“I don’t know anything about Angola, but I know they’re in trouble.” – Charles Barkley, 1992 USA Basketball

To many folks, I’m known to be a quirky fellow. It’s not unusual for me to go against the grain. Not because I’m a poser trying to be different. It’s because the thing I do is usually something ridiculous or stupid while everyone else does something normal or smart. For instance, I really have to find a way to not laugh at funerals. They are NOT funny, I tell myself. Then this wave of amusement blows over me at some point during the ceremony. It’s a fucking curse.

Actually, I usually have to pose as a normal person. That is, until it comes to the LAW. I always find myself being a law-abiding citizen, from not breaking any big laws, to not stealing a photocopy from one of my clients. It’s the one part of my life that is straight it seems. The biggest reason for that? I am NOT built for jail. I think it’s a credit to anyone to know who they are, what they can do and what they CAN’T do. I CAN’T do jail.

Let’s pretend for a second that I WOULDN’T get a shiv stuck in my back on the first night there. Obviously, that is the most likely scenario. But we can pretend, right? Just like I can pretend that my wife would actually give me a conjugal visit if I got locked up! Come to think of it, she may shiv me herself if I ended up in the pokey.

The first immediate problem would be my roommate. I doubt my OCD would go away in time for my incarceration. I may have to have a SERIOUS discussion about the condition of our cell. I mean, does he REALLY need to have all of those clippings of naked women on the wall? And if he does, would he consider at least giving me half of them for my bunk? (Exactly half… I’d sneak an odd one in the toilet if I had to).
And what about THAT? Do I have to poop next to this fella? Talk about an uncomfy situation. I’d have to ask him if he would please do his chin-ups facing the OTHER way, thank you very much.

And I’m a finicky eater. What the hell would I do at mealtime? I might end up becoming an anorexic before having to eat some of the crap I’ve heard that they served in prison. However, it would be a different story on Mac & Cheese day. That I don’t share.

“Step off, mutha-fucka!!!”

And can you imagine me walking up to a large, mean looking dude and asking him when the next showing of Cinema Paradiso would be? Ulp. He may use my head to mop up the bathrooms.

I had thought that maybe I’d have to work out to protect myself. But I’m thinking that this wouldn’t go over too well either.

And there’s always the threat of death at any moment!

That’s why I believe that I’ve come up with an iron-clad strategy to stay alive, albeit not a pretty one.
I would have to find myself a boyfriend! Ideally, a REALLY BIG one! A strong and scary guy who can protect me from the rigors of prison life.

I would probably put out applications to try to land the candidate best for the job. I’d ask important questions like:

1. Have you committed murder?
2. How many people have you murdered?
3. Was an ex one of the people that you’d murdered?

Obviously… question # 3 is a trick question. I do NOT want a man who likes to kill his significant other. That fellow is not MY Mr. Right.

I’d have to do my best to get those applications out there! The best way I’m thinking to get most of the convicts’ attention is to walk up and down C-Block wearing a sandwich board that reads:

on the front. And this on the back:

You know, with my luck I’d probably go and find a romantic! Sheesh.

As you can see, I am not fit to be a prisoner. I’d be as unmatched as Team Angola was in 1992 when the USA basketball “Dream Team” faced off against them.
I can already hear the “NEW MEAT” chant when I’m walking in. So if the only thing I have to do is obeying the law to avoid bad food, no movies and some man-sex… count me IN.

Say, any ideas what to get a 3 time offender rapist for his birthday?

(Just in CASE, Sillies).