OK.

Confession time.

This will shock some of you.

And, shockingly, it will shock some of you less:

The D-Man has Been Inside.

I've seen the inside of medium security prisons, as well as New Zealand's only maximum security lock-up.

And I've appeared in court so many times, that I'm not even sure how many times I've appeared.

Because I'm so badass.

Well, OK.

So the visits were all work-related. But that shouldn't be allowed to affect my street cred.

Going into the maximum security prison the first time was freaky. Not so much because you'd be walking down the corridor and then pass a guy who had, on two separate occasions, bludgeoned two housewives to death in their own homes, in front of their own children.

Or be watched with evil intent by one of the country's worst serial rapist/murderers as you passed by their solitary-confinement cell.

No, it was freaky because the female colleague who had come along with me, decided, for some bizarre reason, to wear a mini skirt and knee-high fuck-me boots.

(Or maybe it wasn't so bizarre, seeing as she did have a thing for shagging cops in police station toilets…)

When we went into the model shop, the whole room froze in an overwhelming crush of silent lust. It had been a long time since these crims had sampled an ass that wasn't their cellmate's. And she did have a nice ass.

I could see that the former army brigadier who ran the joint (and was taking us on the tour) was getting seriously nervous. As were the guards with us.

I still had my Swiss Army knife and my cellphone, because the screws did a crap job of searching me when I entered.

I figured I could probably take out seven or eight of the hardened, violent, rapist, murdering thugs with the tweezers and the bottle opener and maybe even the toenail scissors if I had time to flick them out as well. And I could probably distract a couple more by throwing them my cellphone and inviting them to make 0900 calls. But beyond that, well we … err, she … was fucked.

And it was about then that I could see she was starting to regret her choice in attire.

Fortunately the guards got us out of there quickly.

But that wasn't anywhere near as frightening as the time I visited a women's prison.

I wasn't wearing a mini skirt, or fuck-me boots, but I definitely felt like a piece of meat.

The Governor didn't make matters any better when she told me that the prison had just that week been forced to ban Mills & Boons books, because their contents were making the inmates horny and causing no end of trouble.

I don't know what would have happened had they got their hands on me, or my meat, but I'm sure it would have been a lot worse than that time those big island girls trapped me in a nightclub and kept pressing their Z-cupped breasts into my back as I tried to escape.

What was I thinking taking my rugged good looks into that environment?

Actually… now I come to think about it … hmmm.
What a lost opportunity.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I was also stalked by a stalker's victim once.

Sort of.

I was in court watching a case regarding a sick fuck that had been sent to jail for stalking several women, and somehow managed to track them down and continue to stalk them from behind bars.

One of his victims got up to give evidence, and, while I was ashamed to think such thoughts, I had to give the sick fuck credit: he did have good taste in stalkees.
This woman was make-you-drool hot.

She kept glancing at me while she was telling her story.

I later discovered that afterwards she had been trying to find out “who that cute tall guy was”, and she indeed did find out who I was, which was impressive because it was no easy task, what with the ninja mask and all, but she backed off when she found out through her sources that I was married.

Bah!
Women can be so damn picky.

:D

Another time I went to court and got mistaken for a criminal.

Then I met the Prime Minister and they thought I was a detective.

Go figure.




Is there a point to this post?

Yes.

I'm escaping.

In a few hours I leave to go on a family vacation.

This entry was deliberately long.
Most of you (admit it) gave up after the first few paragraphs and then just skipped through to the end.

Well, now you have two weeks to go back and read it again properly.

There will be a test when I return.

Mark July 29 in your diaries.

Peace out, my ninjas.