The Martha Stewart Diary: Sing Sing Prison Bitch

Oh, my.
A jury of my peers (as if) has peered over their inferior quality Walmart reading glasses and found me guilty on all counts, of charges I am certain they have never heard of, much less understood. Peers, indeed. I chortle at the incongruity.
Fortunately, I have had sufficient time to prepare for the trauma of incarceration.
My assistants who currently reside in the facility, ChaCha and Shandalier, have assured me they have made the proper arrangements for my possible stay. I am pleased I had the foresight to put them on retainer well in advance.
I must remember to send them cartons of Kool cigarettes as per our agreement.
Also, my Sing Sing chief of staff, Elizabeth, who likes to call herself "Big Betty," has taken the liberty of giving would-be agitators in the facility a tour of what she quaintly refers to as, "Fist City," in anticipation of my arrival.
I am glad to have this leather-bound, gilt edged journal in which to commit my thoughts during this perilous time in my history.
Fortunately, I had my stockbroker notate a "sell at $20" order on my OmniMedia shares.
Small comfort, that. I lose $30 million for each dollar my stock drops.
I must rest before I resume journal entries, but rest assured, more will follow.
Notes to self:
-Have massive quantities of raw meat sent to my appeal lawyers, posthaste.
-Send hand-knitted nettle and asbestos wool coverlets to federal prosecutors.
-Send black floral arrangements to jury members, along with deceased fish.
-Research how to translate 'fuck you' into Latin for cross stitch pillows to be sent to Court TV reporters.