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

Ashtray

Mayonnaise

High Rank

Can't Get Right

Babyboy (doesn't seem right for an adult)

Suicide

Mongolia

Phathead

Fatfat

Taterhead

Coon Dick

Smoke One/Burn One

One Man Gang

Martial Arts

Crunchy Black

BBQ

Skoochie

Cornbread

Butterbean

Butter-roll

Seafood Lover

Scroll

Swisha

Toot

Pokey

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.

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.