Dear Warden,

I hope that this letter finds you well. By the time you read this, you will have been informed that I was cut out of the sewer pipes while trying to escape. I intended to flee, but did not expect to crawl through what appears to be two and a half football fields worth of human shit.

It was embarrassing to get so far in and even more embarrassing to get cut out. I'd prefer a life in jail for a crime I did not commit rather than face the humiliation of meeting that poor plumber, face-to-face again, in the bowels of our fine jail.

Knowing what I know now, I would have attempted another method such as stealing a guard’s uniform after bonking them on the head or hiding in the laundry. That way, were I to be caught, I’d smell like dryer sheets instead of digested prison gruel. However, I assure you that I am a model prisoner now.

I’ll give you this tip: If I were you, I'd be concerned that a slightly smaller man would be able to fit through the tubes.

I understand that my attempted escape may have wreaked havoc on the prison’s sewer system and that toilets are down. Do we have an estimated repair date? I only ask because this seems to be a big source of tension between me and the rest of the prison. The inconvenience I have caused, overflowing toilets, the stench, and the effect it has had on the prison toilet wine industry, has really put a target on my head. I learned a lot about the toilet wine industry from a few of the guards as they were standing idly by while the other prisoners were kicking my teeth down my throat.

I also heard that repairing the infrastructure of this beautiful prison will cost over half a million dollars. Pensions are getting messed up, no overtime is being offered. I learned this as the prisoners were standing idly by while the guards took a turn kicking my newly repaired teeth down my throat.

Perhaps I can help. I can get you more money than you have ever dreamed of. Kickbacks on your kickbacks. There's a river of dirty money running through this place. And I’m not talking about the checks that I lost somewhere in this sewer system (though we should probably talk about that at some point).

Before this snafu, I was the guy who founded the Brooks Hatlen Memorial Library, but now I’ll forever be known as the guy who got stuck in a poop pipe. The bullying is so bad that a visit to the hole would feel like a trip to Zihuatanejo.

Also, I’d like to kindly request a few extra bars of soap or anything to mask this insufferable scent. I politely insist.

The other inmates and some of the prison personnel have started calling me “Stinky Andy.” I’ll be honest. I’m not fond of it. Could you ask the guards to call me “Not Stinky Andy”? Maybe that nickname will catch on.

One day I hope we can forget about this embarrassing memory of me getting stuck in a shit pipe. Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things and no good thing ever dies. However, I have developed quite the cough.

I look forward to hearing from you soon. If I don’t, I'll write two letters a week instead of one.

Your friend (and inmate),

“Not Stinky” Andy Dufresne

P.S. If Red gets paroled, can you do me a favor? Tell him to forget going to that hayfield in Buxton. Nothing is under the oak tree.

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