Editor’s note: This article is the third by Mr. Tankatrucks and it is our recommendation to read the first two for background info. Hello America, Dearest Officials of Immigrations…

Hello, It has been many months since I last write to you. I spend much time in confines of Attica prisons. Little does simple man know that to get pensions from government under many name is crime. And to think walking home from bar after losing trousers to Matilda in poker would prompt officer of law to take me to precinct for processing. At local holding camp many indignities I was suffered. First, many dark men with tribal tattoo play football with head, as guards take betting on my life. Next, high judge accuse me of fraudulenting state of money from pensions. Skinny man at my table tell me not worry. Next thing I am in orange suit strapped to very angry black man on bus. I am very scared now. I thought they take me to Africa to search diamonds.
Now my story take nice turn. Two hours later I arrive not in Congo but Attica prison to serve 18 month for misunderstandings with officials of socialist services. America prison not like work camps in old country. No dentist to take gold teeth and no prison brand was left on neck. As I walk to cell new comrades cheer my coming with whistles and promise of brother like love. My cell comrade very friendly man offering share of body heat in cold cage but soon move to own bunk from smell of old Romanian man. Next day I find very promising job in prison. Guards no care about old man like me, Mr. Kunty Tankatrucks, so I carry bags of powder under man sack for bald man with iron cross and sign of Hitler on his arm. Soon I carry much respect in prison. Very angry little man from Mexico push me down stair one day is found with 47 holes in belly next day. All this enjoyment and at same time government pay for food and bunk. Sad to say I am back after only nine month because I act well.

So please enjoy writings of old man while you can. I try very hard soon to go back to see friends at prison.

I lately wrote introduction of myself and to how I was made to write my thinkings here. Almost at once a question came to me ( Proma wrote on March 9…Interesting.. So is there anything you like about the US ?) asking if there was anything at all I like about America. Thank you — loyal reader for interest in me but please do not raise suspicion if I dislike America. Take attention immigration officers, men from Department of Homelands Security, and other various men in black suits and dark sunglasses — I, Mister Kunty Tankatrucks love the great empire of America!!! For what reason would I be here if not for my love of country. I come here more than ten years ago with nothing but shirt on back and now I have color television, microwave oven and twelve speed bicycle with breaks. Who wants more than this? I wash dishes for a kind man who pays me three dollar cash every hour I work and lets me eat the remains of the souvlaki and spinach pie customers not finish. I live in apartment that government gives free if you fill out proper papers. I receive wonderful coupons from state that I trade for beer and cigarettes at the Indians preservation. I tell you - America is almost better than when Communists run old country. Things are very cheap to buy here. There is the nicest man on floor of my apartment that sells things like razors, socks and DVDs for only a few dollars. I like man much but I worry how he shakes when selling his things. Even love life is better here in America. Back in Romania my wife Brigita need almost whole litre vodka before she mistake me for butcher and fulfil wifely duty. In America all I need is five dollar and bus token to receive quality hand release. So you see — officers of secret government police — I am a lover of all things America and do not deserve your attentions — please direct them to the Bulgarians and Hungarians. Thank you.

I would like to give greetings to all capitalist pigs that would occasion to view this webpage. I Mister Kunty Tankatrucks have been made interested in writing for this page. This all started the Saturday before last. I was in an incredible state of stupor sitting outside my favorite bar here in U.S. - which if you wonder — is a shithole compared to every bar in Romania. As I was sitting there trying to tell my legs to stop being such communist traitors –when two punks started kicking at me and taking from my pockets my cigarettes, money and official state provided non driver identification card. As I cursed their mothers in my native tongue the younger stopped pissing on my legs and replied in my language - calling me a crab infested son of a Gypsy prostitute. This gave us all good laugh as all Gypsy mothers are prostitute. Before you could say vodka we were in bar laughing over old country and drinking like papa and I once did. The boys took me home and I believed would be last I see of them. Next day they pounded door and give me on-lap computer I am using now to say these things. They tell me to say what is on mind or else they call immigration and send me back - all after sending me to hospital. I hope you enjoy the thinkings of wise old man.