So, I wake up at 3:00 am this morning and this is my plan. All I want to do is quietly sneak out to the laundry room and wash a few clothes. I make every effort not to make the slightest bit of noise as I know all the other convicts in my unit are fast asleep enjoying their solitude. All’s well until the nutcase Sutton wakes up and does the Thorazine shuffle to the restroom. And immediately, men start to stir. This idiot has no idea how to pick up his feet when he walks and to worsen matters, he bumps into every other locker along his way and trips over a broom. Once through pissing on the wall because he’s too drugged up to find the urinal, the psych patient in question sees I’m doing laundry and decides to mimic me and do some too. Fumbling around, he attempts to open his locker. After fourteen tries and a lot of cursing, he finally remembers the combination to his lock and slings his locker door open with a loud clang.

And did I forget to mention the shithead prison guard who just came through and wanted to know why everyone was already awake? Thinking inmates were drunk, he brought in his breathalyzer kit and made six of us blow. Fortunately, no one had been drinking. Yet if the machine could have tested for idiocy, five of the six of us would have went to the hole for being too stupid to breathe. What a true waste of oxygen some of these men are. Soon as the dickwad correctional officer went on his merry way, I went to the restroom to brush my teeth and shave. Staring in the mirror, I could see the security guard, the inmate not the CO., squatted down in a shitter stall staring through a small peephole in the door. With my toothbrush still in my mouth, I turned and rudely kicked the door. “Get up off your haunches you freak and take your happy ass back to the dorm!” Cursing me in unintelligible gibberish, the bald headed, half naked looney tune ran from the area and crawled under his sheets. Sam, now awake and standing beside me brushing his teeth, just laughed and laughed and laughed. Nothing ceases to amaze either of us living on this floor.

Yes, as I’ve mentioned before, some of these dicklicks wouldn’t have sense enough to pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel. I’ll be so glad when Sutton gets out of prison next month. Maybe then I’ll be able to get up in the morning without him following me around. And the queer? Guess what he’s doing now? He’s taking cherry Kool-Aid, mixing it with water, and putting it on his lips as lipstick. Thinks its some of that Maybelline “Wet Diamonds” lipstick and it’ll get him laid. In another container he’s water downed some blue M & M’s to be used as eye shadow and his painting his eyelids. What a sick and twisted freak of nature this mother fucker is. Sutton, the security guard, the boxer and the queer. What a variety of stupid assholes we have here! Thank God it will be time to go to the library soon. Just one more hour before chow call and a bit of fresh air and food. Fresh air in high demand as the security guard just cut a succession of farts. Hope you’ve enjoyed my insight on what it’s like waking up in the pen. More to come! As I remain … Tripper, a guy doing time in federal prison. Better Days!

The Red Rose
Category: Life

Among the best loved and most well known flowers in the world is the red rose. Its deep crimson color, often rich in fragrance, and the beauty of its form, have made the red rose the ultimate symbol of love since ancient times. Personally, I’ve loved red roses ever since I was a little boy. My grandmother use to have rose bushes in her yard and I’d sometimes pick red roses and take them to my mother. My mother loved roses. And so does about every woman I know. Some roses are so breathtakingly beautiful that they command intense intimate interest and bring out the best in the recipients of their love. Out of all the women I’ve ever dated, I’ve bought every single one of them either bouquets of red roses or a single, long stemmed red rose. And for the guys who are reading this blog, you should try it. Because red roses got me laid many, many times.

Females are well known for being creatures of emotion. I once saw legitimate emotion in the eyes of my lover when I gave her a dozen red roses complete with baby’s breath in a fine crystal vase of colorless, transparent glass. She was so beautiful, glowing and attractive the moment I handed her the long stemmed roses. With charm, grace and dignity she happily accepted my amorous offering of devotion, endearment and tenderness. I loved the way she smiled and the innocent way she blushed and crinkled her nose - the look of which said a thousand words. And you know what? I enjoyed making her feel good that day. The vision of which is permanently imbedded in my heart and mind to this day. Such a lovely, pleasurable, elegant woman she was. Sitting here in prison, I wonder if she still remembers those red roses and the unconditional love given to her that day.

One of my favorite things to do is to leave a single, long stemmed, red rose under the wiper blade of a love interest’s car. However, that did get me in trouble one time when the husband of the woman I was having an affair with came to his wife’s work place and found the red rose. Then there was the time I ran into an old girlfriend in a bar. She said she was single, still worked at the same place and gave me her phone number on a card. So, I sent a dozen red roses to Furr’s Cafeteria where she worked as a hostess. Only later to call and hear her say, “My boyfriend got mad when he found out you sent me roses. He’s looking for you and pissed off like hell.” But … this chick had just told me she wasn’t seeing anyone! And even gave me her number and told me to call! What a wasted fifty spot that was. For the life of me, I’ve still yet to figure out why she lied.

I once left a red rose in the office of a hotel where I was staying with instructions to the desk clerk to give it and a note to a lady friend I was expecting to call. The note which read, “For a good time, see the guy in room 222.” Needless to say, I had a great time that night. Such a simple yet erotically stimulating flower the red rose. Did you know the attar of rose, a rich fragrant essential oil, is sometimes used in making perfume? And come to think about it, I think I read somewhere that rosehips are used in certain Wiccan love spells and other culture’s rituals and potions. Can a rose be considered voluptuous? As in suggesting sensual pleasure by fullness and beauty of form? All I know is, roses are startlingly beautiful and every woman I’ve ever given them to fell head over heels in love. They just fell and fell and fell!

After having spent numerous years behind bars and growing increasingly old, I often wonder if I can still get anywhere by giving a woman a dozen red roses. Surely they’re still considered elegant, vivid, colorful and the ultimate symbol of love. Tenacious of life and erotically stimulating, if I can’t do it on my own any more, maybe I can be assisted with the delicate intimacy projected by the rose. And believe it or not everyone, I’m still a romantic at heart. On Valentine’s Day I give red roses to the one I love and adore. And on her birthday she always receives the same. In closing, just want to let all my female readers know … I’ll love pretty women and red roses until the day I die! The red rose - the ultimate symbol of love! I’m Tripper. Better days full of love!

            There are two homosexuals that sleep in the bunk next to me here. Two nights ago they had a cat fight.  You should have seen it. Reminded me of two bitches arguing over who had the prettiest hair. The one said to the other, “Bitch!    I’ll kick your ho ass!” And the other,  standing like a chick with one foot turned sideways a bit in front of the other replied,  “Whore! You couldn’t beat your way out of a wet paper bag!”   Then, they both clammed up and went to bed mad.    Personally,  I was glad to see them shut the fuck up.  I have a hard time falling off to sleep as it is - two grown men talking about sucking dick and taking it up the ass. Yeah,  these two freaks are some strange mother fuckers for real! The one totally outspoken and blatant about his twisted sexuality. There’s no shame to his game.  The other a bit more reserved not openly forcing his crap on those who are not gay. And truthfully …  sometimes they amuse me giving me a good hard laugh.

       It’s only been recently that I started speaking to fags(realizing this is not politcally correct, it’s just hard for me to think of it any other way, forced to see in day in and day out, with no pussy play at all, it would be easier to swollow if we got to see two chicks going at it, or the real deal, a man and a woman, but no, we get the fags) at all. And the only reason being,  I’ve been in prison so long that nothing hardly shocks me any more.  If grown men want to gobble up wienies and take it up the ying-yang, then so be it.  Just so long as they don’t do it openly in front of me. Because regardless of how many years I’ve already served,  I still like girls and always will.  I could literally have a LIFE sentence and I’d spank my monkey until the day I died before allowing another man to eat me up. Some guys say they’re not fags when they let a prison punk suck their dick. But to me, no matter whether you pitch or you catch, you’re still playing ball! Just thought I’d give normal everyday folks a little insight as to what sometimes goes on in these places. Hope I didn’t offend you with my choice of words. Just keeping it real.  As I remain …  the one and only totally straight heterosexual convict Tripper! Better normal sex life having days!