Am I weird?

That is a rhetorical question. There is no need for any of my friends in the peanut gallery to answer that. I know what your answer would be.

We live about....I dunno....5 miles from a prison. Does that worry me, you ask? No. There is 5 miles of wild and woolly country, winding roads and lots of other houses between us and the prison. Not to mention I have much more pertinent things to spend my time worrying over...owning two houses, scorpions, the money pit pool, wondering if I will ever get to turn on the TV and NOT see coverage of the Micheal Jackson media overkill.

Also, let's not forget that our house is protected by this........deceptively cute, yet vicious, spazzoid, rabid, freak show, little love muffin of a miniature Dachshund! She would go all German on an escaped convict.


Anywho, I like to take a shortcut which takes you right next to the prison property. The prison sits smackdab in the middle of a bunch of farm land. Guess what those punk prisoners get to do most mornings? Pick weeds, acres of weeds. Ha ha, hee hee, har har...bet more than one of them are regretting robbing the 7-11 whilst picking weeds in the mid morning heat with the sun relentlessly beating down on them.

What is really fascinating though, is the 6 or 7 guards on horseback which make a wide perimeter around the working prisoners. Just like the lawman in an old western movie, there is a big fat shotgun strapped to the saddle.

I drive by real slow, as I am totally intrigued by the whole situation. I will probably get a call from the prison inquiring as to why I am lingering around the prison.

Just once I want see an inmate make a run for it, and the horseback guard chase him. Do you think they would shoot out his kneecaps first or whack him with the barrel of the gun on the back of the head while galloping by.

There is no Target...or Goodwill....or Hob Lob...or quilt shop in this sweet little town, so you understand that I have to pass my time somehow. Good thing I am easily, easily entertained.