She Wants Revenge.

In an effort to catch the lamp I knocked over this morning so as not to set my apartment on fire, I threw the entire un-secured 20 ounces of Red Mountain Dew I was clutching directly onto my bed. It now looks exactly like I stabbed someone to death there. That's an anomaly of course, because who the hell would be in my bed to begin with. I would have to drag the aformentioned man-stealing-my-hubcaps into it first.

And after many weeks of sitting around refusing to do any work whatsoever at that place called work as an act of defiance, I have reluctantly resumed publication of the inmate law books. What they don't know is that I am no longer updating it with endless blather about lethal injection and sodomy. No. Instead, the inmates will be privy to my personal memoirs and perhaps a centerfold of myself. It will not be provided free of charge this year, either. I become rich, and the blight upon their blighted lives is brightened with my riveting tales. Everyone wins.

Mayhaps I will even print the letters they've given me with my replies like Henry Rollins does. Just today, one ended with, "P.S. I WANT TO GO HOME."

Dear Sleepless in San Quentin, I responded, Yeah me too.