too long, i am a consumer of true crime media and treating this whole thing like a joke just cut to the chase, you B: MARK IS MY MOM.

as you know, i am in jail for f'ing a kid but i didn't do it, mark f'd that kid, it wasn't me, but he framed me and now i'm in jail and mark is the warden and mark is also my court-appointed lawyer so i'm as f'd as that kid was before he died of unrelated causes.

this, of course, is so freaking messed up that it makes me puke and, until today, i had no one to tell about it except for ghost mark, my cellmate. ghost mark is kind enough to post these dispatches for me because entering the wi-fi password would count as a full admission of guilty - it has recently been changed to Network: "I Can't Believe I'm Not F'ing a Kid Right Now" and Password: "I relinquish my rights to Mark, who would never f a kid." (thanks for doing this, ghost mark.)

visiting me in jail is difficult. while some fucked up members of the public have attempted to after breaking headlines like "jamie: she f'd the kid" and "mark? he would never!" were published in the LA times:

but these people are super messed up and were not permitted to enter jail. my court-appointed lawyer mark has visited me several times to discuss my court date at which i will plead that "mark rules" under duress, but i've noticed that no one in my family has come to visit me. 

people visit my jail friends all the time. mr. trombone's wife visits him every day, for instance. because the jail, called chili's (for mark) is set up and operates like a chili's, i've seen prisoners as notorious as jimmy the pigeon sodomizer eat bottomless wings and terrible soup with pigeon families he's made peace with, and maria "the slop trough" snowplow recommend dangerous ayn rand titles to her son zachary, who is half human and half zamboni. usually, i receive no visitors. this is very cool and punk, but also very lonely and punk.

today, the warden (who is mark) told me i had a visitor.

quoth warden mark, "it is your mother." he had a kid with him which was alarming to me because of his reputation for, well, you know. (he might f it.) then, he did not move.

quoth i, "where is mom?" the kid trembled. he was not sure who f'd a kid, but he knew it was definitely either me or mark so, you know, he was scared. of getting f'd. warden mark gestured at himself as if to say, "here i am."

i stood up, which made the kid flinch. he didn't wanna get f'd. i looked at warden mark and heard her mark-like voice and realized that it was all so familiar. sure, i'd first seen mark right after he f'd that kid in the handicapped bathroom and shouted 'i did it! i f'd that kid just like everyone said i would!' but it was more than that. i knew that face and that voice, the one being ascribed to mark, for twenty-three years.

mark is my mom.


"mark, omg. you're my mom?" i quipped.

"that was moreso a statement than a quip," answered mark, my mom.

"oh," quoth i.

"that's more like it," replied warden mark (my mom).

"you did it, mark. you f'd that kid. and you are my mom."

warden mark, my mother, smiled a devious mark smile. "that would be extremely messed up, if true."

"please do not f me," quoth the kid.

i should have known. growing up, my mom would always host dinner parties. lovely ones, with lots of kids. sometimes at the dinner table, after a glass of wine, everyone's eyes would roll back into their heads and they would say, "someday, you will f a kid" and my mom laughed nervously and said, "who, me? mark? haha. maybe. now who would like kombucha?"

i should have known. as a kid, my mom taught me the alphabet. it was the letter f twenty-six times.

i should have known. when mom abandoned her career as an olympic skater to become a prison warden at a local maximum security prison called chili's (for mark). "that's funny," i remember saying. "your name is mark, mom. it's funny that your name is mark, too, because that's not traditionally a female name, but hey, don't let me put you in a box, you are my mother and not only do i love you, i am confident that you would never f a kid."

i should have known a lot of things.

i don't remember what happened next. i flew into a rage that was only seen by warden mark (my mom), that kid (afraid of getting f'd) and my cellmate ghost mark (omnipotent). i wrote myself a note when i first got to jail that i return to when things feel messed up.

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what happens next? the jury's out. which is just as well, because if i got a jury they'd probably all be kid f'ers named mark.