Tag Archives: carol tobin
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.
Carol Tobin bravely went undercover into a women’s prison to bring us another instalment of Samantha Fox’s diary. Here’s the first entry if you missed it.
So I finally got myself a nickname in here, Chip Pan Sam they call me. It’s catchy, I’ll give them that. And apt seeing as I murdered my husband with a chip pan. I learnt the word “Apt” the hard way during a lunchtime scuffle. I won’t go into details as I don’t remember many because rage makes me forgetful. Not that they call me Chip Pan Sam to my face. Because a nickname like that instils fear. And I know I’m the scariest bitch in here. It’s better than Samantha the Fox, which people used to call me on the outside. That name unnerved me, especially when my eight year old son Tijuana’s school friends used to call me it. I wonder how littleTijuanais doing. Does he miss me? Although we never really had a chance to bond, what with him in school five days a week.
MY CHIP PAN WAS MORE MODERN
We have a special guest piece today at Humourisms, our good friend Carol Tobin found this diary entry hidden inside the carcass of a dead dog and was kind enough to send it in. The diary is from a 36 year old woman named Sam Fox who killed her husband. Warning for our more fragile readers: life is tough and then you die. Deal with it.
LIFE’S TOO LONG – DAY 2
Day two of a life sentence for murdering my husband. My sister warned me that prison was going to be tough. She watches Banged Up Abroad every evening. I told her abroad was Spain and that I was going to an Irish prison. She said she would have probably visited me more if I was in a Spanish prison because she could make a holiday out of it. Why would she walk down the road to see her sister when she’s been seeing me for years? That was her logic. She’s lucky I didn’t kill her with that chip pan instead of Teddy. I’m sure that will be going into the “regret” notebook that the priest sent me. My brother gave me a diary for in here, he reckons that I could be the next Foxy Knoxy and get millions when I get out and all the families financial worries would be over. Five year old kids can be so stupid. The diary he gave me is tiny and I couldn’t even use it as a calorie diary. I’d like to think he means well but he’s just a money hungry little shit like them all.
My family were worried for my safety in here, my mother said “you’ll be eaten alive like those pigs that eat human remains that have been minced.” Little did she know I knew damn well what she was talking about because that was my preferred method of disposal. But unfortunately for me I never made it past the front door, not to mind to the pig farm I’d found on Google.
LAYOUT OF A PIGFARM