That's right Emerson, my friend, I am still in prison.

Where have I been? I am going to pretend anyone cares, because I had actually given up on this blog, but maybe, just maybe, one of my children will read this, years from now, and understand, from the pain skewered in these words, why I never bothered to try to contact them. Well, back to my story… for about 2 weeks it felt like burning, caustic, rocket fuel was squirting out my anus. When the squirts slowed to a trickle, I was still left with the sensation of someone holding a lit match to my butthole. That lasted about a week and I spent the latter part of that time in a special sling designed to keep my ass-cheeks spread. I missed my parole hearing date. Then I spent the next month squatting over a sandbox desperately trying to squeeze out a real turd, and physically, without exaggeration, for almost 2 weeks, all I could manage was one single BB sized pellet, and the effort to pass even that made me pray for sweet god-damn death. So, cigarettes again seemed like the best way to spend my money, and what was left of my miserable god- and friend-forsaken life. All I had were my smokes… I loved my smokes, and I hated you. And that brings me up to the now. Today, I squeezed out a nice poop, and today, I gave up the smokes, but never, will I stop hating you.