To Who It Concerns
I never knew how many fucked up looney birds were out there until I seen your paper. One good thing it makes me glad I'm locked up. You good law abiding A-holes are crazier than anybody in here. Here is Munsey Correctional Center. The Hen House. I hear you wondering what I did so I'll tell you not that its any of your business. I fed my husband poison egg nog on Christmas Eve 1988. You like that? He was my second husband. The first one died suddenly on July 4 1980. We had an explosion. Your so smart you figure it out.
When I checked in here in 1990 I shared a crib with some crazy fucking old bull dike name of Cheek who did jailhouse tattoos. You need a needle and thread. I make my own die. So then Cheek choked to death on one of her own needles, Easter Sunday 1994, after she taught me everything she knew. I carried on the torch and today I am the greatest skin artist in any prison anywhere. My mark is on almost every bird who come through this joint for the last 15 years.
Lately I've been experimenting with floresent dies that I make myself and I also have invented a scratch and sniff tat. Right now I'm working on art with invisible ink. I make the ink myself. And anniversary tattoos for anybody with an anniversary worth remembering. I'd like to do a book of my designs. I also think there is a good movie in my life. If anyone wants me to work on them tell them to get locked up in Delaware County. No cry babies.
Dead serious,
Babe Broderick
Munsey CC
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