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I’m the GM (gee em, like gee whiz), or general manager, which means I get little pay for tishloads of work. Know the gig? Yeah. My boss spends his days in the Driftwood, which isn’t a bad plan, don’t get me wrong. Yeah, I’m jealous. I have to work.

I work for me and the lawyers. Alimony, meaning All I Money goes elsewhere. Not grammatical, should be all my money, but “I do” was perfect grammar and look what that got me.

I call my X (aka Joint Petitioner) Mad Dog, partly because the name describes her, partly because that’s what I’d been drinking when I married her: MD 20/20. Twisted marketing there, man: you don’t see nothing 20/20 after a bottle of MD, but you do need a doctor.

Mad Dog still calls me. Somehow she doesn’t get that divorce means leave me alone, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I put her on-air whenever I can; she doesn’t mind, she thinks she sounds clever and likes the attention she gets at bars.

Just remember kids, parole ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

— Jax

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