Eagle, sore
Eric Rudolph
Federal Supermax Prison
Florence, Colorado
Dear Eric,
I was so sorry to read that you are not enjoying your stay in the "Alcatraz of the Rockies." Something about a lack of "social and environmental stimuli" being bad for your mental and physical health. You know what's also bad for the health? Potassium cyanide. I assume that's why you cut a deal with the Justice Department to avoid being injected with it. At the time, I thought you got off lightly because Bush and Ashcroft are also born-again Christians with a flair for violence. I may have been wrong about this.
But you have a point. As a terrorist, you should have been assigned to Guantanamo. Nobody there has even been charged with a crime, so a convicted murderer like you would be an instant celebrity. Taking a cue from Ann Coulter, you could then set about converting your fellow inmates to Christianity -- your brand of Christianity (and Coulter's, I'd guess), where you get to kill anyone who disagrees with you. From what I've heard, it isn't so far from their brand of Islam. You might end up collaborating on a new, hybrid religion, nominally Christian but polygamous, deeply intolerant and reactionary, and -- no, wait, that's Mormonism. Never mind.
For centuries, prisoners have made use of their copious free time to create work of lasting value, from The Consolation of Philosophy to Letters From a Birmingham Jail (not so sure about the creepy clown paintings of John Wayne Gacy). The days will pass more quickly if you try doing the same. You have what every writer dreams of: a room of your own, three meals delivered every day, and plenty of privacy and quiet. Instead of whiny letters to the Army of God complaining about the food, here are some suggestions:
Give us your spiritual autobiography. Suggested title: They Blowed Up Real Good: Why God Told Me To Kill People. By the time you have a couple of chapters to show her, I'm sure Judith Regan will have found another job in book publishing.
Read the Bible backwards, in case it contains hidden Satanic messages. I'm not saying it does; I'm not saying it doesn't.
Learn a dead language and write the screenplay for Mel Gibson's next blockbuster. Manx, maybe, or Akkadian. Interesting guy, Mel, I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about.
Origami.
Close your eyes and imagine you are in a regular American prison. Now imagine your are somebody's bitch. OK? Now, go fuck yourself.
Federal Supermax Prison
Florence, Colorado
Dear Eric,
I was so sorry to read that you are not enjoying your stay in the "Alcatraz of the Rockies." Something about a lack of "social and environmental stimuli" being bad for your mental and physical health. You know what's also bad for the health? Potassium cyanide. I assume that's why you cut a deal with the Justice Department to avoid being injected with it. At the time, I thought you got off lightly because Bush and Ashcroft are also born-again Christians with a flair for violence. I may have been wrong about this.
But you have a point. As a terrorist, you should have been assigned to Guantanamo. Nobody there has even been charged with a crime, so a convicted murderer like you would be an instant celebrity. Taking a cue from Ann Coulter, you could then set about converting your fellow inmates to Christianity -- your brand of Christianity (and Coulter's, I'd guess), where you get to kill anyone who disagrees with you. From what I've heard, it isn't so far from their brand of Islam. You might end up collaborating on a new, hybrid religion, nominally Christian but polygamous, deeply intolerant and reactionary, and -- no, wait, that's Mormonism. Never mind.
For centuries, prisoners have made use of their copious free time to create work of lasting value, from The Consolation of Philosophy to Letters From a Birmingham Jail (not so sure about the creepy clown paintings of John Wayne Gacy). The days will pass more quickly if you try doing the same. You have what every writer dreams of: a room of your own, three meals delivered every day, and plenty of privacy and quiet. Instead of whiny letters to the Army of God complaining about the food, here are some suggestions:
Give us your spiritual autobiography. Suggested title: They Blowed Up Real Good: Why God Told Me To Kill People. By the time you have a couple of chapters to show her, I'm sure Judith Regan will have found another job in book publishing.
Read the Bible backwards, in case it contains hidden Satanic messages. I'm not saying it does; I'm not saying it doesn't.
Learn a dead language and write the screenplay for Mel Gibson's next blockbuster. Manx, maybe, or Akkadian. Interesting guy, Mel, I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about.
Origami.
Close your eyes and imagine you are in a regular American prison. Now imagine your are somebody's bitch. OK? Now, go fuck yourself.
posted by Buttermilk Sky at 1:07 PM
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