First off, mucho uber-thanks to Wendyloo for cleaning up shit around here. She was the one an only person offering ol' GJ some assistance.

Sure, it might look like the equivilant of throwing the trash under the bed, but I like the new look nonetheless.

The rest of you, I hope will get some African fungus that causes your ass to fall off.

So let's talk about my weekend, but first.....a question.

This weekend I visted a friend I haven't seen in a couple of years.

Why haven't I seen him in a few years? Well, because of his new location. No, it's not that far away. Maybe 20 minutes tops. No plane, or time off from work required to spend time with my pal. No siree. We've exchanged letters in the past two years. I've received a couple of collect phone calls from him, but this was my first visit.

What's the deal GJ? Weeeellll.....GJ's old pal is in the pokie!

That's right! The Bighouse, the Slammer, the Salad Bowl.

The Pen, man! He's in jail.

Let's get the "what for" out of the way. You see, 2 years ago Fred was walking down the street minding his own business when he heard screaming coming from a back alley. Fred dashed to the scene, without a moment to spare, and witnessed a horrible murder that had just took place. He ran after the killer, but decided to try to help the fallen victim instead. Using his CPR skills that he learned while being a Scout Master, he tried his damnest to revive the hapless women until she succumbed to her mortal wounds, and Fred was left screaming in agaony "WHHHHHHYYY GOD, WHHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYY????????." When the police came, they just assumed Fred was the attacker, and had the fingerprints to prove it. The real attacker was a hitman for the government. The secret service was quick to cover up the tracks, pulled some strings within the mayors office, and set up Fred to take the fall in their diabolical conspiracy.

Yeah man, that's what happened.

It was either that, or Fred got high, hitchiked, got picked up by some guy that made a move for Fred's crotch, threw crotch-grabbing bandit out of his own vehicle, and got nabbed for "carjaking" before even driving away.

Just like the A Team, you know?

Anyways, I get to "The Joint" for my very first vist, ever! Boy was it ever fun! For all you white, fool suckaz that don't have the honor of having a friend that calls the jail home, let me break down the visiting experience for your punk asses....

First, I exchange my driver's liceanse for a metal key. The metal key goes to a locker where you are to deposit whatever you have in your pockets at the time. After dropping off my crack, I got to sit in the waiting room. Sitting in the waiting room was like being back in high school. Not only was I the only white guy in the room, it's a scientific fact that the French are .89% whiter than the average white guy, so I REALLY got to feel special and unique. Anyways, these folks weren't anything like my high school buddies that use to try to help me out with my whitey complex by beating me black and blue. They were like me, wishing they were home watching the Saprano's, but too guilt ridden.

So I'm sitting in the waiting room thinking "I could TOTALLY break Freddy out of here if I really wanted to."

It's all big and scary on the outside, but once you walk in, it's nothing. Just a bunch of dopey rent-a-cops bopping around. It was nothing.

So I finally got to go in and see the fucking jailbird. In the visiting room they have two different sections. One for the people that behave themselves in there, that can sit at a table with you. And another where they're in a glass cage, that you can talk to on the phone.

I'll give you three guesses where my buddy was.

Anyways, I don't know what to talk to him about. I tell him I'm sorry for not visiting him sooner, and that I feel like shit about it. He insists that I'm being too easy on myself, and demands a self flogging.

Fred's been turning into quite the scholar. I guess he spends most of his days reading lots. He recomended me a book about the history of England, on the subject of the war of the roses.

Pretty impressive, from a guy that use to spell "was" with a u.

He showed me his new kick ass, jail tatoo. I pull down my sock, and show him my ankle-tatoo that I did when I was 16. (It was my girlfriend at the time's initials in the center of a heart.) He comments on my bad-assiness, and assures me that I'd have no problem surviving in the joint, just as long as my stay didn't exceed 2 milli-seconds.

We BS some more and I leave while doing my rendition of "Jailhouse Rock." Sadly no one joined in with me....

So anyways this is what I learned from my vistit to the state Pen.

1) Guys who are in jail are REALLY horny.

2) Correction officers will NOT let you hold their gun. Not even for a second!

3) Asking inmates if they've tried the new meat-lovers pizza from PizzaHut is NOT funny!

4) Razorwire IS as sharp as it looks.

5) Dressing like Moses and demanding they must "Let my people go!" will get you nowhere.

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