Glad you dropped in, Visitor.

I need vent time. Emotions ran high this week at the 'Point on all the levels. Metric fuck-tons of bad actors were booted ("shipped" in the nomenclature) to other quality dumps. Two guys I was fond of, casting large shadows on my yard boarded the bus for Lee County. Controversial they could be, but I was treated swell. Deuce said I was "the coldest cook on the yard", and honestly I loved making anything for that boy to see the ecstasy on his gorgeous shit-kicker country mug. Q with his pronounced lisp always greeted me with a hug, calling me baby, and treated his trim Willow (I'm a fan) the right way, looking out for her until the second he walked out that gate (wanna take a stab at Mr. Q's ethnic makeup?). Funny how some things dont smack you like a cinder-block until you read them back to yourself.
     Add to that a rash of (faux) Reefer Madness. "Spig" made its recurrent presence here, but Id'a sworn Hegseth missed a






bushel of Coke that somehow bounced from Argentina to our side of the fence in Boyle County, Kentucky the backyard of Rosemary Clooney, legendary crooner and lard-ass paper plate hawker. Fisticuffs, face-plants, multitudes going to the hole, fucking pandemonium over an OK kinda intoxicant whose major plus (a damn important one) is the pee-test bypass. Sometimes it's like a high school kegger for lack of a better synonym: amateur hour.
     The arena boxing event was Sugar Gay Leonard vs. Ya-Mamma'd Ali, a sissy-boy slap fight I wish to the stars I could offer eyewitness account to. I know I've dealt Sugar Gay before (see: "Tammy With the Good Hair"), but it works for so many skirmishes here. SGL is really Peanut, a lad who once got it into his precocious young noggin I was gonna relocate and be his Sugar Parent, a misnomer in triple-digits, not the least of which is I'd sport a 1990's "No Fatties" t-shirt on this yard if I could. The exception being YB, an early 30ish cherubic redneck who mysteriously turns me into the bugeyed Black dude from the vintage SNL





"One Night Stand" perfume ad who mouths "GODDAMN" at passing Gilda Radner when I spy his hefty ass.
     Our compound is divided into two buildings, A and B side. This is broke down also in "Tammy". These days, instead of A being sex offender specific its Honor Dorms. Those contain air fryers besides microwaves, the ability to non-punitively cross wings to visit, tablets stay on until 1 AM instead of 11PM - a big deal for people like me in college, and there are workout rooms. Six months clear of a write-up is required - Im two weeks away, myself. A massive movement occurred this week from here (B-side) to Honor territory, after 20 folks hit the streets. Oddly, I only really knew one - a dude I got a couple of shirts off. He sold his TV to four dudes but gave it to one before he split that morning: Ponzi genius!
     I'm trying to mold a woods cat to an indoor tabby. There was this bus from Eastern back in August with real inmates, not the sad things we get here, that didnt want to dodge locks and knives on the daily





any more. Some of these rapscallions are formerly gang affiliated folk. On both sides of this yard they became entrenched with me, and truthfully I love them because they're more like the people I knew before this place was neutered into Kentucky's softest yard. They're rough edged country boys, but decent and not wanting that life. Somehow they keep stumbling into my orbit, because apparently I'm easy for that type to talk to and be around. This week my pick of the litter picked me as his person. Problem is, hes a wild Tom not used to living inside, and not adjusting well. Don't know if hes gonna thrive in this environment or not. I thrive here, this being the house I've been in almost a decade with rough patches but I make work for me. He's nervous all the time, stays on the radar, running without cause, making himself look bad without reason. This place is easy to master, but easy things are the easiest to fuck.
     I mentioned the roomful of guys leaving this week. More people get paroled here than anywhere. That's because of the zero





tolerance of bullshit. If one is into gang life, weapons, slinging dope, and extortion, say goodbye. This is the programs, education, and reentry facility now. Extremely no-frills - if fucking, fighting, and getting high is your scene, don't unpack...

OK, heres my new tunes (to me, anyhow):

Still Bad - Lizzo: This June, in a fit of madness an officer unloaded a can of OC spray in my face (my 'nads and kneecaps were afire) for asking to grab my ID to hit the gym. The whole event was surreal and controversial, mainly how this individual cheated on the crazy test. I went to the Hole, my personal writing retreat, then made a return trip days after leaving for the cardinal crime of changing clothes after two days of my rank ass being in dense dark blue polyester baking in the sun. The duds, a T-shirt and shorts, were obviously borrowed, constituting an "unauthorized transfer of money or property". My stepfather had freshly passed and I couldn't contact anyone for a solid month, with my tablet





encountering a glitch resultant of this incarceration, thus losing nine chapters of the book I'm working on. Upon release I got shipwrecked on the garbage barge of dorm 1 upper left, my most hated space in our prison. Oh, AND, Lizzo put out new music and I had no fucking clue until this past Sunday night and its gloriously funky and keeps her name the adjective for liberating soul.

Watch It Die - Samantha Fish: I'm in no way a blues person, especially after four years of working in a lawyer bar, listening to sorry Honkies every weekend play music giving ME the shit. The eponymous cover for the two track/one low price single had me hit the sample, providing a surprisingly jagged production matching the punk architecture of this Grammy-holding performer with a molecule from R and B sound my compatriot Hoagie the Hippie succinctly said recalls a Tarrantino crescendo.

Reaching My Head - The Prisoners: I LOVE the 1960s, especially the 1980's version! The





British Motown by way of New Wave redux is fantastic, mall stores selling peace symbols, and here we have a scene I bust to - the psychedelic 2.0. My beloved Pandoras (RIP Paula Pierce), and The Fuzztones to name a couple of my faves. I found this serendipitously last weekend and didnt know the exact period until later. Loud, fuzzy, and swirly, like it should be. Double Dutch - Medusa the Gangsta Goddess: A serious MVP for 2025, I can't get enough of this funk superstar. Even a case like this where a track doesnt wow me outta the gate, but within a day Im on the bus shakin' my ass right with her.

HONORABLE MENTIONS -
Tell Him - The Exciters
Tainted Love - Gloria Jones
Raisans - Dinosaur Jr.

Don't Be Cruel - The Judds: Back in the 1990's I've mentioned working in college radio in Lexington Kentucky. My friend Robin and I were doing a women's music show back when ladies could only be played once an hour on






commercial channels. Alternating us on Sundays pseudonymously was Ashley Judd, who I once walked in on in the studio pulling records with a list of stuff I'd played the week before. Sporting orthodontic headgear that made her look like that head-in-a-cage motherfucker from a Clive Barker book, she was a sweetheart.
     It was terrible that she lost her beautiful mamma last year in horrible fashion. I worked an event once where her sister performed and she was a doll, looking after a kid whose dad got thrown out, too wasted, and calling the child's mother personally so he could stay under her care and watch the show (swallow that lump, it's OK). Pat Benetar was there too, and she was an asshole. Wynonna told the audience to ask their momma's who Pat was, in the best shade-throw EVER before blowing my mind with a diva performance to beat the ever-lovin' band. Pat and her dumbassed husband did this sorry Steve and Edie routine that emptied the Toyota Perfect Attendance Awards Ceremony.
     Again, sympathy for the remaining Judds







unless those gals who were in the house when she shot herself killed her for the Illuminati, so Wynonna could own the song catalog, and Ashley, her dead ringer can play her in the biopic a'la Melissa playing Joan Rivers in "Joy" after they killed her for outing Michelle Obama as a dude.

MVP - Ludacris
TKO - Le Tigre
I'm Evil Tonight - Betty Wright
My Kinda Lover AND Rock Me Tonight - Billy Squier (super-sized teenage crush, and gawdamighty these trax rawwwwwk)

This just in: I picked up Absolute Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman collections, plus Batgirl: Mother! They look beautiful, and its been so long since Ive nose dived into a stack of up-to-date material. Look for my Comic Reviews soon!
     This is my big day. Picking up a bunch of boneless wings and the like later to go with my entertainment. Watching last week's "Hercules", I'm doing "Tarzan" featuring






pre-derangement Rosie O'Donnell (my favorite "Chapelle" - the "Player Hater's Convention" when he sees her pic in his pimp gear and says "Goddamn. She wears underwear with the dick-hole" and the two behind him break form and fall out).Tonight is "Ghosts", and naturally I'll ignore-watch "George and Mandy" wherein I like one lead and wanna pork the other. Draining all the smarts right out of the Big Brain franchise, and slapping a laugh track behind a :30 redneck joke thats a softball any short-bus rider could catch, it'll last until that baby hits college. The Sheldon child sure lost his cuteness and jumped right the fuck to unwatchable overnight. This whole affair smacks of The Learning Channel now being about morbidly obese people wiping their asses with mops, Bravo! going from theatrical arts to people getting drunk and fighting on boats, and Arts and Entertainment showcasing people scrapping with neighbors, other drivers, and waitresses. Yet, "Ghosts" remains a successful wickedly smart adaptation of a






Brit-com. The many folds in the human condition, yall...
     Next Friday, for the first time ever I'm walking a graduation stage. My Associate's from Simmons College on the way to my Bachelor's in Sociology. Finally getting my degree from a Historically Black College at a Sex Offender Prison. Why couldnt my dad have lived to see his dreams come true?
                                                xoxoxo Bat-Me