Man Hands

Just when I start thinking my drinking is in fact under control, it flares up again-like some bad rash or something. What causes it specifically? I don’t really know for sure, but then again if I look at the circumstances leading up to the times when I drink the most, those are actually preceded by some sort of intense-filled moment usually caused by family or by some relation of the moment. And how do you solve that? It’s not like you can trade, upgrade or decimate your own family and relations- well you could but that’s for another story.

Over the weekend I noticed something I hadn’t really seen before- GH pointed out that he had never noticed my hand veins stuck out, bulged out of my skin. I had noticed the actual veins, green and bulging before but didn’t think much of it, ‘till Saturday when I noticed that these only bulge when I am in a state of extreme excitement, usually the bad kind, the kind that sends the lower left backside of my head to doing it’s own painful dance. When I’m calm the green bulging monsters on the back of my hands and wrists are barely visible. When I’m calm I don’t have man-hands. When I’m calm I’m usually holding a PBR- is that bad?

So I’m trying a new thing: to not cause my veins to bulge as that is most likely linked to the high blood pressure my doctor warned about. But I find that I don’t have as much control over this as I’d like. Just reading certain things gets me going, talking to some people- the mere sight of them gets me going- but rather than going to pills for “controlling” this, I’m trying “alternative” measures, aka drinking more PBR or trying to justify/think clearly of the things/people/situations that cause my veins to overfill with my rushing blood- mostly just drinking more PBR though.

This was apparently in my thoughts over the weekend, cause I wondered if I still have man hands when I’m on the PBR, of course I usually don’t think to look or notice, but in between the pictures of the burlesque troop I saw this weekend, there were several of the back of my hands and they didn’t look particularly manly to me. So I guess my self-prescribed medication is working indeed. Who needs doctors after all? Don’t ask me in 15 years, I’ll probably already be in liver treatment clinics.

My chiropractor friend said that even though we have averages for everything some people don’t fit within these averages, bodies function at higher or lower levels, making each one different, special. That makes sense; I mean I’ve never quite fit into any particular category, why should my blood’s speed be any different.

Review #3

No- I don't want to come out and play

Of all the euphemisms people use in reference to going out and getting drunk, “coming out to play” is the one I hate. It’s fucking ridiculous for a bunch of “grown-ups” to go around saying “We’re going out to play” when they’re simply really saying, “Hey, we’re going out to some bar/restaurant/someone’s house and getting shitty ‘till we can’t see straight.” The same people who talk about "playing" are also the same ones who refer to weekdays/workdays as a “school nights.” What the fuck is that?

Yes, I remember school and I remember being sent to bed early and I can’t help but wish someone had told me back then that school was all bullshit and that you’re not really there to learn stuff of much use, but rather to spend the last few years of your “free” life in peace and relaxation instead of stressing about memorizing dates, equations, formulas and dates/events based on some delusional “writer’s” view of history and of what is really important. The FOIL method? Yeah I’ve used that several times to get me out of real jammed up sessions. The Pythagorean Theory? That comes in really handy when measuring for carpet in my asymmetrical rooms. Bacon’s Rebellion? Perfect for comparison with everyday events in Polar Rock, GA.

But how do you tell someone not to ask you to “come out and play?” Some things are better left unsaid, lest you hurt your friends’ delicate feelings, yes, all three of them. So take heed all youse who read this completely realistic account of my Life: Don’t ask me to come out and "play" with you. Ever. Instead just use your grow-up voice and words and say what you mean, “Let’s go out and get drunk already.” Or whatever else it is that you do and stuff.

Someone called and asked me to “come play” last night- thank God for the Clairmont Lounge; instead of hurting their feeling (no s needed- this person only has one feeling) I said I was going to the Clairmont. However, going to the Clairmont Lounge turned against me since I had vivid nightmares of giant, droopy, hairless, talking vaginas when I made it back home. There was one lady in particular who does not take her clothes off but simply stands infront of the unsuspecting patrons and continues to flash her danger zones while making licking gestures with her tongue until the patron is forced to give her a dollar bill in order to salvage what’s left of their retinas and make her go away. Thing is though, that once that patron gives a dollar she keeps coming back- and their only hope is that her set of two songs isn't The Wall and some other equally long song. Last night she did pick The Wall and some other long-ass song. I guess you don’t go to the Clairmont for edification and warm-fuzzy feelings or attractive-looking vaginas after all.

We went to meet “Blondie” a local celebrity, but she wasn’t performing, she was pimping out calendars or something, or maybe it was a book of poetry now that she’s also a bonafide poet. I guess she added Poet to her resume, right next to best-beer-can-crusher this side of Dixie title. Going to the Clairmont Lounge is just one of those things you have to do while in or around Atlanta.

The mix of performing artist is quite varied there, the young ones need a gym and less rough sex to diminish the bite-marks and various bruises along their gluteouses. The old ones need- let’s see what does and old nudie performer need? I wonder if the Clairmont offers benefits or a retirement fund of some sort?

One Funeral and a Wedding

I wonder how many of each happen in any given weekend and which one has the highest occurrence rate in relation to the other.

The funeral I couldn’t make- it was thousands of miles away, happened sort of unexpectedly even though she was to be a whopping 93 and it went very quickly. The great-grandmother is gone for good this time, separated by more than just physical mileage now. I am left wondering why she never did answer all my questions as to the course of her Life, thus my grandmother’s Life thus my own mother’s and my own. So many questions left unanswered. But she was from a different time, a time where everything was taboo, where inappropriate is not discussed but rather ignored, a time when it’s best to pretend that things were not as they really were.

I don’t necessarily buy the different time theory though- it’s more a mindset that defines a person, a family without time constraints in my view. I still see people right now- families that pretend what really isn’t there, that sugarcoat their existence and their children’s behavior for the sake of not looking “bad” to others I suppose. For who else are they kidding I wonder- they know the truth, the facts as they are really happening and yet choose to recreate them. Even if they change the facts, create their own facts, they know about the truth and knowing what they know is partly their reason for concealing or not revealing the truth.

I have created a story in my head about what really happened in the early 30’s. How my grandmother was really conceived, because there’s a lack of facts. No one speaks about it, some because they really do not know, others because they are following the great-grandmother’s lead to keep everything under wraps, out of sight. Why this inability to recognize and embrace the truth? Didn’t she realize that in keeping all these secrets she denied me of facts I desperately need to know? Then again it wasn’t about me; it was about her. But we are inextricably linked she and I. Didn’t she owe me the truth if I asked for it?

From her I’ll never know, the remaining link is my grandmother, but she is also thousands of miles away, physically and emotionally. She’s too entwined with Jesus, the Father and the Holy Ghost to realize what it is I need from her. She is burdened by the weight of her age and the nagging feeling that we, her family, are all going to hell because we are not embracing Christ. She has told me a few stories, stories linked to her past which I consider my own. Perhaps I’ll have the chance with her to hear what I need to hear, to reconstruct what really happened based on facts from her, which, I suspect, will be closer to the truth I now hold.

The other part of the weekend involved a wedding. The wedding was indeed everything you hear it’s supposed to be. Happy, flowers, dresses, champagne, good music, sweet vows, lots of tears, family and a whole cadre of the too-cool-for-school peoples gracing both the ceremony at the Botanical Garden and at the reception as well. Running towards the double doors as directed by the rent-a-cop on duty, we made it just in time to see the second or third bridesmaid walking up. Then the brides emerged and the ceremony started. It was very nice, inexplicably nice. I wonder if marrying couples hate standing by as the entire attendance to the ceremony mauls, paws and kisses them to death. They were very graceful about it, perhaps this is part of the rehearsal dinner and they knew what to expect and learned to just deal with it.

The reception started as all good wedding receptions do: with a long-ass line at the bar. No time for small-talk, no time for bathroom visits- people need their drink damn it! I oughta know I was in the first group of impatient alchies waiting for the next drop of fermented barley and malt. The rest of the night was spent harassing the brides, the photographer and other people I hadn’t seen in a while. The amazing thing was running into so many bartenders who are still bartending these days. Guess it still pays the rent. Perhaps I was never the star bartender I thought I was. I keep hearing how it’s such a lucrative career. I never saw it that way. It was an exhausting, tiresome neverendingdrunkenfest. And I’m not talking just about me either.

As the night progressed and the wedding script played on, it looked to me that perhaps it is possible to really love somebody- whatever that means, ‘cause love takes various forms in Life. Perhaps it was the fermented liquids swimming in my veins, perhaps it was the closeness I felt to some of the friends that were there. Perhaps it was my unusual exhaustion at mentally, sometimes verbally, ridiculing those I consider ridiculous. Who knows? There are still no solid answers in my head and it is perhaps that we’re not meant to always use our heads for Life.

Peeking Squalor

So yesterday I’m driving around town doing my usual ghetto-run. A ghetto-run involves doing inspections of mostly run down property in some of the most run down neighborhoods in the metro Atlanta area. While most of the time these ghetto-runs are uneventful, I sometimes encounter situations and/or people that make me think about the state of things overall. Yesterday I met Ms. Turner.

Driving down the industrial/deserted areas around Jonesboro Road in southeast Atlanta I saw her walking her bike alongside the littered road. I turned on a side road to inspect a house and up she pulls panting from riding her bike. She said hi and asked to speak with me for a moment, extended her hand with caked on grime to shake mine. I finished opening the door and shook her hand while she proceeded to tell me I looked familiar. I asked her what it was she needed to speak to me about and she proceeded to offer her services saying she didn’t care if I asked her to wash a car, sweep a driveway, clean something -she just needed a $1.50 for a can of milk for her kid. I hardly, if ever, carry cash so I told I was sorry since it wasn’t my house, didn’t live around there and could offer her neither cash nor employment. She said even change would do since “you have to start somewhere.” She also said that one day she started with .13c and ended up with $22- I guess that was a good day.

I rummaged in my car and purse and ended up with about .73c. While looking for change she told me she had nine kids. WTF? was my first thought. She proceeded to say she had her own four and her sister’s five kids, her sister currently at the Grady in a comma from a heart attack or something. She also mentioned that the house was more quiet now that there were nine kids than when there were only four. She thinks it’s because they have someone to play with now. She said it was hot out there on that bike trying to get enough money to feed her kids. She thanked me, got on her bike and rode off waving to the next door neighbor who simply looked at her without waving back. I wondered who was looking after her kid(s) that needed the can of milk while she was out there pedaling in the heat collecting the money to buy it.

Blowing Up

It’s great working for a rapidly-growing-planned-budget-exceeding-money-making company! Or so you’d think. (Yes, I realize some people don’t have access to jobs, but I’m not writing about them right now). Hate to keep bringing the penis thing up (well not really) but that’s what I keep seeing around here; that the simple, uncontrolled anatomical differences dictate my value as their employee. What am I in Kabul? Being the only nonmale in the department not in a fax-fetching, knob-polishing, data-entering, mail-delivering capacity I still deal with the lack of money aspect of it all, meaning my pay is not equal to the pay of those with attached penises that do the same work as I. Well, time feels short, another aspect of shelf-life in the work place I suppose- everyone has a limit.

Napoleon had a Sr. Management meeting this morning, which of course led to a department meeting afterwards. He recited a list of numbers -from net profit to year-to-date deparment contribution to current size of portfolio- all impressive numbers, all proving the importance/impact of this department on the overall company, hence the value of the peons that make up the department. Right? Great! “We’re doing great,” ‘cept I’m not. Yes, I know it’s a team effort. “We’re all bigshots,” Napoleon said. ‘Cept my bank account says I’m not. And yes, I know it’s not all about the money, I’m “learning from my proximity to the executives as I wouldn’t in any other banking institution,” but the bills won’t wait ‘till I collect on this “investment.” The mortgage company doesn’t care that my value will increase with time due to my being exposed to these great execs. They usually demand to be paid upon receipt. But that’s not how one approaches one's boss, talking about one's bills.

How does one approach the boss? If I listen to Suzy Orman, I should just work my ass off, have no social human contact whatsoever outside of work and allow my benevolent employers to notice my dedication and ardor for the company. She cited numerous examples based on some chick she tutored to become “financially secure.” According to her cockamamie theory, the powers that be will notice and will miraculously descend upon me with praises and unexpected raises if I follow her method. Right.

I am convinced she’s a plant by corporations. She’s a tool for them. I am convinced her stoopid Young, Fabulous and Broke bullshit conjectures were planned, created, produced and now broadcast/distributed by the Corporatti in order to brainwash her target audience into blind servitude for whatever company they happen to be in. I almost choked on a spicy peanut when I heard her say that one should never ask for a raise. Who the fuck is she kidding? Granted, one shouldn’t ask for one every month, but asking is what gets around these places. Negotiating with the boss is what gets you a ¼ of what one asked for.

Thing is -I expect a raise. I’ve been expecting it for quite a while. I’ve been hearing about it for yet another while. I already bust my ass. I just don’t wanna be the quintessential bride to an unappreciative, unrewarding, lowpaying company to then look back and say “I gave you the best years of my life.”

While I agree that “talent” and hard work are key ingredients in any company I also know that relying on those alone doesn’t get one far at all, because in order for those to work, those in charge have to believe and implement those thoughts/beliefs. And the reality is that those in charge pay much closer attention to the bottom line, their own pockets and their own amassing of wealth to the extent of often ignoring the needs of their employees.

I don’t expect a handout, it’s a two-way street: I work. They pay. And they should pay me, the penisless, the same as they do them, the penisowners, for the same work is all.

Need......Sleep........Please

It wasn't even the rollers. I just couldn't sleep. I should hit up one of my walking pharmaceutical company friends and put an end to it. Gaston put it best when he said "You never know how much you'll miss something until it's gone." Deep indeed- and he was talking about sex. That would've helped last night. A sex bout followed by deep sleep. His love/lust affair was short indeed. Even with his Venus-Mars shit the thing didn't work. Even though he followed tried and true protocol the affair/relationship was short. All that waiting 'till the gazillionth date before getting to third or first base- all a hoax obviously.

And now he waits. I asked him if he was gonna go back onto Match.com and he said no. Apparently there is some unwritten rule about how long he has to wait before he gets back on to the horse sort-of-speak since that is where he roams for "love" and the person who is no longer copulating with him is on there as well. They probably check each others' profiles and updates time and date incessantly to see when the other gets back in and on. I tell him he's just wasting time, he himself said she's an annoying little princess and he can't stand her anymore. Apparently she wasn't a spoiled little princess when she was blowing him though. Oh, the essence of true love. The beauty of waiting 'till the time is right.

Not even a string of bad movies put me out last night. Outland, another SciFi shitfest. If that's not the most unconvincing role for that old dude Sean Connery I don't know what is. The opening scene where he tries to be the dad to the chunky kid who's supposed to be his kid is hilarious. As is the message from his wife telling him she's going back to earth 'cause their child needs to smell real air and he looks at pictures of earth all day. Looks to me like the kid eats pop tarts, cheetos and random tubs of fresh churned butter all day though.

The best character was the cranky ass but funny doctor Lazarus. She's brilliant- she even figured out that "Polydichloric euthymol! Those stupid bastards are taking polydichloric euthymol!" simply by pressing the same button on an unplugged word processor fifty times. The euthymol being chronic Kool-Aid in sealed plastic condom enclosures. This guy Alen said; "In Space- No one can hear you yawn...." true but it still didn't fix my insomnia last night.

Formerly Fabulous

You can’t take GH anywhere, really. Sunday alone, the day of the Lord, we almost got into 3 fist-fights on account of his mouth, his disdain for etiquette and his inability to observe the “personal space” rules. First off he pissed off the lady with the pomeranian about Clark Howard of all people. We were at a bbq hanging out and the pomeranian lady starts talking about how she volunteers for Clark Howard and how stoopid the people that call the show are and Habitat for Humanity and the people with “bruised credit” and blah, blah, blah and out blurts GH: “I hate Clark Howard.” The conversation got even better after that: Iraq and all. The pom lady said how glad she was to have talked to a friend who is in Iraq working for Halliburton, how now Iraq is so much better off ‘cause people have toilets and such and out blurts GH: “Yeah, my whole family’s dead but I have a toilet!” I went inside to look for more shrimp after that- there’s no salvaging that conversation.

To round out the day of the Lord we ended up at the closest thing to church on a Sunday, The Earl. GH proceeded to violate the tattoo guy’s personal space. The tattoo guy who claimed to have “been on the scene” for 10+ years was sitting next to GH and had an intricate maze sleeve and GH thought it a good idea to actually touch the guy. WTF? The tattoo guy said he’d let him “slide this time” but that etiquette calls for NEVER, EVER touching or lifting someone’s shirt sleeve without asking. He also said that they’re having the best ever opening party this coming Friday and that GH would regret not going to the opening party and not having a VIP invitation to the grand opening and also that East Atlanta needs a tattoo shop where there is a high concentration of Highly Skilled artists because then East Atlanta will become a destination for tattoo getting people- yet another milestone for the cool place that is East Atlanta I imagine.

I know there was a third almost fist-fight I just can’t remember what it was anymore. All I know was that the plan, which sounded really great at the time, was to make it to the village early for a drink so that we’d all be home early since we all had to work on Monday. Well, early turned into after midnight I think and our neighbor ended up throwing rocks at a parking sign for no apparent reason other than he could I guess. He called earlier today apologizing for throwing rocks like a third grader.

I know that before we got too intoxicated to speak coherently, the new neighbor and I discussed shelf-life. Shelf-life is an interesting concept, mine particularly is about a month, two if in limited doses. But what are you gonna do right? It’s another one of those built-in things about people. The new neighbors claims that his is about three days but he’s wrong- he’s been around for like over five days already and I still think he’s pretty cool. The one's whose shelf-life is shortening at an alarming rate is GH's- he better watch hisself or else he's gonna end up in the divorcee category again, and there is no taking back someone after a second divorce is there?

N.O. Disaster

In speaking with several different people over the past few days it seems there is a very distinct line drawn as to how people feel about the New Orleans ordeal. Last Saturday I even had a very heated discussion mainly focusing on the response time by the federal government. My drinking pal for the evening kept reiterating that the local government was at fault for most of what went wrong with the rescue efforts or lack thereof. I mentioned there was not much of a local government after Katrina but still he says that FEMA, Homeland Security, Bush administration et al were not at fault that he could see. He has since read several articles and papers but points out that repairing the levees wouldn’t have made much difference and quoting a source in the Washington Post that Louisiana received the most funds in the country from the Corp of Engineers’ $22.9 billion budget. But then I imagine that Louisiana has the most levees in serious need of repair/update. But that is all beside the point right now, fact is the levees did not get repaired before the hurricane and here we are. My main point of contention on Saturday was the inexplicably late response to it all. Then this last Thursday a girl at the coffee shop mentioned that her friend that works for a relief/rescue organization was amazed at the fact that the news had up ‘till then mostly ignored the fact that the Red Cross and other rescue agencies were on the ground ready to go into the affected areas shortly after the hurricane and that the Feds denied them entry citing “legal repercussions.” What? That has since made it out on to the news but it’s beyond ridiculous to have had probably the most experienced people in disaster relief response right at the door and to not let them in citing non-existent legal ramifications and such. I’ve yet to hear of any Red Cross volunteer suing anyone in relation to any rescue/disaster mission.

He hasn’t read the “dry runs” there had been, namely hurricane Pam, citing the expected damages if a category 3 storm ever hit Louisiana. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say after he reads up on that- given that said reports are dated 2004.

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http://www.fema.gov/news/newsrelease.fema?id=13051

"I will find you."

My T.V. doesn’t get much use these days. It sits behind closed doors and regularly gets bypassed for use of the small stereo that can only play one C.D. at a time. This probably inadequate stereo only cost $50 at a fundraiser for the Tsunami victims and it works and it also gets radio stations if I wrap the antenna/cable thing on the closed doors of the furniture. Well, the T.V. comes with a built-in VHS player (I’m so ahead of time’s time) that I found out works! I didn’t know it worked until a friend came over for dinner last week. He brought along hisself and a handful of movies he had checked out at the local library. He says he doesn’t know why people spend money on that stuff, it’s free! It’s right there at the library and it’s FREE! Of the handful of movies only a few were VHS- gotta hand it to him for being so versatile, VHS and DVDs. We watched Bruce Lee: The Legend. I’ve been practicing my Kung-Fu ever since and it’s been over a week; I think my form’s improved greatly. Bruce would be impressed- too bad he died on Ping Li’s bed of “unknown causes.”

So what do I do with all this newly gained information of a working VHS inside my house? I break into a neighbor’s house and steal as many VHS’s as I can carry while running from his place to mine that’s what I do. I didn’t really break-in though, I have his keys and his alarm code and his password and access to all that he thought would be safe under my “watch.” He’s in Germany and Magadascar and France and Spain and who knows where else. Bastard! I hope he gets lucky though, that’s probably a thing to remember: getting lucky in Magadascar; he’ll probably be a “gentleman” and bypass it though- what a waste.

Movie choices in VHS format at the neighbor’s house were limited at best. I don’t really like StarWars. I’ve seen Last of the Mohicans enough times to last me ‘till my 11th life on earth since a highschool friend was in passionate-obssessive-high-school-love with the dude that played the real Indian in the movie, Uncas. She didn’t really like Daniel Day-Lewis, even though she went around yelling: “Stay Alive! I’ll find you. Wherever you are, I’ll find you. Staaay Alive.” She had the extreme hots for Uncas, Eric Schweig. She said she woulda jumped off a cliff too like Madeline Stowe’s sister if they took her Uncas from her. I think she used to make out with the VHS tape cover when she went to bed at night. Either that, or who knows what else she was doing making all that noise when we’d have sleep overs at her house.

Other VHS’s included in the collection I found were; Dunes, The Thing, The Hunt for Red October, some Stallone movies and a bunch of other stuff I don’t remember. So I watched LadyHawke. I figured anything with Michelle Pfeiffer in it couldn’t be too bad. Was I ever wrong. From the 80’s inspired “classical” soundtrack to the editing to the costumes/weapons to the speech. Holy Shit! I want my hour and change back. I mean I’m glad Navarre the Wolfman and Isabeau the Hawklady lived happily everafter but I still want my hour back. I wonder if Pfeiffer still lists this movie in her resume. I did notice that on the parts where she had to scream she tried very hard to emulate the shrieking of hawks. Hawks everywhere will certainly approve, as will the wolves worldwide should they ever hear Navarre’s angry growl at not being able to touch Isabeau, Pfiffer unless she’s in her hawk form. The special effects are amazing, specially the parts showing the eyeball’s transformation from fauna to human and vice-versa. Absolutely killer.

In the movie, I also got to see the beginning of Broderick’s training for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, he plays a smart-ass guy who talks too much for his own good. Only in this movie, he talks to the Lord a lot and rather than having Mia Sara as the love interest he gets really close to Imperious, Leo McKern the drunken priest. Hmm, let’s see; a drunken priest who betrayed the secret of two young lovers, drinking excessively while alone with a young Mouse, Broderick; hugging the Mouse and standing extremely too close behind the Mouse while inside a church- what is this movie really about? I don’t know nor do I care. I lost an hour and some sleep, while adding more questions to my already overwhelming repertoire. I do wonder though, how Broderick ended up with Parker, perhaps I am confusing her character on her stoopid Sex and the City Show with her real Life persona. Ugh.

Trying to Help

GH called me last night in a hissy because I don’t care about his well being he claims. He is in Mississippi helping out with the dead- or trying to anyway. Since Katrina, his company had been unable to communicate with the local funeral homes in the affected areas and decided to deploy Atlanta funeral directors/embalmers/dead people handlers over to help out with the mounting casualties. So he and others from his funeral home got deployed this past Sunday. Those going along with GH did not have much information other than it “might be like a camping trip so bring your own sleeping bag- oh, and here’s a van fill it up with stuff you can collect from your neighbors and get down there pronto!”

So Monday night rolls around and he called complaining about his lack of real friends or even a soul who cares about his whereabouts or well being. What? I was busy finishing For Whom The Bell Tolls along with a bottle o’ wine my neighbor brought me from Chile last month! Jeeesus. Anyway, he reported that the medical examiner’s office is holding the majority of the bodies and so he and his Atlanta dead-bodies-handlers-posse haven’t done much. He says it’s chaos and no one knows what’s going on- for the most part. They finally got a call reporting 4 dead bodies on the roof of the K-Mart and off they went to retrieve them and do what they do, but they got there climbed up on the roof and there were no bodies he says. “Did you go to the right K-Mart?” I asked, he said it’s the only one in the area. Who kids about bodies on the roof of the K-Mart? Oh, yeah, people devastated by natural catastrophes, they have to have their fun too I guess.

So after the false bodies report they decided they all needed to bathe (not together or anything like that just collectively). The only place with running water, they were told, was the local prison. He said the shower facilities were extraordinary for a prison, green tarp for shower curtain and all. In addition to running water they made out with prison fried chicken. They hadn’t eaten for a ½ a day either so the prison chicken was good, although they threw the remnants away before they got back to camp- they were embarrassed at having had eaten prison chicken he said.