Early Onset of Night

December, 2009. Day one of five. A Sunday.

A momentous event will occur at 7 am Mountain time today: I will go to jail. I know what you’re all thinking: “Finally!”

At that time, I will check myself into a rundown dump called the Lawrence County Jail and there I will rot for 24 hours. Like a forgotten roast in the back of the fridge, I will fester. My talents? Wasted. My charm? Ineffective.

My one concern is how to smuggle in tobacco. Yes, TOBACCO, that vile, brutally-taxed, nearly-illegal weed. Oh, how I love thee!

I use oral tobacco, Swedish snus in fact. My first thought was to smuggle in an entire can, but several disconcerting experiments conducted in the privacy of my bathroom led me to explore other, ahem, avenues. It turns out you can‘t fit a square peg into a round hole, no matter how much olive oil you use.

So I filled a sandwich baggie with half a box of snus, wadded it up tightly, and taped it to my balls. I use duct tape for everything, even something like this, since I am fond of its silvery color and impressed by its determination.

Having secured my contraband, I took several tentative steps around the living room. I was bothered by the itchiness of my new package, but not too terribly. When I am processed into the jail a few hours from now, hopefully the pat-down will be cursory and the scrotum-cupping nonexistent.

There is one thing I forgot about, however. It seemed like a small oversight a little while ago, but no longer: ball hair.

Let me put it another way: BALL HAIR!!!

I am shaking a little as I type this. When the time comes for me to remove my extra baggage, I pray the jailors will ignore my screams. This is South Dakota, so it’s pretty likely.

I will update you Monday. Wish me luck.

And so.

It was better than I expected. I screamed into a plastic pillow as a slow, terrible, velcro-like ripping sound filled my cell. It was so loud even the cockroaches scattered. Five minutes later, after the nausea and light-headedness subsided, I was able to enjoy tobacco in a ‘tobacco-free facility’.

It was a moment I will always cherish.

The guy who processed me in was named Jake and he was pretty nice. He gave me some shit about coming to jail voluntarily, had me write my last name in black sharpie on my underwear in case I flushed them down the toilet in an attempt to flood the jail, and sent me on my way. The pat-down was cursory, in fact perfunctory, and there was no scrotum-cupping.

I met some interesting people, to say the least.

There was Bill, who violated a restraining order: “I’m not a stalker. I just want my DVDs back.”

There was Otis, who smashed a car window and swiped a laptop. “It was sitting there in plain view,” he told me. “I’m only human.”

There was Kyle, who had turned 21 on Saturday and was now spending Sunday in jail for DUI. “This fucking sucks, man,” he said, demonstrating a gift for obviousness.

There was an older guy named Dale who told me he was looking at 20 years in the pen, but wouldn’t tell me what for. He seemed kind of proud of his potential sentence, though. He showed me a tattoo on his arm of a flower as seen through the bars of a jail cell. “That’s me,” he said and smiled. There were tears in his eyes.

Four more days to go.

A little hung over, I simply dicked around, cooking and drinking tea. Tomorrow, I will clean and you’re all invited to come over and help. I live in South Dakota and it’s cold and snowy out. You’ll like it here.

Not.

Anyway, here are a few short answers for the anons:

• Yes, I like churros. Love them even.
• No, I will not post a picture of my ass. This is a family blog (heh).
• Asian cuisine is probably my favorite.
• Complete vegetarian since September 2nd. No, I don’t miss meat.
• I’m an Aries.
• Yes, I’m a registered Republican (working on the inside, deep cover).
• I don’t much smoke pot anymore. Sorry. Feel free, though.
• Leg man.
• Punk rock and classical, mainly.
• My middle name is Roy.
• Please go to Wikipedia and look up things like ‘satire’ and ‘parody’. This blog is meant to entertain, get my work out there, and connect with other people, but some of the writing is also a form of protest on my part.
• Fuck off.
• Probably Wes Anderson.

There’s more, but I deleted a bunch without looking.

You guys know what I could go for right now? A fucking Pepsi. Man, that sounds good.

I have made a couple thousand dollars over the last two years as a writer. At first I was like FUCK YEAH A COUPLE THOUSAND DOLLARS!! But then I was like FUCK A COUPLE THOUSAND DOLLARS? I starved and worked my ass off for this? And then I was like FUCK YEAH I DID. BRING IT ON BITCHES!!

\m/

cynicaljess replied to your post: We always dance around the real issue in Abortion.

Just to play devils advocate, don’t you also think along with the right to control our output of children (aka have sex) comes the duty of doing so responsibly?

Yes. But why punish someone who doesn’t by forcing them to carry a child they don’t want? Why create an unwanted child because someone was irresponsible with sex?

involutus replied to your post: We always dance around the real issue in Abortion.

No. You obviously don’t see the beauty of human life. People aren’t dancing around the truth- they are addressing the issue from their hearts. Why must you have such a cynical point of view?

I don’t feel it is cynical, but realistic. All life is beautiful, but parts of it are also ugly. Refusing to see the ugliness doesn’t make it go away. The right to reproduce or not is bound up in the ability.

We argue about the nature of the fetus. Is it alive or not? We bring up issues of rape and incest, but this is all side-stepping.

The thing about abortion is that we have the prerogative to control our own output of children, regardless. It is a prerogative exercised throughout nature when animals are under stress or when food is scarce, but in a far more brutal way.

For some reason, we have convinced ourselves that all children are special and unique, but the fact is they’re not. Most of them aren’t even remotely interesting.

Who do you think all those people in traffic jams are?

“You could be aborting someone who will cure cancer!” some people say, but it’s much more likely you are aborting a future serial killer.

But again, we dance around the truth: abortion is simply controlling our own output of children for whatever reason and regardless of the nature and meaning of those children. It is an activity that has always been carried out among humans and one that has always been carried out by other species as well, and it is not pretty.

Abortion should be made as rare as possible through education, contraception, and adoption, but even then unwanted pregnancies will happen. Thus abortions will happen, legal or not, whether you agree with them or not.

Part of being able to reproduce is being able to NOT reproduce. It’s as simple as that.

Hello, there. I’m Mike, but you can call me Steve. No one else does, so you might as well. Often, I will squirt Layers of Love Soft Raspberry Refreshing Body Mist with Grapefruit and Pineapple all over my junk and feel the burn, baby.

I like to drink, but am sober at the moment. I have a dentist appoint on Monday morning and earlier tonight I ate almost an entire loaf of French bread while I watched a bizarre show about hoarding called, weirdly enough, Hoarders.

I’m a little tired and wish I had some Dr. Pepper. You can talk to me if you want, but there’s a pretty good chance I’ll ignore you. It isn’t personal, I just honestly don’t know what to say.

Please to meet ya.

These reality shows are making me despair. Usually, documentaries are about war and that sucks, though.

I like ancient Egypt. Ancient Egypt is cool. Or something on ancient Japan.

• Rome
• Crete (Minoans)
• FUCK YEAH VIKINGS!
• the British Celts
• Charlemagne
• the Eleusinian Mysteries
• Vienna in the 18th Century
• Gutenberg
• Neanderthals (not Jersey Shore!)

Something. Anything.

There’s a woman who has garbage stacked to her ceiling and she can’t even throw away a plastic cup. They took her kids away and she needs to clean her house to get them back, but, yeah, she can’t even throw away a plastic cup.

Not looking good.

They have ‘mental health’ people there trying to help and laying down the case for us watching at home that this is yet another form of sickness, but this woman chose a plastic cup over her children.

“It’s a perfectly good cup,” the woman reasoned. “Why throw it away?”

So at first I’m thinking Yeah, this is a form of mental illness and these people need sympathy and understanding.

Then this woman climbed into a dumpster and dug out the plastic cup and I’m like Fuck this bitch. Keep her children far, far away.