Dr. Mengele, if that is his real name, has finally deemed me healed enough to be returned to gen pop. The ICU was pretty solitary and dull, so I spent the time rewatching Oz so I can get the prison lingo down, homeys. I'm part homey, now, so I can say that. I also took the time to finally get around to starting my first novel. It was Sex and the City. FABULOUS! Carrie and the gals are SOOO my sisters, now. If I can just cling to those memories, they will help me through these cold, dark times. When Julio heard about it, he got me a Carrie bobblehead. I dubbed it St. Carrie of Assassi and put it next to my cot where I can genuflect to it nightly. Sorry, Tyra, but there's a new girl in town.
Anyway, I almost got sent back to ICU. I was going on my required walk to keep my new butt from deflating and flabbifying, when I felt the thrust of an unwelcome prick. Stepped on a discarded hypodermic. Shortly thereafter, I felt so drabulous I was sure I'd caught AIDS from that needle. Turns out it was just hepatitis. Praise Carrie, but what a relief. I mean, who doesn't have hepatitis? I'm pretty sure my hepatitis has hepatitis.
But anyway, I'm not sure how I will be able to survive in here. No matter how bad the blankets were in the ICU, the ones down here in gen pop are soooo much more drabulous. Not only are they not organic certified, not only are they not egyptian cotton, not only do they have no discernable thread count at all, but I don't think there's a shred of natural material in them. Carrie help me, but I swear with every foul word known to man that the blankets are sewn from the skins of flayed muppets. I can't spend the rest of my life sleeping with Kermit and Miss Piggie. I just can't.
I've got to find a way out of this place.
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