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Worst-Ever Prisoner Nicknames

9:42 PM
Having spent almost half of my life behind prison walls, I've been around some colorful characters. Here, for your reading enjoyment, I will list some of the worst nicknames I've heard since I've been in prison...
Thunder Cookie
Boo Gorilla
High Rank
Can't Get Right
Babyboy (doesn't seem right for an adult)
Coon Dick
Smoke One/Burn One
One Man Gang
Martial Arts
Crunchy Black
Seafood Lover
Papa Skeet ("skeet" being slang for ejaculate)
Big Papa/Big Daddy (one adult male should not call another adult male either of these)
Then you have your generic nicknames like "money" or "town" (A-money, B-town, C-money, D-town, etc.) or your drug-related nicknames (bag, sac, pound, kilo). I've never understood how you can choose your own nickname, anyway. I'd like to know what you think- what is the worst nickname out of the bunch? Or do you have some to add? Feel free to comment.
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Breakfast Trays & Divine Intervention

9:34 PM
Breakfast was once my favorite meal. I'm not sure when that changed, but after being at Parchman for years I'm just thankful when I don't get a case of food poisoning. Since arriving at Wilkinson County Correctional Facility, I haven't had to worry about that. A lot of the guys have complained about the size of the portions, and true enough we aren't getting the amount of calories we are supposed to. But I'll gladly make that trade-off to keep from contracting food-borne illness.

If a mouse's survival depended on what I leave on my trays here at WCCF, it would have starved to death within the first few days. When a tray leaves out of this cell you would seriously doubt there was ever food on it. Ever heard that calorie restriction diets prolong life? I'll keep you posted on that one...

We have an officer here in HJK section that makes me think of Fred G. Sanford's older, skinnier, grumpier brother with a three-pack-a-day smoking habit (if Fred had such a brother). The last few mornings he has been passing out trays downstairs on this pod. I don't interact with many people at all, so we've never had a reason not to get along.

At breakfast we get our tray, a half-pint of milk, and 6 oz. of juice or maybe coffee. So, Fred's older, skinnier, grumpier brother with a three-pack-a-day smoking habit hands me my tray and milk, then asks if I want any juice/coffee. I hand him my cup. Now, the way the cambro that holds the juice/coffee is sitting on the cart puts the nozzle close to the floor. And there's Fred's older, skinnier, grumpier brother with a three-pack-a-day smoking habit, with his head down, ass in the air, cigarette in his mouth with ashes as long as my middle finger dangling directly over my cup.

Allow me to reiterate something: I'm not a morning person. As I see this cigarette ash dangling above my cup I begin to pray, God, give me the strength to not snatch his old ass through my door if those ashes fall into my cup... I feel that God heard my prayer. The ashes somehow didn't fall, Fred's older, skinnier, grumpier brother with a three-pack-a-day smoking habit stood up and handed me my cup, took the cigarette out of his mouth and smiled big enough to show all of his teeth. All three of them. Like he was amazed the ashes didn't fall in there, too.

The next morning it happened almost the exact same way. I was praying, Lord, I know my cup runneth over and all that, but don't let it be with cigarette ashes. By the third morning I had decided I no longer wanted any juice or coffee. I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid.
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1:38 PM
Kopi luwak, otherwise known as civet coffee, motit coffee, kape alamid, kafé laku, weasel it what you will, it is one of the most expensive varieties of coffee in the world. Depending on where you buy it & what variety you choose, prices range from $100-$600 per pound & up to $3,000 per pound for the Vietnamese "weasel coffee." Kopi luwak is the shit in more ways than one & has an interesting history.

In the mid-1800s the Dutch forbade native farmers & workers in the Dutch East Indies colonies to pick coffee fruit from the plantations for their own use. The natives found a way around this prohibition though. Certain species of civet would eat the ripe coffee fruits, but did not digest the seeds, & so the natives would go around collecting these civet turds, would clean the beans, roast & grind them to make coffee.

Basically, when a civet eats the coffee fruit the beans ferment in its intestines & makes the resulting coffee milder, less bitter, with a more "aromatic" flavor. This is similar to how cocoa beans are left to ferment for up to eight days before they're processed. But if cocoa beans were harvested from cat turds, I seriously doubt that I'd eat any chocolate.

I want to see the generic brand of this come out. Something like Krappy Low-ACK! the low-cal version, or Cat Ass Coffee. Word is that Juan Valdez is hard at work (or his donkey is) on a new blend called Caca de Burro. The Home Shopping Network could even sell do-it-yourself kits. For just two easy payments of $19.95 you can have your own Kitty Coffee starter kit: includes one kitten, a five pound sack of coffee cherries & a litterbox. Get your coffee fresh from the source! (meow) There are chemically simulated versions like "Magic Cat" for $15.99 per pound.

A few other related facts: Early on, civet musk was used as the binding agent in perfumes. Lab manufactured chemicals serve the purpose now, but people used to rub civet booty juice on themselves to smell good. SARS has also been traced back to civets, which probably was passed to them by infected bats. Kopi muncak is coffee beans harvested from the crap of barking deer found throughout Southeast Asia. (The Indian muncak has the lowest number of chromosomes in any mammal.) And then there is argan oil used for massage, for cooking & for aphrodisiac effects -maybe in that order. Berbers encourage goats to climb these weird looking trees & eat the olive-like fruit, then they harvest the pits from the goat pellets & grind them for the oil.

As for the kopi luwak, it's supposed to taste really great. I'll have to take their word for it. Sewer rats might taste like sweet potato pie, but I'll never know that for certain, either. Not happening.
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Response to comments-Real Motives & a Different Angle

1:10 PM
I was actually surprised at the feedback on the post and welcome it. What my detractors seemed to have lost sight of was the purpose of the post. The purpose wasn't to prove my innocence or go over the evidence or lack thereof. God could come down from heaven and tell you I'm innocent and it wouldn't make a difference to you.


Detractors: Just shut up, God! We know you're just some bleeding-heart-liberal, prisoner-loving-activist! Even your Son was a convicted criminal and was executed.

Go back and reread the title of the post. Good job. Know what that means? It is referring to Mr. John Harmon's motives for getting this case splashed in the media repeatedly, and the methods he used.

Casey Harmon's loved ones, as well as my loved ones, are looking to move beyond what happened in 1998. Hate me if you want. Write me and tell me what a terrible person I am, how I should never have been born, how I should have been executed, how you hope I'll die a slow and painful death...but address it to me. Bringing the case back up time and again and putting it out there publicly is leaving yourself open for public scrutiny. And as you can see, I have a voice as well.

Now to address specific comments...

Sherry Riley Barnett, at first I wanted to go through your comment & point out more of the inconsistencies. That wouldn't serve any purpose, however. You weren't mentioned by this name or any name in any of the documents related to the investigation, and no one that was at the Center that day says anything about seeing you. I'm not trying to cause you or anyone else any more pain than you've already been through. If you truly were there at some point that day & traded shifts with Casey, I'm sorry that you've been second-guessing that all these years. If it would have changed things for the better, I wish you had have been there that day.

Paul Harrison, thank you for your comment, and you are certainly entitled to your opinions. I agree with you that any [honorable] officer gunned down in the line of duty deserves more than 15 minutes of fame. I am not trying to change what you think of me, either. That's like arguing religion or politics; it does no good. As for being executed, it still wouldn't have happened. Check out Roper v. Simmons, 125 S.Ct. 1183 (2005). I'd gladly face the death penalty to get a chance in court though, I assure you.

Rogers, to be mall security I find it odd that you should be privy to any alleged statements besides your own. Those statements never were made by me. Why would I allegedly say I was going to shoot everyone & their grandma? When you probably heard this as gossip or rumor, did you even stop to think about it? The way accounts of the case stand, none of it makes sense. When the time is right, you'll have your answer.

As was stated in a comment on the previous post, if you don't like what is written on this blog- don't read it. I'll keep writing until I'm no longer able. I've told the blog administrators that comments aren't to be deleted. As long as the comments are somewhat on topic and aren't so much verbal diarrhea, I'll respond to them. I'll even communicate with you via snail mail, or you can send a message to the blog's email address and it will be printed and mailed to me. To my detractors, concerning spelling, grammatical or any other errors- mistakes are solely my own. I never made it to 10th grade. What's your excuse? On the subject of hellfire & damnation: I'll have plenty of company if I end up in hell, and if I get there first I'll save you a spot. ;-)
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Celebrating the Discovery of Uranus

2:41 PM
This year marks 230 years since Uranus was discovered. To celebrate this, I've collected a few fun facts about Uranus. . .

Uranus has a mind of its own- in astrology, Uranus is associated with an independent nature and strong will.

It's darker on Uranus- the mean distance from Uranus to the sun is 1.7 billion miles.

Uranus is heaven- the name Uranus comes from the Greek Ouranos, which means 'heaven'.

There just isn't enough time on Uranus- the length of a day on Uranus is 17.9 hours.

Uranus is always on its side- at some point, something large probably slammed into Uranus, causing this anomaly.

We should be mining Uranus- the core of Uranus is said to possibly contain trillions of diamonds. Don't ask us who told us that.
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Missing Mail & Evil Midget Clowns

6:17 PM
Things happen, mistakes get made & that's just life. In a system where the employees are overworked, underpaid & not appreciated, it's inevitable. But one thing I can't abide is repeatedly & completely avoidable mistakes with my mail. Restricted though it is, my incoming & outgoing mail is my connection with the world. On top of everything else, I don't want to have to worry about whether or not the mail that someone has sent to me is actually going to make it to me or if it will be given to someone else. I have no way of knowing.

This being the second incident in recent weeks, not including the couple of times someone's mail was given to me, I had to say something about it. (I really dislike having to complain about it, because it almost feels like I'm snitching.) Luckily for me, the assistant shift supervisor came around, & talking to her about the situation calmed me a bit. This isn't something I can take chances with.

In the course of discussing the problem with the assistant shift supervisor, I was showing her the 3 items of mail I had received. One piece had the number of the cell I'm housed in written on it, the other two had a different cell number written on them by the mailroom staff, but all of them were given to the wrong person at first. I was holding one of the envelopes out to show her the number written on it. . .when a picture fell out. A picture of evil-looking midgets dressed as clowns. Or evil-looking clowns trying to pass as midgets. I can never tell them apart. (At this juncture I would like to invoke the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy.) After an awkward moment, the officer with her picked the picture up & handed it back to me. Not willing to tempt Fate any farther, I proceeded to thank them & crawfished away from the door.

The next morning I also spoke with the Unit Manager, who said that she'd send out an email about it & would also contact the mailroom for me. Was glad to hear that, but this is something I have to follow through on. Can't have my evil midget clown pictures falling into the wrong hands. . .
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Real Motives & A Different Angle

12:19 AM
March 2, 2011 marks 13 years since Casey Harmon's death. Since 1998 I have been charged, sentenced & started serving a life sentence without the possibility for parole for murdering Casey. And during these 13 years, Mr. John Harmon has -on numerous occasions- used the death of his son to gain the attention of the media & be in the public eye. This wasn't for a good cause or some noble purpose. Just the opposite. It seems Mr. Harmon is using Casey's death to milk the public for sympathy & have his own 15 minutes of fame.
Casey R. Harmon (Deputy Sheriff) Lee County, MS. Sheriff Department By John Harmon, Blue Springs, MS USA Casey was 20 years old, working at the Julenile Detention center in Tupelo,Ms. A 16 year old suspect was being helded for shoplifting. The suspect was being released when he pulled a gun out of his shoe and fired a shot to the head of Casey, killing him instantly. The suspect escaped, but was captured later that night near Memphis. The suspect, Stephen Farris, was sentenced to life with out parole , Plus 70 years. Casey Harmon came from a history of law enforcement, his grandfather was the chief deputy for Chickasaw County, Ms. , in the 1960's, his father was a deputy sheriff for almost 20 years, and his two brothers are currently deputy sheriffs with Chickasaw County.
When we're not looking at just one side of the story, one set of skewed facts, it's easier to see Mr. Harmon's motives. Even in his memorial to Casey, Mr. Harmon has to mention himself & tag his name on. The truth of the matter is, Casey means more to Mr. Harmon in death than he ever did in life.

This time Mr. Harmon has used my transfer from Parchman to WCCF as his excuse for dragging this unfortunate affair back into public view again. It's my opinion that Mr. Harmon's perception of Parchman is a strong point in the argument for closing the MSP down. He wasn't overly concerned about the level of security, but didn't want that I should be housed in a facility that is "modern" (i.e. humane). This speaks eloquently of Mr. Harmon's character.

A little history is in order here. . . Since 1998, I know of 5 escapes from Parchman. During one escape, 2 prisoners made their way out of the maximum security camp, Unit 32, that was just closed down. I know of absolutely NO escapes from WCCF since it was opened. WCCF also just installed an electric perimeter fence that cost upwards of $400,000. No matter where I'm housed, I'm still doing time. Mr. Harmon made an issue of announcing that he asked the DA not to seek the death penalty out of "mercy" even though I didn't go to trial. We now see what his brand of mercy entails. Mr. Harmon wants me moved back to Parchman. Whether at Parchman or WCCF, it matters not to me. Before I left Parchman, I was on an incentive program, had my own TV & radio, A & B-custody canteen privileges, & was housed with guys I've known for years. I don't have any of that at WCCF. So if Mr. Harmon can convince MDOC to move me back to Parchman, more power to him.

There are at least two sides to a story &, since we're airing all this, let's ask some questions:

  • What really happened that night of March 2, 1998?

  • Why was Casey Harmon working at the Tupelo Juvenile Detention Center (seeing as the rest of his family works in law enforcement in Chickasaw County), and what controversial incident made Sheriff Jimmy Simmons tell Casey he could either resign or be fired?

  • Why was 20 years old Casey Harmon placed in charge of a juvenile detention center, particularly in light of why he was forced to resign from his previous job?

  • Why was Casey carrying a pistol he wasn't old enough to legally own, & why did he have it in a juvenile detention center?

  • Why would a 16 years old kid with no previous history of violence -an honor roll student, Rotary Club Scholar, a Boy Scout, who was about to go home as Mr. Harmon reiterated, a kid that to this very day, people who knew him don't believe he committed this crime- why would he shoot anyone, especially an officer?

I'm no longer that 16 years old child, Mr. Harmon. You & those working with you can no longer threaten my life or harass me to any effect. And anything you do to attempt to harm me, I'll just use for good. Maybe this whole case should be reopened, re-examined & looked into more deeply.
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Heiress Presumptive or Presumptive Heiress?

12:19 AM
You know those lint catchers in clothes dryers? My mind is like that, picking up all kinds of useless facts, tidbits of trivia. Now I get to share them with you! Aren't you excited?!

So, you think you know all the famous heiresses out there? Let's test your knowledge. This one had me stumped, so pay close attention. . .

  • She doesn't need the money she'll one day inherit. She has made millions of dollars, and continues to make money from a TV show in which she co-starred.
  • One of her cousins owned the Adidas shoe company.
  • Another one of her cousins starred in the movie The Goodbye Girl.
  • During the French Resistance of World War II, her grandfather was a hero.
  • Her father is a multi-billionaire.
  • Though her father was born in Paris, she was born in the U.S.
  • After previous attempts, she starred in her own successful TV show.
Have you given up already and tried to Google it? Hah! No cheating. Who do you think it is, so far?
Leave your answer as a comment at the end of this post, if you dare.

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A Journey of 1,000 Miles...(part 3 of 3)

1:20 PM
The thing that stands out in my mind from when I first entered Wilkinson County Correctional Facility is the length of the halls. Brings to mind those scenes from the movie The Shining for some reason. The halls seemed especially long to me because I had to lug/drag/maneuver my property down them while in the restraints I mentioned in Part 2.

HJK Section is where we from Parchman were escorted, where long-term segregation prisoners are housed at WCCF. If memory serves me correctly, it's on the opposite side of where we entered the facility, all the way at the end of the hall. As The Offspring said, "You've gotta keep'em seperated." (A lot of my internal dialogue comes in snippets of songs, images from movies, quotes from things I've read. . .)

We ended up on K-pod which has (20) twenty cells; ten upstairs & ten downstairs. Although the cells are equipped to house 2 prisoners each, the current segregation status of this area limits one prisoner per cell. When you walk through the door & onto the pod, there is an open "dayroom" area to your left with twelve metal tables that seat four each, and a set of four modular showers (that lock) to your right with a waist-high partitioning wall that has seating on one side running the length of the showers. The control tower has a view onto the pod through a barred, rectangular window about 10 feet in length, set about 6 feet high from the floor on the wall opposite the cells. On the wall to the far left after entering the pod, there is a telescoping stand bolted to the wall about 9 feet off the floor, on which the TV sits.

After we were escorted onto the pod, we were directed to stand along the partitioning wall as, four at a time, we were ordered to go through the strip-search process in the showers. When the search was complete, we were put in restraints & escorted -each to his assigned cell. There we waited for our property to be searched & inventoried, & waited to be called to finish being processed in. What followed was a basic orientation, photos taken, info gathered, vital signs recorded, & instructions given.

Something I'd forgotten during the hustle & bustle of moving, I was soon to be reminded of. I'd heard tale that, upon arriving at WCCF, prisoners had to give up all their clothes and would be issued new clothing. Including underwear. The last time I'd had to wear briefs was in 2001, at Walnut Grove Youth Correctional Facility. When these things, these little boy drawers, were issued to me...I seriously considered going commando permanently. They were like seven sizes too big for me. Two other prisoners could fit in there with me, & though it's cold in these cells, it's not THAT cold.

After awhile I decided to try on these supersize Underoos out of curiosity. When I got them on, I didn't know what to think at first. They weren't briefs. This was a loincloth! I felt like Mowgli in The Jungle Book. I kept looking around, waiting for Baloo to jump out & start singing about "Bear Necessities." Had to be careful so I didn't bare my necessities wearing them. If I have to choose between boxers and briefs, I'll let Mowgli keep his loincloth.
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A Journey of 1,000 Miles...(Part 2)

5:48 PM
Though it isn't fun, after years of wearing chains whenever you're not secured in a cell or recreation pen or shower, you become accustomed to it. You actually expect it, to an extent. Might be difficult to believe or understand that, but that's the reality of it. Being packed in a confined space like sardines, while wearing restraints for a prolonged period, is a different matter. And it seems like the transportation officers (not all of them) attempt to make it as stressful as possible: smoking with the windows rolled up and the heat on the high setting, listening to a radio station with a preacher screaming about hellfire and damnation, etc.

The best part of the van trip? Actually leaving the grounds of the Mississippi State Penitentiary. Maybe because of all that has happened there...all the suffering and hatred and misery and death...but the very air of the place is oppressive. Crossing over that boundary line, it feels as if a weight has lifted off your shoulders.

I have a soldier's philosophy- eat and sleep when you can, because you don't know when you'll get a chance to again. The trip went relatively quick for me while I slept, sometimes almost leaning over on my neighbor who'd been sprayed. Hey, I can't be picky about where I sleep. So, I can't tell you what the countryside looks like between Sunflower County and Wilkinson County. I kind of regret not paying attention to the fall colors. I needed my sleep though.

Arriving at Wilkinson County Correctional Facility was a lot like the process of leaving the Mississippi State Penitentiary. We were unloaded from the van and the transportation officers from MSP recovered their restraint gear while the guards from WCCF put their restraint gear on us. MSP's restraint gear is the standard waistchains with cuffs attached so that your arms can hang down to your sides, and regular leg shackles. WCCF's restraints seemed cobbled together. But they weren't accustomed to dealing with segregation prisoners, and didn't know how to make things run smoothly.

To be put in this restraint gear is a process. First comes the regular handcuffs which are placed on the prisoner's wrists to the front of his body and double-locked, to make it more difficult to pick the locks. Next is the "black-box" which fits between and onto the bottom of the cuff on each hand and locks into place, preventing the prisoner from bending his wrists much. Then comes the chain which has a special link that is run through a slot in the black box from behind. (Get your mind out of the gutter for just a minute! Geez!) Once the link is through and protruding from the front of the black box, it's held in place while the chain is wrapped counter-clockwise around the prisoner, the remainder threaded through the link and wrapped clockwise back around the prisoner and attached to the chain with a clip on the end. And after placing leg shackles on us, we were ready to go inside!
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A Journey of 1,000 Miles...Begins With a Cavity Search (Part 1)

11:59 PM
Before transferring to Wilkinson County Correctional Facility from Unit 32 at the Mississippi State Penitentiary, I'd learned as much as I could about where I might be going. Every facility has its pros & cons, of course. But a lot of what I was hearing as "negatives" from prisoners who had been at the facility before, didn't matter much to me. I don't smoke or do drugs, so I didn't care that I couldn't get those things. And though my record is far from perfect, word was that the admin at WCCF wants to see for themselves what kind of person you are. And that sounds good to me.

So, the day arrives at Unit 32 when they wake us at 4:00 A.M. & tell us to pack up. First comes the visual body search by the guards. They tell you to get like you came into the world- naked. Your clothes are searched. You are searched. There's no place for modesty.

One of the prisoners in the group being transferred that morning tried to hide some dope 'tween his butt cheeks. Didn't work. They found it. He wouldn't give it to them, so they sprayed him with OC spray. Guess who had to sit next to him for the 4 hour van ride? ~sigh~ Yeah, I have all the luck.

After we were searched and restrained, we were transported to the holding cells. All our property was ransacked and the guards decided willy-nilly what they were going to let us keep before running everything through a X-ray machine like the ones they have at airports. We were loaded up in the van & off we went! Short of dragging me behind the van for the entire trip, they could've done pretty much whatever they wanted as long as I was leaving Parchman.

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A Brief History of Aspirin

12:06 AM
I'd always heard that European settlers of America had learned about the pain relieving effect of willow bark from the Native Americans. Turns out the ancient Egyptians were chewing willow bark and passing on their knowledge long before. Still and all, the Europeans might have learned from the Native Americans, since aspirin didn't become popular in Europe until 1763.

Edward Stone, a British clergyman, is given credit for using and sharing willow bark with his parishioners -relieving many cases of rheumatic fever in the process. It took about 100 years before someone figured out how to synthesize salicin, the raw ingredient in aspirin, in the lab. Charles Gerhardt created acetylsalicylic acid, the synth form of salicin. But it was Felix Hoffman, a German scientist working for Bayer Industries, who followed Gerhardt's process 40 years later (1897) and took the credit. It was the first mass-marketed drug, introduced in 1899.

Better than chewing bark, the tablets caught on quickly. People have different ideas on how to take them though. The Brits dissolve theirs in water. The Americans swallow theirs whole. While the French. . .are French. They prefer them as suppositories. Talk about a pain in the. . . Reminds me of my ex.

Thanks mostly to radio jingles sung by Eva Perón -future First Lady- in the mid-1940s, Argentina became the largest per-capita consumer of aspirin in the world.

Until the 1970s, no one was even sure how aspirin worked. British scientist John Vane cleared that up, showing that aspirin reduces the production of prostaglandins -fatty acids that cause swelling- in the body. Your body produces its own aspirin when you get enough benzoic acid, from foods such as fruits and vegetables. One more reason to eat healthy.

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To Boldly Go. . .

11:19 PM
Star Trek fans have reason to be excited. Anyone who is familiar with the series or movies will remember the Enterprise's tractor beam--that big ray of light that could pull objects towards the ship. Scientists now have a real working model, albeit much smaller. It won't be tugging Klingon ships across space anytime soon, but it's a start.

The hollow laser beam, developed by scientists at the Australian National University, is able to move small pieces of glass more than 1 meter across a table. The hollow part of the beam is where objects are picked up, and the ring of heat keeps the object centered, knocking it back towards the center if the object starts drifting to the edges.

Since it relies on superheated gases -like my ex- to work, it's pretty much useless in the vacuum of space. (My ex is just a vacuum of a person's will to live.) It does have its uses though -the laser, not my ex. Engineers and researchers are already using the technology to manipulate parts in the construction of miniscule precision machinery and move tiny particles of dangerous diseases without having to actually touch them physically.
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About Me

My photo
Steven Farris is a prisoner who has been incarcerated since a month after his 16th birthday in 1998. Currently serving a life sentence without the possibility for parole, he is seeking to educate the public about the true nature of prison and the widespread and negative effects of the prison industrial complex. Steven has worked with both the National Prison Project of the ACLU, as well as the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund in furthering this effort.

You can contact him directly at:
Steven Farris #R5580
P.O. Box 1889
Woodville, MS 39669-1889

Check out my other blog . . .


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