Instutional Clasifieds

POET FOR HIRE:

here is a sample of my work

monster

they say i am a monster
they say i am no good
they say one day the monster
in me will return
i say grrrr

one poem five spot or a back rub

jingles K4 second floor third door

Institutional Classifieds

For Barter:

Surplus ammo (any size) for home cooked dinner. Call between 2pm and 7pm so as not to wake mother.

CO Barril Kitchen

Institutional Classifieds

WANTED:

Date. And not the Ramadan kind. I have my prom gown and am ready to go. You bring the raisin jack and memories will be made.

Chris S.O. unit cell 917

P.S. If you tell the seg unit I still have the suicide watch style, I'll cut ya.

Instutional Classifieds

FOR SALE:

Ramadon Dates. Bi mi dam dates nigga. Days be putn m in mi Ramadon bag nasty and senting to my cell a nigh. Use them as a stone, tey pitted.

Azizah da Bizzah K3 South lower level cell 428

Insitutional Classifieds

FOR SALE:

Junk Cheese. Smuggled straight out of kitchen in between two pairs of under ware for your dining pleasure. Buying 4 slices qualifies you to 10 minutes uninterrupted time with the unit iron for your grilling needs.

DogBone K4 West Cell 806

*cheese does not contain real dairy. ingredients include, oil, glow in the dark orange food dye, and funk

10 Every Day

Ten Things I do Every Day:

1 Curse loudly at alarm.

2 Offer a sacrifice to my "Rock" altar.

3 Run two laps before my coffee (around my counter island).

4 Circle the parking lot until I find my bosses car. Park at diagonal to block slacker in.

5 Slap out of order sign on coffee vending machine. Sell home brew for 2 bucks a pop.

6 Phone home. Request whatever is not in fridge for dinner.

7 Moisturize hands with lotion. Rub greasy paws on Captains window in an pressed ham shape.

8 Bring home picture of inmate. Tell kids inmate is new dad.

9 Complain about smaller size ice cream containers. Eat twice as much.

10 Hold deep meaningful conversations with feral cays while distributing kibble. Answer self in Sylvester voice.

11 Bongo a chorus of "Tusk" on hubby's belly.

12 Practice counting.

464-7788- Get it Right

“Conscience, my old chum, my bosom buddy, my pal, my confidant, my … so how the devil are you? And more to the point, where in the name of all that’s holy have you been, eh? Eh? Eh? I have been doing some frankly sickeningly depraved and despicable things, many of which would make your eyes water, and have I heard from you? Well, have I? Not a word, or a peep for that matter. You never write, you never call, you never email. I even tried looking you up on Facebook. But nothing. It's like you fell off the face of my earth. So I sat here - sat, lay, suspended myself upside down, and many other positions besides - indulging in pleasures of the flesh whilst ingesting a cornucopia of toxins no one in the moral majority would approve. The kind of behaviour that would not only make my poor mothers hair curl, but would undoubtedly cause it to fall out, and yet you remained silent. Unusually mute, by your standards. No murmured whispers of sanity, reason and righteousness to set me back on the straight and narrow - don’t interrupt, I said - so it’s hardly surprising that I now find myself infected with all manner of … Michele? There's no Michele here. My name is Munkay and you must have the wrong number."

Who Ya Gonna Run Tell On Now?

Pig said she needed "spanking"
Insubordinate jerk hung self
firing process has begun

A Slip of the Lip

Back-pain is fine.

Everybody gets back-pain. Athletes get back-pain. Joggers.

Back-pain doesn’t label you, it’s just a fact of life.

Hip pain is a whole different kettle of pinchy craw fish though. Hip pain is a real milestone in the decrepitude stakes. That’s one you won’t quickly admit to colleagues or friends.

I have a pain in my hip.

No. Sorry. Can’t see that happening. I’d rather say I have leperacy or warts.

Hip pain. If I told my children I had a sore hip, that would be the start of a very rapid decline for me. Even their language would change, subtly. You see, up to now, if I happen to trip over something while dragging great pieces of furnature around the house or pushing the Harley out of the barn, or wrasseling a crocodile, one of my kids might just mention it to the other:

Mom biffed.

Did she? Is she all right?

Yeah. She just fell over something.

But if they knew I had a stiff hip, they wouldn’t say that. Instead it would be Mom had a fall.

Oh.

And they’d frown at each other. A fall, eh?

Yeah. She had a fall.

It won’t end there. As time progresses, the language will turn even darker and the frowns will become furrows.

Mom had one of her falls.

Really? One of her falls? Maybe we should consider …

Nah. She’ll be fine.

Even that won’t be the worst. After a couple more years will come the absolute pits:

Mom had another fall last night.

Another one! Shit, we’ll have to …

Yeah. I think we will …

I’m keeping quiet about this hip. It’s probably just a strain.