Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Shawshank II: Mad Dog Gets His Ink

Mad Dog = Bad Ass
Mad Dog sat impassively, smoking a Camel, as DeShawn finished the tattoo, a snarling, evil-looking bulldog. Even some of DeShawn's hangers-on were frightened by the sight of the cur, which seemed ready to leap off Madoff's sinewy forearm and rip out their throats.

"Who knew that you could make a tattoo gun out of an old Nintendo," Mad Dog said.

"Nushawn's lookin' fo' you, man," said LaTonda, one of the prison bitches that Madoff runs as a part of his growing prison enterprise. "He say he gonna cut you."

"Fuck him," said Mad Dog. "That, by the way, is rhetorical. I don't actually want you to fuck him."

LaTonda giggled, handed Mad Dog a carton of Newports, then scampered off to take care of the next of Mad Dog's growing list of customers. "At least you didn't rat nobody out, Mad Dog."

The inmates respect a man like Mad Dog. He had the balls to screw everybody, then take the fall, like a man. None of this pussy-ass shit where you sell out your co-conspirators to get a better deal. He was a stand-up guy, and for that, he has become the boss of the prison. He is the man, more powerful than the warden. He handles investments for the guards, he controls the cigarette market, and he has a string of prison bitches that he farms out like so many...well, prison bitches.

And, Nushawn don't like that one bit.

As Mad Dog makes his way to the shower, he is cornered by Nushawn, still smarting from the ass-whuppin' he got just days earlier.

"Yo ass is mine, Jewboy."

The bulldog seems to grimace, then snarl, silently, as Mad Dog's body switches itself on. His muscles ripple--he is, after all, trained in Omnite--and his hand tightens on his soap-on-a-rope.

There is a shiny, black flash as Nushawn seeks the advantage. Mad Dog, however, bends like a reed, allowing Nushawn to overshoot his objective. Grabbing the rope, and pulling, Mad Dog pulls eighteen inches of thin wire out of the soap--his cleverly crafted garrote--and moves behind Nushawn. There is a gasp, and a sickly moan.

In an instant, it is over, blood flowing freely from Nushawn's almost completely severed head. Mad Dog walks away, calmly, and to the shower, where he disposes of the wire in the drain. As the warm water beats down upon him, he lathers away the dead man's blood, leaving him clean and new.

"Don't fuck with me!" he says, to no one in particular...but, they hear him. Loud and clear.

Next, Madoff makes his first million (cigarettes)...

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Sunday, July 12, 2009

I Don't Want To Be On That Flight...

Another Reason To Hate Unions...
The union that represents former Northwest Airlines flight attendants has filed a grievance because the Richard Tyler designed dress (supra) is only available in sizes up to a Size Eighteen. That's a one and an eight, sports fans. 18.

The union would like to have the dress offered in sizes up to (and including) a Size Twenty Eight (28). After all, other dresses are offered in sizes up to (and including) Size 28.

Now, flight attendants are responsible for our safety in the air; and, I am pretty sure that if a passenger who wears a Size 28 is required to buy two seats, then a flight attendant who wears a Size 28 is too effing fat to be a flight attendant.

Hell, airlines want to shed weight to save on fuel. Why not bring back weight requirements for flight attendants. They used to have severe penalties for being over weight (as I know from my days of dating flight attendants).

It would accomplish three goals: 1) Lighter planes, 2) healthier employees; and, 3) happier passengers.

And, for the record, that dress would look shitty in a Size 18.

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Happy Birthday, America!

God Bless The U.S.A....

Shawshank II: Bernie "Mad Dog" Madoff

As the electric door at United States Penitentiary, Lewisburg slides shut with it's ominous metallic clang, Bernard Madoff finds himself alone, lacking the freedom, money and power that exemplified his life. An aging, white Jew--scion of society--sentenced to 150 long in the harsh world that is the Federal Correctional system.

But Madoff is an enterprising, resilient type, and soon, he settles into the prison routine.

He learns, quickly, that it is best to not make eye contact with other inmates, to listen to the screws, and to avoid the confrontations that cause lesser men to become a prison bitch or worse--dead.

Soon, Madoff settles into his routine. He takes a job in the prison's library; and, he helps other inmates learn to read, encouraging them to check out books, and improve themselves in ways that they never imagined. Sure, there is resistance, but Madoff is wise enough to walk away....

One afternoon, while shooting hoops, Madoff is approached by several large, mean and very black inmates.

"Yo, Jewboy, give us the ball," says one--an inmate called Nushawn Gonzales.

Madoff knows that people are watching, and he pauses, then continues dribbling. He puts up a sweet fade away jumper that hits the bottom with little more than the rustling of the net.

"Yo, Jewboy. I'm talkin' to you," Gonzales says.

"And, I am playing basketball." Madoff grabs the rebound and lays the ball up, watching it kiss the backboard, finding the hole. He knows that he has crossed his own Rubicon.

Gonzales moves toward Madoff, who stands his ground.

"Some one's gonna get hurt, Kike."

"And," says Madoff, "that someone is you." Madoff grabs Nushawn by his loose-fitting shirt, pulling him closer. Bernie gives up a good six inches, and a cool hundred pounds, but he knows that there are times to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

A crowd gathers, watching Bernie commit (in their minds) suicide.

They are surprised when he delivers a punishing blow to Nushawn's solar plexus, which causes the large, sweating man to wince in pain. Then, another to the stomach, followed by a knee to the testicles.

Nushawn crumples to the ground as his crew watches, in horror, as Madoff kicks him in the face, shattering his nose, and spilling his blood.

The guards, who have been watching from a distance, come rushing to break up the melee. They spirit away Madoff, none too gently; but, with respect for this man who had proven not only to be money from fifteen feet, but a badass as well.

"Into the hole, Madoff," says the warden.

"It's 'Mad Dog'," says Madoff.

After his time in solitary, the inmates give Madoff a little more room, a lot more respect.

"So, let me get this straight," says DeShawn Jackson, a triple-murderer from Newark. "I gives you a carton of cigarettes today, and in three weeks, you gives me two?"

"That's right," says Bernie. "And, I want a tatt. They say that you are the best artist in the joint."

"D'as a fact," said DeShawn, his chest swelling with pride.


Mad Dog gets his ink.

Thursday, July 02, 2009


Rene Descartes walks into a bar and sits down on the bar stool.

The barman asks, "Would you like a beer?"

Descartes pauses, then says, "I think not."

Then, he disappears.

Well, have we?

Michael Jackson Is Still Dead...
Has anyone seen La Toya?

I didn't think so.