Letter From a Birminghills Jail

Just received this dispatch from Charlie. Sounds like he's having a rough time. Be well brother- Dawg

Letter From a Birminghills Jail

My Rehab, Day 3

Dear Diary,

The nurse discovered a brick of cocaine I disguised as a pack of Marlboro Lights. There was a brief struggle but without alcohol, my strength has left me. Was a fool to think a bribe would work; the accountants have my checkbooks.

Emilio and Sonja sent a dozen roses this morning. Smoking them made the room smell good for a while, then just the smell of sadness and sobriety.

Food has lost its taste. This morning the “chef” sent pheasant terrine, cream of asparagus and polenta soup, and a salad of mixed greens topped with goat cheese and Peruvian mango slices. Is this a McDonald’s? I may starve. I have the goat cheese drying by the windowsill hoping it powders.

The doctors say I’ll need to be here for a while. My publicist says only until all of this blows over. A poor metaphor. He’ll be begging into the porn mansion by the end of the week.

I think a Kennedy is in one of the rooms on this wing. I hear someone crying for the babysitter at night. Using an elaborate series of knocks and coughs I have been attempting to communicate with my fellow prisoners. Perhaps we can join together and rush the sauna? Yesterday one of the guards caught onto my scheme and threatened to take my HBO privileges.

Cryer says he may be able to smuggle me in a porn star later today. A tiny one like Kelsey Michaels or Leah Luv might be able to fit in one of his shoes. We’ll see. I haven’t gone this long without banging porn star since Denise took the kids to Disney World for a weekend in the mid 90s.

But alas my gold and silver flecked Venetian candle burns thin in the waning evening sunlight. Lights out here at 9pm sharp. Usually I’m on my 3^rd at Mr. Chow at 9…

I shall persevere. Yours in brotherhood. –Charles