Jail Time

I have three interviews for work this week and one solid commitment to myself. I will read and finish Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment by Sunday. I will set a goal for War and Peace at some later date. 

Perhaps I will have it imported to the prison cell where I will waste away on death row for having killed the guy from Reputation.com as a result of him spreading rumors about me as a convicted child molester because I likened his business plan to veiled extortion. It seems he was much more clever than I gave him credit for. He hacked into my computer and down loaded pictures of naked young girls all of which turned out to be Reputation man's younger cousins but the court would hear none of my explanations because the same pictures were being erased from the judges computer while he was in session with me. 

So that was it. My DNA was found on my computer-and everyone knows you cannot argue with DNA evidence. And the DA summed up the jury with "His fingerprints and DNA were found all over the laptop riddled with child pornography. Ladies and gentleman of the jury, you have to admit, you can not acquit."

I am headed for the Big House. 

Reputation man's twin brother winked at me as he scanned the court room for his own next victim. It made sense that since they were twins-they were a team. My attorney was yelling obscenities into the phone at his broker as he had been doing the last two weeks of my trial. I even got so bored with his reiterating rant I started to develop some obscenities of my own. 

"Call him a pig teat sucker," I whispered in his ear. 

"Call him an ass-dragging dog with worms," I echoed.

"Call him a candied-ass Captain Kirk who finally took in the shorts from Spock because, as he explained, it was only logical."

"That one got him, I think," my attorney whispered to me with a grin, "He's a Trekkie."

"Guilty as charged!" the judge said banging the gavel hard enough to make the entire room pop from their seats.

I was going to San Quentin for the better part of fifteen years with every rat bastard in the place looking to get a piece of a candy man who liked little girls in the buff-though I didn't like little girls in the buff. As a matter of fact, every time I saw little girls in the buff I had flash backs of my own daughter in the buff when she was very young and I could be guaranteed, when she was in the buff, there was shit involved somewhere. 

She was always a stickler for cleanliness, so whenever she shit herself, as far back as I can remember, she figured a way to dump the diaper and let the chips fall where they may. 

I'll never forget the first time I walked into her room after just such an episode-she was about six months old at the time. She looked directly into my eyes, stark naked, arms stretched out, both palms raised toward the ceiling glancing toward the corner of the room where her diaper lie. Not yet weaned to words, her eyes spoke, "Who'd a thunk."

Irony being as it is, my own eyes mirrored that same look when the gavel hit the block.