By staff writer E.E. Southerby
March 30, 2006
“Back, Not Necessarily in Black”
Now Playing: “I Fought the Law” by The Bobby Fuller Four
We all know what it’s like to suffer withdrawal symptoms. Whether you’re giving up cigarettes, alcohol, or deep-fried lard, the pain of giving up your favorite fix can be difficult to handle. With this in mind, it is my rehabit-forming pleasure to announce the return of Text-Heavy. Don’t act like you haven’t been sitting in the fetal position for the past 10 months, shaking and sobbing intermittently. I know I left you high and dry, baby, but don’t worry, I won’t leave you again. I promise.
First, I suppose I owe you an explanation. In my last article, I told you the thrilling story of my arrest, detention, and imminent trial. While awaiting my trial date, my bond was unexpectedly revoked. I thought about going on the lam, but then I remembered: I already live in Canada, so I had nowhere to hide. Plus, I’ve seen enough episodes of Dog the Bounty Hunter to know I wouldn’t get far in the States. So, I found myself once again in the familiar confines of a holding cell. Apparently, the girl I employed as a “friend hooker” had added assault and battery to her initial charges. This was an outright fabrication, but just try to convince a bitter lesbian judge of that. It also didn’t help matters when I showed up for my trial wearing a fur coat and carrying a diamond-topped cane. I got one year, less a day.
“I know you don’t think of Canadians as violent people, but prisoners are prisoners. I saw two stabbings and a sack-beating in my first two months.”
I’ve already written about what is was like to spend time in a holding cell, but none of that compares to the New Haven Correctional Centre. I should point out that NHCC is not located in the affluent town of New Haven, Connecticut, but in a shitty, perpetually frozen B.C. dump called Burnaby. When the Olympics come round in four years, you can be sure that no oppressed Chinese bobsled androids are going to defect.
New Haven is supposed to contain non-violent inmates in the 18-23 year old age group, which makes it sound a lot like university. Except by “non-violent,” they mean, “fall asleep at your own risk.” I know you don’t think of Canadians as violent people, but prisoners are prisoners anywhere you go in the world. I saw two stabbings and a sack-beating in my first two months. I don’t know what was in the sack, but it’s safe to say it wasn’t marshmallows…or kitteny-soft toilet paper.
Even though I was 100% innocent of the charge, other inmates knew what I was in for, and didn’t mess with me much. A lot of gambling went on at New Haven, and because I’m pretty good at poker, I was able to ensure that a lot of people were in debt to me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t out to collect like some bruiser on Oz, but I found that by forgiving certain debts, I’d earned the protection of the right people. And this Jew breathed a sigh of relief. By keeping my head down, I was actually paroled two months early. I was able to convince the authorities that my internet writings were not only a stable source of income, but also a positive contribution to society. Which just goes to show, the parole board will believe anything.
But I don’t want to dwell on the past. Allow me to take a look around, and see what I’ve missed here at Points in Case. Justin is still impersonating a writer. Good to see some things never change. Thanks for the Douchebag-of-the-Year Nomination, incidentally. I’ve just learned Mikey is retiring and becoming assistant editor. What this really means is that he’s out of column ideas, something the rest of us have known since his second article. But those of you enjoyed looking at his naked photos every week, fear not—you now have Nick “Please Stop Criticizing Me” Gaudio to tell you about how beautiful his penis is, with surpassing detail each passing week. Aren’t you lucky?
I see Nate’s also still up to his old tricks, with the addition of a girlfriend. As they say in France and/or Quebec, “Quel Surprise.” Last year, I would have bet heavily that he’d be the one in jail, and I’d be the one enjoying a relationship with someone I haven’t yet realized is a prostitute. Fate is fickle indeed. Simonne and Ali are still sluts, but after a year in jail, I’d still bang them. Maybe.
And there are a few new guys. It’s probably hard to write comedically about sports, and Dan Opp proves it’s actually impossible. Furthermore I was Canadian, Jewish, and overly verbose long before David Nelson showed up. Hey, here’s a Word of the Week: Fuck off, you creepy bastard.
Now that I’m back, Court has asked me to urge you to remain calm. Do not take to the street in a spontaneous show of how much you missed me. Resist the urge to riot joyously. However, you have my permission to get wasted in whatever manner you like best. When you sober up, I’ll still be here.