Carol Tobin returns with another journal entry from Sam Fox’s diary. Previous instalment can be found here.
I got my first letter this morning. I was hoping it was a marriage proposal from some horny truck driver who might have admired my picture in the paper around the time of the court case and knew good bone structure when he saw it. I fantasize a lot about truck drivers in here. Maybe it’s the open road and how I would love to be on one. Maybe it’s just me assuming they would be great in bed because they have all this lonely time to themselves, to be thinking of what they will do to you, when they see you next.
But it wasn’t a letter from RANDYSCANIA33. It was a letter from my daughter Destiny asking how to use the washing machine. Because I have plenty of time on my hand’s, I was able to measure exactly how sad and funny that letter was and I conclude that it is as sad, as it is funny. She also sent me a plastic watch, which had a note attached saying, “I’m counting down the minutes Mama”. Emotional blackmail at its best. But maybe counting down Mama’s Minutes might keep her occupied and she won’t end up on drugs, on the game, or on both, taking performance-enhancing drugs to keep her punters happy. If she does take that path/lane in life, then I really hope she doesn’t borrow any of my clothes in a bid to attract punters. I’d kill her if she did that. She’s always had her eye on my expensive leopard print shorts.
Well whores are sitting on a fortune aren’t they?
I have started reading Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment because it’s the only book in here where the pages aren’t stuck together with tears. I think women’s tear ducts should be removed when they come into prison. So many red fat eyed women walking about with flaky faces from where the salt in their tears has dried out their skin. Have a bit of self-respect lassies. I have to say I am empathising with Raskolnikov in the book, we both think that murder is permissible in pursuit of a higher purpose. My higher purpose was to rid the world of my husband and that I did. I was also high at the time so is that a High Higher purpose?
Who gives a shit?
I am off to bed now to listen to the various levels of sobbing that you can hear in here.
As a truck driver on his walkie-talkie would say OVER AND OUT, as I say OVER AND NOT OUT.
Carol Tobin is the best person on Twitter.