I would spend my days penning a melodramatic retelling of Technotronic's "Move This" to be performed by fellow inmates, winning me the hearts of not only my contemporaries, but also the prison guards. A shaken warden, moved by the beauty of a world he had never known to exist, would shed a single tear. Meatloaf for lunch. Victory everlasting.
Then probably just surrender my asshole to whomever inquired first.