the earth shall inherit the meek

Once you hit top there is no place to go but down. Modesty is a virtue. ~ J

A strawberry flavored super blowpop has temporarily demanded my sole attention.

Have you ever gotten angry at an inanimate object? I victimized a door a moment ago. I was walking through a co-workers doorway when I stubbed my toe on the open door. As if it were the door's fault and feeling the need to retaliate in some way I slammed the door and watched it swing back and forth a couple of times once hitting the wall very hard before coming to a halt. Seconds later humiliation ensued.

I am a text messaging ace. Friends and family will certify with disdain to this reality. I received a text message from my twin sister, Jessica, earlier that read “never gonna give you up on radio”. One of few drawbacks to the birth of the text message is that there is no connotation of emotion with text and a simple sentence often leads one to interpret the statement with an entirely false undertone. My sister’s text mystified me. Did she loan me a radio I failed to return? Was she implying that she would never give away personal facts or information about me on the radio? It was later determined that my dear sis was alluding me to the fact that the Rick Astley song was playing on the radio. You see, I have such a strong abhorrence to the song it prompts friends to send me an alert. I enjoy inflicting the tune on to others like the passing of an infectious disease. Within minutes of coyly putting the song “out there” you’ll find people unconsciously humming or singing the tune followed by “I can’t stop singing this *&^%$#@* song."

I learned through Zuber recently that many prisoners succumb to the “buddy system” in a way to satisfy their hearty sexual appetites. Zub claims that rape almost never occurs at the prison. As he blatantly put it "you can't rape the willing." Zub informed me that the more “simple minded and indigent” inmates adopt what is known around the big house as a “prison daddy”. Some jailbirds pocket unused hairnets from the kitchen and design lewd, see-thru panties which serve as bait to lure in fellow prisoners for man on man action. Some craft makeup out of kool-aid powder. This was not the worst thing I learned. Listen up:

Now let me tell you about the heterosexuals. There are a couple of different kinds of us also. There are the ones who have holes cut in their pockets and if they see a woman guard, it doesn’t matter if you can only see her arm, these guys start what we call MAPPING her down. Sometimes there will be 9 or 10 of them lined up on the window passing the Vaseline to one another while they get their stroke on. Then you have the female guards that pose for these guys while in the showers.

Speaking of showers, I am in need of one after having read that last bit.

Why is it there is a good to excellent chance a man will make his way to a toilet anywhere between 10-30 minutes post meal? Does the digestive track of this gender kick start immediately upon first bite?

Here is a picture of my friend Matthew and I taken last Friday at our Pretty in Pink get-together [Matthew is not straight]. The party consisted of us watching Pretty in Pink and involving a large consumption of cocktails. Matthew is the greatest.



Adieu,

Josie