Da Unabomber's Da Bomb: Excerpts from the Unabomber's Prison Diary I miss the log cabin, yet at the same time I've never felt so alive. Ricky, from cellblock four, gave me a doo-rag the other day. I feel hard again, which is good since my street credibility was severely damaged by the whole hooded-gheri-curl-sunglass motif. I can't believe how much time I wasted on mathematics and letters - they were soooo dead end. Before, my only exercise was wood chopping and burpees. Now I'm practically a star on the blacktop. My post-up moves, largely a combination of the dream shake and Gervin finger roll, are unstoppable. The blacktop has turned into the perfect outlet for my sexual frustrations; luckily my explosive letters have been transformed into an explosive first step. The high fives, butt slapping and sportsmanship is what I live for. Tomorrow we play the prison guards horse; I can't wait till they see my left-handed hook - crazy Joe style. Alas, the fun on the court can't last forever and inevitably you end up alone in your cell locked down. Lately, my inner thoughts keep heckling me in a John Tesh voice, complete with a soothing piano. Over and over I can hear the voice say, 'You're a 50 year-old virgin!' Being a 50 something year-old virgin is tougher than most people think. On one hand, pun intended, it's prepared me for a life of masturbation, which is a great coping skill to have in the joint, but on the other hand I want to cry after I hear other inmates telling stories of their recent conjugal visits. Stop screaming at me Tesh! Ah, new mail. You would not believe the amount of letters I receive in jail. Most come from lonely woman, sick of their fifteen cats, but some come from the cats themselves. One such cat letter was actually ghostwritten by Bryant 'big Country' Reeves. The letter asked me to cut some tracks on his new rap label- Grizzly Killer. He said he needed a hard white guy. I don't really fit the bill; but, just in case, I'm going to get inked with some hard ass prison tat's. I'm thinking of getting a Tasmanian devil riding a motor scooter, while giving the hang loose sign, tattooed on my right forearm. That's just one idea, but I don't know if it'll be too hard. Looks like it's time for lights out. Oh well, I can always decide on a tattoo tomorrow. Mental note, I have to reorganize and catalogue the prison library on Thursday. I think I'm going to have some fun with the Dewey Decimal system. Till Tomorrow, Ted