My last drink of hooch. Sitting here in federal prison, I just finished my last goddamn cup of prison wine. Thinking to myself … what will I do now? I’ll write a blog. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll write whatever comes to mind and try to make people laugh. And at the same time, I’ll try to make myself chuckle a little bit too. Because just like they say in Reader’s Digest, “laughter is the best medicine.” And everyone likes to laugh. Right? I don’t normally get drunk in prison. Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever done so. Couldn’t resist. I’d been having a bad day and decided to tie one on. Looking around, all I see are a bunch of men who are afraid of their own shadow. Guys who’d literally pull down their pants and let a person fuck just by hearing the word “boo!” What pussies there are here doing time. Makes me wonder how some of these wimpy dudes ever got put in prison in the first place. Just a bunch of weak individuals who let the system run over them day-in, day-out. They literally aggravate me to death.

Me? I’m a bit different. I’m outspoken. If a guard mouths off to me, I talk back. If I get screwed over by the prison laundry, food service or medical? I file formal complaints. I won’t eat bread and water and work like a Hebrew slave in the prison war factory known as UNICOR. I could give a damn less about their 23 cents an hour job. Newbies come in and say, “Tripper, why don’t you go to work in the UNICOR factory?” And I say, “Hell boy, if I wanted to work in a factory, I wouldn’t be in prison!” Fuck working in prison, fuck UNICOR and fuck the bullshit hard labor that senile bastard of a federal judge supposedly sentenced me to. I’m not here to work nor kiss the prison administration’s ass. They’re not going to work me to death. Some say I’m incorrigible. I say I’m a convict. And convicts don’t always do what prison officials tell them to do. Yeah, if I would have wanted to work at a factory, I’d be working at one of those old furniture factories in Fort Smith making minimum wage and I wouldn’t be doing time. Sorry everyone, but that’s not my idea of a life. Just keeping it real.

Had a couple of cups of wine with my friends tonight. And with the headache I have right now, one thing’s for sure, I won’t be doing it again for a while. Back to my writing … yeah sure. I’ve spent a few days in the hole. But when I left I still had my pride and dignity. I never rat and each and every morning I wake up and look at the man in the stainless steel mirror, and I know I’m not one. I don’t like abusive prison guards, jailhouse rats and penitentiary queers. One day I’ll once again be free to roam the earth as the warped, deranged idiot I am. And to those out there who might thing they’ll want to take a shot at me and run me down? Rest assured, you’ll have a bad day coming. Because again, I ain’t the one. With all this pent up anger, hatred and racism driving me day after day, if you decide to fuck with me, expect to get your head knocked off. Believe it or not, I ain’t no joke. No brag, just fact. If you want to be an idiot, I can be an idiot too. Don’t like being that way but sometimes shit just happens. Know what I’m saying?

Some of these so-called inmates in here are simply wasting good air. Their oxygen supply should be cut off. Especially the child molesters and homosexuals who take advantage of little kids. Take this sex offender that sleeps in the rack next to me for example. He comes in from the factory every day bragging to his bunky about just having sucked a wee-wee. And how his relationship with his big black daddy from Cincinnati is going so well. A guy that got a couple of years for possessing hundreds upon hundreds of images of child porn while I sit here doing a 17 year bit for a small amount of methamphetamine. A 45 year old white male who is still a predator just waiting for the day he is released from prison so he can go right back out there and rape more little boys.

Real Life Sex Offenders, Not All of Them The Nasty Picture You See In You Mind. One Smiling, and Quite Proud. Sick. Sick and WRONG!

Sorry everyone, but tonight I feel like speaking my mind. And one thing’s for sure, a drunk always speaks the truth about what’s on his mind. Yeah, this guy is one sick, perverted, twisted little boy goober gobbler who I detest and abhor. He needs to be run off the yard. He needs to be forced to check into protective custody. Yet he is allowed to live here. Why? Because the punishment for making him check in is too severe.

Then occasionally, I run into a real mother fucker. Someone who’s been there/ done that and doesn’t give a fuck about society’s law in that smoking pot is illegal but former politicians who rape little babies is okay. Like my friend Big Sam for instance. The guy who shared a couple of cups of wine with me tonight. Now here’s a guy that lives in a world of reality. At 62 years old and having just spent almost 16 calendar years in the pen, he knows life is almost over for him. And when he gets out? Fuck some supervised release. He’ll jump that first day I predict. I imagine plans of cooking up a batch of speed and hittin’ one last good lick. No need in being scared! Eat, drink and be merry. Enjoy life to the absolute fullest. No living in the gray twilight, never having had any fun in life for Sam. Be all you can be! Kick ass, take names and tell the Judge and Prosecuting Attorney that put you in here … kiss my fucking ass! Again, I’m sorry everyone. Just my drunken rant. But I admire guys like Sam. Fuck ‘em and feed ‘em fish heads. He’s the real deal all the way!

Men without a program. Men without ambition or a plan in life. That’s all who live and sleep around me. Everyone but Wild Bill Archer. Now here’s a guy who has literally done it all. The former Las Vegas Chapter President of the Hessians Motorcycle Club. The feds never caught him doing anything. Yet they lied on him in open court, set him up from the git-go and sentenced him to 295 months in the pen. Bill doesn’t work at UNICOR. He doesn’t conform and kiss the warden’s ass. He hasn’t raped any little boys or girls and got a minimal prison sentence. Just like me, he can’t stand the child molesters who are allowed to do their time on this yard. Bill is a man’s man. He does his time the way he wants to do it. If someone says something stupid to him, whether it be a prison guard or one of these cho’mo’s (prison slang for child molester), he tells them where to get off—how the cow chews the cabbage. I respect guys like Wild Bill and Big Sam. They’re convicts who mind their own business and do their own time. And I want to be just like them when I grow up. I already am. I’m Tripper. I’m drunk. And I hate all who live in my world wasting fresh air.

Just thought I’d rant a little bit tonight and let you know what’s going through a drunk convict’s mind. I write this blog sitting in a prison barracks full of noisy, disrespectful, asshole inmates who have no respect for anyone. Not even themselves. The mental and physical torure a man puts up with in prison will drive him to drink. And it’s unfathomable to the normal every day Joe. It’ll be amazing if I leave here with my sanity and not hate every law enforcement official, faggot and gangbanger I run into out there in the world. Nights like tonight wear on me. I sometimes feel like a ticking time bomb waiting for my time to explode. Again, thank God for what little sanity I still possess and thank the prison psych for Prozac. Wish I had a big fat joint of marijuana to smoke right now. From the mind of a temporarily drunken, unusually disgruntled inmate locked away in federal prison for a little bit of speed. I’m Tripper. And really everyone … I’m okay. Better Days!