My lips are shinny from lip balm. The skin on my face is glowing from mass amounts of Oil of Olay. This I know because I just caught a glimps of myself in the reflection of my 7″ touchscreen JP5. Now I feel like blogging. Let’s do it!
I feel good. Just a few hours ago I cut my hair and shaved my face, armpits, and down below. I thought about Suzie as I was manscaping. For those who don’t know what manscaping is, it’s when a man shaves and trims his pubic hairs all around his southern region. Now you know.
Why the hell would a man in prison manscape? Any ideas? You’d be surprised at how many inmates do it. Ask your inmate if he does it. If he says, ”yes” ask him ”why?”
I do it to keep the fleas and crabs off me. It seems to be working.
If your inmate doesn’t trim his bushes, I’d be willing to bet that he has bad breath most the time too. It just seems like those two go hand in hand…bad breath, and a colony of crabs & fleas co-existing in an unruly out-of-control man bush. Pay attention the next time you’re in the visiting room. You’ll see guys scratching their nuts left and right. Thats because they have crabs, fleas, and ball mites. All because they don’t manscape.
I had no idea that this post was going to be so educational for ya all. But since it is, I’ll continue to enlighten.
I’m going to teach you a technique that will enable you to save money on mouthwash. I learned this technique just the other day when I used a sink next to Mike, aka: The Mad Jacker. They call him “The Mad Jacker” because he’s always beating off in the toilet and shower stalls. Everyone knows he does it. But he doesn’t care. He still does it. Mike is crazy. He’s also a genius. Literally. (Read Jesse’s post called Surprised. He’s talking about Mike.)
So I pull up along side of him and start brushing my teeth. Above each sink is a mirror and a little stainless steel shelf. I notice on Mike’s shelf he has floss, toenail clippers, nasal spray, a salt shaker that he stole from the chow hall, and two bottles of mouthwash.
As I’m brushing my teeth, I’m also watching him through my mirror. He has no idea.
He takes a huge swig of mouthwash and starts swishing it around. Then he tilts his head back and vigorously gargles. I can see splashes of mouthwash fly out of his mouth and down his chin and neck. I take a step farther away from him and decide to watch him point blank. Like a statue I just stand and stare as I brush.
After he gargles, he spits the mouthwash into the other mouthwash container. That’s when I noticed that both his mouthwash bottles contained backwashed mouthwash. I gaged.
Then I spit my toothpaste in the sink and said, “What in the world are you doing?”
“Getting ready to brush my teeth.” he says.
“No.” I said, “Why are you spitting mouthwash back into the container?”
As he squeezes indigent toothpaste onto his indigent toothbrush, he says, “The sodium fluoride is still active. I’m not going to waste perfectly good mouthwash.”
(Indigent – An inmate who has less than $10 on his books for 30 days or longer is considered to be “indigent.” Indigent inmates can purchase indigent items as they rack up an indigent debt. NOTE: Indigent items are generic, no name brand items. In other words, they suck!) See: Glossary of Prison Terms
I hide my disgust and act intrigued. “How many times can you use it before the sodium fluoride is no longer active?”
He says, “I’ve been using this stuff for 7 months and it’s still good.”
This guy is totally oblivious to how crazy and gross all this is. In his mind we are having an average everyday conversation.
I ask him, “How do you know when the sodium fluoride is no longer active?”
He simply says, “When it stops burning.”
I then asked him, “Why do you turn off the water when you brush your teeth?”
I asked him that because I do then same thing. It’s obviously to conserve water. But not many guys do that in here. As a matter of fact, some guys deliberately turn on all the faucets and then walk away.
Mike answers, “To save water. By doing so, I save up to 4 gallons of water every time I brush my teeth.”
I ask, “How many times a day do you brush?”
He says, “Three.”
I say, “That’s 12 gallons of water you save per day.”
He says, “Yep. And 4,380 gallons per year.”
I ask, “What do you do with all the water you save?”
He finally looks at me for the first time, cocks his head sideways, and says, “Ha Ha, very funny.”
Then he gathers all his things and speed walks out of the bathroom and to his cell. Mike is always in a hurry no matter where he goes.
Yes, Mike is an odd ball. He does some strange things. But Mike is alright with me. Together we save approximately 8,760 gallons of water per year! Who knew?
This post is specifically for the friends and family of John Cecil. But it’s also for anyone who has a loved one coming home soon. John has been incarcerated for the past 20 years. In 33 days and a wake-up, he’ll be returning to society dehumanized, demoralized, a little out-of-touch, and extremely bitter.
Don’t be surprised if he chooses to squat against the living room wall rather than sit in a chair. If you notice the days on the calendar are X’ed out, just ignore it. And don’t trip on him for wearing flip-flops in the shower.
For the first few months until he is house broken, you can expect the following :
*Excessive use of toilet paper.
*Excessive flushing of the toilet.
*Clogging the toilet.
*Eating meals super fast.
*Stealing food from the kitchen and hording it in his room.
*Making pruno in his closet.
*Hiding extra linen and towels under his mattress.
*Dipping Q-Tips in your perfume and swabbing a 25watt bulb after ripping ass during quiet time.
*Wearing earplugs and a beanie to bed.
In the event you witness any of the above actions, it would be best if you take into consideration the crude environment in which he just lived in for the past two decades, and afford him a generous allowance.
Here are some other things to be mindful of:
*Don’t walk too close behind him.
*He’ll drop the soap on purpose. DO NOT pick it up for him.
*Don’t look into his room, just keep on walking.
*Don’t make a big deal outta him eating his entire meal with a spork.
*Look the other way when he rolls up his pancakes, dips them in syrup, and eats them with his fingers.
*When you turn on a light, he might stand for count. Just say ,”one, two” and he should go back to what he was doing.
*He’ll probably cut his hair in the bathroom and leave a mess. Unless your looking for a fight, just ignore it, or clean it up yourself.
Yes. A convict is coming into your life. Be prepared to deal with the host of bad habits that will accompany him. If all else fails, and he gets to be too much, send his ass back to prison. Simply slam the car door on your face and tell the cops he did it. They’ll believe you over a convicted fellon any day.
Have a great day.
Brazil is a 52 year old inmate who’s been in and out of prison for the last 25 years due to addiction and dealing drugs.
Mark is a 47 year old Mormon who’s in for several counts of child molesting. He said God told him to do it.
Brazil and Mark are cellies. They hate each other. Every day they yell, argue, and fight with each other. Non-violent fights…all verbal…and chemical.
Marks favorite thing to do is to rip stinky farts in the cell. He deliberately eats gassy foods, such as eggs, milk, and beans. He will leave the dayroom just so he can go in his cell to fart…knowing Brazil is in there watching TV.
Every now and then Brazil will muster up a retaliatory fart of his own. But he is no match for Marks thunderous butt cheeks.
Brazil has a plan. He brings back a milk from the chow hall and pours it into an empty coffee jar. He lets it sit at room temperature for 10 days!
Then he wipes the rotten milk all over the walls and bed frame, right in the area where Mark lays his head. The foul substance blends in to the wall perfectly and is invisible to the naked eye.
Within seconds the entire, poorly ventilated cell, smells like a rotted dead animal.
Brazil thought he could lay on his lower bunk and not smell it if he burns a little vanilla prayer oil. Prayer oil is burned by dipping a cotton swab into the oil, and then applying it to a 25 watt light bulb inside a clip on reading lamp.
Brazil soon found out that cheap prayer oil is no match for the powerful stench. All it did was make the cell smell like vanilla scented rotted corps.
Mark comes home from work and walks in the cell. Brazil is laying down watching TV with a towel wrapped around his face.
Mark says, “Oh my god….what the f*ck is that smell?”
Brazil gets mad and barks back, “It’s your sheets you stinky bastard. I tell you every day you stink. Now you see!”
Mark says, “That ain’t me! It smells like a dead rat or something.”
Brazil frowns his face and says in a angry tone, “You stupid mother-f*cker! There ain’t no dead rat in here. It’s your bed! It’s your clothes. IT’S YOU!!! I tell you every day you stink. Now you see what I mean.”
Mark yells back, “It ain’t me!!! I just walked in. IT’S YOU!!!”
Brazil yells back, “I tell you every day you stink. Today is no different. You stink all the time. Everyday!!! You know it is you!”
Mark is tired from a long day’s work and its nap time. He climbs up on his bunk and lays his head down in a halo of rotten milk.
Brazil is trying so hard not to laugh. He’s dying inside with satisfaction as he continues to act pissed off.
Meanwhile, Mark is inhaling strong toxic fumes. He can’t escape them. He thinks that maybe it is HIM. Maybe it IS his sheets. He sniffs his sheets and blankets. But the smell is so strong, he can’t tell where it’s coming from.
Later on that day, Mark strips his bed and gets clean sheets and blankets. Then he heads off to the showers.
Brazil has had enough. The smell has given him headaches all day. So while Mark is in the shower, Brazil cleans up all the rotten milk.
I wish I could say this story has a happy ending. But it doesn’t. Brazil and Mark still hate each other. They still fight and argue every day. And Mark still farts all over Brazil.
However, I highly doubt that Brazil will be painting his walls with rotten milk anytime soon.
I was on my way to the chow hall when I saw a smashed tree frog in the middle of the walkway. I thought to myself, “Awww, that’s too bad.”
Then, just a few feet ahead, I saw another little tree frog. Alive and well. I swooped down and picked it up before hundreds of feet trampled it to death.
I was about to toss it off to the side, in the grass. But then I realized that all the crows would swoop down and get it.
Every day at meal times, dozens of crows perch on the roof tops and wait for the select few who smuggle bread from the chow hall and then toss it out into the grass. I used to be one of those guys until I got an infraction for “feeding the wildlife”.
Now I just save little green tree frogs from certain death. And that’s exactly why I couldn’t toss it out into the grass. The crows would’ve been all over it!
So I put the little fella in my shirt pocket.
Some guy behind me asks, “Did you just put a frog in your pocket?”
I look back at him. I don’t know him. But I’m friendly. I say, “You saw that did ya?”
He laughs. “I wasn’t sure what I saw. I thought I was tripping.”
I say, “Did ya see the other one smashed on the walkway?”
“Oh no!” he says in a concerned voice. “I didn’t see that one.”
“Yeah, it was just a few feet from where this one was.” I look in my pocket to check on it.
“Whatchya gonna do with it?” he asks.
“I’m going to take it in the chow hall, eat real fast, then look for a safe place to release it on my way back.”
By now we’re walking side by side. He asks, “Can I sit with you? I wanna see where you let it go.”
“Sure you can.” I reply. “By the way, my name is Steven.”
He shakes my hand and says, “They call me Hollywood.”
“Nice to meet you Hollywood. And this here is Kermit” as I gently pat my pocket.
Lunch is grilled ham and cheese, chips, and soup. I drink the soup, inhale the chips, and give away the sandwich. Before I get up I check on Kermit. He’s still chillin at the bottom of my pocket.
As I’m approaching the chow hall exit, I notice two guards conducting random searches. I say to Hollywood, “Quick, take off your ID and go ahead of me.”
This is an age old diversion tactic. The guards usually always focus on the inmate with no ID as the others slide on by untouched.
Hollywood steps out onto the walkway. The first guard is all over him…saying, “Sir, stand for search.”
I try to slide on by. The second guard points at me and says, “Sir, stand for search.”
As he’s searching me he feels a small lump in my shirt pocket.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Kermit the Frog” I say.
“Excuse me?” he says in a surprised tone.
“You’re excused.” I respond in a calm polite voice.
“Sir! What is in your pocket?” he says in a stern demanding voice.
“I told you. Kermit the frog.”
The officer steps around to face me. He says, “Do you have a frog in your pocket?”
“And why is that?” he asked.
I told him the entire story. I even pointed to the spot where the smashed one was. And to my surprise, that’s when he said, “I know. I’m the one who smashed it.”
Then he said, “Now toss that frog over there in the grass.”
I tried to protest by saying, “But the crows will get it if I do that. Can’t I let it go down there.” as I nodded to a safe patch of grass.
The guard barked, “You’re lucky I don’t infract you for taking it inside the chow hall. Now toss it or else I just might infract you.”
I see this is a losing battle. I have no choice but to throw Kermit to the crows.
Just as I’m about to toss Kermit, Hollywood steps in. He says, “Give it here.”
I open my hand and Hollywood swiftly snatches Kermit. Then he starts speed walking down the walkway.
Officer Kill-a-Frog blows a gasket! He yells, “STOP RIGHT THERE!”
Hollywood walks faster.
To my surprise, the guard runs after him. He’s yelling, “STOP RIGHT THERE! THIS IS A DIRECT ORDER!!! STOP!”
Hollywood ignores him and keeps on moving.
The guard hits his “panic button” on the radio. A siren fills the air. Back-up is on the way. But before they have time to arrive, this officer tackles Hollywood.
I can’t believe my eyes! All this over a tree frog!
Hollywood drops Kermit and starts wrestling with this guard. The first responding officer is Sgt. Jones. He grabs Hollywood by the leg and starts pulling it. He won’t let go! He keeps pulling and pulling and pulling. Kinda like how I’ve been pulling on YOUR leg this entire post!
Did you notice the date? Happy April Fool’s Day! How many of you did I get? Hehehe 🙂 My wife suggested that I write a special joke just for today. That was fun!
And oh, I really did get an infraction for feeding the crows once. All they did was find me guilty, and told me to stop.
Have a nice day.
Ronald Shaw is an old timer. He’s been in prison since November 16, 1974. He’ll be 60 this year.
During Ronald’s lengthy incarceration he enjoyed shooting heroin, shooting coke, popping pills, smoking cigarettes, drinking pruno, smoking weed, and doing any other kind of drug he could find. Well 6 months ago, his lifestyle caught up with him. He had a massive stroke. Then 3 months later he had brain surgery. Now he can barely walk. He’s confined to a wheelchair.
Just last week as I was doing my unit job, an officer called me to his station. He said, “Jennings, we need you to go to medical.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because Mr. Shaw is done with his appointment and he needs someone to push him back to the unit.”
I paused for a few seconds, “Can’t you find someone else to get him?”
The officer scans the dayroom real quick then says, “Nope. You’re on the clock and I’m asking you to do it.”
“Okay” I say. And off I go.
Medical is about one block from my unit. When I get there I see an old man in a wheelchair. I ask him, “What are you doing?”
He says, “I guess I’m waiting for someone to come get me.”
I say, “Yep! That’s me. Let’s go.” And we’re off.
As I’m pushing him he says, “Are you my new pusher?”
I say, “Nope, this is a one-time deal.”
He says, “Well I just need someone to push me to chow, pill line, and to call outs. If you wanna be my pusher, I’ll give you stamps.” (stamps are pre-franked envelopes)
I tell him, “Thanks but no thanks. I’m too busy for all that.”
As I roll him into the unit I’m greeted by two officers. One of them tells me that I’m responsible for getting Mr. Shaw to chow, pill line, and to call outs.
“Really!?” I say. I’m not happy. I protest, “I’m a foyer porter, not a wheelchair pusher.”
They say, “From 7am-2pm you are expected to perform and all job assignments as directed.” They’re right. I can’t win. It’s either do it, or get fired. I do it.
Lunch time comes. I push him. I’m getting all kinds of looks and comments from every direction. I simply reply, “I’m serving the Lord by serving others.” It’s a smart ass comment. Everyone knows I’m doing this against my will. But my comment does bring a little comedy to the situation.
A little later it’s off to pill line. This is the WORST! The line is 20 minutes long. So I start up a conversation with ol Ronald Shaw. He tells me how he used to collect drug debts for biker gangs, and how he attacked a guy on the panel at his parole hearing. And how he stabbed this guy and smashed that guy. It was one war story after another.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t pushing around a timid frail old man. I was pushing around an old battled tested convict who survived the killing days and most violent era at Walla Walla.
On the way back from pill line I asked him, “Hey Ronald, you ever been to Disneyland?”
“Fuck no! I’ve been locked up my entire life.”
“Well today is your lucky day. This is just like Disneyland.” And with that, I popped a wheelie and sped up. I swerved side to side. I looked back and no guards were watching. So I ran as I pushed him in the wheelchair. Up ahead there’s a section of gravel on the side of the walkway. I slow down to a fast walk. I take him off the road into the gravel. As I sharply swerve back onto the walkway, the foot rest catches the edge of the cement.
The wheelchair stops dead in its tracks. Ronald goes flying out head first. He hits the wet pavement. His arms are pinned under his body and his ass is in the air. He’s cussing up a storm and I can’t stop laughing.
“It’s not funny goddamn it!” he barks.
I look around. There’s not a guard in sight. I’m still laughing. “Hurry up Ronald, get back in the chair before we get in trouble.”
Ronald is still laying there, ass up in the air, “Fuck you, you son of a bitch! I can’t get up!”
I can’t stop laughing, but I manage to say, “You’re not even trying. Try!”
“I can’t move!” he yells.
I laugh harder. It’s uncontrollable. My eyes are watering. I’m still behind the wheelchair as Ronald is layed out on the cement.
He yells, “Get me the fuck up you asshole!”
I laugh harder. I am border-line hysterical. Ronald is cussing up a storm…hotter than fish grease.
Finally I walk over to him and roll him on his side. I grip the front of his jacket like a burlap sack of potatoes and pick him up. He’s still cussing, “You stupid mother fucker, I knew you were gonna wreck me!”
I’m still laughing.
“That shit ain’t funny, you could’ve killed me!”
I set him in the wheelchair and off we go! I pop a small wheelie and he freaks out!
“Motherfucker…knock it off!”
I say, “What? I thought you’d like Disneyland.”
“Fuck you! Just take me inside,” he demands.
I’m still laughing!
Before we go inside, I stop. I walk around to face him. We make eye contact. I can’t control myself. I bust out laughing again. I finally compose myself enough to speak, although my speech is full of laughter. I apologize to Ronald. I put my hand on his shoulder and say, “You know I didn’t mean to do that, right?”
He says, “Yeah, I know.”
Then I say, “You have to admit, that shit was funny.”
“NO! No it wasn’t.”
“Come on Ronald, not even a little bit?”
To my surprise, he smiled and said, “Maybe a little bit.”
I fixed his hair and straightened his glasses. Then said, “Alright buddy, lets go inside.”
The next day as everyone is waiting for breakfast, I see Ronald in his wheelchair. He has a new pusher behind him. Ronald doesn’t see me approaching. I whisper, “Let me push him.” The new guy steps aside and I grab the helm. Chow is called and off we go. He has no idea that I’m pushing him. The second we get outside I speed up. Then I pop a wheelie.
Ronald tries to look back, but I lean the opposite way. Then I do a sharp swerve. He knows it’s me!
He yells, “Fuck NO! Fuck NO! STOP! STOP!”
I let go. About 20 guys all start laughing. By now, everyone heard of the incident. Ronald laughs too. He loves the attention. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “See! I told you that shit was funny!”
Just recently I became a “bathroom porter”. That’s the official title of my prison job. My duties include cleaning toilets and urinals.
I’m in a long term minimum unit. That means all the cells are “dry cells”. Dry cells have no toilets or sinks. So everyone shares a community bathroom.
For the past 3 months, someone has been shitting all over one of the toilets. This guy leaves the toilet looking like a shit bomb has exploded in the bowl. When I go to clean it, I close my eyes & hold my breath as I blindly work the toilet brush and continuously flush. This particular situation takes me to the threshold of what I can physically tolerate.
Just when I think it can’t get any worse, it does.
The shit bandit completely misses, and shits all over the back of the toilet, the wall, and the handle.
The second I see it I turn away and say, “Hell no!”
Some guy looks at me and says, “Hell no what?”, as if I was talking to him.
As I nod my head towards the shit infested commode, I tell him to look in the stall. He does. His reaction is worse than mine as he shouts out some obscenities.
The guard walks over and asks, “What’s all the commotion about?”
“Look in that stall,” I say.
Then he turns to me, “Looks like it’s a shitty day to be a bathroom porter.”
I respond, “With all due respect sir, I can’t clean that up.”
“Why not?”, he demands.
“Because my gag reflex won’t allow it. I’ll throw up. It’s just too much for me to handle.”
The guard looks at me like I’m BS’ing.
I continue, “It’s all I can do to clean up just the small speckles of shit without puking. I simply can’t do it.”
He finds two other porters to clean up the huge mess of shit.
As the days go on, this shit bandit is still blowing up this one toilet. It amazes me how this one scumbag can have constant diarrhea day in & day out. And why is he always leaving such a big mess behind?
At this point, it’s starting to piss me off. I consider paying one of these lames to do a toilet stakeout to find out who’s doing this. But before it gets to that point, the shit bandit exposes himself!
One morning, Niel B. Nutter #303537, comes rushing out of his cell. He’s a fat, nasty, old biker-looking dude who uses a cane to get around. As he’s bolting towards the bathroom, he has shit running all down his leg.
He’s moving fast for an old man with a cane…but not fast enough.
Wearing boxers & gym shorts, he looses complete control and unleashes a huge load of diarrhea. It’s now running down both of his legs as he leaves a revolting trail of shit from his cell to the exact stall that’s been covered in shit for months!
The guys in the dayroom hoot, holler, & laugh as they witness this.
The commotion gets the attention of several other inmates, who otherwise would’ve missed it. Before long, guys are coming out of their cells to see what’s going on.
As one guy exits his cell, he slips in a clump of shit and almost falls. The dayroom erupts in laughter.
Needless to say, the Shit Bandit was exposed.
After getting an ear full from all his peers, Niel now takes a few extra minutes to clean the toilet after every shit.