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Monday, July 29, 2013


The tall young, handsome inmate turned to the old worn weathered inmate while they sat in library awaiting chowtime and he smiled.
"Hey pops."
They were two generations of numbers; a finely crafted piece of the department of corrections machine.
The young statistic played video pinball while the old statistic searched nonstop through a thick red binder marked- prisoner stuff.
"There it is," Pops said reaching for his reading glasses.
He showed the younger inmate a memo that was worn from years of use.
"People don't realize you don't have to have some prison funeral. Lay in some pine box out back. Your family fills out this form and you get a street funeral like a free man. The State sends a check to the funeral place," Pops nodded searching his stuff for a copy card.
The young man stared at the dark wrinkled man thinking about the 42 years that Pops had in the system. It was twice the time he had even been alive.
"I got it pops," he grabbed the memo and went to the machine. He made a copy for Pops. He then made a second copy, and slid it in his front pocket. He sighed knowing he would one day need the information. He went back to Pops.

Friday, June 14, 2013

Modern Outlaws

The flamboyant English Professor burst through the doors of the prestigious University Club,  and in his best Yosemite Sam voice said, "sasparilly, and make it snappy!"  
He pointed at the President of the University Dr. Falco, whom was dining with several cheerleaders and a golf pro alumnus known for donating large sums of cash towards athletics.
“Now all-a-you skunks clear outta here! I've got business with Falco.”
The professor sat next to the high profile academic and grabbed a handful of his pommes frites.
“Adam  I've ventured far and wide in my travels, be it by air, land or sea. I've been a pirate, a prospector and a gunslinger, but this professoring is as crooked as a dogs hind leg.”
The President sipped his Kyoto cocktail and raised his eyebrows with interest.
"Look Adam, I work less than 12 hours a week. I got a bunch of academic staffers doing the grunt work for peanuts and thanking me while they do it. Hell's bells, lets not pull possum's noses here. Humanities departments research is on obscure topics that only other humanity professors read.  I love it! I can't wait until the next outlaw conference, this is the best racket ever."
The President nodded, smiled, and placed his finger over his cold, angry lips, before saying, "Shhhh."

Friday, June 7, 2013

Seeing Red

Brandon sat naked and angry in the middle of the cell. It was hot enough to sweat out pain and watch it drip to the floor. He would watch the floor for months to com like a wounded animal watches the world to stay safe. He messed up again, and hurt the same person he always hurts.

Mr. Block had spent the last six hours praying that his old car could make it such a distance. That he'd have enough for a bite to eat and gasoline both to and from. And that he'd get a longer visit with his grandson to celebrate his graduation. When he pulled into the parking lot he said, "thank you Jesus," still sipping an iced tea that had accompanied his earlier cheeseburger meal. A perfect day. He joined the other people all filing inside, all eager to watch their loved ones take such a big step in life.

Brandon exploded and the two officers pinned him to the wall in his cell. Still naked, he kicked with as much might as possible. He screamed, "More," as he was shot in the eyes with pepper spray, and he laughed hysterically before finally crying.

The tired Grandfather placed his ID on the counter, and prepared to walk through the scanner when a large man with Captain bars stopped him.
"Mr. Block," the man said, "Dale went a little South on us today during the dress rehearsal for graduation. He helped himself to some supplies the staff had been using for decorating. We found stuff in his socks. Sad, he worked so hard on getting that G.E.D. We got him up there in lock up. He is seeing red, kicking and fighting the officers. When he calms down in a few days we will get him a call home to you. Sorry sir."
The hurt man drove home and prayed. He prayed for his Grandson, who was lost.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

A Prison Fiction

A prison Fiction:

The beggar and the wealthy doctor sat across from each other staring at one another in amazement.
"The great thing about prison is the odd pairings that come about in terms of roommates. The role reversals that take place," the beggar said.
The doctor slid 20 stamps to the beggar, and he motioned to the case of noodles and LittleDebbies that now rest on his cellmates bottom bunk. This months rent and in terms of prison income, quite a high price. The once wealthy, once handsome, once envied doctor, sobbed like a child lost in a department store.
"Oh come on doc. How is this any different than what you did to people when you were uptown? Take your medicine like your patients used to do. It's only a five year bit the time will fly," the beggar smiled.

The Heating Pad Divorce

My father hated heating pads, but I never concurred, that is until mine ended my marriage. But there she was, Angel Carter, Heating Pad/massage specialist, and there I was, in need of physical therapy. "This one has vibrate if your heart can handle it," she giggled. It was a standard joke, she would later tell me over cocktails and French-fries.
"I fell off my bike carrying groceries and a book of poems," I said, showing her my broken arm. She laughed, saying I wasn't exactly a tough guy was I.
We made out in the store for four hours, married in Vegas the next evening, and remained together for two weeks solid before she left me for a biker. He had a motorcycle accident while carrying ammunition and a porno book . I fell in love that day with a massage therapist from the wrong side of town, and all I have left is a heating pad and divorce papers.

Monday, June 3, 2013


She leaned over , "Please excuse my forwardness, but what is that amazing cologne you are wearing?"
She smiled and pressed her middle finger against the scented man's cheek.
"It is called Torture, an unforgiving scent that pleases as it punishes," he placed his middle finger to her cheek.
They stared at each other as the Torture scent floated like a magical vapor seeking a soft landing. They suddenly begin to kiss one another moaning and sighing like two lovers at a Drive-in Movie. She pulled at his hair and he pulled at her thin coat.
"You are amazing," she screamed.
"I am amazing," he screamed.
"STOP!" The Priest exclaimed from the altar. The Usher grabbed them both and removed them from the PEW.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Dinner in Love

It was the same restaurant where they had their first date. The place that outlined them as if they were a novel: proposal, her pregnancy announcements, rehearsal dinners, wakes, making up after fights. So when Darrius told her they had a reservation at Collect Two that evening she knew there was something to discuss. But what?
The kids were fine, successful, safe. The bills were paid and the beach trip was easily affordable. The friends and family that were left were all in fine spirits.
"Oh shit,"  she said outloud. She prioritized her mind exactly the way Darrius would have. She knew what was left.
He waited until they both had wine and had ordered.
"Well, Angel,  Here we are thirty-four years later still standing, Partners, I believe the kids call it now."
His wife whispered, "My husband I call it and always will."
He smiled at her, people in love don't have to speak entire messages they just don't.
"It is inoperable." he said.
She held his hand in their favorite restaurant.
©2013 John Paul Mahofski