4:20 PM - Hot Sticky Sweet
Category: Life

Dayum I miss women! Dayum meaning “damn” yet pronounced with a southern accent by the way. I’ve known it all along but today it just kind of hit me harder than usual. Probably because I caught a glimpse of a woman with huge breasts implants as she came walking by. Maybe she was part of the parole board or a someone sitting in on a parole hearing. She was headed toward the chow hall when the wind blew up her shirt. Fine looking gal. All the convicts had to stop and stare. We must realize I’m still a man and I still like sex. Then, I came back to the housing unit and watched part of a program on VH-1 that also showed tits, tits and more tits! The reality show with Brett Michaels where he’s looking for a girlfriend. Man those sure are some fine ass bitches!

Does anyone know how unnatural it is for a man to have to do without sex? Especially for a man like me who is use to having a wife, live-in or girlfriend. Do you know I haven’t kissed a woman in over eight calendar years? Dayum I miss the soft touch of a woman’s full pouty lips! There are no conjugal visits in the Bureau of Prisons. Anyone who says or thinks there are, are out of their rabid ass minds! It’s almost as if these assholes encourage homosexual activity. And they want you to be a fag. Like a Hitler oriented mind set, only it’s to be rid of all the straight men in the world. I don’t know about any of the rest of you that might have ever been in prison, but I for one still like girls! ‘Til the day I die I’ll like pussy and never go the other way!

The B.O.P. took away our jack mags a few years ago. No more Penthouse, Hustler or Playboy to give us a rise. Some asshole Congressman in D.C. thought it was wrong for the Christian do-gooders up in the prison mailroom to have to handle our smut. So he got it taken away. Hell, most of the time the cops stole our magazines. The male ones anyway. Then you had the occasional female guard who came along jealous, stealing your fuck books because she didn’t look as good as the women who caught our eye. No porn mags in the fed joint. Not any more. A true hardship, cruel and unusual punishment, for a man or men like me. Can I get an Amen!

And no hot sticky sweet female prison guards to oogle either. Not here at FCI Big Spring anyway. The prison admin makes sure to hire bull dykes who hate men. Ones that wish they had dicks themselves and some that look so manly they probably do. Whatever happened to the days of sexy female C.O.’s with big breasts and great asses that look good in blue? Sure miss the corrupt lady cops of the ADC (Arkansas Department of Correction). At least the women guards there weren’t afraid to give a convict a little bit of play. Not that I ever knocked one of them off. No siree Bob! I’m a good little inmate without a dirty minded thought in my entire body! (Laughs)

I like all women, don’t get me wrong. But my favorite are the sluts! The ones who wear stiletto heels, hoop earrings and short, short mini-skirts. Girls that pile on the makeup - eye shadow, lipstick and just the ride shade of rouge. Chicks who put glitter in their hair, have long painted nails, and big, fake titties from hell! Yeah, the girl next door type of gal is okay with me. I damn sure wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers. But what I enjoy more are the whores! The best of the best, nastiest of the nastiest, the ones who’ll fuck your brains out and leave you totally stupid! Girls who make men turn and stare. Know any girls like that? If you do, please send them my way!

And what about that gorgeous doll Shanna Moakler? Now there’s a good lookin’ gal! Hot, blonde and beautiful! What a straight up fuckin’ fox! And then there’s Adrienne Curry. That goddamn Peter Brady! What a lucky little shit he is. Maybe I should have taken better notice of the Brady Bunch boys back when I was a little boy. Think old Pete could have taught me a thing or two? After all, he obviously knows something I don’t know. Has to. Either that or Peter’s got a bigger peter than mine. Yeah Shanna and Adrienne. Both women of my dreams! Soon as I finish this blog, I’ll think I’ll take a nap if you know what I mean. See ya in a few ladies…

And how about all my super foxy myspace readers? All of you these girls really know how to turn me on! Yeah, all you pretty girls had better be glad I’m not out there right now. Because I’d sure be schemin’ tough and tryin’ to get with you. All my female readers are pretty! I’d like to meet you all! With luck, maybe one day my dream will come true.

I sit here and think about you women each and every day. I feel for you, I just can’t reach you!! (laughs) And believe me, you all drive me wild! Cruel and unusual punishment for a real man like me to be locked away behind bars. No more running the palm of my hand up the inside of a woman’s thighs. No more perfume enjoyed straight from a woman’s neck, lipstick on my collar and panties laying on the floor at the end of my bed. Nothing left but the occasional daytime fantasy and late night dream. Yes girls, I miss you. Really, really bad. Especially this summer when you’re all so scantily clad. The terry cloth shorts, the bikinis and the standard cut off jeans. Then of course there’s the birthday suit! The greatest and best of all! And trust me ladies, the birthday suit goes with everything, makes your hair prettier, your nails even more beautiful, and well, I could go on here, but you get my drift I’m sure.

I miss looking into a woman’s eyes when she’s drunk. Letting her know how I truly feel. To hold her hand, hug her neck, and let her know I want her to be mine and only mine. I miss buying my girl flowers. Red roses, the ultimate symbol of love. Taking her out to dinner. Pulling out her chair. Checking out the lipstick she left on her wine glass. They way the wind blows through her beautiful hair. Why oh why Lord am I stuck here with all these men? Why am I sitting in prison when I should really be out there? All the gorgeous women! Girls so hot my fingers would burn to touch their skin! The angels and the demons, the good girls and the whores, the innocent and guilty. I love and miss them all!

Do women still wear pink? You see, I’ve been locked up so long I really wouldn’t know. And silk? Tell me silk is still the finest material in the world! Can’t really go into detail in reference to silk and high heels. But oh what an irrational devotion I have for pink panties and bras on my women. Just wanted to let all you girls know, here on myspace, and around the world, I’m thinking about you. That you’re on my mind and in my heart. Hot sticky sweet - I miss your french kiss! The way the sweat beads between your breasts after making love for hours. Hell, even watching you put on your make-up. I miss it all. Meet me tonight on the airwaves! See you in my dreams! And again, thanks for reading and thanks for being my friends!! As I remain … the one and only extremely horny Tripper! Better Days!

As a convict who collects lipstick kisses from women all over the world placing them in my scrapbook here in federal prison … I was wondering…. Who of my foxy female readers has the best set of hot sexy lips? A contest is being ironed out, so ladies, pucker up and get ready to enter YOURS!

There will be two winners - Tripper’s Personal Pick and Judge’s Choice. The five judges who are also Tripper’s fans, friends and readers by the way, are The World Famous Mad Goat, the one and only Spidey-John, the lovely Mayet, although a requirement for her to be a judge is she must pucker up and show ‘em!, Connecticut Cliff and last but not least … Jason of Missing Links fame! IF you guys will do this, please let the rep know, leave a message here, something to let her know so she can get instructions for you.

The Mad Goat

Strangers Have The Best Candy

Spidey-John

Mayet

Connecticut Cliff

Missing Links

4:20 PM - Paper Hanging
Category: Life

Anyone know what a paper hanger is? How ’bout a check artist? Mickey, I bet you know! Wish I could have ran around with you on the outside. I know you had a lot of fun. Anyway, a paper hanger is a person, male or female, who manufactures, writes and cashes personal or payroll checks using another person’s ID or totally fictitious driver’s license altogether. Over the years, I’ve met dozens upon dozens of crafty, intelligent, experienced paper hangers. Some who were good. Others doing time in the joint effectively learning from their mistakes. Some learn through trial and error. Others just go like hell and rarely get caught. The more experienced paper hanger is also a counterfeiter making his or her own ID’s. I always envied the paper hanger. I would loved to have made and cashed a few thousand checks. But, looking the way I do, my appearance wouldn’t allow me to do so. You have to look the part. And I look more like your neighborhood drug dealer rather than your average, everyday, normal American citizen out to cash his paycheck. If I had to guess, I’d venture to say, girls are probably the best paper hangers. They just look so pretty and innocent, most people probably think there’s no way they’d ever set out to break the law.

One of the best male paper hangers I ever met was a guy named Geoff. Before the days on the Internet, Geoff had to do things the old fashion way. He made birth certificates from scratch. Then, he got driver’s licenses to match. Geoff would go to a used book store and buy an old hardback book, let’s say 35 or 40 years old. In the front of every book there’s usually one blank white page. Geoff tore out that page and printed his phony birth certificate on it. The certificate also required a raised seal. He had an old B & 0 Railroad seal with all the characters filed down so when it was pressed into the paper, you really couldn’t make out the words. Now, his birth certificate looked old and authentic He’d then go to a small town DMV and take the driver’s test and get his license. Then, it was off to the bank to open a bogus business account under his new name, cash checks all over town as fast as he could, and make a small fortune. For an old school fraudster, Geoff was pretty smart. What cracked me up the most about him was, he had a fountain pen tattooed over his heart writing out the words, “Check Artist” in cursive. Forging and cashing checks was Geoff’s life’s profession. And even though I haven’t seen him in like 15 years, I just imagine he’s probably doing time in prison somewhere today.

I met another old boy named Red who use to break into businesses and steal blank checks and registered payroll machines. He too made his own ID’s. He once stole a machine from the Harvesty Company in Tulsa cashing checks at banks and grocery stores all over Oklahoma. When I met Red, he was in jail. He had a map of the state of Oklahoma broke down by county. Inside each county he wrote the number of years he was sentenced to do in prison by that court. The most time he got was 40 years in Tulsa County. 10’s, 15’s and 20’s everywhere else. All running concurrent with the 40. He’d also break into other places and steal money order machines, make money orders, and cash them too. Another old school cat, he couldn’t do that shit today. Technology is too far out there and everyone’s hip to the game. One of the downfalls of being a paper hanger is having to pay restitution when you get caught. This guy’s restitution ran into the hundreds of thousands of dollars! Traveling all over the state, his wife was also a paper hanger. She not only cashed her hubby’s pay checks, she cashed personal checks too. Part of the rush of doing this type of crime is in the “getting over”. It’s fun to be smarter than the average Joe, laughing your ass off all the way out the door with a pocketful of cash! And like any crime, it’s addictive.

My friend Dishonest John and his wife Lisa P. were also professional paper hangers. They made their checks and social security cards on their PC. They also made library cards, college ID’s and other various forms of identification to go along with their driver’s licenses. A nice looking, well dressed woman wearing rings on every finger and having the ultimate gift of gab, Lisa could pretty much write or cash a check for anything she wanted. She once told me she made herself a hospital ID. Suddenly, Lisa was a doctor! She’d put on her long, white doctor’s coat, place a stethoscope around her neck, and go into the mall. Pretending she was in a hurry on her lunch break, Lisa would quickly choose a man’s Rolex for her husband’s birthday and pay for it by check. Funny thing was, her old man’s birthday was every day! Lisa’s downfall, like so many of the other paper hangers and check artists I’ve met … she was a junky. She loved doing meth and cocaine. One time she was so high when making an ID she spelled the last name differently on the check than the other matching ID’s. The snooty old female salesclerk at Zales, jealous of how pretty Lisa was and how nice she was dressed, couldn’t wait to sneak to the phone and call the pigs. Lisa got sent to prison. The clerk got a bonus and raise.

My all time favorite paper hanger was a guy by the name of Rinaldo. Looking at him you’d never be able to tell he was totally full of shit. He too dressed in expensive suits, wore gold and diamond rings and an expensive Cartier watch. All paid for by bogus check or credit card. He took pride in his work in that he told me he never met a person he couldn’t beat. He was so good they even wrote a book about him. He is known as the “Founding Father of Identity Theft” and is immortalized in a book called “Your Evil Twin” by MSNBC’s Bob Sullivan. Back in the days when he made ID’s, he went and purchased the same kind of machine they used at driver’s license bureaus all over the U.S. Carried it around in the trunk of his car. Sometimes even flew with it on a plane! He’d make his own ID’s, constantly smiling for the camera. A very personable guy, you just had to like him. He told me many a story while sleeping in the bed next to me in prison. He knew all the tricks of the trade. I haven’t seen Rinaldo in well over a year now. I think he was due to be released. Said he was going straight. In a way I hope he did. But if I knew all that he knew, there’d be absolutely no fucking way! I couldn’t resist going back out there and hitting another lick. Hope he did, but you never can tell. Might see him on America’s Most Wanted any day.

Yeah, I would loved to have been a professional paper hanger. But like I said before, I just didn’t have the appearance with long hair and all these tattoos. I would have stood out like a sore thumb. A mother fucker in a jewelry store or Sak’s Fifth Avenue would have called the cops on me in a New York second. I guess I could have cut my hair and wore long sleeve shirts. But there would still be that tell-tale teardrop tattooed underneath my right eye. I’d love to be able to go shopping with unlimited funds and a high credit score. I’d be wearing the best of clothes and my PC equipment would be out of this world! My family and friends would have everything their hearts desired, and if I had a special lady, diamonds and gold on every finger, hell, even her toes. I have a close friend here on myspace that has some interesting stories to tell. Maybe one day she’ll share. In the mean time, I wouldn’t advise anyone to go out and break the law. Prison isn’t a fun place to be. Anyone else have any stories of hanging paper? Ones they can tell without getting into a wreck? You don’t meet many hangers in federal prison. Most are doing time in the state. Unless of course they advanced up to counterfeiting currency. Then they’d be right here with me. When you counterfeit currency, not only the FEDS go after you, but the Secret Service of the United States Government as well. Their sole purposes of training are to protect the President and to protect American currency. And really, you don’t want to fuck with those guys, it’s a lose lose my friends. In closing, just remember, don’t ever write a check your ass can’t cash!

 I’m Tripper!  Better Days!

9:30 AM - Shopping With Granny
Category: Life

From time to time, even though a young teen, I sometimes hung out with my grandma. One December I was staying with grandma Mansell in Tulsa. And all of a sudden she jumped up and said, “We’re goin’ Christmas shopping!” tossing me the keys to her car, “Here, you drive.” Grandma didn’t know I’d just taken two hits of acid and ten hits of speed. My friend from a couple of streets over had just sold me some windowpane and methtabs. A hundred for twenty-five for the speed. And five bucks a hit for the LSD. Pulling the big boat of an Impala out of the driveway, I could already feel my hair starting to tingle and stand on end. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and lead foot off the gas. Halfway to Brookside I was literally wired for sound. Why did we have to go shopping right now granny? Why the fuck now?

Headed north on Peoria, my knees were knocking and teeth a chatterin’.”Slow this car down son!” my grandma yelled as I ran the stop light at 51st and Skelly. “Sorry grandma, I thought I could make it”. By the time we got to Shopper’s Fair I had cottonmouth from hell! Stopping at a soda machine on the way in the door, I bought a Coke and downed it in a single gulp. “What’s wrong grandson? Were you thirsty or what?” Grandma Mansell obviously noticing something was wrong. Once inside the store I felt like people were staring at me. Riding the escalator to the 2nd floor, I tripped when the automated stairs met the still standing floor. “Quit being so clumsy Allen!” said my grandma pointing toward a row of shopping carts. “Go get me a buggy!” Moving through the store, my skin tingled and my eyes bulged out of my head. A lady sales clerk smiled and I imagined her making a stabbing motion as if she were putting a syringe in a vein in her arm. It wasn’t enough that I was speeding, now I had to start hallucinating too!

I toyed with item after item as grandma tossed them in the cart. The Ferbie she chose felt soft to the touch and seemed as if it were looking at me. The cordless phone she put in the basket rang and a voice from above said, “Tripper! It’s for you!” Damn couldn’t we cut this shopping trip short? The muzak on the speaker system was driving me bananas. Nothing but Christmas songs and truthfully I wasn’t in the holiday mood. All I wanted to do was get back in grandma’s car and mash the gas for home. A chick in a short skirt and tank top caught my eye. The words on her shirt read, “2FAST’4U”, and I wondered to myself if she too might like a few hits of speed. Finally, we made it to the checkout stand. The lady cashier was dressed like one of Santa’s elves and the sackboy looked like a rein-deer. Everyone was in the Christmas spirit. Everyone but me that is, and I was whacked out on acid and speed.

Back in the car, grandma asked me if I wanted something to eat. Said she’d treat me to McDonalds, all I had to do was drive. “No thanks grandma,” I said. “Can’t we wait to eat when we get back home?” “What’s wrong with you child? There’s sweat on your brow and your skin is so pale. Why it looks like you’ve just seen a ghost!” “Nothing’s wrong with me granny.” I said quickly trying desperately not to bust myself out and laugh. “Where do you want to go next? I’m just a little bit hot, that’s all.” The next place we went was Crossroads Mall. Once again people seemed to gawk and stare. Even a dog on a leash looked at me crazy seemingly to know I was high. Talk about some “go fast”. The methtabs I took that day had to be some of the best I’d ever done. I’d taken Christmas trees, black mollies and even Preludin. None held a candle to the plain old cross tabs I ate that day. I was so high I vowed once I came down never to take speed or acid again. Leaving the mall parking lot, I accidentally backed into a car. “Shit!” 1 said. “Oops! Sorry grandma. I didn’t mean to cuss.” “It’s okay son, just haul ass before the cops get here!” Surprised at my 65 year old granny’s candor, I put the pedal to the metal and got the hell out of Dodge. Driving with my left, I placed my right hand on top of the seat. Suddenly grandma put her hand on top of mine. “Why is your hand so cold and sweaty? Are you on dope?” “No! No grandma no!” “You’d better not be! You know that old Dean Martin is strung out on dope. I’d hate to see you ruin your life with that shit!” Where my grandma Mansell ever got the idea Dean Martin was a junky, I’ll never know. But that was the second time she’d said that shit over the years. Cruising down Sheridan, I did my best not to break the speed limit and keep my eye on the road. When was this shit ever going to wear off? All I could think of was I was sure going to kick my friend’s ass when I got back home.

Approaching the river bridge, an Oklahoma Highway Patrol got right on my bumper. Adjusting the rearview mirror, my granny knew I was in a sheer state of panic and something was obviously wrong. Right as she turned to look over her shoulder, I stuffed the remainder of the hundred lot of pills down the front of my jeans. The problem was, I felt the baggy tear and the pills start to spill. “Watch your speed son. The goddamn fuzz is right on our tail!” Looking down at the speedo, I must have swerved some into the left lane. Sweating bullets as the pills in my pants were now hitting the floor, I looked in the rearview and saw the red lights and the Trooper calling in our tags. “Fuck grandma! We’re in big trouble!” is all I could think to say. Why did this shit have to be happening to me? Here this fucker was, he’d appeared out of nowhere and now me and grandma were both going to jail! As I pulled over on the shoulder, I felt the bulk of the pills come rolling down my leg. Knocking on my window wearing cheap mirrored shades, I panicked at the sight of the Trooper! (Oops! Out of ribbon! To be continued yet another day!) I am Tripper! Better Days!

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