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Home Katfish KatFish Blog KATFISH IS A DRY COUNTY SINCE 1997….
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Written by Katfish   
Sunday, 14 February 2010 00:14


UPDATE: Katfish still sits in SHU. He has been told he will be transfered. He has received no disiplinary action what so ever. So basically this means they've held him in SHU for over 60 days now, have not given him a Shot (or new charge). They've only tried to silence him. There has been a number of letters and blogs that are "MISSING". This is very distressing as the writing should NOT be tampered with in anyway. It infringes on his First Amendment Right as well as Tales From The Cells 1st Amendmet. Where is this going to stop? How many people's lives are going to be ruined before someone takes  ae=




My new best friend, she asked me in recent letter, “Do you drink? And when you do, what is your preference?”

Believe it or not, Katfish does not drink. I used to. Scared myself sober one might say.

It was in November of ’97. At a bar on W. Colfax in Lakewood, Colorado. The bar is “Whiskey Bills” long neck Coors originals and shots of Cuervo 1800 is my drink. Was my drink. I was living a miserable life and dangerously close to becoming an alcoholic. One too many shots, one too many beers. Fade to black. Happened to me on more occasions then I care to admit.


The next morning I woke up. Whiskey Bills was but 3 blocks from my home. So I usually made that distance anyway. But I woke up to discover that my knuckles on both hands were thickly scabbed up. And upon closer examination, I discovered what appeared to be dark brown whiskers sticking out of the scabs. I groaned because someone somewhere got their shit pushed in. By me. I had no memory of it.

I lived in the East unit of a Duplex. My brother lived in the West unit. He’d been at the bar w/me. I went over and pounded on his door. He answered it pulling a shirt on. I just stared because I never knew my fat ass little brother had such a fine set of titties on him.

“What?,” he said tugging his shirt down.

I held my knuckles out of him. He opened his screen door, peered at my knuckles and said, “Yeah, so what?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘so what?’ How’d this happen?,” I asked.

“Don’t remember, huh?” he motioned me in.

BRO: …And we were sitting at one of the tables over by the fireplace. This tall skinny dude who’d been sitting at the bar came over and sat at our table. None of us, Walter, my brother, Alana, or I knew him. He was buzzed but acting all right. Alana went over to play pool. Dude said something you didn’t like. So you told him to behave himself or he could go back to sitting at the bar. He got his act together for maybe ten minutes. He then said something dumb to you again. You told him to go back to the bar. He just jumped to his feet and hit you in the face. You, in turn, jumped up and hit him back. He went down. One hit. Down. Don’t look to me as if you’d hit him that hard either. But this is where it gets weird, for some reason you just jumped on him, sat on his chest and began windmilling on him. He was already down and you’re just wailing away on his  head. He fell in front of the fireplace (note: in the two decades I’ve frequented Whiskey Bills- I never once saw a fire in that fire place). So you were bouncing your fists off of the fireplace’s ledge as much as you were his face. The bouncers saw the whole thing, so they ran over and pulled you off.

Katfish: I don’t remember any of this.

B: Yeah, man-you fucked that dude way up. They had to call an ambulance and everything only reason you ain’t in jail is because of the bouncers. They vouched the other dude started it. Pigs took your name anyways. You better hope that motherfucker don’t die. He was bleeding out both ears, nose, mouth. You pushed  his shit in bad….”

That’s when I had me a sudden flashback, way, way, back to 1977….

I was in juvenile boy’s reformatory. At some point one could earn a weekend pass. A friend, Tim Callus, went home one weekend. He never came back. Tim apparently got drunk and killed someone. He was never sent back because they sent him to adult prison in Carson City.

I eventually ended up in Carton city myself about 3 years later. I ran into Tim.

1980 TIM: Damn, ‘Fish-I have no idea what I did. I don’t remember a thing other than waking up in jail. They say I killed some lady. Gave me a life sentence for it. I was only 17 years old….

Well, sister-I quit drinking that day. Never went back to any bar either. Oh-I will occasionally have a special micro-brew w/my dad now and again. But I haven’t been drunk again, not since 1997.

One more thing: every time I returned to the state joint, I’d somehow someway, run into Tim Callus. I haven’t seen him since 1999…..

1999 Tim: Saw the parole board today.

Katfish: Yeah? How’d that go?

T: Gave me a three set back.

K:  oh man, dude, I’m sorry. That extend sucks.

T: Thirty-two years,’ Fish. Thirty two years and they still don’t let me go. My whole life, ruined because of cheap Whiskey and a black out. I fucked off my whole life and don’t even remember it.


I quit drinking forever and ever, Amen. Not because it was the right or noble thing to do. No siree. I quit because I scared the living shit out of myself.



Ever On...




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diamonddave   |97.121.74.xxx |2010-03-02 03:50:53
whats up? nothing from Katfish in a few weeks and i thought Sativa was going to
continue on, anythin g i can do?

Nikita   |97.121.74.xxx |2010-03-02 04:23:45
Hey Dave! Great to see you still here and reading, we were wondering ab
out you as well!! How 's treatment going? I've recently heard from Katfi sh fina
lly via telephone and things are looking ha iry. We've found a way though for hi
m to continue to contact the media without interruption. I've go t pneumonia an
d now it looks like the stomach flu is fastly spreading around , so keep com
ing, al l authors are trying, it's the editorial staff tha t's slow! Thanks for
your support Dave, it means a lot!
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Last Updated on Monday, 01 March 2010 03:36