"Stuff an apple in yer maw and take a pic!" she says.

So, it started out simple enough. A challenge.


"Stuff an apple in yer maw and take a pic!", she says.


Of course, I can't just simply stuff an apple in my maw. No, I've got to dress it up.

Then, someone spotted the uvula and someone else thought they said vulva.


Shit morphed.

Then, teh impy one suggested stuffing her mouth might be fun.

Now, it's some fucked up Human Centipede-esque insanity involving apples and gherkins and Sharpies.

Spent & used with pickle splooge dripping down her sunny, yellow skin, we say goodbye to applebaby.


I shouldn't be allowed to mingle with people. Ever.

F**k you. Jail is not "better than".

It really bugs the shit out of me when I see/hear people say things like "jails are better than ____".

No, they're not. Really. They're not.

Let's start with the food, shall we?

There's the breakfast that comes at 3:30am. Cold. Most times it's dry cereal, two slices of bread, a milk and a juice. Once in a while there's powdered eggs. We won't discuss what these do to one's digestive tract. Sometimes, there's waffles. Taken straight out of the freezer and tossed on a tray. Maybe there's butter and syrup. Maybe there isn't. If you've never eaten a raw waffle, let me tell you, it's an experience. For lunch you have the famous bologna "choke" sandwiches consisting of four slices of bread, two completely soggy, two slices of retch-inducing bologna, a packet of sugar-free kool-aid mix and some small snack. These are served 365 days a year. No exceptions. Ever. Dinner is much like breakfast and lunch, only worse.

Let's talk clothing now, ok?

You're issued two uniforms. The administration tries to do a uniform exchange once a week. This means you're issued one clean uniform a week. Mostly, anyway. You sleep in this uniform, you go to court in this uniform, you eat in this uniform. Your undergarments? Your problem. There are no washing machines in jail. Washing is done in the toilet. The toilet, you ask? Yes. The sinks cannot be stopped up to hold water. They're also very tiny, with faucets that have to be held to work. Buckets are not allowed. This leaves the toilet. Ice cold water, soap, and your unmentionables--rub-a-dub-dub two socks, a bra, and panties in the toilet bowl.

Now, for the sleeping arrangements.

You're issued one bed mat. It's approximately 3" of blue foam, wrapped in heavy plastic, mostly with a sinkhole dead in the middle. You're issued one set of sheets. Two flat sheets, one pillowcase (for which there is no pillow), and one wool blanket, replete with moth holes. This bedding is laid on a steel-grate framed bed. This is where your slumber occurs. In between the every-two-hours "Move something, shake something!" wake-up calls, that is.

Let's chat a little about seeing a doctor, mmk?

It could take up to three months to see a doctor. This is even for very obvious issues. Sure, there's an emergency room, but unless someone thinks you'll die in your sleep, no one wants to do the paperwork to send you.

Now, dear reader, let's get personal.

There's the women that look like men and make dildos from rubber gloves and kotex. Rape is entirely possible. Harassment is rampant. Protection is non-existent.

There's the showers in either freezing cold or scalding hot water. The 'state issued' soap that, literally, burns your skin as you wash. This is also to be used on your hair. Make sure you wear your shoes, though. Athlete's foot is just a shower away. Razors? Ha! Leg-hair and armpit hair are your friends. This is a good thing, though, because you'll need the extra fur to keep you warm when the heat barely works and the air-conditioning works too good. Can we talk about the state issued toothpaste that gets used as glue and eats paint off the walls? Did you know there's no toilet seats in jails? Yeah, you sit directly on either cold stainless steel or cold porcelain, and you had better not forget 'poop etiquette' or you might get your ass kicked by your cellmate who is located 3ft. from where you're shitting.

The financial rape that is 'commissary' should enrage everyone. Bottles of $.99 shampoo being sold for $3, 3/$1 bars of soap being sold for $1/ea., $.25 bags of chips going for $.75. All this profit, where is it going? You want shampoo? You want soap that doesn't burn? You want sanitary napkins that don't cause a rash? You want deodorant? You need new socks? A t-shirt? Non-toxic toothpaste? Those lovely, wallet-raping bastards called 'commissary' have everything you need at a 200% mark-up.

Then, there's the awesomeness that is regular strip searches. Oh yes, lift your tits, lift your stomach, bend over and spread your ass cheeks, then, squat and cough, simultaneously, arms outstretched at your sides. Every time you leave your housing unit for any reason, a strip search is going down. Sometimes, it goes down just because. Oh, did I mention the lesbians they have overseeing this process? Now, I'm all down for all sexualities, but having a lesbian strip searching women is really not much different than having a man strip search a female. The attraction to females is the same with either gender and just as disconcerting.

Sometimes, there's even mocking involved. Actually, there's a lot of mocking and bullying going on in these places. By staff as well as detainees. Pressuring for sexual favors by male staff is always around.

This is just the tip of the iceberg atop a plethora of issues.

This, folks, is what jail is like.

The kicker? These people are not yet convicted. So, no matter how much you yammer on about them just being criminals, remember, under the law they are innocent until proven guilty. Even if that means only 20% of the people being housed in a facility are actually found not guilty, that is 20% that were treated like human waste. Housed, fed, clothed, and treated deplorably. Jails are not 'better than' anything except, maybe, a cardboard box on lower Wacker Drive.

So, the next time you want to pop off with some stupid shit resembling "jails are cushy", run the following things through your head, alrighty?

• Imagine being repulsed by what constitutes as food, to the point of actually retching when attempting to eat, as many as 3x in a single day. Imagine your hunger.

• Imagine walking around smelling because it's been 11 days since you were issued a clean uniform. You must be appropriately dressed at all times. Imagine your embarrassment.

• Imagine being mocked for smelling terrible, and it's beyond your control. Imagine the frustration.

• Imagine being mocked and/or sexually harassed when strip searched. Imagine that level of humiliation.

• Imagine being cuffed and chained everywhere you go. Sometimes, out into public. Like an offsite hospital. Imagine the humiliation of having the general public stare at you, pull back their children, whisper in hushes and generally humiliate you-publicly. Imagine how you'd feel.

• Imagine having a tooth abscess and having to wait 6 weeks to get to a doctor for an antibiotic. Imagine the pain you'd suffer.

• Imagine being awakened every two hours while you sleep at night. Imagine the sheer exhaustion you might feel.

• Imagine having 59 other people in a single room with you. All fighting for one television. With censored channels. Imagine the noise level of those 59 people and you and the tv and the fights over card games and the on-the-sly sexual shit going on all around you. Imagine always having to be on guard.

• Imagine, through all of this, you know you're innocent.

Then, you need to sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up and pray/cross your fingers/snap like Bert from SOAP and hope it's never you.

Parenting, my way.

Everyone seems to be up in arms about this dad and him shooting up this computer.

OK, since I'm one of those folks who likes to make points hit home and I tend to gear punishments in that direction, here goes.

Had this been in my home, this computer would have been destroyed and not sold.

First, the computer would have been one of those items I deem 'on loan'. On loan because I want to retain control of it. If my kids didn't get it as a present, it was one of those things that were on loan from me.

Now, in this video he stated this had happened before. If my kids did something I deemed stupid on the internet? And they'd done this before? I'd have warned her already that if it happens again, the computer gets drowned.

See, if you're going to be disrespectful of the use of my things? I'm going to make you do a truly disrespectful thing--destroy my shit, willfully, with your own hands. In my face.

I'm going to have the bathtub, filled with water when she gets home. She'd have to go get the laptop and put it in the bathtub in front of me.

If you're going to be disrespectful (and IMO humiliating someone wrongfully in public is disrespectful), do it my face. Look at me while you hurt me. See what you're doing.

My son told me he hated me once. He was 8. I was so angry and so hurt. I wanted him to know how he'd made me feel.

I decided I was going to have him write, 100 times, "I hate you, mom." The exact words he'd said to me.

Not only was he made to write it, he was made to look at me in the eyes after writing every sentence and say it, out loud, while looking at me. IN THE EYES.

He needed to understand that words hurt. Hurting him with my words wasn't the answer, but hurting him with his was.

He got about 15 lines in and, under his breath, he whispered, "You punk."

I made him add it to the sentence.

About 45 lines in, he started to cry. He begged me not to make him tell me that he hated me anymore. I made him finish and we had a long talk afterwards. He understood then, that words can be worse than weapons.

I wanted my son to understand that no matter what he is feeling, that saying 'I hate you!" is not appropriate. If you don't 'hate' me, don't tell me that.

Tell me you're angry. I wanted him to understand that saying 'I hate you' is some serious fucking shit to say to someone.

Better he learn now than if his friend walks out in the middle of a fight, a fight where he said something he didn't mean, the friend gets hit by a car and dies and my kid regrets his fucking words. Before they ring in his ears forever.

Don't say it unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences. If I saved him some regret later on by instilling in him to THINK before he speaks, then, I did my job as a parent.

So, yes, I would have made her drown the computer. And I would have made her look at me while she did it.

Destroying other people's shit is disrespectful, and so is humiliating them in public because you're being a whining little twat. And... saying shit you don't mean has a way of biting you in the ass.

She would have learned the lesson I meant to convey.

And, she'd have spent a month in her room thinking about it.

I get this guys sentiment, however twisted some people think it is.

It's not easy being green.

This post isn't about pity. This post is about understanding.

Understanding what it's like to be me.

---

My mornings start off with coffee, a smoke and checking my handy little sitemeter accounts to see who's been visiting my stuff. One always needs a heads-up on who might be creeping on the sly.

---

My grocery shopping trips always go like this:

Cashier: "Do you have a preferred customer card?"
Me: "No, I don't."
Cashier: "Just fill out this form and you can get one."
Me: "No, thanks."
Cashier: "It's free!"
Me: "No, thanks."

See, cards like this add you to a mailing list. Mailing lists can be bought and sold. All I'd like is to have the discounts. No soup for you!

---

Riding in the car goes like this:

Me: "Please, drive safe."
Driver: "I will." as they make an illegal right turn
Me: "There's a cop behind us." my guts start to knot up
Driver: "Go ahead, let them stop us."
Me: in my head--"Oh, god, please, no. If they run my name, I'm going to jail. They'll make up a reason to take me in."

---

My trips to the craft store always go like this:

Cashier: "Are you on our mailing list?"
Me: "No, I'm not."
Cashier: "Just fill out this card and you can get special deals."
Me: "I'd love to, but really, I can't."

All I really want is some fucking coupons, but I can't get them.

---

I want a book from Amazon.

Me: "I really want this book."
Amazon: Please type in your account info.

I don't have any accounts. Accounts cause credit checks. Credit checks put activity on a credit report. With the right information, anyone can access your credit report.

---

Going out with people goes like this:

Me: "I didn't bring enough cash."
Them: "Just toss it on the debit or credit card."
Me: "I don't have either of those."
Them: "You WHAT?!?!?! What century are you living in? Every decent person has a bank account."  
enter the 'what the fuck is wrong with you' look

All I'd like is to never see that look again.

---

The apartment I'm living in is owned by a slumlord, so, I start looking for a better place.

Ad: "We do credit checks."
Me: Fuck, cross that one off the list.

I end up with slumlord after slumlord because slumlords don't do credit checks.

Rats and roaches are my roommates.

---

Once I have an apartment, there's the issue of getting utilities.

If I put them in my name they're going to run a credit check. If I miss a payment, it goes on my credit report. They may give my name to other services associated with them, which opens me up to being found. Now, I've got to ask someone if they will trust me enough to have the stuff put in their name.

See? Even lights and gas are not simple tasks.

---

 Then, there's mail. That subject is always fun.

Friend: "I want to send you this in the mail!"
Me: "Let me see if I can get XXX to let it come to their house, ok?"
Friend: "Why? I'm just sending you a birthday card."
Me: "I can't risk anyone finding my real address."
Friend: "I'd never tell him!"
Me: "I know you wouldn't, but I don't trust he won't find you, bop you in the head and take your address book."

---

Then, there's the credit score conversations.

Them: "My credit score is 630."
Me: "My credit report is blank. I have no credit."
Them: "You're 44 years old and have no credit? What kind of loser are you?"
Me: "A loser trying to stay alive."

---

I have to THINK about everything. Every move is an effort. I'm constantly on guard. Nothing is simple. Nothing.

No one really understands how much they have until they can't have it anymore.

I have to conscientiously think about things everyone else takes for granted.

And folks wonder why I stay exhausted.

Watch it, sucka.

I really hate fucking cunts who want to come along and tell me how much better they'd do things if they were in my position.

How they'd hire this attorney, or that private investigator.
How they'd just get an order of protection.
How they'd just get a gun.
How they'd just change their name.
How they'd just move.
How they'd just contact a domestic violence organization.
How they'd just tell someone in the media.
How they'd just demand witness protection.
How they'd just...

Like I didn't think of that already. Like I've not researched that already. Like I've not done that already. Like if I had the money I'd have not done that already. Like I've not done everything I could possibly do to keep myself safe. I'm not this guy:

So, fuck you, cunt. Stop acting like you know everything. Stop talking to me like I'm some lackadaisical asshole who never lifted a finger to preserve my own life.

And stop telling me how YOU'D do things if you were me. You're not. You've never had to live like this. You've never had to be hyper-aware of every little detail of your life, and because of that fact, you cannot fathom how to even begin living this way, or the mental toll it takes. You get the luxury of toddling through life like Tooter Turtle, tucking your head in at the bad stuff. If you had to live like this, you'd probably shoot yourself in the face.

Your lame advice comes off as condescending and patronizing. It pisses me off that you assume I'm a dumb, lazy twat that needs your limp-dicked, bad advice that would probably result in my being dead. Especially when the reality is, I've been outsmarting a fucking sociopath for more than a decade.

STFU already. You're not helping me, and you're not making yourself look all that great, either.