Sheezus! This is Exactly What It Was Like! --State Jail
scott w
I stayed at the Tractor Factory or The Zoo or New Holland
or Kay or whatever you want to call it. It served as a
County Jail for long time stays and also held TDC inmates
and inmates from various states where they had run out
of cell space. This guys story just about covers all of
it. I remember the weekly 'food spreads' where the guys
would all throw in commissary sausage and soup mix stuff
and noodles and this that and the other and heat up some
sort of weird concoction with the Stingers. I remember
lots of fights and lots of gangs and lots of noise and
lots of asshole guards --one who did his rounds at the
'up front'. Last year he shot his wife and lead the
Highway Patrol on a 100 mile chase before splattering
his brains all over his windshield with his Glock.
Actually, I thought the guy was ok. He was mean but
he was the least smartassed of all of them. I became
pretty good friends with a couple of the Peckerwood
gangmembers and they were pretty decent dudes and
reasonably intelligent except that they were seasoned
felons with Nazi tats. Most of the white boys stayed
busy reading trash novels --or pretending to. I
never saw one black dude or Mexican reading a book.
I guess that there was a shortage of Easy Readers.
Not a bad place to be, tho, if you like a stinky
loud place filled with psycho loudmouth arseholes
who like to play dominos and spades. Anyway, this
guy's account is just about the best I've found
on the web describing Texas prisons and huge
county facilities. I like to read this kinda shit
sometimes to remind me why I'm here and that I'll
be charged with a 3rd degree felony if I get popped
for driving after drinking 3 beers in the State
of Texas. Fuck Texas!
I was at work on the late night clean up shift when I found out
that I was on the chain and leaving in a couple of hours. After
gathering my property, giving away some commissary to the homeboys, and
waiting for a few hours, I went to a holding room where 45 other inmates
were waiting. We went through the usual bureaucratic bullshit paperwork,
got sack lunches, heard the bus pull up, and three big, sunburned TDC
guards came strolling in, like kings of the world. One was sporting six
stripes on his arm signifying 30 years with TDC, making awestruck more
than a few of the guys. Two set up at a table to do paperwork, while the
third gave us each a thorough strip search (the TDC dance, which we were
all to become extremely acquainted with) and a terribly ill fitting
white jumpsuit. Many of us, including myself, were
barefoot. We were cuffed together in pairs, loaded onto The Bluebird
(the make of TDC buses), and were off, filled with a strange mixture of
fear and excitement, into an uncertain future, watching as our home
receded into the black night. Our destination, as we were told earlier,
was the Middleton Unit in Abilene, a long way from home, but not as far
as I would eventually end up. The date was 9/9/99, one that I never will
forget. TDC. Texas Department of Corrections. Now officially called
TDCJ, or Texas Department of Criminal Justice, but to everyone, even the
guards, it's still simply TDC. Both blatant misnomers. Prison.
Penitentiary. I was going down GP, General Population, just another
convict, another number in the system. No Protective Custody, no special
privileges, no rehab unit, nothing. GP all the way! We rode through the
night, arriving at Middleton, blinking in harsh noonday sun, and were
immediately surrounded by screaming guards, buzzing around us like angry
hornets. Yes sir, no sir-Marine Corps boot camp, but with five DIs
instead of one. Strip down, do the TDC dance, take a pair
of boxers off the pile, and go sit in the holding cages. Hair, ears,
mouth, lift nuts, spread cheeks, left foot, right foot-I would hear this
familiar litany many times and almost daily later on. It makes me wonder
what type of person would want a job like this, looking up men's
assholes and under their scrotums day in and day out. What a career
move! We went through all the paperwork and property checks and given
sack lunches, or jonnies, all the while still packed naked into the
cages. Then we got our heads shaved and took showers, always surrounded
by screaming guards. I began to know slightly what the incoming
concentration camp people felt like. Complete and utter helplessness. We
were all being herded around naked, with a half dozen female clerks and
guards nonchalantly going about their business. Something else I would
get used to. After hours of this bullshit, we were given our whites,
bedding, and shoes, were herded down, single file,
to our assigned dorms, and finally taken to the chow hall. TDC rules
specify
a 20 minute time period to eat, but it really ends up being 5 before the
guards run you off. You learn to eat very quickly in TDC!
I settled into prison life, which is everything you've heard, seen,
and read. It is an entirely different life from any that you've ever
known-you might as well be on the moon, which is why they call it out
here The World. On the other hand, once you've been down, it isn't such
a scary deal anymore. Don't get me wrong-it still sucks, and is full of
predators and sociopaths who should be there, but unless you're a victim
(as in The World), you can make it. Rape, also as in The World, is more
a power and especially revenge thing than a sexual thing. I was never
beat up or turned (punked) out. I also rode solo as far as the gangs
were concerned, and the boys, including the gang members, always
respected that. Being that new units, built on the
same model, have sprung up all over the new Texas, most of them consist
of two rows of cheaply made structures, containing four 50-man dorms,
facing each other down a central concrete slab, called the sidewalk or
bowling alley. The dorms surround a locked guard picket, or control
room, outside of which is a walkway for another guard, or rover. In back
of each building is a rec yard, and the whole unit is surrounded by two
concertina and barbed wire fences, one or two guard towers, and a road
on which a rover circles 24/7. All tower guards are heavily armed. It
struck me that prison, with the absence of a war and the proliferation
of gangs, seemed to have become the modern coming-of-age for many
youngsters. Entering manhood was going down for your first time.
I started writing the diaries as a catharsis and to get down on
paper as much of my life as possible before it faded into oblivion. If
nothing else, my life has been interesting, and I do have a story (many
stories) to tell. Everybody that I had been writing letters to (all of
which my Mom and Jewel still have) pushed me to start writing in
earnest. Mom even had all my notebooks sent to me at Middleton. It
helped me to think, to remember, to organize. The Dope Game and prison
are such different worlds, so completely removed from this one that we
all know, that I needed to put it out there. When I read back through my
diaries, so much that really happened to me reads like complete fiction.
Maybe it will help some people. I know for a fact that many, who were
not blessed with my gift for writing, will totally identify with what I
have to say.
The dorms themselves are loud and wide open, everything in full
view of your cellies and the guards, including the bathrooms. You
quickly get used to doing everything in front of a truly captive
audience and the many female grey suits. Two mounted TVs run day and
night, but you can barely hear them for the noise. Prison is loud! One
thing that surprised me was the number of cons who are soap opera
fanatics-big, tattooed criminals who know every little detail about
their particular favorite and line the benches watching every day. Jerry
Springer, of course, is big, too. At night, various cellies get together
and "spread", which is a communal feast, usually with a base of Ramen
soups to which is added anything and everything and eaten on
tortillas. Spreading is a major nightly social function. Domino games,
either
partners or singles, are an ongoing thing day and night, with a lot of
accompanying shouting and slamming. Rack up time is 10:30 on weeknights
and
1:00 on weekends. Despite their best efforts, and contrary to what they
would have you believe, TDC is full of gangs, on every unit. Aryan
Circle, Texas Syndicate, Mexican Mafia, Barrio Azteca, Pistoleros, EPT,
White Knights, etc. etc. And a whole lot of Crips. All have their own
tats, signs, and special handshakes. Aryans sport "third eye",
"lightning bolts", and "100% wood" tats, and "hit bolts" when they shake
hands. TS has a dagger overlaid with a lightning bolt. Pistoleros have
guns on either side of their abdomens, so that the handles show over
their boxers. Every unit has GI, or Gang Intelligence, but they don't
seem to be very effective beyond documenting the tattoos at diagnostics.
White boys are universally called "woods", derived from "peckerwoods",
or gueros by the Hispanics, who are in turn tagged as eses .
Blacks are derogatorily known as "toads". There are also plenty of
punks, or homosexuals, usually drag queens. We had three in our dorm,
two of whom were called Sweet Pea and Miss Apples. Every day, they would
apply make up made from colored pencils and a mixture of Kool Aid, hair
grease, and candy, and would go swishing around the unit. I'll never
forget Sweet Pea's voice constantly shouting, "Oh, baby, look"!
Curiously, the cons always let them make it, almost watched out for
them, while the guards constantly harassed and badgered them. Sweet Pea
was a constant target for shake downs in which they would completely
toss her house. Lot of homophobic guards not yet out of the closet, I
think. Everyone at TDC works, and for no pay. If you refuse, or lay it
down, you get locked up in Ad Seg, losing all privileges. Work time and
good time, for not fighting, or getting a bunch of major cases like
"killin'" on a female guard, are supposed to reduce your sentence, but
it's all signed away when and if you make parole. In most states, it all
accrues and you walk out with no paper. The main job on most units, to
which most cons are assigned, are the field, or hoe, squads. Straight
out of "Cool Hand Luke"! Strutting bosses on hosses, toting sidearms and
gauges and sporting cowboy hats and spurs on their boots. Truly legal
slavery, with convict squads, each led by it's own caller/chanter,
growing and picking vegetables and cotton on many of the big units.
"Head high, head high, lemme see you touch the sky! Smokin'
crack and smokin' weed, now I work for TDC!" Shakin' over here, boss!
After a couple of weeks of every kind of physical, mental, and
educational testing, I finally saw UCC, the Unit Classifications
Committee, where I was given my time sheet and assigned a job as third
shift, or night, dorm janitor, also known as porters or SSIs (Support
Services Inmates). What a relief-no hoe squad, though that would come
later. My job couldn't have been better for me-I went on shift at
11, after rack up when the dorm was dark and quiet, spent a couple of
hours cleaning it and the bathrooms, then slept, read, or wrote until
3:30 breakfast chow, from which I developed a taste for the standard TDC
pancakes and peanut butter. The rest of the day was my own to sleep,
watch TV, work out or just chill. But as it was a tedious existence, day
in and day out, and the guards at Middleton were straight up white
trailer trash, and I knew that I'd be chaining out to another unit, as
this was a transfer facility, I became restless, waiting to catch the
chain to my home unit. Be careful what you ask for, you just might get
it. I wanted to catch chain out of there, and they gave it to me on a
silver platter. As at Del Valle, which seemed like years ago, the guard
came and told me while I was on late shift to pack my property-I was on
the chain to RZ. RZ? Rogelio Sanchez State Jail, in El Paso, on the
Mexican border about as far from home, family, and
friends as they could send me. Once again we got naked, did the TDC
dance,
were put back in the cages, were paired off, herded onto the Bluebird,
and
driven off into the black night. I slept fitfully, as well as I could
cuffed
to another guy, and awoke to more blinding sunlight again, as we skirted
El
Paso and arrived in the middle of the desert at the back gates of the
Sanchez
Unit. Juarez and the mountains of Mexico could be seen from the rec
yards.
Through the gates, into an outside cage, TDC dance, welcoming committee
complete with barking sergeant, quick chow, and then sit outside in the
sun
for the rest of the day. Orientation late in the day, learning the rules
and
regs of Sanchez, the most iron clad of which was that we always, but
always,
only moved around the unit single file with our hands behind our backs.
This time when I saw UCC, I went straight to the hoe squads,
which wasn't necessarily such a bad thing. At Sanchez, being that we
were in
the middle of the pinche desert, there was little to do but go out for a
couple of hours and shovel dirt around, building a road to nowhere
around the
unit. I didn't mind the fresh air, sun, and exercise, and it sure as
shit
wasn't picking cotton! Every day the squads would come in, 50 or 60 of
us,
and go through the now ritual naked dance, with accompanying litany:
hair,
ears, nuts, cheeks, left foot, right foot, etc. All the hoe squads lived
in
the same building, with the kitchen, laundry, necessities, and
maintenance
workers in their respective buildings. As we were the at the low end of
the
totem pole, the grunts, our dorms were pretty wild and very loud. Aside
from
locking you in Ad Seg, they couldn't bust you down any lower than the
hoe
squads! Prison is the ultimate male bonding experience, and I was
starting to
make some good friends, guys who would watch my back. I was playing
basketball every night with a group of eses, one of the only gueros out
there, getting to know my way around the unit and it's prison society.
Unbeknownst to me, word was out and spreading quickly about who I
was via the convict grapevine, which is just a little faster than e-
mail.
Soon I was signing autographs for all mi homitos, even signing them for
moms,
girlfriends, family, and guys on other units, while bearing the
inevitable
"Don't Mess with Texas" jokes (which everyone seemed to think was
original to
himself). Word also spread to the administration, and after a little
over two
months with the hoe squads, as we were coming in and doing our naked
dance,
the sarge came over and said, "Hubbard, when you're done, go see the
chief!".
Meaning the Chief of Classifications. Holy shit! Not good! What had I
done?
Turns out that the chief, being an amateur bass player, big
T-Bird fan, and nice guy was fixing to hook me up! I got a great job as
one
of two right hands for the boss of all the SSIs and floor crews (who was
a
also fan ), did all the daily maintenance work orders in an air
conditioned
office, was moved out to the cadillac trustee building outside the main
unit,
and had not a little influence for helping people get good jobs. I also
developed my first big boss lady crush on one of the maintenance bosses
(who
weren't required to wear greys), a bleached blonde West Texas cowgirl
with
great tits and a great ass, packed into seriously tight jeans. Another
cute
little chola guard with a pug face I tagged with the name Zoė, after my
female Boston Terrier. Soon, everyone was calling her that, though not
to her
face.
Life in the trustee building was much better-clean, quiet, all
cellies working jobs that ran the unit or even went out to the world
every
day, and I settled comfortably into my routine. Routine is what gets you
through doing time, as any convict will attest to. There were still the
inevitable shakedowns, fights, and even one major lockdown of the entire
system because of gang wars on other units, but the days were passing
much
more easily. I loved my cellies, my house, my job, my co-workers, and my
boss. Things were all good with my family, whom I had alienated myself
from,
and I was making amends not only to them, but also to old friends and
loved
ones who were coming back into my life, including my old love from
Atlanta. I
was very lucky-I had a big support network out there, got money on my
books,
and a lot of mail, all of which are extremely important in prison.
Getting
mail can make or break your whole day. My heart always went out to the
guys
who had no one out there in The World. There was always humor and
camaraderie
in the dorm, and the occasional distraction of things like a rainstorm
instead of the usual duststorms. We could see and smell it, cool and
sweet,
coming in from the mountains in Mexico, and it was delicious when it
fell. We
also got a beautiful snowfall on Christmas Eve, and although we weren't
allowed out, we all clambered up to the windows, in shifts, to watch.
The
sunsets over the desert were spectacular. There was a ring-tailed cat, a
beautiful desert creature who lived on the unit for a short time and
always
came out at night, nests of baby birds on the rec yards, and a real
roadrunner who lived behind maintenance. I made myself always look for
beauty
in this most desolate of worlds.
Being out in the middle of the desert, we got quite a few sandstorms
that
would come in like a fast moving wall, stinging our eyes and faces, and
coating the dorms with a fine dust. But rain was rare. We knew when it
was
coming. The clouds would obliterate the distant mountains in Mexico and
we
could smell it, heavy and sweet, even in the dorms. Rain was always a
good
excuse for the rec bosses to cancel rec, and keep us in. But one time it
hit
as we were all walking to necessities and, elated, we just gulped it in,
like
starving men. I walked most of the way there and back with my face to
the
sky, feeling that liquid coolness drench right through me. And loved
every minute of it!
One night my boss called us out with the floor crews and told
me that I was on the weekly
chain leaving that night, a surprise to us both. I was too short to go
to a pre-release and
still had too much time left to go to the house, but this was, after
all, TDC, so we
said our good-byes and sure enough, I was gone that night. We went back
to
Middleton to spend the night, stopping at Rockin' Robertson, the huge
rock
`n' roll unit next door, to drop off and pick up some guys. A rock `n'
roll
unit, like Rockin' Robertson, is one that has the rep for a lot of
violence.
Fights, gang wars, and murders of both guards and inmates alike. Usually
has
a large population of youngsters and guys doing Ag time. The Smith and
McConnell units are rock `n' roll units. En route to Sanchez, we had
heard
that it was rock `n' roll, and to a degree it was, but nothing like some
of
the other ones.
The next day we were on the Bluebird, heading for the Holliday unit in
Huntsville, by way of the Hughes unit. Upon my arrival, and after the
usual
dance and cage time, I found out that I was there to see INS. Migra!
What the
fuck? I was there four days, walked into migra, and was told immediately
that it was a mistake. A computer error. Someone in Huntsville was
punching
in the wrong codes! Pinche TDC! That night, I was on the chain back to
Middleton, with a quick stop back at Robertson to drop a killer off at
their
huge Ad Seg division. He was in a neck brace and arm cast, completely
chained
from head to toe, and kept separated up front from the rest of us. Usual
bullshit, TDC dance and litany, in and out of Middleton, and we were on
our
way back to Sanchez the next night, by way of the Wallace Unit, soon to
be a
war zone between TS and Pistoleros. I was relieved, upon my return, to
find
out that my old house and job were waiting for me.
And so my last few months passed routinely, as I awaited my short
way release date. You spend forever thinking about it and counting the
months, and all of a sudden it's upon you. We had my "going to the
house"
spread, all the boys signed my pano, or handkerchief decorated with my
T-Bird
tattoo, said deeply felt good-byes, and I was once again on the chain to
Middleton. Same routine-dance, cages, waiting, with one bizarre
exception-I
saw the goon squad, up close for the first time, dressed in full riot
gear
like something out of the movie "Brazil", come marching in cadence to
one of
the cages to remove one lone guy who was refusing to leave on his chain.
Truly throwed off! We left that night, once again heading for Holliday
(Inn)
by way of Hughes, same drill but for one difference-I was goin' to the
house!
On those chains to the Walls, I was filled with a mixture of elation to
be
going to the house and fear of going to the house. Although I had
decided
months earlier that I didn't want that life anymore, all of Austin was a
potential trigger. Every neighborhood, hotel, motel, and store was
somewhere
we had lived or somewhere I had met my connects or customers. Prison
really
isn't a deterrent. Once you've been down, although it sucks, it's not
that
big scary place anymore. But it was no life for me, unlike many
convicts. A
lot of my homeboys there were planning to jump back into the game the
day
they got out. I just didn't, and still don't, want that life anymore. I
know, more than anything I've ever known in my life, that if I pick up
that
first shot, that first hit, I am a dead man. Next time I don't get out
alive.
I spent the longest five days of my life waiting at Holliday. Talk
about time standing still! And finally the day arrived. More of the
usual TDC
bullshit-waiting in cages, dance, all that. Guess they had to give us
one
last reminder! On the chain for a quick one this time, just across town
to
The Walls, through which everybody goes to The World. What a shithole!
The
original TDC unit-ancient and filthy. More getting naked and in cages,
then
finally to the old, noisy, filthy gym for processing out, which took
hours.
At this point, I was close to delirious from stress and lack of sleep,
but so
excited that there was no way! Upstairs through ancient cellblocks and
outside into a little courtyard for final parole paperwork and to get
our
clown suits- horrible, ill fitting polyester pants and shirts. George W
was
fixing to kill Gary Graham the very next day, all the Huntsville units
(and
maybe the whole system) were to be locked down, and the press were
everywhere, surrounding the Walls like a besieging army. Meanwhile, our
mood
was one of euphoric elation as we donned our clown suits, and clutching
our
$50 checks, parole papers, and commissary bags of personal property, we
walked out of the Walls to The World and freedom
--
"Ride high! On Faith! Ride Faith! On High!"
scott w
says...
> On Sun, 16 Feb 2003 00:32:09 -0700, scott w <n...@noo.moo> wrote:
>
> > I remember
> > lots of asshole guards
>
> You sure you got that the right way around?..
>
>
Guard assholes?
--
"Please help support your local panhandlers"
scott w
says...
> On Fri, 21 Feb 2003 16:05:35 -0700, scott w <n...@noo.moo> wrote:
>
> >In article <itkc5v8ah49npucrr...@4ax.com>, ye...@like.sure
> >says...
> >> On Sun, 16 Feb 2003 00:32:09 -0700, scott w <n...@noo.moo> wrote:
> >>
> >> > I remember
> >> > lots of asshole guards
> >>
> >> You sure you got that the right way around?..
> >>
> >>
> > Guard assholes?
>
> 's'.. 'sssssss'..
>
No swishy s'sssss.
scott w
says...
>
>
Especially the big black guards who'll buff you if you don't givem your
puddin'.
--
Times spokesman: "If it's his opinion versus the editorial board's
opinion, it becomes self-absorbed."
scott w
says...
> On Sat, 22 Feb 2003 11:38:47 -0700, scott w <n...@noo.moo> wrote:
>
> >In article <1s4f5vsa4ngokj8af...@4ax.com>, ye...@like.sure
> >says...
> >> On Sat, 22 Feb 2003 07:02:18 -0700, scott w <n...@noo.moo> wrote:
> >>
> >> >In article <rree5vs8g3vgvn0ip...@4ax.com>, ye...@like.sure
> >> >says...
> >> >> On Fri, 21 Feb 2003 16:05:35 -0700, scott w <n...@noo.moo> wrote:
> >> >>
> >> >> >In article <itkc5v8ah49npucrr...@4ax.com>, ye...@like.sure
> >> >> >says...
> >> >> >> On Sun, 16 Feb 2003 00:32:09 -0700, scott w <n...@noo.moo> wrote:
> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> > I remember
> >> >> >> > lots of asshole guards
> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> You sure you got that the right way around?..
> >> >> >>
> >> >> >>
> >> >> > Guard assholes?
> >> >>
> >> >> Guards assholes..
> >> >> 's'.. 'sssssss'..
> >> >>
> >> > No swishy s'sssss.
> >>
> >> Those arn't swishy.. those are curly..
> >>
> >>
> > Especially the big black guards who'll buff you if you don't givem your
> >puddin'.
>
>
>
Go on! Do it again!
scott w
says...
>
Me too. Now I just satisfy women with a lick of the lips
and a wink and they stay home and flick meat berries at
spam runways.
scott w
says...
> Right about now my wife is doing some shit i don't even care about..
>
>
Does it involve a large gourd?
scott w
says...
>
The large tenticle of an octupi?
scott w
says...
> Pretty nice actually.. not a bit rubbery like you'd expect.. but the
> bill was pretty expensive.. Just as well i wasn't paying; one of those
> 'business dinner' things where you feign an inability to understand
> how overpriced some items can really be..
>
>
I worked for Nissan Motor Acceptance in the
accounts receivable department about ten
years ago. We'd all go eat lunch together
at "The Wok" and one day a mouse scurried
across the table with a noodle in his
mouth. Then we kinda ignored that and then
started insulting and mocking each other
as was usual.
Happy Harry
> You have to make allowances for these places..
> There used to be a carry-out near where i lived.. You ordered your
> food, they cooked it through back, then they'd knock on the little
> serving doors to tell the guy at the couter it was ready for pickup..
> We used to drive that guy nutz by knocking on the counter everytime he
> turned his back.. ehehe.. I'm sure they used to cook us up a whole
> mess of ratshit and cat poo for our troubles..
I can't find a good chinese place around here.
scott w
Irving.
scott w
says...
> There used to be a carry-out near where i lived.. You ordered your
> food, they cooked it through back, then they'd knock on the little
> serving doors to tell the guy at the couter it was ready for pickup..
> We used to drive that guy nutz by knocking on the counter everytime he
> turned his back.. ehehe.. I'm sure they used to cook us up a whole
> mess of ratshit and cat poo for our troubles..
>
>
she brought her little brother and they both
started giving the employees there a bunch
of smartyass shit. She wore fishynet stockings
tho so it was ok.
scott w
says...
> legs to kid they had nylons on, as they were called in those days..
> I donno if anyone ever tried to make look like they had fishnets on..
>
>
Did they bend over and show their gw bushy tail?
Happy Harry
> There are no good chinese food places..
There were in Chinatown.
scott w
says...
> Or maybe it was a fatass rabbit..
>
>
I was riding with the homies to the liquor store
and we hit a rabbit and I was like, "hey! turn
around!"
scott w
says...
> pick up some workmates for a day out.. It was really weird cuz there
> wasn't anyone around but there were zillions of rabbits all over the
> place trying to run in front of my car..
> Oh yeah.. and one crow..
>
>
I remember when dad took us up to a lake in Okiehoma
so that we could swim and fish and he could get drunk
out of his mind. Giant grasshoppers swarmed thru
the fields all of a sudden and engulfed the Nova
and were flying and climbing over everything. Also,
hopping quite a bit and they sailed over the rocks
of the dam like lemmings just wanting to get gobbled
up by bass.
scott w
says...
> I remember going to the beach and losing the dogs lead..
> or maybe it was the dog.. I don't have a very good track record around
> animals..
>
Porkny got loose today and was dodging traffic and
chasing cars. Animal control is threatening to feed
and water him if this wreckless neglect keeps up.
Hey! Shit on my floor once and tear out the kitchen
window a couple of times and I forgive. Keep doing
it every day and I'll let the muthafucka run with
the wolves. Fuck that fuckin dog. And fuck fuckin
Gina for dumping him on me.
Larex Q. Zarazinzen:Oligarch
Poor doggie-doggie. You didn't take care of the last one either!
scott w
says...
she gets hit by a car and THEN if I chain her to a steel
bolt and she still manages to escape...it just was never
meant to be. "Be free!", I said, "It's your destiny!"