This is basically a typical day for me at home in Antigua – it’s absolute paradise! Conference calls, beachfront emails, my business suite, shorts and flip flops, an occasional glass of wine and a little mid day work out to stay fit…work, work, work, I say!
If I wasn't so distracted by Colleen's…jet-skiing abilities…I may have remembered to take off my $800 Chrome Hearts sunglasses before attempting the back flip off the Jet Ski!
continued next post...
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To remove first post, remove entire topic.
Bittersweet, but prophetic.
An old post by Brun
Just Your Average Antiguan Work Day
posted on 14 Nov 2007 by Calvin Ayre.
This is basically a typical day for me at home in Antigua – it’s absolute paradise! Conference calls, beachfront emails, my business suite, shorts and flip flops, an occasional glass of wine and a little mid day work out to stay fit…work, work, work, I say!
If I wasn't so distracted by Colleen's…jet-skiing abilities…I may have remembered to take off my $800 Chrome Hearts sunglasses before attempting the back flip off the Jet Ski!
This is basically a typical day for me here at Folsom Prison. It's absolute hell! Prisoner counts six times a day! Never-ending meetings with law-enforcement from several different countries. My protective-custody cell. Boy, it's small! One hour in the yard every day to work out. It's a waiting game. Wait, get older, wait, get older, wait......
Only 68 months left. I've got two in now. Fucking Americans, giving a guy's sentence in months. 70 months, the judge said. What the hell. Just under six years. But the trouble here is there's no parole. Oh, you get a little time off, but it's neglible.
When I took the deal, I thought I'd be back in my beloved Canada within the year. But I crapped out there. That red-neck piece of shit Stockwell Day, Canada's justice minister, says, oh no ya don't, Pretty Boy, not so fast. You stay right where you are. You cost the RCMP millions of dollars to undertake the joint investigation with the DOJ that finally took that arrogant smirk off that over-sized head of yours, and you won't be seeing Canada again until you've served every day of your bit. That's what they call it in here, your bit. Must be short for bitch, because it has been that. And then some!
I haven't had any wine, or beer, or whiskey. But I did get a swig of some home-made brew. Made from potato peelings. It gave me a little buzz, and I craved more of it, but the big black guy who owned it said I'd have to suck his cock if I wanted more. I thought about it, but...... It wasn't the sucking that put me off, but he was black. I seen enough of those mofos in Antigua to last me a life-time.
Anyhow, I am in protective custody. I had no choice. They wanted to give me twenty years. The prosecutor said I was a career criminal, that I was a parasite on humanity, that I had never done an honest day's work in my life, that I was a remorseless, sociopathic, and a willing participant in organised crime, and that I was the perfect front man for the mob, clean on the outside, but dirty as mud-caked dog-shit on the inside. I had no idea what he was talking about! And I still don't. Fuck him. Hey, do they read your mail while your here?
Not much to do in here, I must say. I jerk off a lot. Sometimes I can't get very hard, but I do it anyhow. A guard caught me once, and he said I reminded him of his senile old uncle, at the old folks home, tugging himself, all day long. I wanted to be ashamed, but, as the psychologist who assessed me upon arrival said, there was no shame in me.
I'm not getting many visitors, aside from the police. My Dad's not allowed in the States, my sister's in jail too, she only got 32 months, she's the one I had BoDog Entertainment SA registered to, but that never fooled anybody. My brother is ashamed of me. My little sis is afraid to come to the States in case she gets arrested.
That Scott Lewis guy I used to ridicule on my blog did triumph, in the end. He was able to shut down BoDogLife. That was awhile ago. He never saw any money, but my lawyer told me he just did it because he was an honest American and didn't appreciate my smirking on Forbes.
continued next post....
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and Brun added this...
Fast forward two years.....
This is basically a typical day for me here at Folsom Prison. It's absolute hell! Prisoner counts six times a day! Never-ending meetings with law-enforcement from several different countries. My protective-custody cell. Boy, it's small! One hour in the yard every day to work out. It's a waiting game. Wait, get older, wait, get older, wait......
Only 68 months left. I've got two in now. Fucking Americans, giving a guy's sentence in months. 70 months, the judge said. What the hell. Just under six years. But the trouble here is there's no parole. Oh, you get a little time off, but it's neglible.
When I took the deal, I thought I'd be back in my beloved Canada within the year. But I crapped out there. That red-neck piece of shit Stockwell Day, Canada's justice minister, says, oh no ya don't, Pretty Boy, not so fast. You stay right where you are. You cost the RCMP millions of dollars to undertake the joint investigation with the DOJ that finally took that arrogant smirk off that over-sized head of yours, and you won't be seeing Canada again until you've served every day of your bit. That's what they call it in here, your bit. Must be short for bitch, because it has been that. And then some!
I haven't had any wine, or beer, or whiskey. But I did get a swig of some home-made brew. Made from potato peelings. It gave me a little buzz, and I craved more of it, but the big black guy who owned it said I'd have to suck his cock if I wanted more. I thought about it, but...... It wasn't the sucking that put me off, but he was black. I seen enough of those mofos in Antigua to last me a life-time.
Anyhow, I am in protective custody. I had no choice. They wanted to give me twenty years. The prosecutor said I was a career criminal, that I was a parasite on humanity, that I had never done an honest day's work in my life, that I was a remorseless, sociopathic, and a willing participant in organised crime, and that I was the perfect front man for the mob, clean on the outside, but dirty as mud-caked dog-shit on the inside. I had no idea what he was talking about! And I still don't. Fuck him. Hey, do they read your mail while your here?
Not much to do in here, I must say. I jerk off a lot. Sometimes I can't get very hard, but I do it anyhow. A guard caught me once, and he said I reminded him of his senile old uncle, at the old folks home, tugging himself, all day long. I wanted to be ashamed, but, as the psychologist who assessed me upon arrival said, there was no shame in me.
I'm not getting many visitors, aside from the police. My Dad's not allowed in the States, my sister's in jail too, she only got 32 months, she's the one I had BoDog Entertainment SA registered to, but that never fooled anybody. My brother is ashamed of me. My little sis is afraid to come to the States in case she gets arrested.
That Scott Lewis guy I used to ridicule on my blog did triumph, in the end. He was able to shut down BoDogLife. That was awhile ago. He never saw any money, but my lawyer told me he just did it because he was an honest American and didn't appreciate my smirking on Forbes.
I thought I was sitting pretty, no matter what happened. I had tens of millions of dollars stashed away, where I thought it would always be safe, but boy, was I wrong. It turns out the cops wanted to track down every bit of it before laying charges, and seize it, so I couldn't afford high-priced lawyers to defend myself. Those bastards. They made me feel like some dead-beat Dad, too broke to show up in court with a lawyer.
Anyhow, I scratched BoDog on my cell wall the other day. Just as I was finishing, my cell-mate, the child rapist from Fresno, yells out, Yo,Dog, it's dinner time. Kraft Dinner tonight! Move it, bitch!
Gotta eat, adoring fans. In my next blog episode, I'll tell the story of how I shaved 12 years off my stretch, exposed the entire Kahnawake criminal enterprise, along with organised crime figures from all over the world, a lot of whom owned online gambling sites, and, for you gambling readers, I'll give the over-under on me making it out of here alive. Later, Dudes! This is Calvin, rolling!
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I thought I was sitting pretty, no matter what happened. I had tens of millions of dollars stashed away, where I thought it would always be safe, but boy, was I wrong. It turns out the cops wanted to track down every bit of it before laying charges, and seize it, so I couldn't afford high-priced lawyers to defend myself. Those bastards. They made me feel like some dead-beat Dad, too broke to show up in court with a lawyer.
Anyhow, I scratched BoDog on my cell wall the other day. Just as I was finishing, my cell-mate, the child rapist from Fresno, yells out, Yo,Dog, it's dinner time. Kraft Dinner tonight! Move it, bitch!
Gotta eat, adoring fans. In my next blog episode, I'll tell the story of how I shaved 12 years off my stretch, exposed the entire Kahnawake criminal enterprise, along with organised crime figures from all over the world, a lot of whom owned online gambling sites, and, for you gambling readers, I'll give the over-under on me making it out of here alive. Later, Dudes! This is Calvin, rolling!
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