Dear Parole Board,
When I get out of jail I’m going to turn my life around. Straighten up. Become an honest man. Be a father to my children. Work to support my family. Spread the good word of my Lord and Savior. No more wheelin’ and dealin’. And I ain’t slinging no more crank to mexicans, that’s for sure.
When I get out of jail I’m going to go by my ex-wife Charleen’s trailer and finish signing those divorce papers. I’ll be the bigger man. I’ll thank her for birthing my children, Dilbert-Lee, Neil Armstronger, and Candy-Sue and tell her I hope she is happy with the new life she has found with Daryl. Heck, I’ll even shake Daryl’s hand and tell him to take good care of her. We are cousins after all. It’s like they say, blood is thicker than water. That being said, if Daryl smarts off I won’t hesitate to give him the old one-two right in the kisser.
When I get out of jail I’m going to swing by the the ole lumber yard and apologize to the bossman. Tell him I was wrong to steal his car keys out of his office and trade crank to a homeless man to have him shit in the trunk. I was wrong. Probably shouldn’t have pissed in the glove compartment either. I’ll tell him I did that shit before I found Christ but now that I am officially a Christian and all, the lord hath forgiven me for all that bullshit. I’ll say “Teddy, I did you wrong but if the good Lord can forgive me, don’t you think you probably should too?” Can’t argue with that. Cold hard Logic. Then I’ll see if he will give me my job back.
Regrets? Sure. I got em. But regrets don’t change things and you can’t take back whatcha done in the past. Unless you’ve got a time machine. But we’re probably 40 or 50 years from them developing a time machine for use on the private market. And even then I’m sure they will have all sorts of rules and shit so that we won’t go back and start messing around with stuff and cause a rift in the space-time continuum resulting in alternate realities, you know. Like that time when old Biff got the almanac and gave it to 50′s Biff and 50′s Biff got lots of money and started porking Marty’s mom and bought her some good looking fake titties. And she was swimming around in that hot tub in Biff’s gold skyscraper and them fake titties were floating around all extra bouyant-like. Anyways, the point is, without a time machine all you can do is express sorrow, move forward, and try to do better. Try to BE better. Live your life in His image.
When I get out of jail, first thing I’m gonna do is get me a hot meal. Something nice. Something I hadn’t had in quite some time. Maybe Red Lobster. Maybe Quimbie’s. I can’t say. Maybe go down to Ma and Pa’s Burrrito Outlet and make me one with all the fixin’s like I used to when I was knee high to a grasshopper. That’d be something.
But until then, I’ma sit right here in this jail cell, keep praying for forgiveness and await the day that I can spread His Word and don’t have to worry ’bout Cecil spreading My legs and pounding my ass into next week and cumming in my hair.
Sincerely,
Terry P. Dickenson, a servant to the one true God Almighty.
