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Locked Up

So have I told ya’ll that I’m fascinated with documentaries about jail??.... Last night, I stayed up until 1 am just to watch a two-hour special on the LA County jail system. (mainly cuz I dont have cable and Im jacked up from those stacker 2's ive been poppin while on this weight loss kick).....But.....The shit is just fascinatin.....the whole subculture and day to day life of folks there. It reminds me of when I was in the joint…. and I’m not talking about that sticky-icky in rolling papers I smoked back in the day that made me feel like I was weightlessly skateboarding on the bass line of Aaliyah’s One In A Million in a crater on the moon. I’m talking ’bout jail, son! That’s right!! A brutha was incarcerated. Why the stunned look?? Yeah, I did some time.... Shit man, I’m Black right? I’m a man, right? Well okay then… what the hell you expect? You know we go to jail like White people go to Jimmy Buffett concerts. Niggaritaville, if you will. I mean, according to Jim Carey — er, umm, I mean John Kerry… but really, what’s the difference — there are more Black men in jail than in college, right? Hmmm…. I wonder if that includes the Black men in jail that are getting their college degree from the Correctional Institute of Techonology … getting degrees in Shankology and Laundry Engineering an’ shit. Ah well, it’s of no consequence.... Either way, Black men are all up in the jail shit. I will say this though, if your ass ever wants to get in shape, commit a felony. Does jail not have the best workout program ever in the history of earth?? Niggas go in 98 pound weaklings and come out 200 pound rocks of muscles and tattoos! Fucka GNC!! Who needs dietary supplements and steroids when you have jail??!! Oh yes! Your ass will get in shape…. Either the shape of Hulk Hogan or the shape of a donut…LOL get it?? ‘Cause your ass gets in shape by lifting weights… or your actual asshole gets in the shape of a donut by being the cell block bitch. Get it?? See! Funny! And it ain’t necessarily just the weights that can get you into shape, but also fightin muhfuckas off you is quite the workout in and of itself..... I mean, if you ain’t willin to rumble an’ shit and try to prevent the genpop — that’s what us ex-cons call the general population — from making you that nigga to holla at when their nuts start tingling.... then you are bound to become gayer than a white dude named Bruce in daisy dukes and roller skates. You betta get your struggle on fa real… either that or just shit on yourself so your ass is perpetually shitty and crusty. Even jailbirds have standards. Well, then again…. all that shit around your ass, when moistened, just acts as a fecal lubricant, thus allowing for easier access to your small intestine, which is never a good thing. Also, a dirty dick is probably the last thing a muhfucka doing life without parole or on death row is worried about. So um, scratch that “shit on ya-self” rationale. It probably doesn’t work. See how I know so much?? ‘Cause I was in the joint man....I was locked up like Akon and White folks’ good jewelry. And I heard, before going in the joint, that you gotta go in that muhfucka balls out — not literally, ’cause, well, you’d probably just invite trouble with such a gesture — and let them folks know that you are not the one to be fucked with. So after the man locked up my ass up...I rolled up in the jail cell and told them niggas what the fuck was up from jumpstreet… of the 21 variety, of course. I went in that damn cell ranting and raving and DARED somebody to make a gahdamn move!! No one did. That’s what I thought you punk ass bitches. I thought about starting my cigarrette and porn magazine racket up in that piece...but decided to lay low until I could let the warden know I was connected. Summerfield North Country Club up in this bitch, nigga! You ain’t ready! As soon as he found that out, I’d be eating steak and lobster in prison with bottles of 30 year old Pinotage at my disposal. Small deviation from the topic, but it must be said... For all of you red wine lovers out there, you haven’t head a red wine until you’ve had a South African Pinotage. Dude… trust me on this one… it will blow your mind. I know apartheid wasn’t too kind to the Africans, but it worked a fuckin miracle on their grapes. The first time I had it a couple years ago in Martha's Vinyard, it was so good I almost suplexed the old white dude next to me. Trust me… it makes Merlot takes like Nutsack juice with pulp. Go and get your Pinotage today dude… Anyway, I’m thuggish ruggish! Don’t let that saddity ass paragraph on red wine fool ya! I’ll make a shank out of toilet tissue and ear wax and not only stab that ass, but decrease your hearing by 20%. I’m known in the joint!! Ask about me! “So what’d you do Kav? Ya know, to get locked up?” Huh? *you know a muhfucka is about to either lie to you or is ashamed of what he did when you ask him a very simple question and the first thing he says is “Huh?” Now, if he actually makes you repeat the question, then maybe he didn’t hear you, but if he follows the “Huh?” with “Oh, well, see blah blah blah” “Stop stalling!! What’d you do Kavi? You hardened criminal you!” Huh? Oh, well, see what had happened was…. Ok check it….. I was rolling home at about 4am after being out at a club the first time I lived in Memphis back in like ‘02. I didnt know my way around east memphis that well....and obviously went the wrong way on Poplar....I wasn’t drunk… anymore… because the club stop serving liquor at 2 am so I had sobered up by 4am. The Collierville police pulled me over because one of my headlights was out. I was driving my frat brother "Wall Street" (his names Anthony, but we call him Wall Street -- Like My names kaviar but they called me "Pimptation"). Anyways... When they ran my license, it had been suspended…. …THAT.DAY…. … because they hadn’t received my check for a speeding ticket I’d gotten a few weeks before…back in Jersey. a check I’d mailed in…right before moving to Memphis. ….THAT.DAY….. So since I was now “driving on a suspended license,” They took me to Germantown's lockup where it was then discovered I had a warrant for missing court for an altercation *cough*riot*cough* that occured on Princeton University's campus a year or two before. I got my case deferred (I think thats the word for it) to 201 Poplar, since I was now moving to Memphis, but forgot all about it and missed the date. *Damn Ivy League Schools and their blasted followup procedures!* Therefore....I had to go downtown…to the worst thing this side of Alcatraz....to 201 Poplar....the joint. Now I tried to explain that I’d just written the check earlier that day and even had my checkbook to prove it, they wanted to hear no parts of it. I mean, they know Black folks don’t pay shit on time!! Can’t they give a muhfucka the benefit of the doubt??!! I was only a week late!! Where was the 30-day grace period?? Where was the pink envelope in my mailbox stating this was the last notice??? Then the coppers told me to face the car and put my hands behind my back. I thought about trying to convince them that I was a good Negro… a house Negro even!! And for about two tenths of second, I thought about not complying… but I remembered the video of Rodney King eating Billy Club Burritos — and as much as I like sugar cane… (nullus Clay Aiken) - Billy Club wood doesn’t have that sweet juice in it that makes the chewing worthwhile. So instead of being some Black eyed nigga on the evening news, I decided to just comply. They cuffed me, threw me in the back of vehicle, and took me downtown. And I rolled up in the cell, and talked mad shit….. …under my breath…. … to no one…. ….since I was in the cell by myself…. Thank you Lawd, God, Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, YHWH, Isis, Sango, Ifa…. all them Nevermind that I was out of jail in about 30 minutes after using my one phone call — which surprisingly was accomplished by using a pay phone in the jail cell that didn’t require you pay it. I was fascinated by this contraption… I mean, there was a slot for a quarter… but you didn’t have to put one in. Fuckin A!! Jail has all the new hot shit. Nevermind that my mommy — yes, I called my mommy… WHAT?! — was there to pick me up in her Lincoln Continental and brought me a bangin ass country fried steak breakfast biscuit from Bojangles. Nevermind that the cops liked me by the time I left and that went over extremely well with the magistrate. Nevermind that the shit never showed up on my record because: 1) They received the check that Monday; and 2) “Prayer for judgement” is the greatest legal concept since that long ass yellow paper that gives you that extra bit of space so you can get shit on one piece of paper vice two sheets of that bitch ass notebook shit. Nevermind all that dammit!!! ‘Cause I’m hard as hell… I did time nigga. Give me my respect! Cell Block C, son…. Inmate 90210. You don’t want none. no, really.....you don't.... say word...
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