In the spring of 2010, Digital Lizard’s own Keith Evans was incarcerated. Through written letters in envelopes stamped “INDIGENT MAIL” and sporadic 15 minute phone calls, DLP mastermind Michael Goodpaster has kept in touch with the actor, writer, musician, standup comedian, and loving father.
This interview was planned to be released on 10/5(Keith’s Birthday), but we did not take into account the rather slow mail process. Nevertheless, here are fifteen questions with Keith Evans about how jail life really is and what his plans are upon release.
1. Hear any good jokes lately?
Well actually there’s that one that almost every temporary bad ass tells. Something about all the pricey icey things they “own” (i.e. whips, rims, jewelry, flat screens) and all the “balling” they were doing in the streets, meanwhile they have $250 bonds they conveniently can’t afford to pay. Ha-Ha, get it? Me neither.
2. Is jail anything like you see in the movies or on TV?
Only in the way where most of the inmates here act like they wonder the same thing. In my opinion, jail is like 24 hour detention with every annoying ass clown you attended school with continuously acting out that short 15 seconds in Dangerous Minds right before Michelle Pfeiffer walks in for her first day… if that makes any sense. It’s really loud and theatrical also.
3. Is the common male fear of “dropping the soap” really something to worry about in LCJ?
It is, but from a totally different aspect. The jail is so filthy and dirty and the urban legend of MRSA is so rampant, there’s been times I dropped my soap and screamed “Noooo!!!” Otherwise, the showers aren’t locker room or bath house style so if someone wants to risk a staph infection in their own ass just to jump inside a one man shower and tap THIS…? By all means, it’s almost flattering.
4. Your choice: Favorite meal or be able to watch your favorite movie, which and what would that pick be?
Wow, so many pros & cons with both. I’d have to say movie, as long as the stips include a theater screen and Alanis Morrisette giving e that “cinematic blowjob” she’s bragged about all these years. I’d have to pick Almost Famous. I literally watched Fight Club two weeks ago and it’d be nice to feel emotions again.
5. Have you considered starting an all inmate football team to take on the guards like in “The Longest Yard”?
I was just talking about that, with the realization that till they put me in the hole, I was Chris Rock’s “care taker” character.
6. What is one fact about jail that would surprise those who have not been “in the clinker”?
There’s no black guy with dreads in a wheel chair narrating your every move.
7. In.gov tells us in their FAQ that it currently costs an average of $52.61 per DAY to keep an adult inmate incarcerated. How much has tax payers chipped into to keep you behind bars? How would you rather spend this money?
Let’s see, upon my October 18th release I will have served 132 days. So that’s $6,944.52. REALLY?!? Do you know much drugging and drunk driving I can do in one night…? Oh wait, so $6,944.52 times two is?
8. What Prince song is jail most like?
Since jail is shitty and the only thing I can equate from shitty and Prince is Graffiti Bridge, I’d have to say…………………………….
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Best/Worst Out Of 7
(Composed: 10/04/10)
“I’ve got pride in the way I walk
I’ve got pride in the way I talk
I’ve got pride in the way I act
I’ve got pride, and that’s a fact”
-Lyrics to some alleged motivational song we were forced to sing at my 6th grade graduation.
Funny how I remember that song so vividly. So vividly that if I were to return to the now abandoned Banneker Elementary School, and stroll into its “cafetorium” (I love ill-advised, cross-bred words), I could point out the exact spot in which I stood as I sang it. Ever so vividly, that after my 3rd day of solitary confinement in “the hole”, (A result of more snitching and falsehoods aimed at myself by a group of 20 year old fuckbags, who, no doubt, harbor severe jealousy towards me for my intelligence, sarcastically humorous tones, and ability to manipulate the system to my liking while they fail horribly using their “gangland” approach), I find myself singing it loudly, as not to go crazy, ironically enough.
When a person is forced into solitude for a long period of time, it has a strange affect. It forces the person into a sort of odd journey of discovery about themselves. Some crack under the pressure, resulting in extreme deviant behavior like fling their own feces at the guards or using it as paint for their own graffiti. They scream a lot. They begin to conversate with themselves. The negative outlets are endless. Some simply shut down any and all social skills, ultimately retreating to the safe confines of reading material, some writing, artwork, or the like. All, however, are forced to do a lot of thinking and self evaluation. Though necessary in life, these acts of self reflection can be as damaging to your present as they are helpful to your future. I, personally, love this type of shit. Walk with me as I share my thoughts, theories, and half assed solutions with you.
Let’s go back to those care-free GINKru days. Specifically to the moment when we adopted the 7 Deadly Sin philosophy. For those unaware, GINKru was an extracurricular, after school group/hip hip group/crew of friends/wonderful clusterfuck founded back in 1992 by junior high class mates Emas Bennet, Mark Harris, Morry Davis, Larry Dowell, and myself. Like any group of schoolmates during their pubescent years, there evolved plenty of “Gossip Girl” or “90210” moments. New members acquired, others lost, the brand itself continues. During our high school years, our then 7 man squad latched on to the 7 Deadly Sins concept. It was an almost automatic fit (for at least 5 of us.) and to be quite honest, very Wu-Tang at the time. I, obviously, was dubbed Pride, unaware how much this would escalate my already proud nature. If I were to write a press junket today, it’d be “boy band laughable” at best. Mark (Lust) loved the ladies. Larry (Angry/Wrath), the menacing emcee. Morry (Greed) the money loving, self proclaimed “Jew” (go figure), so on and so forth. As for myself: shit talking, ego-centric, bradadocious, loud and proud was my demeanor. This all stemmed from a childhood that rollercoastered from intense grammar school popularity to eye awaking unpopularity in middle school. Stir it all together, and by the time high school came, I was begging to be not liked just for the opportunity to response “Fuck You”. The eventually became my ultimate basis for being, till this day.
Despite me not necessarily fitting the physical mode of success and luxury, pride has gotten me in a lot of grand situations. Pride allows me to take the things I AM good at (wit, humor, intellect, social skills, debate, and musicality), amplify them, and present it with a confidence that most have no choice but to submit to. If I believed in the world “swagger”, I might have to say I had a healthy amount. It is pride however, not swagger, that has gotten me jobs I not normally should have had, women that normally should have been “out of my league”, entrance into places and social circles I should normally not be in, and escapes from ass whippings that normally should have been administered without question. It is pride that fuels my music, my acting, my cunalingus, and this blog. It is pride that has allotted me certain opportunities. It is pride that’s sprinkled small tastes of the “Fame Monster” lifestyle on my taste buds, causing my appetite for a more consistent and bountiful diet.
It is also pride that has destroyed certain opportunities. Pride has, often enough made it impossible for me to reciprocate love, the way society dictates that one should. Price has cut short many a blossoming and healthy relationship, both romantic and platonic. Pride has put me in the center of volatile situations, only allowing me to fight, bite, claw, and kick my way out. It’s because of pride that I have hurt the loved ones around me and alienated myself. Pride has made me an asshole and it’s because of that pride that I am strangely proud to……………………………
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
“I’ve got pride in the way I walk
I’ve got pride in the way I talk
I’ve got pride in the way I act
I’ve got pride, and that’s a fact”
-Lyrics to some alleged motivational song we were forced to sing at my 6th grade graduation.
Funny how I remember that song so vividly. So vividly that if I were to return to the now abandoned Banneker Elementary School, and stroll into its “cafetorium” (I love ill-advised, cross-bred words), I could point out the exact spot in which I stood as I sang it. Ever so vividly, that after my 3rd day of solitary confinement in “the hole”, (A result of more snitching and falsehoods aimed at myself by a group of 20 year old fuckbags, who, no doubt, harbor severe jealousy towards me for my intelligence, sarcastically humorous tones, and ability to manipulate the system to my liking while they fail horribly using their “gangland” approach), I find myself singing it loudly, as not to go crazy, ironically enough.
When a person is forced into solitude for a long period of time, it has a strange affect. It forces the person into a sort of odd journey of discovery about themselves. Some crack under the pressure, resulting in extreme deviant behavior like fling their own feces at the guards or using it as paint for their own graffiti. They scream a lot. They begin to conversate with themselves. The negative outlets are endless. Some simply shut down any and all social skills, ultimately retreating to the safe confines of reading material, some writing, artwork, or the like. All, however, are forced to do a lot of thinking and self evaluation. Though necessary in life, these acts of self reflection can be as damaging to your present as they are helpful to your future. I, personally, love this type of shit. Walk with me as I share my thoughts, theories, and half assed solutions with you.
Let’s go back to those care-free GINKru days. Specifically to the moment when we adopted the 7 Deadly Sin philosophy. For those unaware, GINKru was an extracurricular, after school group/hip hip group/crew of friends/wonderful clusterfuck founded back in 1992 by junior high class mates Emas Bennet, Mark Harris, Morry Davis, Larry Dowell, and myself. Like any group of schoolmates during their pubescent years, there evolved plenty of “Gossip Girl” or “90210” moments. New members acquired, others lost, the brand itself continues. During our high school years, our then 7 man squad latched on to the 7 Deadly Sins concept. It was an almost automatic fit (for at least 5 of us.) and to be quite honest, very Wu-Tang at the time. I, obviously, was dubbed Pride, unaware how much this would escalate my already proud nature. If I were to write a press junket today, it’d be “boy band laughable” at best. Mark (Lust) loved the ladies. Larry (Angry/Wrath), the menacing emcee. Morry (Greed) the money loving, self proclaimed “Jew” (go figure), so on and so forth. As for myself: shit talking, ego-centric, bradadocious, loud and proud was my demeanor. This all stemmed from a childhood that rollercoastered from intense grammar school popularity to eye awaking unpopularity in middle school. Stir it all together, and by the time high school came, I was begging to be not liked just for the opportunity to response “Fuck You”. The eventually became my ultimate basis for being, till this day.
Despite me not necessarily fitting the physical mode of success and luxury, pride has gotten me in a lot of grand situations. Pride allows me to take the things I AM good at (wit, humor, intellect, social skills, debate, and musicality), amplify them, and present it with a confidence that most have no choice but to submit to. If I believed in the world “swagger”, I might have to say I had a healthy amount. It is pride however, not swagger, that has gotten me jobs I not normally should have had, women that normally should have been “out of my league”, entrance into places and social circles I should normally not be in, and escapes from ass whippings that normally should have been administered without question. It is pride that fuels my music, my acting, my cunalingus, and this blog. It is pride that has allotted me certain opportunities. It is pride that’s sprinkled small tastes of the “Fame Monster” lifestyle on my taste buds, causing my appetite for a more consistent and bountiful diet.
It is also pride that has destroyed certain opportunities. Pride has, often enough made it impossible for me to reciprocate love, the way society dictates that one should. Price has cut short many a blossoming and healthy relationship, both romantic and platonic. Pride has put me in the center of volatile situations, only allowing me to fight, bite, claw, and kick my way out. It’s because of pride that I have hurt the loved ones around me and alienated myself. Pride has made me an asshole and it’s because of that pride that I am strangely proud to……………………………
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
“I Miss You”
(Composed: 09/29/10)
I’m generally not a person who participates in the act of “missing” shit. I do have fits of missing certain things and people at times, but I’m mostly a person of adaptation when it comes to my surroundings. Add to that fact that when I do “miss” something or someone, I don’t bitch about it, choosing not to inflate the feeling anymore than needed.
With that said, here is a list of things I drastically miss while during my 132 day vay-cay at Le Chateau De Lake County Jail; (in no particular order)
1. My daughter Kay J
2. Good humor
3. The freedom to masturbate when I want
4. Decent food in general
5. Female skin
6. Female scent(even the fishy kind)
7. Watching The Office in a peaceful environment.
8. Nachos
9. Alcohol
10. Scratching my nuts without the fear of some hood motherfucker thinking I’m “jacking off”.
11. Facebook
12. Felica Baron
13. Music
14. “Creative” meetings for DLP “business”
15. Second City
16. Showering with a loofah
17. Drinking clean water
18. Regular changes of clothes
19. Cigarettes
20. Not sleeping among snitches
21. Watching/Bitching about the Kardashians
22. Sydney Chapman
23. My apartment
24. Wrestling
25. Hanging out with my friends
26. Cursing/Pissing off my enemies………………
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
I’m generally not a person who participates in the act of “missing” shit. I do have fits of missing certain things and people at times, but I’m mostly a person of adaptation when it comes to my surroundings. Add to that fact that when I do “miss” something or someone, I don’t bitch about it, choosing not to inflate the feeling anymore than needed.
With that said, here is a list of things I drastically miss while during my 132 day vay-cay at Le Chateau De Lake County Jail; (in no particular order)
1. My daughter Kay J
2. Good humor
3. The freedom to masturbate when I want
4. Decent food in general
5. Female skin
6. Female scent(even the fishy kind)
7. Watching The Office in a peaceful environment.
8. Nachos
9. Alcohol
10. Scratching my nuts without the fear of some hood motherfucker thinking I’m “jacking off”.
11. Facebook
12. Felica Baron
13. Music
14. “Creative” meetings for DLP “business”
15. Second City
16. Showering with a loofah
17. Drinking clean water
18. Regular changes of clothes
19. Cigarettes
20. Not sleeping among snitches
21. Watching/Bitching about the Kardashians
22. Sydney Chapman
23. My apartment
24. Wrestling
25. Hanging out with my friends
26. Cursing/Pissing off my enemies………………
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
“There Is Something About Amy”
(Composed: 09/20/10)
Red flags. I’ve gotta be honest, I haven’t been very good with them as of late. In “as of late” I mean roughly within the past 5 years. You see, prior to 2005, you probably could’ve labeled me the Red Flag King, almost to the point where most people I thought I was just some paranoid freak. In hindsight though, I avoided a lot of problems and kept everything from drifting out of my immediate peaceful control.
Meanwhile, as I sit here in LCJ, I’m provided with lots of “thinking time”. This is no good for a person of my intellect. Amongst other things, I tend to dwell on issues I’ve not been able to solve. One of these issues is the demise and downfall of my relationship with my child’s mother. Now, this is less of a “pining” over type of thing and more of a “this is going to eat at me if I don’t figure this out” type of thing. It’s been so confusing because of the blatantly instant connection we shared from day one. In other words, upon out first meeting, Ms. Woerpel and I were to humor and good times what Edward and Bella were to self loathing and heroin-esque moodiness, soul mates.
Inseparable, impenetrateable, and completely bullshit proof is what we were. There was no possible way this fun loving, no worries, sweet heart could ever morph into vindictive, easily angered bitch. Now, slow down. None of these words are meant to be harmful. Before Amy, I only dated bitches. I love them. As a certified asshole, a bitch is merely my natural female counterpart. What I am against is sudden change. I like ice cream AND chicken. Not a big fan when ice cream all of sudden starts to taste like chicken though. With that being said, when you’re under the impression you’re in a relationship with that fun and witty Cameron Diaz character, then you wake up and she’s turned into your cliché’ reality show female villain, it’s a bit unsettling.
Then I think, why did I not heed to the red flags, like the very first argument we had, resulting in a Mountain Dew can being thrown at...........
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
Red flags. I’ve gotta be honest, I haven’t been very good with them as of late. In “as of late” I mean roughly within the past 5 years. You see, prior to 2005, you probably could’ve labeled me the Red Flag King, almost to the point where most people I thought I was just some paranoid freak. In hindsight though, I avoided a lot of problems and kept everything from drifting out of my immediate peaceful control.
Meanwhile, as I sit here in LCJ, I’m provided with lots of “thinking time”. This is no good for a person of my intellect. Amongst other things, I tend to dwell on issues I’ve not been able to solve. One of these issues is the demise and downfall of my relationship with my child’s mother. Now, this is less of a “pining” over type of thing and more of a “this is going to eat at me if I don’t figure this out” type of thing. It’s been so confusing because of the blatantly instant connection we shared from day one. In other words, upon out first meeting, Ms. Woerpel and I were to humor and good times what Edward and Bella were to self loathing and heroin-esque moodiness, soul mates.
Inseparable, impenetrateable, and completely bullshit proof is what we were. There was no possible way this fun loving, no worries, sweet heart could ever morph into vindictive, easily angered bitch. Now, slow down. None of these words are meant to be harmful. Before Amy, I only dated bitches. I love them. As a certified asshole, a bitch is merely my natural female counterpart. What I am against is sudden change. I like ice cream AND chicken. Not a big fan when ice cream all of sudden starts to taste like chicken though. With that being said, when you’re under the impression you’re in a relationship with that fun and witty Cameron Diaz character, then you wake up and she’s turned into your cliché’ reality show female villain, it’s a bit unsettling.
Then I think, why did I not heed to the red flags, like the very first argument we had, resulting in a Mountain Dew can being thrown at...........
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
"Oh Sweet Engelica"
(Composed: 09/13/10)
During my unfortunate stay at Le Chateau De Lake County, I met a girl. Not just any girl, but a lady of enchanting allure. A woman who, just with one strike glare, would stir up so many emotions, your heart would change climates in an instant. Her name? Engelica Castillo. Yeah, you heard me, Engelica Castillo, or as we here in LCJ call her, The “Baby Killer”.
For those who aren’t in the know, last summer, there was a story about an adorable 3 year old infant child named Jada Justice who came up “missing” from a gas station. While her cousin slash babysitter popped inside to quickly purchase some milk and cigarettes. Mostly everyone’s immediate reaction was to question why said babysitter would leave a 3 year old in the car alone in the first place, including myself. I say this because I myself, once or twice, have left my own adorable infant strapped in her seat, at even younger ages, however only in the circumstances that my car was parked right by the door, my doors were locked, it wasn’t summer, and I was only going to the counter, therefore her only being no farther than 5 to 6 feet away and in plain sight for a maximum of 60 seconds. Now with the milk being in the back of EVERY gas station I’ve been to, and purchasing milk AND cigarettes being about a minimum 3 minute process, also considering that a 3 year old is so much easier and far more capable of being brought into a story via their own feet, I should no longer have to argue my point.
There was an immediate amber alert. People of all walks of life within the “region” were doing all they could to send out word of this “missing” child. Social networks flashed with posts of the life info there was. Newspapers updated constantly and daily with not much changing developments. I even strolled to the corner store and was greeted by a woman passing out pictures and contact info of the little one. I, myself, even saw fit to take a picture with my phone and CC it to everyone in my contact list. Every little bit helps right? Well, no, not when said cutie pie is already dead.
You see, comes to find out little Jada’s cousin/babysitter aka Engelica Castillo had a bit of a heroin habit, one she shared with her boyfriend, Timothy Tkachik. Comes to find out, babysitting, and heroin, worse yet babysitting and lack of heroin don’t mix. So, while the innocent little angel was trapped in the custody of her inevitably dope sick (shakes fist) watchers, acting like any 3 year old would, this behavior was apparently too much for the dynamic duo. After a bit of abuse, the two set out, to feed their jones no less, towards Chicago, taking little miss sunshine along. Somehow, on the way, choking a child to literal death was on the agenda. Being the very beacons of safety and awareness, Ms. Castillo and her suitor do the only responsibly thing they can muster up in their doped out brains. Rather than taking the lifeless baby corpse to say, I don’t know, the hospital, or even the authorities, they drive back towards Indiana, switch vehicles (yeah, that means leaving said dead child in prior vehicle), and head back towards Chicago to score some sweet lady H. God forbid you show up to the West Side of Chicago to cop some heroin with a DEAD BABY in your back seat, right? I mean what would Jennifer Hudson say?
~NOTE~ I realize that my tone in telling this story is severely blunt and forthcoming, almost to the point of cruelty. This is merely how I think, and if my vicious tone is the small spark that deters any junkie from killing a baby or even just quitting heroin by reading this and feeling like a piece of shit, so be it. ~END NOTE~
Apparently, upon their return Lois Lame and Super scum try to cremate the……………………………………
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
During my unfortunate stay at Le Chateau De Lake County, I met a girl. Not just any girl, but a lady of enchanting allure. A woman who, just with one strike glare, would stir up so many emotions, your heart would change climates in an instant. Her name? Engelica Castillo. Yeah, you heard me, Engelica Castillo, or as we here in LCJ call her, The “Baby Killer”.
For those who aren’t in the know, last summer, there was a story about an adorable 3 year old infant child named Jada Justice who came up “missing” from a gas station. While her cousin slash babysitter popped inside to quickly purchase some milk and cigarettes. Mostly everyone’s immediate reaction was to question why said babysitter would leave a 3 year old in the car alone in the first place, including myself. I say this because I myself, once or twice, have left my own adorable infant strapped in her seat, at even younger ages, however only in the circumstances that my car was parked right by the door, my doors were locked, it wasn’t summer, and I was only going to the counter, therefore her only being no farther than 5 to 6 feet away and in plain sight for a maximum of 60 seconds. Now with the milk being in the back of EVERY gas station I’ve been to, and purchasing milk AND cigarettes being about a minimum 3 minute process, also considering that a 3 year old is so much easier and far more capable of being brought into a story via their own feet, I should no longer have to argue my point.
There was an immediate amber alert. People of all walks of life within the “region” were doing all they could to send out word of this “missing” child. Social networks flashed with posts of the life info there was. Newspapers updated constantly and daily with not much changing developments. I even strolled to the corner store and was greeted by a woman passing out pictures and contact info of the little one. I, myself, even saw fit to take a picture with my phone and CC it to everyone in my contact list. Every little bit helps right? Well, no, not when said cutie pie is already dead.
You see, comes to find out little Jada’s cousin/babysitter aka Engelica Castillo had a bit of a heroin habit, one she shared with her boyfriend, Timothy Tkachik. Comes to find out, babysitting, and heroin, worse yet babysitting and lack of heroin don’t mix. So, while the innocent little angel was trapped in the custody of her inevitably dope sick (shakes fist) watchers, acting like any 3 year old would, this behavior was apparently too much for the dynamic duo. After a bit of abuse, the two set out, to feed their jones no less, towards Chicago, taking little miss sunshine along. Somehow, on the way, choking a child to literal death was on the agenda. Being the very beacons of safety and awareness, Ms. Castillo and her suitor do the only responsibly thing they can muster up in their doped out brains. Rather than taking the lifeless baby corpse to say, I don’t know, the hospital, or even the authorities, they drive back towards Indiana, switch vehicles (yeah, that means leaving said dead child in prior vehicle), and head back towards Chicago to score some sweet lady H. God forbid you show up to the West Side of Chicago to cop some heroin with a DEAD BABY in your back seat, right? I mean what would Jennifer Hudson say?
~NOTE~ I realize that my tone in telling this story is severely blunt and forthcoming, almost to the point of cruelty. This is merely how I think, and if my vicious tone is the small spark that deters any junkie from killing a baby or even just quitting heroin by reading this and feeling like a piece of shit, so be it. ~END NOTE~
Apparently, upon their return Lois Lame and Super scum try to cremate the……………………………………
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
Not Down With The Sickness
(Composed: 09/08/10)
Let’s just start this off with a fact. There’s only a select few things I’m annoyed by. Hypocrisy, poverty, bad attitudes, animal rights, children with made up diseases, the show Monk, Bears fans, the stigma behind the number 13, girls with no sense of direction, Burger King, Hessville Indiana, gauged piercings without jewelry, Nickelback, men’s softball, anti cigarette commercials, high pitched sneezes, Xbox’s, divorce, midgets, and a host of other things. However, as of late, there’s been this one thing that has really bothered me, almost to the point of murderous contemplations… being in the presence of dope sick individuals. I mean seriously, what the fuck?
Picture this, you’re just to the point, during your incarcerated vay-cay, where it doesn’t take you trading your meals for somebody’s Neurotin prescription to fall asleep. As you start to doze off, suddenly your bunk is in total toss and turn/vibrate mode. What the fuck? A rain of moist, germy particles of the “unknown” start to mist from above after continuous sneezing. What the fuck?!? Some kind of grumbling commentary erupts, pretty much a bunch of whiny complaints, not loud, yet loud and bitchified enough to keep you awake. What the fuck?!? Your “Bunkie” keeps climbing down from above you, gagging as if he’s gonna hurt all over the place, pacing back and forth, wrapped in his blanket, in straight shiver mode, begging to make conversation with you; “Hey, you up?” “Sorry man, I can’t sleep.” “Are you cold?” “Do you have any sweets?” What the fuck?!?
I barely have sympathy and compassion for regular, full functioning human beings, let alone some dope sick................
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
Let’s just start this off with a fact. There’s only a select few things I’m annoyed by. Hypocrisy, poverty, bad attitudes, animal rights, children with made up diseases, the show Monk, Bears fans, the stigma behind the number 13, girls with no sense of direction, Burger King, Hessville Indiana, gauged piercings without jewelry, Nickelback, men’s softball, anti cigarette commercials, high pitched sneezes, Xbox’s, divorce, midgets, and a host of other things. However, as of late, there’s been this one thing that has really bothered me, almost to the point of murderous contemplations… being in the presence of dope sick individuals. I mean seriously, what the fuck?
Picture this, you’re just to the point, during your incarcerated vay-cay, where it doesn’t take you trading your meals for somebody’s Neurotin prescription to fall asleep. As you start to doze off, suddenly your bunk is in total toss and turn/vibrate mode. What the fuck? A rain of moist, germy particles of the “unknown” start to mist from above after continuous sneezing. What the fuck?!? Some kind of grumbling commentary erupts, pretty much a bunch of whiny complaints, not loud, yet loud and bitchified enough to keep you awake. What the fuck?!? Your “Bunkie” keeps climbing down from above you, gagging as if he’s gonna hurt all over the place, pacing back and forth, wrapped in his blanket, in straight shiver mode, begging to make conversation with you; “Hey, you up?” “Sorry man, I can’t sleep.” “Are you cold?” “Do you have any sweets?” What the fuck?!?
I barely have sympathy and compassion for regular, full functioning human beings, let alone some dope sick................
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Drag Me To Jail
Greetings & Salutations from the clinker. Yes, I’m still in jail. Lake County has seen fit to deny me any kind of modification, therefore keeping me hostage until October 18th, 2010. Apparently my real judge deems it necessary to be “unattainable”, once again leaving all decisions to the magistrate judge. Am I saying Judge Moss would’ve approved what Magistrate Judge Belziski denied? Definitely. Hell, if Moss was actually there for my “probation revocation” I wouldn’t even be here, but I digress.
After being transferred to the “Trustee” section of the main jail for 2 specific reasons; a) Some f*ckface chump stain sent word to the Work Release officers that he felt threatened by me (Hilarious!) and b.) A prolonged wait for my modification hearing, I’ve realized why people with my level of intelligence, wit, and common sense aren’t very well received under these conditions. Unfortunately my ability to use these things for evil (aka manipulation, belittling, and chaos) is all I have for “self-pleasure”, so to speak. No one writes, with the exception of the 3 pieces of, dare I label, fan mail (It’s weird to say that, though even one of them confirms that’s what they are, Thanks MorbidMark J.). Be that as it may, no continuances of personal correspondence, though, it’s fair to say, I’m way used to that at this point, for when I go to jail, I’m generally dead to so called “loved ones”.
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
After being transferred to the “Trustee” section of the main jail for 2 specific reasons; a) Some f*ckface chump stain sent word to the Work Release officers that he felt threatened by me (Hilarious!) and b.) A prolonged wait for my modification hearing, I’ve realized why people with my level of intelligence, wit, and common sense aren’t very well received under these conditions. Unfortunately my ability to use these things for evil (aka manipulation, belittling, and chaos) is all I have for “self-pleasure”, so to speak. No one writes, with the exception of the 3 pieces of, dare I label, fan mail (It’s weird to say that, though even one of them confirms that’s what they are, Thanks MorbidMark J.). Be that as it may, no continuances of personal correspondence, though, it’s fair to say, I’m way used to that at this point, for when I go to jail, I’m generally dead to so called “loved ones”.
Read The Rest at DigitalLizardProductions.com!
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