Sunday, 13 February 2011
I hate the weekends.
But, i have tunes. On saturday, til 12 in the afternoon, there is a sick reggae set on 89.9fm WKCR.ORG,
and i rinse it every saturday without fail..Yesterday was no different, the moment i woke up, after spraying some
air freshner to get rid of the smell of 'turkish balls and n****r nuts', banged the headphones in, and was purely jamming..
Every cup of tea of coffee i have has around 6 packets of sugar in it..which means i'm on a constant paper chase, for
these shitty little packets of 'sugar'. It isn't real sugar, as if they gave that out people would use it for making
hooch/moonshine/wine..you don't have to use real sugar, but still, that's their reasoning..
While on my search for sugar, i go ask this dude known as 'Cash money', who's a Jamaican guy, around 4 foot tall,
and PURE jokes..I talk to him on the regs whenever i'm feeling shitty, and he always seems to life my spirits.
..So off we go to his cell, i hadn't been there before..his cellie is another Jamaican dude. Upon entering the cell,
his cellmate looks at me smiling
"TIMMY BWOY! TIMMYS A REAL GOOD BWOY"
Cash money just repeats this, and they both say it about 3 times each before calming down..
After giving me my nesecary morning fix of sugar, i tell them to put the radio station on..which they do,
and spend the next five minutes being very hyper, shouting about how they can't believe
i am listening to this 'bad man station'..
They ask me to sit down, and talk to them about what is on my mind..i oblige..
Most people ask me the same shit in here, a variation of 'how the fuck did you get in here'..i tell them the short version,
basically i was newly married, me and my wife got arrested, and she decided to blame me for everything (which is in the process of backfiring as the authorities have caught her out lying :D ) to get off the hook..
"SHE'S GARBAGE MON, STRAIGHT GUTTA TRASH! ya young Timmyboy, a good boy like yaself soon be outta
dis, den ya get yourself tree, four wives! GOOD woman too! You be pinchin yaself in no time bwoy!Tink ya dreamin
under da sycamore tree"
This makes me feel a little better,
i explain to them how until recently, i was very pissed off that i was being held in jail, and my ex wife was not, and seemed to be getting away scott free for her crime..but that i now understand that she was destined to go back to middle class 'alternative' suburbia, while i need to go through this to prepare myself for my next adventure in life..every ten seconds of this conversation, they are both 'spudding' me, shouting "AMEN!" and saying things like
"lord dun CARE about dat WICKED girl, but he has plans for you boy, he trying to show you that you are the chosen one! mon!"
When leaving their cell, they give me some parting advice too..
"when you pray to gad, ask him for the MOUNTAINS, not no molehills..jah grant you anyting so ask 'im for BILLIARNS MON!"