the winston chronicles...part II.

So one day you fall asleep with visions of chewing on someone's journal, the next you wake up and you're in a prison van bound for the clink. Apparently, this is my life. Pee on one too many carpets, chew on one too many Bibles, bark viciously at one too many elderly folks and young children, and you get sent to do a stretch of time at Four Mile Correctional Center.

For the last... I don't know how long, I’ve been rotting away with my cellmates Ray Ray and Lil Boi, (Ray Ray and Lil Boi are a couple of streetwise bulldogs. Yes, they are twins.) 

apparently learning our lesson. I attempted to keep track of my time served in the traditional prison way,

but then realized that I have absolutely no concept of time. That was a bust. 

 This hasn't been a total waste of time though. The boys and I did learn how to make a shiv out of a toothbrush, make toilet wine,

and give/get a prison tattoo (however it turns out if you ask for a unicorn tattoo you get called a sissy).

In between the important lessons, we were also taught to “sit” (really?), “stay” (make me), “heel” (still don't know what that means), and “do my duty” (no one tells winston when to go potty!). The jailers call this “training," but our handler (offender) calls it “rehabilitation," so I can go out and be a “productive member of society." Life on the inside is tough.

During our down time the “man” lets us write letters home. I’ve written a few to mom and dad,

but the guards screen our mail pretty heavily, so i’m not sure if they’ve gotten through. Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking of my penguin, gingerbread squeak toy, urine mark on the carpet, and the ‘ole staring window.

Don't cry for me though. Yesterday I stole a spork from the cafeteria and am currently working on a tunnel to China. I’ll be out of here in no-time. If that doesn't work, our handler (offender) said my time is up in a couple days and I’ll be sprung... however long away that is.

reppin' in the clink, 

sir winston

(aka mr. lesley:)