TOP HAT:  Hello cellmates! Top Hat, esquire, at your service. It looks as though you will have the pleasure of my company for a little while. You see, I had the utter misfortune of landing on Go to Jail, and well, here I am! But, no worries, I’m sure we will have a grand ol’ time together! So, tell me, what brings the rest of you to this dreadfully decorated place of incarceration? 

THIMBLE:  Landed on Go to Jail too. 

RACE CAR:  I picked a Go to Jail card.  

TOP HAT:  And what about you, little doggie? Cat got your tongue? Ha ha. 

SCOTTIE DOG:  I murdered a hobo.  

TOP HAT:  Excuse me? 

SCOTTIE DOG:  Slit his throat ear to ear with a 12” buck knife, then dumped the body in some bushes behind the B&O railroad. 

TOP HAT:  Oh… Well… My, that is an interesting story. And what about you over there in the corner, what are you in for? 

THIMBLE:  That metal thing’s not a game piece, your highness. 

SCOTTIE DOG:  No one touches the shitter. It’s mine. You got it? If I see you even look at my shitter, I will gut you like a pig in your sleep. 

TOP HAT:  My word! Such colorful language in here! If these drab walls had even a fraction of that panache, our required stay would be much more pleasurable. 

RACE CAR:  You talk funny. Where you from? 

TOP HAT:  Well, good sir, I happen to own property at Marvin Gardens, Ventnor Avenue, and Atlantic Avenue. But I actually reside in the penthouse suite of a hotel I own on Park Place. 

THIMBLE:  So, this your first time in the joint? 

TOP HAT:  Most certainly!  

SCOTTIE DOG:  Then you’re going to have to learn how things work in here. 

TOP HAT:  Oh please, enlighten me. 

SCOTTIE DOG:  You’re my bitch. I own you, like everything else in here. You do everything that I say. It’s that simple. 

TOP HAT:  Oh, I see, it’s like a game of Simon Says. Oh how I loved playing that as a child! That will surely be a fun way to pass the time in here!  

SCOTTIE DOG:  Good. Now that you’re my property, the first thing you’re going to do is take off your shirt so I can brand you with my ballpoint pen tattoo gun here. 

TOP HAT:  But surely you jest— 

SCOTTIE DOG:  It’s going to hurt, and you’re going to want to scream. But if you fucking make a sound and bring the guards by, I swear to God I will shank you with this sharpened spoon shiv and watch you bleed to death.  

TOP HAT:  Oh dear… I… uh… I… must say… for someone with such a rudimentary vocabulary, you certainly are quite adept at painting a picture. But alas, it’s my turn to roll. And not a moment too soon, I shall say… Here we go—drats! Doubles elude me! 

SCOTTIE DOG:  Now get your ass over here. 

TOP HAT:  Kind sir, do not make me resort to fisticuffs to defend my honor. 

SCOTTIE DOG:  NOW bitch!  

TOP HAT:  Oh look, we have a visitor! 

SCOTTIE DOG:  What? There’s no one here. Hey, hey, hey, put down my shiv! 

TOP HAT:  Stand back! Don’t come any closer, you hooligan! 

SCOTTIE DOG:  Just give it to me and I won’t—AHHHHHHH!

TOP HAT:  I told you to leave me alone, but you didn’t listen! You want some more?

SCOTTIE DOG:  AHHHHHHH!!!! 

TOP HAT:  Take that! And that! And that! And that! And that! And that! And that! Good luck trying to win second place in a beauty contest now, bitch. 

THIMBLE:  Jesus, you killed him. 

RACE CAR:  Damn, man, it’s just a game. 

TOP HAT:  Shut up! I’ll be taking those smokes! And you, get up—the top bunk’s mine now! And don’t anyone even think about using the shitter. Got it?

————

Keith Wisniewski is a writer currently living in the Pacific Northwest.  Among his many achievements, he was one of the original signers of the Declaration of Independence, and the first to coin the popular phrase, “The hooker was dead when I got here.”