate" you, but it will sure teach you to scrap like a pro. And, all these people who love me ask me not to. Well....guess I will draw some more art and talk some more shit to you. Yeah...so here I am. Lucky you!
Can we do another contest or something? Anybody want some new art? Are we getting new friends on Facebook? (I can't see any numbers. My computer crashed and I'm still waiting on the repair man. I may need a new monitor. Uhh...that was for the dumb ass who thinks we have cable TV, A/C and laptops. Fuckin' idiots.)
So, have you "friended" Judicious Jailbird yet? You can.....right here. Have you told anyone about this blog? Come on man...help me take over the world here! :) OK, a contest....that will be announced soon. Help us get some new friends, and you could win a piece of art....anything you like. I'm fuckin' board over here. Throw me a bone, will ya?!?! Or start calling me Forest Fuckin' Gump. And that's not all bad either. The dude came up with Shit Happens bumper stickers, Smiley Face t-shirts, and let's not forget Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. Last, but not least, he was in love with Jenny. A man after my own heart. (Wink. Wink.) So call me "Forest" now...friend the Jailbird before I give you the bird. Nah.....I am just running my mouth. I know, again. Much love!
For me, this means another year has come to a close, and another year has started. Time passes by. This is good. Other than that, the fence and concrete pretty much stay the same shade of grey. Not too many times do I walk along and have a "Kodak Moment!"
Today, while walking the track, I did have a pleasant flashback. The smell of fresh-cut grass. God, I love that smell. All of a sudden I was walking down the street in my old neighborhood, watching my dog pee on a mailbox, and hearing the homeowner say "Can you get your fuckin' dog?!" And.....I was homesick.
No. Not in a bad, tears-run-down-my-cheek kind of way. Nope, it was different. Have you have seen Forest Gump? He's running...and running...and running. One day he stops. He's ready to go home.
I know exactly what Forest Gump felt that day. You have completed a mission. You have reached a milestone. You have reached the end of the road. So you turn around.
This is not a bad thing. It's not a bad thing if you reach to the next plateau and climb higher. I just wonder how much higher I can climb from here. Don't get me wrong. I get that this is punishment and I am supposed to rehabilitate myself. But really, prison is not rehabilitation. The state really gives you next to nothing to better yourself. You really have to want to better your situation because it is by NO means a requirement to live here. You can use drugs, gamble, fight, and fuck if that's your mission. Trust me. Plenty of dudes live that life.
During my stay of nearly four years, I have worked towards bettering myself. My daughter is in my life. All my family and I are tight. My sister created a blog and trademarked a logo for a business. We reach out to nearly every state in the U.S. and even further. I am already making preparations for my tattoo and clothing shop. I am establishing my name in the art community. And I have a super "rad" woman in my life.
So today I smelled fresh-cut grass and had a flashback. This caused a chain reaction and made me reflect back over my life....here I sit, wondering what else can I do? I'm ready to go home.
This too shall pass. I will lay down tonight and stare up at my girl. And like Pinky & The Brain, we will come up with some new way to "take over the world." God, I miss those guys! And I miss you too Boo! :)
So Baby, what should I do now? I don't gamble. I hate drugs now. And, I'm trying to refrain from gay sex. Uhhh....that was a joke! Jenny, that leaves fighting. Fighting is fun. Really, I have no problem with that. Prison was not designed to "rehabilitate" you, but it will sure teach you to scrap like a pro. And, all these people who love me ask me not to. Well....guess I will draw some more art and talk some more shit to you. Yeah...so here I am. Lucky you!
Can we do another contest or something? Anybody want some new art? Are we getting new friends on Facebook? (I can't see any numbers. My computer crashed and I'm still waiting on the repair man. I may need a new monitor. Uhh...that was for the dumb ass who thinks we have cable TV, A/C and laptops. Fuckin' idiots.)
So, have you "friended" Judicious Jailbird yet? You can.....right here. Have you told anyone about this blog? Come on man...help me take over the world here! :) OK, a contest....that will be announced soon. Help us get some new friends, and you could win a piece of art....anything you like. I'm fuckin' board over here. Throw me a bone, will ya?!?! Or start calling me Forest Fuckin' Gump. And that's not all bad either. The dude came up with Shit Happens bumper stickers, Smiley Face t-shirts, and let's not forget Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. Last, but not least, he was in love with Jenny. A man after my own heart. (Wink. Wink.) So call me "Forest" now...friend the Jailbird before I give you the bird. Nah.....I am just running my mouth. I know, again. Much love!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
A reply from J.J.
So I made a new friend the other day. The man's name is Norman. Norman fought in the Vietnam and is a veteran. We hit if off from the start. The cool part is the age difference. I'm half Norman's age. What's age anyways, but a number? Bottom line...Norman is cool as hell.
Well, Norm sends me newspaper clippings of topics he finds interesting. You all know I am heavily tattooed and continue to get more ink. My recent news clipping was an article written by Celia Rivenbark.
In this woman's column she gave a statistic. It stated that a growing trend in the elderly community is getting tattoos. Well, she had my attention. My own mother has asked me to give her a tattoo once I'm released. This woman then goes on to belittle the idea of the elderly getting tattoos. I was raised to be respectful of my elders. Yes...even though I too am heavily tattooed. So, I will attempt to be respectful to this woman who appears to be fairly elderly herself.
However, there are a few points I would like to make.
Times have changed. A few years back only bikers, ex-prisoners, and outlaws had the desire to decorate their body with art. As society advances, and changes, so do people's views on such things as tattoos. One comment referred to old granny at the nursing home. The point continued to suggest that the nurses would all head back to the nurse's station to laugh about grandma's tattoo. My jaw dropped. I think their conversation would probably be more along the lines of how cool the grandma in room 113 is. How wild she must have been back in the day.
Personally, I want my grandchildren to one day look at me and think how the old man they see must have been a real mother-fucker back in the day. And that I shall be until the day I die.
Some grandmas drive Jaguars and wear big, loud jewelry. Others go get boob jobs and face lifts. Some spend their day in a salon getting botox. And now I hear some bad ass granny is getting inked. I think when you've lived to a certain age you should do whatever the hell makes you happy.
And.....some ladies gossip. Perhaps you should try getting tattooed!
Well, Norm sends me newspaper clippings of topics he finds interesting. You all know I am heavily tattooed and continue to get more ink. My recent news clipping was an article written by Celia Rivenbark.
In this woman's column she gave a statistic. It stated that a growing trend in the elderly community is getting tattoos. Well, she had my attention. My own mother has asked me to give her a tattoo once I'm released. This woman then goes on to belittle the idea of the elderly getting tattoos. I was raised to be respectful of my elders. Yes...even though I too am heavily tattooed. So, I will attempt to be respectful to this woman who appears to be fairly elderly herself.
However, there are a few points I would like to make.
Times have changed. A few years back only bikers, ex-prisoners, and outlaws had the desire to decorate their body with art. As society advances, and changes, so do people's views on such things as tattoos. One comment referred to old granny at the nursing home. The point continued to suggest that the nurses would all head back to the nurse's station to laugh about grandma's tattoo. My jaw dropped. I think their conversation would probably be more along the lines of how cool the grandma in room 113 is. How wild she must have been back in the day.
 | |||
| Meet Isobel Varley, the Guinness World Record Book Holder for the Worlds Most Senior Tattooed Woman. Read more at http://www.inquisitr.com/11452/worlds-most-senior-tattooed-woman/. |
Some grandmas drive Jaguars and wear big, loud jewelry. Others go get boob jobs and face lifts. Some spend their day in a salon getting botox. And now I hear some bad ass granny is getting inked. I think when you've lived to a certain age you should do whatever the hell makes you happy.
And.....some ladies gossip. Perhaps you should try getting tattooed!
Rebel Rodz
I like rebels. I like hot rods. Rebel + Rodz = one great magazine! So, in the spirit of being inspired by some of our favorite magazines back here, I bring you a new piece of art sparked by Rebel Rodz Magazine.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
What Powers You?
I have been on a roll. Well, rolling through the ink pens. Art is my passion. I blow through each day focused on my art and my future. Writing this blog helps me get through the day. My art helps me get through the day. I spend my day doing productive things that help me see pass the ugly shit around here. I stay focused. But, hell yeah, I also play games, run my mouth, and flip through magazines. Magazines often trigger memories for me. The other day I was powered by Diesel Power Magazine. Then I was inspired to draw this.......
A Favor from J.J.
OK, slackers.
This is your courtesy announcement. Don't forget your lady on Valentine's Day. You know, that special day in one week. Tighten up!!
Notice I addressed the guys. What woman forgets Valentine's Day? And it doesn't matter if they do. If a woman forgets Valentine's Day.....then you have a cool-ass chick. If you're a man, upset your chick forgot Valentines Day....then you are a bitch.
Hello Walgreen's!!! You can grab a card, a box of chocolates, some flowers, and a six-pack. The six-pack is to congratulate yourself for taking such good care of your girl. Then again, if you have the chick that forgets Valentine's Day, you really ought to grab her a six-pack too.
Valentine's Day sucked when I was a kid. Girls gave you these little cards. Then these little candies shaped like hearts that say stuff like..."Won't you be mine?" These kids are like 5. What do they know about "Won't you be mine?!"
Won't you be mine turns into a headache. 5 turns into 15. Then it's sneaking around, missed periods, and a baby on the way. So...maybe that's exaggerated some. As long as you never forget Valentine's Day, then you will be just fine.
For the record, you should do more for your girl than some Walgreen's chocolates. If you have a Publix or a Meijer (or any other large chain supermarket) you can usually find a nice variety of flowers. Hell, they may even have those 'fancy' balloons.
OK, smart ass. You want to know what I'm going to do for my chick? Well, I am an artist....so I could make a card. Then again, probably not. That's just how it goes. Growing up my dad was a carpenter and a cabinet builder, yet my mom had plywood shelves with no doors on the front. Ever meet the painter who has no paint on his own house? Why is it like this?
I'm far from lazy....I just draw so much shit I figure my girl might like something store bought. I'm like an overgrown kid. Every parent with children has a refrigerator full of pictures, paintings, report cards, and so on. And I'm a 33-year old dude doing the same damn thing. I send home art, pictures, awards, certificates and progress reports. Both my momma and my woman's fridge would be loaded with my shit if they hung it up.
Uhhhh....you ladies don't do that do you?
HA! In all honesty the blog has become that very refrigerator full of my shit. Besides, it sucks to open the fridge and have a picture fall down. You have a nice buzz, and as you reach to put it back up five more pieces fall off. Like it's a contest...
Let's see how much shit we can hang with one magnet. Finally you say fuck it and give up. You leave the picture on the counter. Besides...it's just a bunch of scribbles anyways....right? NO. That's a freakin' masterpiece and it's the first thing your kid will notice is missing the next day. The only thing worse is when you don't see that it fell. By the next morning when you see it, there are 12 size-11 boot prints on it....one from each trip you made to retrieve a beer. Yeah. Try explaining that to Timmy the next day.
So, I will try a store bought card. Right. There is no store here. Instead I will go the hustle-man. The main man. The dude who can get you whatever you want. I will tell him I need a masterpiece. A card that will tell my special lady exactly what she means to me. That she melts my heart. Every day I try to be just a little better for her. Every day I whittle away just a little bit more of the rough edges.
The hustle-man will bring me a get-well car for an elderly person. I will tell him that's not what I had in mine, but it is cheap. He will tell me two Ramen Noodle Soups. I will counter with one and remind him he doesn't even have the envelope...only the card. Can we say, bargain shopping?!?! Too bad they don't have a Walgreen's. I could get that six-pack and celebrate my fabulous purchase.
Happy Valentine's Day Hooligans!!!
Baby? Are you there? I only wrote this for a laugh. No! I'm not really gonna buy your card from the hustle-man. This is your Valentine's greeting. ENJOY HONEY! I love you.
This is your courtesy announcement. Don't forget your lady on Valentine's Day. You know, that special day in one week. Tighten up!!
Notice I addressed the guys. What woman forgets Valentine's Day? And it doesn't matter if they do. If a woman forgets Valentine's Day.....then you have a cool-ass chick. If you're a man, upset your chick forgot Valentines Day....then you are a bitch.
Hello Walgreen's!!! You can grab a card, a box of chocolates, some flowers, and a six-pack. The six-pack is to congratulate yourself for taking such good care of your girl. Then again, if you have the chick that forgets Valentine's Day, you really ought to grab her a six-pack too.
Valentine's Day sucked when I was a kid. Girls gave you these little cards. Then these little candies shaped like hearts that say stuff like..."Won't you be mine?" These kids are like 5. What do they know about "Won't you be mine?!"
Won't you be mine turns into a headache. 5 turns into 15. Then it's sneaking around, missed periods, and a baby on the way. So...maybe that's exaggerated some. As long as you never forget Valentine's Day, then you will be just fine.
For the record, you should do more for your girl than some Walgreen's chocolates. If you have a Publix or a Meijer (or any other large chain supermarket) you can usually find a nice variety of flowers. Hell, they may even have those 'fancy' balloons.
OK, smart ass. You want to know what I'm going to do for my chick? Well, I am an artist....so I could make a card. Then again, probably not. That's just how it goes. Growing up my dad was a carpenter and a cabinet builder, yet my mom had plywood shelves with no doors on the front. Ever meet the painter who has no paint on his own house? Why is it like this?
I'm far from lazy....I just draw so much shit I figure my girl might like something store bought. I'm like an overgrown kid. Every parent with children has a refrigerator full of pictures, paintings, report cards, and so on. And I'm a 33-year old dude doing the same damn thing. I send home art, pictures, awards, certificates and progress reports. Both my momma and my woman's fridge would be loaded with my shit if they hung it up.
Uhhhh....you ladies don't do that do you?
HA! In all honesty the blog has become that very refrigerator full of my shit. Besides, it sucks to open the fridge and have a picture fall down. You have a nice buzz, and as you reach to put it back up five more pieces fall off. Like it's a contest...
Let's see how much shit we can hang with one magnet. Finally you say fuck it and give up. You leave the picture on the counter. Besides...it's just a bunch of scribbles anyways....right? NO. That's a freakin' masterpiece and it's the first thing your kid will notice is missing the next day. The only thing worse is when you don't see that it fell. By the next morning when you see it, there are 12 size-11 boot prints on it....one from each trip you made to retrieve a beer. Yeah. Try explaining that to Timmy the next day.
So, I will try a store bought card. Right. There is no store here. Instead I will go the hustle-man. The main man. The dude who can get you whatever you want. I will tell him I need a masterpiece. A card that will tell my special lady exactly what she means to me. That she melts my heart. Every day I try to be just a little better for her. Every day I whittle away just a little bit more of the rough edges.
The hustle-man will bring me a get-well car for an elderly person. I will tell him that's not what I had in mine, but it is cheap. He will tell me two Ramen Noodle Soups. I will counter with one and remind him he doesn't even have the envelope...only the card. Can we say, bargain shopping?!?! Too bad they don't have a Walgreen's. I could get that six-pack and celebrate my fabulous purchase.
Happy Valentine's Day Hooligans!!!
Baby? Are you there? I only wrote this for a laugh. No! I'm not really gonna buy your card from the hustle-man. This is your Valentine's greeting. ENJOY HONEY! I love you.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Real Shit: Real Advice
Someone once said that empty cans rattle the most. Well, I'm far from empty, but do plenty of rattling. Then again, they also say you are what you eat, and I never turned into a vagina. If anything, over time I have turned into somewhat of a dick. Hmmmmm....OK then. Moving right along.
There is some truth to these sayings. If you hang out at the bar, you are either the bartender or a drunk. I would say a 'regular' but they are your biggest drunks. And.....the bartender may be both as well. If you hang out with stoners, it's safe to assume you are either a pothead or the night shift at the snack counter of a local 7-11. For what it's worth, stoners don't really bother me. If you run to the store and leave a houseful of cokeheads, you come back and you've been robbed. Leave the stoners and they will be right where you left them....parked on the couch. They are also low maintenance. Keep peanut butter and jelly, a loaf of bread and some Doritos and you have a gourmet meal to serve.
I struggle some days living here in prison. Not much good goes down back here. Lots of ugly shit. I used to have a smart-ass reply Someone says, "Mike! What's up?" And I reply, "Nothing productive." That gets a laugh. Haha....
But really, I don't want that to be me. So, yes.....I live with criminals and lawbreakers, but I don't want to be consumed by that. Currently I sleep back here, but I live out there. They hold my body behind these walls, but my heart, soul, and spirit roam free.
My daughter carries a large portion of my heart with her. And the others, you know who you are....
Even the Jailbird helps me. Every day I spend hours on art and posts, and this for me is my most productive time. Then you read what I write and say...."this is productive?" I know, terrible isn't it?
Given my other options, yeah, this is productive. As stupid as I may come across in my posts, they are my escape from here. My other options are to gamble, fight, or fuck. Or to make better contacts to continue in a life of crime. Not only is prison not meant to rehabilitate you, it works in the opposite direction. What happens is these guys network. They cut out the middle man, and hone their skills as lawbreakers. So, to the people who get upset when we are offered an education....this is what I would like to say to you.....
Either teach these guys to read or they advance from 8-balls to keys. (For those of you who don't get that, an 8-ball is 3.5 grams of cocaine. A kelo is a little over 1,000 grams.) So, we're talking a huge difference. Without the option of a high school education these dudes are left to the other form of education. The education that does run and operate the prison system. The school of street justice. The thug life. A life of crime. If I chose to be about that life, I have options. Instead of buying dope from a local dealer in my town, I can go meet with the guys who unload it off the docks.
And, you have people who feel like they are untouchable. Like living in a gated community saves you. Not so fast partner. The biggest dope boys...the ones unloading their keys from a shipping container at the docks......well, they live in gated communities. Right next door to you. You wave at them when you head to work. Their kids play with your kids.
A friend told me that someone broke out the window of her car and stole her purse. She was at a school event, in a nice district. You are not safe. Instead, you are in a hot zone. Thugs don't rob the projects, they rob the nice houses where all the good shit is. You think that a gate saves you? That thug grabs a bicycle and a backpack. He may be 14 years old. You see some kid riding home from a friends. But really, that backpack is a toolbox. It carries a crow bar, a mask, a screwdriver, and a gun. He will ride his bike right past that security guard that makes 8 bucks an hour and is having phone sex with his girlfriend. Better yet is when they are working as a team. When the security guard calls his partner and says, "Ms. Jones just left for yoga. She'll be gone for two hours. The place is yours."
What? You didn't think of that? That's what they teach back here. How to step up and advance your level of crime. How to be more efficient. How to work as a team. Yes, you read that right. Many learn how to perfect their life of crime....I can tell you how to avoid them.
Be safe. Be aware. Love your family.
There is some truth to these sayings. If you hang out at the bar, you are either the bartender or a drunk. I would say a 'regular' but they are your biggest drunks. And.....the bartender may be both as well. If you hang out with stoners, it's safe to assume you are either a pothead or the night shift at the snack counter of a local 7-11. For what it's worth, stoners don't really bother me. If you run to the store and leave a houseful of cokeheads, you come back and you've been robbed. Leave the stoners and they will be right where you left them....parked on the couch. They are also low maintenance. Keep peanut butter and jelly, a loaf of bread and some Doritos and you have a gourmet meal to serve.
I struggle some days living here in prison. Not much good goes down back here. Lots of ugly shit. I used to have a smart-ass reply Someone says, "Mike! What's up?" And I reply, "Nothing productive." That gets a laugh. Haha....
But really, I don't want that to be me. So, yes.....I live with criminals and lawbreakers, but I don't want to be consumed by that. Currently I sleep back here, but I live out there. They hold my body behind these walls, but my heart, soul, and spirit roam free.
My daughter carries a large portion of my heart with her. And the others, you know who you are....
Even the Jailbird helps me. Every day I spend hours on art and posts, and this for me is my most productive time. Then you read what I write and say...."this is productive?" I know, terrible isn't it?
Given my other options, yeah, this is productive. As stupid as I may come across in my posts, they are my escape from here. My other options are to gamble, fight, or fuck. Or to make better contacts to continue in a life of crime. Not only is prison not meant to rehabilitate you, it works in the opposite direction. What happens is these guys network. They cut out the middle man, and hone their skills as lawbreakers. So, to the people who get upset when we are offered an education....this is what I would like to say to you.....
Either teach these guys to read or they advance from 8-balls to keys. (For those of you who don't get that, an 8-ball is 3.5 grams of cocaine. A kelo is a little over 1,000 grams.) So, we're talking a huge difference. Without the option of a high school education these dudes are left to the other form of education. The education that does run and operate the prison system. The school of street justice. The thug life. A life of crime. If I chose to be about that life, I have options. Instead of buying dope from a local dealer in my town, I can go meet with the guys who unload it off the docks.
And, you have people who feel like they are untouchable. Like living in a gated community saves you. Not so fast partner. The biggest dope boys...the ones unloading their keys from a shipping container at the docks......well, they live in gated communities. Right next door to you. You wave at them when you head to work. Their kids play with your kids.
A friend told me that someone broke out the window of her car and stole her purse. She was at a school event, in a nice district. You are not safe. Instead, you are in a hot zone. Thugs don't rob the projects, they rob the nice houses where all the good shit is. You think that a gate saves you? That thug grabs a bicycle and a backpack. He may be 14 years old. You see some kid riding home from a friends. But really, that backpack is a toolbox. It carries a crow bar, a mask, a screwdriver, and a gun. He will ride his bike right past that security guard that makes 8 bucks an hour and is having phone sex with his girlfriend. Better yet is when they are working as a team. When the security guard calls his partner and says, "Ms. Jones just left for yoga. She'll be gone for two hours. The place is yours."
What? You didn't think of that? That's what they teach back here. How to step up and advance your level of crime. How to be more efficient. How to work as a team. Yes, you read that right. Many learn how to perfect their life of crime....I can tell you how to avoid them.
Be safe. Be aware. Love your family.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)