BY KEITH EVANS
(Composed: 10/06/10)
I was so hoping to catch her during my last remaining weeks, but during my stay as a trustee. Then I got thrown in the hole. Because of this development, I figured I wouldn’t. She don’t work the 3rd floor. I’ll just construct a plan for a later, more debonair approach. But, low and behold, in the hole, at my worst, in my dirtiest, baggiest white T. Mere hours before I would attempt to cut my hair, shave, then shower (during my allotted one hour “range” time), I hear the familiar jingle of keys. The signal of a correctional officer approaching. I look up, and there she is, Ms. X (I ex out her name for privacy issues, plus it gives it that bad ass, Uma Thurman, Kill Bill effect), smiling at me. Let the record show that Ms. X rarely ever smiles. Some say never, when clocked in at least. This is approximately the 5th or 6th smile I’ve gotten from her personally. This one of course inadvertent.
“What’re you doing in here?” she asked. I fumbled with my words. It’s hard to apply light flirtation when you are in literal black & white prison stripes and your target, as gorgeous as she may be, is “the law”. There are these lines, sometimes as thin as hair, other times as bold as the Wall of China, that you sort of toy with (given you have some inkling of respect for either authority or a woman you yearn for). I ramble out something, she responds with that signature smirk. I’m a big fan of “the smirk”. You know the apparent embarrassment chicks feel when some tall, dark, and handsome “handy man” rings the doorbell and they answer it in their ratty robes, hair curlers, and pasty facial mask? That’s me.
She departs. As she does, mere because of her attractive aesthetics and complimentary rear end, the other inmates in the whole begin their beyond construction worker-esque cat calling. This angers me, though it shouldn’t. I frantically ask for my range to be next, so that I might at least shower and don my whitest, most appropriate of white T’s, for her to see me in and a “decent” nature, as much this situation will allow. Sadly, this is the closest thing I have resembling social interaction with an attractive female.
RANDOM #1
~Ah, sweet Ms. X. May you someday, somehow read this and feel flattered.~
I was just told something that angers me. Apparently, the running joke amongst the C.O.’s regarding the reason I’m in the hole in the first place, had led them to label me a member of the “Mountain Dew Mafia”. And though I am normally a huge fan of clever puns, which usually I am the author, part of me finds this horribly ironic. I’ve had the greatest fortune to investigate the details of Watergate. I knew of it, but never dug into what it was completely about and the opinions or statements of those involved. Simultaneously, the house I stayed in was labeled the “White House”. To me conclusion, Nixon was ran out of the White House based on the testimonies and actions of his White house staff. Add to the fact that I’ve been known to have a “Tricky Dick”, and the comparisons become endless. “I am NOT a crook”, in THIS instance anyways.
RANDOM #2
~A passing of gas never smells as much as it does when you’re all alone.~
Just spoke to the boss (That’s MiGo aka Head Lizard In charge, so H-LIC?). He informed me that the website (digitallizardproductions.com) has grown in popularity to an estimated 10,000 hits daily. That makes me happy. Huge thank yous to those visiting and spreading the word. I hope that you’re enjoying the content and I can personally promise bigger, better, and funnier media to come. The year 2 Thousand & Lizard is quickly growing to the likes of a decade. The boss, Mikey MiGo, weaver of gold, is always pumping out the most genius of schemes and creative ideas. The one good thing these past few months have provided me with is personal isolated time of thought. I’ve been known to be able to focus and concoct amazing things in this condition. As for Joe, … well, Joe’s uhm,… still married, so let the accomplishment’s continue.
RANDOM #3
~When they said I was going to the “hole”, oddly I wasn’t as upset as I probably should’ve been. I was more upset at the fact that once I got here, Courtney Love was not. ~
The “hole” is placed on the same floor (3rd) as 5 or 6 other sections, one of which is directly behind my cell. Tight now, that section is being “shook down” which, in laments terms, means raided. Ah, the proverbial shakedown: when the C.O.’s all gather together to ransack your not so humble abode, in hopes of finding any sort of “contraband”. Whether it be a stockpile of bread and old juices (pivotal for making “hooch”, the worst tasting alcoholic beverage known to man), shanks, an excess of government issues clothing or linens, anything constructed in a MagGyver-eqsue sort of way, and anything they feel like just throwing away. The sneakier the inmates are hiding shit, the more thorough the fuzz are at looking for it. It’s a chance for them to flex their badgeless muscle and it’s truly their most authorative moment. As the great Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Fuck Tha Police!”
I’ll leave you with this truly emotional moment. Just moments ago, as I was writing this blog and we here in the “hole” were listening intently at the shakedown (for this is out only form of entertainment), Cell #6 begins to conversate with Cell #9 in a true life skit I’d like to call:
DADDY, WHO ARE YOU?
* (This is a real conversation that touched my heart and made me laugh all at the same time)
Cell #6: Hey House 9!
Cell #9: (groggy) Yo…
Cell #6: (slightly hesitant)..uhm, what’s up? What are you doing?
Cell #9: Sleeping motherfucka!!!
Cell #6: Oh, my bad…
Cell #9: (interrupting)… Why, what’s up?
Cell #6: Nah, my fault school. Nigga wasn’t trying to wake you up…
Cell #9: Nah, you cool man, what’s up?
Cell #6: … uh, you said you knew my daddy right?
Cell #9: Yeah?
Cell #6: … what’s he like?
**Me: WHOA!!! Easy!
Cell #6: I mean… do I… do I look like him?
**Me: (Flavor Flav like) WOOOOOOOOOW…
Cell #9: CHILL OUT House 1!! Yeah young blood, you resemble Thomas a little.
Then all hell broke loose. Cell #6 got to tellin’ a story about the last time he saw his father. A story that involved a bike and the rain. Then she started confessing shit, like he only did 3 months in Westville, instead of the 4 years he originally proclaimed. These are the jail moments I cherish.
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