Now I can burp and fart as well as the next man. I can dribble food on my shirt and scratch my balls at the dinner table. I don't give a fuck. I'm not a prude, and I don't expect anybody else to be either. But my celly goes beyond being a mere cretin. He could drive away Mexican cockroaches and make a gang-bang porn queen blush. He's beyong filthy. He's abnormal. The first time I met him I knew I was dealing with one sick puppy. He didn't ask me normal prison questions such as: 'How long are you in for? What did you do? Have a family on the outside?' Oh no, not my celly. His question were depraved. 'Would you lick a girl's vagina if she had a yeast infection?' 'Have you ever put your tongue up a girl's butt hole?' 'What about young stuff? Ever fucked a teeny-bopper?' These questions are usually followed by vivid descriptions of his latest adventure. 'Wow I just shot a huge load. All over the bathroom. It came out slow at first and then...POW! It spurted out all over the floor. Just like a big glob. Took almost half a roll of shitpaper to wipe my dick off. But you know the funny part? When I was done someone went into the same stall and slipped on my cum. He fell right on his ass in the middle of my load. He got it all over him. It was hilarious!' THAT IS THE HIGH POINT OF HIS DAY. When the prisoners aren't slipping on his semen, they're eating his snot and cyst juice. No kidding. He works in the kitchen dish room. He seems to think that spoons are for scratching the underside of his balls-where he just happens to have a ruptured cyst-and forks are just perfect for plucking snot out of his nose. Does he even try to hide the fact that he does this? Hell no. My celly stands behind the serving counter with a fork up his nose and a spoon down his pants in front of everybody. The whole row of 500 cons is waiting to be fed. Then, he'll just toss the fork and spoon back into the pile with the rest of the 'clean' ones and mix them together. One guy came up to him and complained. 'Why do we have to eat with those filthy utensils? Isn't prison hard enough? Why do you do this? My celly looked right at him and said,' What do you think this is? Denny's? Look, inmate, just be grateful for the few morsels of slop you get.' 'But this is terrible,' the man protested. 'Terrible? You should have thought about that when you were selling phony oil wells to old ladies. Now, get your low-life inmate butt back in line before I pee in the soup.' You may be wondering how I know he has a ruptured cyst on his balls. That's easy. I see them every morning when he climbs down from the top bunk. He lets his balls spill out of his underwear and just seems to linger right at the point where his balls are dangling over my head when he climbs down. Such a lovely sight first thing in the morning. We are also treated to daily reports on the progress of his testicular growth. 'Hey everybody! Another cyst popped on my balls.' As you can imagine his farts are abnormal and disgusting. They are moist, lingering and smell like dead infectious clouds. One right after another. He lifts his pimple-laden ass in the air and farts like a wild pig. He farts when it is quiet at night. He farts when we are all packed into the TV. room; he even farts while we are eating. He doesn't care. The smell? Just try to imagine a water buffalo with leprosy crawling up his butt and dying. Then imagine the smell after traveling out of his pink little unwiped anus, through his field of dingleberries, and caressing against his ruptured testicular cysts. Lovely, isn't it? So far, I've been smelling them for a year. But I only have ten more days to go. Ten days until freedom. Let this be a lesson for all the scam artists and drug dealers out there. Don't worry about the cops, judge or DEA agents. Worry about the fact that there's an empty bunk available here in Florence. And it could be yours.