Fiddlesticks and Coffee Pots

Growing up seemed like such a hardship with little fun and lots of,...well, hardship. The Scots family, although complete idiots, tried to work me to the bone. I would do my chores and eat my supper and go to bed at 8:00 pm. After the Scots would go to bed at 9:00 I would sneak down into Eileen's purse and grab a little bit of cash and then out my bedroom window. I would meet up at the Slurp and Munch with my buddies and would proceed to get some rye whiskey and try to score some pot. When we couldn't find pot we would try to get oil. If we couldn't find oil then we would try to get some crack and so on. Some sort of narcotic to smoke. Roxella liked to smoke. Anything she could get her hands on. And I don't know the guy who would refuse Roxella. Well, more on her later. It's about the end of computer time. I'm back a little sooner than I expected. Turns out the fellow in the cell next to mine had this computer time but was sleeping away, snoring too. I was able to bribe the guard into letting me come back here.

Ever since my fellow inmates and I were able to put together an isomeriser that looks like a coffee urn and we now get high grade Dark Turkish coffee beans for the general population (thank you Roxella). We can now generate a high grade almost narcotic coffee oil that some of us use recreationaly and others as I just did, use to bribe administration. We let a rumour circulate that one of the inmates (a lifer) in the upper racks had a line on a special oil that is unlike any oil from any where else in the world because of the manner in which it is transported across the dessert in Ethiopia on camel in blazing heat. This rumour served two purposes: 1:It took all possible suspicion off our "production urn" and 2: It boosted the percieved value among staff who could be bought.