17 August 07
Xena & Slope (3)
“Are you in touch with your feminine side?” Xena asked Slope.
“Hell yeah! I take a shower every day. And I brush my teeth.”
“I see him rubbin’ his boobies a lot. If he spent as much time scratchin’ his butthole as he does his belly button, he’d be a homosexual.”
“My belly button’s been intriguin’ me lately.” Slope raised his top, and squeezed the beginnings of a paunch.
“It looks like a girl’s coochie,” Xena said. “It probably smells like one too. That’s probably 'cause he needs to take a shower right now to get back in touch with his feminine side.”
“That's one pasty British belly,” I said.
“Tasty!” Slope said.
“No. Pasty.”
“Why you gotta say that for?”
“Check it out.” I showed Slope my pale midsection.
“Your's looks like an anorexic-girl’s coochie.” Slope grabbed his again and gave a side profile. "See this? This here’s a shed, a tool shed. And when you’ve gotta tool as nice as mine, you oughta build a shed over the sonovabitch to keep it out of the weather.”
“He’s actually an elephant, except his trunk is upside down,” Xena said.
“When I’m horny,” Slope said, “I set my tool on the sink and bang it with a shampoo bottle.”
“At least he doesn’t use the shampoo bottle in the way that some people do in here,” Xena said.
“I tie a brogan to it, and do curls.” Slope said.
“Slope does dick-lifts,” Xena said. “I do mine with a wet rag or towel.”
“By the way, Xena. My parents censored the dick-lift blogs.”
“They did!”
“Yeah. How many reps are you doing these days?”
“One-hundred and six.”
“Wow! Without stopping?”
“Every once in awhile, for some relief.”
“We’d better change the subject or this won’t get posted. Is it true Bones wants to marry you?”
“No. But he’s having strange dreams about women with a little something extra.”
“Hmmm..”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The prison blog of an Orwellian unperson. As shown on National Geographic Channel's Banged Up/Locked Up Abroad episode Raving Arizona.
15 Aug 2007
The Pimp of England
From Frankie:
Yes, I will be going to England and right now I’m in the process of getting my birth certificate and Social Security number… once I get out I will go to the embassy here. Right now I’ve got my bitch Cuban Boy hooking me up with stuff off the Internet for such a matter. I’m also trying to save money cause the plane ticket costs $800 from here to England. My ERC is May of 2008. My plans are to open up a big house for queers and whores in England. I will make sure they are all well protected. I will put them all to work for Frankie plus they will be enjoying themselves doing what they like best, but instead of giving it away they will be selling it and making Frankie happy. I will take over England with nothing but queers. And they have to be loyal cause I want to make sure that anyone around me ain’t to be disrespected.
Also Englandman, did you decide to come out yet? All this time we could have been having fun. I can’t wait till I run into you again. You’d better keep your booty shaved. I know everything that goes on over there, especially with you. As for Two Tonys, you know he’s my partner. I’m over here kicking myself in the ass cause I could be having fun with you and I’m missing out. At least I know I’m going to bone you down once I’m out.
Here they don’t even give us enough food. It’s hard to workout cause you get hungry. I’m going to close for now cause I need to write my bitch Cuban Boy and explain to her that I’m in-need. Check and see if any of your friends will help me out. The counsellor is fixing my release date so I’m right behind you.
Much Love,
Frankie
p.s. I’m falling for my queer. The bitch is hot and nasty just the way I like em.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Pimp of England
From Frankie:
Yes, I will be going to England and right now I’m in the process of getting my birth certificate and Social Security number… once I get out I will go to the embassy here. Right now I’ve got my bitch Cuban Boy hooking me up with stuff off the Internet for such a matter. I’m also trying to save money cause the plane ticket costs $800 from here to England. My ERC is May of 2008. My plans are to open up a big house for queers and whores in England. I will make sure they are all well protected. I will put them all to work for Frankie plus they will be enjoying themselves doing what they like best, but instead of giving it away they will be selling it and making Frankie happy. I will take over England with nothing but queers. And they have to be loyal cause I want to make sure that anyone around me ain’t to be disrespected.
Also Englandman, did you decide to come out yet? All this time we could have been having fun. I can’t wait till I run into you again. You’d better keep your booty shaved. I know everything that goes on over there, especially with you. As for Two Tonys, you know he’s my partner. I’m over here kicking myself in the ass cause I could be having fun with you and I’m missing out. At least I know I’m going to bone you down once I’m out.
Here they don’t even give us enough food. It’s hard to workout cause you get hungry. I’m going to close for now cause I need to write my bitch Cuban Boy and explain to her that I’m in-need. Check and see if any of your friends will help me out. The counsellor is fixing my release date so I’m right behind you.
Much Love,
Frankie
p.s. I’m falling for my queer. The bitch is hot and nasty just the way I like em.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
13 August 2007
The Royo Romance (15)
The Royo Romance (15)
Click here for Part 15 B.
At visitation, I kissed Royo Girl. Dressed in black, her hair in a ponytail, looking terrific.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“I went to The Cuisine of India. I’ve bought chaana massala, aloo gobi, garlic naan and rice pilau.”
“Perfect. Take what you want before I start. I skipped breakfast. I’m hungry enough to gnaw on your arms right now.”
“I thought you were a vegetarian. You can save that kind of behaviour for when you get out.”
“With you?”
“We’ll see.”
“Grrrrrr.”
The food was gone in no time. It hit the spot.
“I’m behind on reading your blog,” she said.
“That’s alright. They’re all about you these days anyway.”
“Oh, but I’ve read those.”
“That’s all that matters, eh?”
“Ah! My own vanity.”
“I know Xena’s your favourite character. There’s quite a few Xena blogs about to be posted.”
“Have you given in yet?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know… with the shemales.” Royo Girl leaned forward, her face animated.
“No!”
“Mm-hm.”
“And I never will! I’m almost out of here!”
“My friend said, ‘I bet you he has.’ ”
“Has?”
“She said you’re sexually deviant and too adventurous.”
“Huh?”
“And I think you are too.”
“Are what: sexually deviant and adventurous or going with shemales?”
“Sexually deviant and adventurous.”
“I thought you were on my side.”
“Yes, but I still have to ask.”
“For why?”
“Just to check. You’ve spent a long time in these places.”
“Indeed. And people like Frankie said that after four or five years I’d be so horny and frustrated that I’d break down and start going with cheetos, but, I’m sorry to report, my dear, that it hasn’t happened.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
11 August 07
A Mad Beekeeper in a Quonset Hut
Usually Slope expresses his post-release plan in one sentence: “I’m gonna ride around on my motorceeckle, dawg.” But more recently, he said, “I’m thinkin’ about buildin’ a wall three-feet high, and groutin’ it out.”
“Grouting, what’s that entail?”
“Fillin’ it full of cee-ment and peestone. Then I’m gonna build a Quonset hut on it, and that’s gonna be my house.”
“Where at?”
“On a patch of dirt. I’m gonna get me a little garden goin’, some chickens, a coupla mean-ass dogs, and some bees.”
“Bees!”
“Yeah, they’re nasty little bastards but that’s probably why I like 'em. I can train bees to run right up in your asshole and sting your guts.”
“Does a woman fit into this picture?”
“She’d need to be able to chop wood, feed the dogs, and help take care of the garden. I ain’t had no pussy in twenty-five years, dawg. I ain’t gonna be manipulated by that little ol’ thang that smells like anchovies no more.”
“What about love and companionship?”
“God loves me. I’ll love my dogs, chickens, and honey bees.”
“And your motorceeckle?”
“That’s off the top, dawg. If I get married it’s gonna be to a 19 and 56 Harley Davidson Panhead.”
“You’re gonna marry your motorceeckle?”
“Hell yeah, as long as I act right it’ll be loyal to me.”
“Act right?”
“Oil changes, makin’ sure the bolts are right. She’ll never do me no wrong, and if she does it’ll be my own damn fault ’cause I forgot to pay attention to her. Trouble is I’m doin’ twenty-five to life, lifetime parole, dawg. I’m in the Ninth Circuit fightin’ it, but I can’t just have a motorceeckle waitin’ in the parkin’ lot for me to take off on. I can’t go to Triple T Truck Stop, grab somethin’ to eat, fill up the tank, and be gone.”
“So you’re gonna be a mad beekeeper in a Quonset hut?”
“Somethin’ like that. All you need in this world is a place to sleep, eat, shit, and to wash your goat-smellin’ ass in. What am I gonna do with five bedrooms and three bathrooms?”
“What about a plasma-screen TV?”
“Why? There’s a thousand things you can do without a TV.”
“I know.”
“I’ve only watched two programs this week. Both on elk huntin’. Somethin’ all y’all in England don’t have over there. The only thing England’s got goin’ for it is a boat to somewhere else.”
“Slope, don’t make me pull a Winston Churchill on your arse.”
“Prince of Wales more like.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
A Mad Beekeeper in a Quonset Hut
Usually Slope expresses his post-release plan in one sentence: “I’m gonna ride around on my motorceeckle, dawg.” But more recently, he said, “I’m thinkin’ about buildin’ a wall three-feet high, and groutin’ it out.”
“Grouting, what’s that entail?”
“Fillin’ it full of cee-ment and peestone. Then I’m gonna build a Quonset hut on it, and that’s gonna be my house.”
“Where at?”
“On a patch of dirt. I’m gonna get me a little garden goin’, some chickens, a coupla mean-ass dogs, and some bees.”
“Bees!”
“Yeah, they’re nasty little bastards but that’s probably why I like 'em. I can train bees to run right up in your asshole and sting your guts.”
“Does a woman fit into this picture?”
“She’d need to be able to chop wood, feed the dogs, and help take care of the garden. I ain’t had no pussy in twenty-five years, dawg. I ain’t gonna be manipulated by that little ol’ thang that smells like anchovies no more.”
“What about love and companionship?”
“God loves me. I’ll love my dogs, chickens, and honey bees.”
“And your motorceeckle?”
“That’s off the top, dawg. If I get married it’s gonna be to a 19 and 56 Harley Davidson Panhead.”
“You’re gonna marry your motorceeckle?”
“Hell yeah, as long as I act right it’ll be loyal to me.”
“Act right?”
“Oil changes, makin’ sure the bolts are right. She’ll never do me no wrong, and if she does it’ll be my own damn fault ’cause I forgot to pay attention to her. Trouble is I’m doin’ twenty-five to life, lifetime parole, dawg. I’m in the Ninth Circuit fightin’ it, but I can’t just have a motorceeckle waitin’ in the parkin’ lot for me to take off on. I can’t go to Triple T Truck Stop, grab somethin’ to eat, fill up the tank, and be gone.”
“So you’re gonna be a mad beekeeper in a Quonset hut?”
“Somethin’ like that. All you need in this world is a place to sleep, eat, shit, and to wash your goat-smellin’ ass in. What am I gonna do with five bedrooms and three bathrooms?”
“What about a plasma-screen TV?”
“Why? There’s a thousand things you can do without a TV.”
“I know.”
“I’ve only watched two programs this week. Both on elk huntin’. Somethin’ all y’all in England don’t have over there. The only thing England’s got goin’ for it is a boat to somewhere else.”
“Slope, don’t make me pull a Winston Churchill on your arse.”
“Prince of Wales more like.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
09 August 07
T-Bone on Prison
T-Bone stopped by and talked about his life while serving in the military, the action he’d seen and the people he’d killed. But he asked me not to blog any of that. He then talked about his life in prison.
“How much time have you done?”
“18 years since ’86.”
“How many riots have you been though?”
“Four big ones.”
“There must have been some terrible injuries.”
“Yeah. I saw people losin’ their lives. Heads get bust open with weights, pipes, baseball bats, picks, shovels. People gettin’ shanked in their eyes.”
“What does it feel like to be in a prison riot?”
“You gotta do whatcha gotta do. You’ve gotta get down.”
“I’ve heard that the atmosphere changes just before something happens.”
“There’s a smell of fear, doubt, and stress. There’s an instinctual change in body movement and body language. People start positionin’ themselves in groups on the yard.”
“It’s hard for me to convey to people outside the effect of a prisoner calling another prisoner a punk-ass bitch. If someone calls you that, how does it make you feel?”
“Right away I’m thinkin’ of death. But I’m not gonna go berserk. I’ll wait and catch the person alone. Then the cops can’t see it. If someone calls me a punk-ass bitch, that’s like sayin’ I’m a piece of nothin’, I take it up the ass, or I put it up someone’s ass, that I’m subhuman and have no honour or self respect, that I need to be killed. In prison you have two things: yourself and your word. Certain words are worse than rapin’ someone’s child. If someone calls me out, I’m gonna handle my business.”
“Whites, Chicanos, and paisas make up most of the prison population [in Arizona State Prisons], you must have endured a lot of racism?”
“Here, blacks are always at the bottom of the totem pole. I’ve experienced pure hatred 'cause of the colour of my skin. People seethin’ with vile contempt and hate lookin’ at me like they wanna kill me 'cause I’m black. But I’m wearin’ the same clothes, doin’ the same time.”
“You seem to have a knack for staying strong. How do you do it?”
“The truth is: I turn to God. God helps me mind my Ps and Qs. When I first came to prison an old major told me to avoid the three Hs: heroin, hooch, and homosexuals. I stay away from those.”
“How cheap is life in prison?”
“It means nothin’. I’ve known of people killed for two $40 papers of heroin.”
“You must have lost count of the fights you’ve seen?”
“I’ve seen so many people get annihilated, it’s unreal. I’ve seen cops get shanked – one in the eye.”
“You must get sick of it?”
“The rapin’ irks me the most. It’s the foulest thing for a man to do to another man. Back in the day at the Walls every single night someone was gettin’ brutalised. You could hear male flesh poundin’ male flesh.”
“And nobody stopped it?”
“You couldn’t snitch. If you couldn’t fight back you were game. Some of the rapers were the size of apes. They’d squeeze the back of their victims' necks to put them unconscious. There was a smell of crap on the run from so many dudes takin’ up the ass. Regular dudes, not homosexuals, getting’ brutalised, punked, and scared to admit they were gettin’ raped. You’d also see big dudes kissin’ little whites boys like they were women. Kissin’ them on the lips and neck. Then all night long you’d hear the punks gettin’ fucked up the ass goin’ huh-huh-huh.”
“It sounds like a nightmare.”
“Worse. Gang members would hold someone down and stick things up his ass.”
“Things?”
“Cans, soda bottles, shampoo bottles, broom handles, or metal shanks.”
“Unbelievable.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
T-Bone on Prison
T-Bone stopped by and talked about his life while serving in the military, the action he’d seen and the people he’d killed. But he asked me not to blog any of that. He then talked about his life in prison.
“How much time have you done?”
“18 years since ’86.”
“How many riots have you been though?”
“Four big ones.”
“There must have been some terrible injuries.”
“Yeah. I saw people losin’ their lives. Heads get bust open with weights, pipes, baseball bats, picks, shovels. People gettin’ shanked in their eyes.”
“What does it feel like to be in a prison riot?”
“You gotta do whatcha gotta do. You’ve gotta get down.”
“I’ve heard that the atmosphere changes just before something happens.”
“There’s a smell of fear, doubt, and stress. There’s an instinctual change in body movement and body language. People start positionin’ themselves in groups on the yard.”
“It’s hard for me to convey to people outside the effect of a prisoner calling another prisoner a punk-ass bitch. If someone calls you that, how does it make you feel?”
“Right away I’m thinkin’ of death. But I’m not gonna go berserk. I’ll wait and catch the person alone. Then the cops can’t see it. If someone calls me a punk-ass bitch, that’s like sayin’ I’m a piece of nothin’, I take it up the ass, or I put it up someone’s ass, that I’m subhuman and have no honour or self respect, that I need to be killed. In prison you have two things: yourself and your word. Certain words are worse than rapin’ someone’s child. If someone calls me out, I’m gonna handle my business.”
“Whites, Chicanos, and paisas make up most of the prison population [in Arizona State Prisons], you must have endured a lot of racism?”
“Here, blacks are always at the bottom of the totem pole. I’ve experienced pure hatred 'cause of the colour of my skin. People seethin’ with vile contempt and hate lookin’ at me like they wanna kill me 'cause I’m black. But I’m wearin’ the same clothes, doin’ the same time.”
“You seem to have a knack for staying strong. How do you do it?”
“The truth is: I turn to God. God helps me mind my Ps and Qs. When I first came to prison an old major told me to avoid the three Hs: heroin, hooch, and homosexuals. I stay away from those.”
“How cheap is life in prison?”
“It means nothin’. I’ve known of people killed for two $40 papers of heroin.”
“You must have lost count of the fights you’ve seen?”
“I’ve seen so many people get annihilated, it’s unreal. I’ve seen cops get shanked – one in the eye.”
“You must get sick of it?”
“The rapin’ irks me the most. It’s the foulest thing for a man to do to another man. Back in the day at the Walls every single night someone was gettin’ brutalised. You could hear male flesh poundin’ male flesh.”
“And nobody stopped it?”
“You couldn’t snitch. If you couldn’t fight back you were game. Some of the rapers were the size of apes. They’d squeeze the back of their victims' necks to put them unconscious. There was a smell of crap on the run from so many dudes takin’ up the ass. Regular dudes, not homosexuals, getting’ brutalised, punked, and scared to admit they were gettin’ raped. You’d also see big dudes kissin’ little whites boys like they were women. Kissin’ them on the lips and neck. Then all night long you’d hear the punks gettin’ fucked up the ass goin’ huh-huh-huh.”
“It sounds like a nightmare.”
“Worse. Gang members would hold someone down and stick things up his ass.”
“Things?”
“Cans, soda bottles, shampoo bottles, broom handles, or metal shanks.”
“Unbelievable.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
07 August 07
The Royo Romance (14)
The Royo Romance (14)
“If you've got a food visit be ready!”
The announcement provoked a scramble for the showers. My neighbour, Black Nine, legged it
while singing, "I am so very especially gay." Others swapped descriptions of what food they were expecting, and who was bringing it.
At 7:40am: “Food visits, let's go!"
Expecting Royo Girl with Indian food, I skipped breakfast.
As each hour passed, my hunger grew.
At 12:30pm I struggled not to reach for a jar of peanut butter.
There’s two hours left for visits, I thought. If she went to a restaurant that opened at 11.30, then she should be here some time before one, any time now. Don’t fool yourself. She’s standing you up. At least give her a little more time.
At 12:45 I began pacing the cell.
Shortly after one I was reaching for the saltines when I heard, “Baker 10, turn out for your visit!”
From stockbroker to rave organizer, question time with Jon
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
05 August 07
Private Youngblood
“A while back on TV,” Two Tonys said, “they showed a kid from Tucson who had just lost his life. Private Youngblood. I knew him when he was a baby. He was hit by a sniper in Iraq. He’d only been there for twelve days. His death was worth three seconds of TV news. Britney was gettin’ her head shaved around that time, and she’d been on the fuckin’ news all week. Youngblood deserved more than three seconds. It’s a sad reflection of society. Perhaps your blog readers will think about Youngblood for more than three seconds.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Private Youngblood
“A while back on TV,” Two Tonys said, “they showed a kid from Tucson who had just lost his life. Private Youngblood. I knew him when he was a baby. He was hit by a sniper in Iraq. He’d only been there for twelve days. His death was worth three seconds of TV news. Britney was gettin’ her head shaved around that time, and she’d been on the fuckin’ news all week. Youngblood deserved more than three seconds. It’s a sad reflection of society. Perhaps your blog readers will think about Youngblood for more than three seconds.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
03 August 07
Xena & Slope (2)
“I’ll never go to England,” Slope said, “if they be givin’ motherfuckers ten years for little ol’ sacks of weed like they be doin’ here.”
“Weed offenders,” I said, “don’t get as much time as in America. And you’ll be pleased to know that Viagra is available over the counter.”
“That’s ’cause y’all ain’t got no lead in yer pencils.”
“You can’t get it up,” Xena said, “if all you eat is lentils. No wonder they name their deserts after penises. They need the Cult of Xena in England to learn how to have sex.”
“What are you two on about," I said. "Us Brits are known for being kinky.”
“You guys musta gotten too prim and proper. That’s why they’re sellin’ Viagra over the counter,” Slope said.
“I wanna getthafuck outta this country. I can’t stand all the damn rednecks and mountain men,” Xena said.
“They ain’t got no goddam Rocky Mountains in England," Slope said. "Only green hills, furry ones, and that’s from the mould that’s built up on all those fuckin’ prudes.”
“They don’t need mountains when they sell Viagra over the counter. Have you tried it, Jon?”
“Yes. A friend of mine, DJ Gary Menichiello, always had it. He broke me a piece off and said, ‘Take this. If you don’t need it, you’ll be a porn star.’ And sure enough, I’m driving home, and it starts rising up. Then it stayed up all day. I had real problems peeing, I had to lean against the wall and push my dick down.”
“Hell,” Slope said, “I can shoot some speed and get that. I don’t think I wanna try it.”
“Speed will ruin your sex life in the long run,” I said.
“I got me a whole sack fulla Viagra right below my wiener,” Slope said.
Will Slope’s love of speed necessitate he become a Viagra monster in his old age?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Xena & Slope (2)
“I’ll never go to England,” Slope said, “if they be givin’ motherfuckers ten years for little ol’ sacks of weed like they be doin’ here.”
“Weed offenders,” I said, “don’t get as much time as in America. And you’ll be pleased to know that Viagra is available over the counter.”
“That’s ’cause y’all ain’t got no lead in yer pencils.”
“You can’t get it up,” Xena said, “if all you eat is lentils. No wonder they name their deserts after penises. They need the Cult of Xena in England to learn how to have sex.”
“What are you two on about," I said. "Us Brits are known for being kinky.”
“You guys musta gotten too prim and proper. That’s why they’re sellin’ Viagra over the counter,” Slope said.
“I wanna getthafuck outta this country. I can’t stand all the damn rednecks and mountain men,” Xena said.
“They ain’t got no goddam Rocky Mountains in England," Slope said. "Only green hills, furry ones, and that’s from the mould that’s built up on all those fuckin’ prudes.”
“They don’t need mountains when they sell Viagra over the counter. Have you tried it, Jon?”
“Yes. A friend of mine, DJ Gary Menichiello, always had it. He broke me a piece off and said, ‘Take this. If you don’t need it, you’ll be a porn star.’ And sure enough, I’m driving home, and it starts rising up. Then it stayed up all day. I had real problems peeing, I had to lean against the wall and push my dick down.”
“Hell,” Slope said, “I can shoot some speed and get that. I don’t think I wanna try it.”
“Speed will ruin your sex life in the long run,” I said.
“I got me a whole sack fulla Viagra right below my wiener,” Slope said.
Will Slope’s love of speed necessitate he become a Viagra monster in his old age?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
01 August 07
The Royo Romance (13)
Click here for Part 12.
I wrote to Royo girl:
I just received word that you are coming to the food visit next week. How wonderful you are to consider my needs during this busy time of your life. You rule! I shall never forget your kindness. Knowing you are coming I’ll skip breakfast that day, so that I eat more than last time. Also, now that I work out with Iron Man my appetite is approaching that of a wild beast.
I just finished reading Falling in Love for all of the Right Reasons by Dr. Neil Clark Warren. The book advocated marriage and cited twenty-nine areas couples need to score highly in if they are to sustain a relationship in the long run. We scored so high it was frightening. It was also sad because you’ve made it clear that due to my past you’d never engage in such a relationship with me. More than anyone I’ve dated, you have the characteristics I believe would sustain a relationship.
When we discussed how prison has revirginised me, you hinted at coming to England to rectify the situation. But I suspect someone will sweep you off your feet before I am released. Someone who, like me, sees how loveable you are. You really are such a good person. Whatever happens we will always be friends and I will always have your best interests at heart.
ps The homies have been asking me if you were coming to the food visit. I told them you’d run off with an Australian as you’d grown tired of the British accent. You should have seen their disappointment. You have quite a following!
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Royo Romance (13)
Click here for Part 12.
I wrote to Royo girl:
I just received word that you are coming to the food visit next week. How wonderful you are to consider my needs during this busy time of your life. You rule! I shall never forget your kindness. Knowing you are coming I’ll skip breakfast that day, so that I eat more than last time. Also, now that I work out with Iron Man my appetite is approaching that of a wild beast.
I just finished reading Falling in Love for all of the Right Reasons by Dr. Neil Clark Warren. The book advocated marriage and cited twenty-nine areas couples need to score highly in if they are to sustain a relationship in the long run. We scored so high it was frightening. It was also sad because you’ve made it clear that due to my past you’d never engage in such a relationship with me. More than anyone I’ve dated, you have the characteristics I believe would sustain a relationship.
When we discussed how prison has revirginised me, you hinted at coming to England to rectify the situation. But I suspect someone will sweep you off your feet before I am released. Someone who, like me, sees how loveable you are. You really are such a good person. Whatever happens we will always be friends and I will always have your best interests at heart.
ps The homies have been asking me if you were coming to the food visit. I told them you’d run off with an Australian as you’d grown tired of the British accent. You should have seen their disappointment. You have quite a following!
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
30 July 07
Question Time: Murder
Jayne wrote: Two Tonys is a cool guy, but he has killed people. I’d like to ask him a serious question. Does he think he would be a danger to society if he were released? And does he think people who commit murder should be put in prison for life without parole, no matter what the circumstances of the murder were?
“First of all”, Two Tonys said, “yeah I’ve killed people, and once again, I’m revisitin’ this: I didn’t kill anybody that didn’t have it comin’. If I get a job at the circus and a motherfucker tells me all I’ve gotta do is put my head in a lion’s mouth three times a day for $200 a time and then one day the lion chomps on my head and takes out an eye, an ear and half my fuckin’ jaw and nose, and I get outta the hospital after they’ve stitched my face back together, I can’t blame the lion. Howdafuck am I gonna blame the lion? I’m getting’ paid for it. I’m reapin’ the benefits of puttin’ my head in the lion’s mouth. It’s the same in de bizz-nezz of crime. There are certain recourses open to a person who has been faulted in the criminal world. He can’t take his case to those corpses at the Supreme Court. In certain criminal organisations such as the Cosa Nostra or biker gangs there are hierarchies and you can plead your case, but nine times outta ten you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do and be able to live with the consequences. If any of you blog readers are thinkin’ any of my victims may have been the next Bill Gates, or mighta had a cure for cancer, or mighta been the first man to walk on Mars, no, lets be real. They were motherfuckers who mighta blown someone’s face off durin’ an armed robbery or sold dope to schoolchildren.
I probably would be a danger to society if I were released, but maybe I wouldn’t be if I had a one-bedroomed apartment, with some staples to eat, some soup to warm up for lunch, and a good plasma TV. But what would I be missin’ if I had all of that? The adrenalin. Does adrenalin count for anythin’? Yes it does. With all due respect to people of the world: crime can be fun even when it’s not profitable.
Do I think people should get life without parole no matter what the circumstances of the murder were? Of course not. There are people who need killin’ in this fuckin’ world, such as some chomo at a kids playground lustin’ on a six-year-old girl. Then there’s some poor bloke – I’m using bloke outta respect for the British Empire – who leaves a New Year’s Eve party after havin’ too many glasses of Mumms or Piper Heidsek, runs over some other poor bloke, and next thing he’s in the county jail. He made a mistake, but there’s no malice, no forethought. If I crack Jon in the head with my clock, and try and strangle him with my stinger cable, and he jumps up with his pen and stabs me in the ear and I die of a cerebral haemorrhage, Jon wouldn’t deserve life in prison. That’s self-defence.
I’ve gotta be honest with ya: I shouldn’t be allowed outta this motherfucker. Prison was built for me. I accept that and live with it. I’m doin’ it every day, and tryin’ to have fun playin’ a little chess, watchin’ TV shows like Big Brother, and makin’ myself a nice roast-beef supper with a bag of iced-down Coca-Cola, and havin’ a good conversation with my Brit friend.
But there are people who don’t deserve to be in prison. That’s what happens when you don’t consider the circumstances of the murder.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Question Time: Murder
Jayne wrote: Two Tonys is a cool guy, but he has killed people. I’d like to ask him a serious question. Does he think he would be a danger to society if he were released? And does he think people who commit murder should be put in prison for life without parole, no matter what the circumstances of the murder were?
“First of all”, Two Tonys said, “yeah I’ve killed people, and once again, I’m revisitin’ this: I didn’t kill anybody that didn’t have it comin’. If I get a job at the circus and a motherfucker tells me all I’ve gotta do is put my head in a lion’s mouth three times a day for $200 a time and then one day the lion chomps on my head and takes out an eye, an ear and half my fuckin’ jaw and nose, and I get outta the hospital after they’ve stitched my face back together, I can’t blame the lion. Howdafuck am I gonna blame the lion? I’m getting’ paid for it. I’m reapin’ the benefits of puttin’ my head in the lion’s mouth. It’s the same in de bizz-nezz of crime. There are certain recourses open to a person who has been faulted in the criminal world. He can’t take his case to those corpses at the Supreme Court. In certain criminal organisations such as the Cosa Nostra or biker gangs there are hierarchies and you can plead your case, but nine times outta ten you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do and be able to live with the consequences. If any of you blog readers are thinkin’ any of my victims may have been the next Bill Gates, or mighta had a cure for cancer, or mighta been the first man to walk on Mars, no, lets be real. They were motherfuckers who mighta blown someone’s face off durin’ an armed robbery or sold dope to schoolchildren.
I probably would be a danger to society if I were released, but maybe I wouldn’t be if I had a one-bedroomed apartment, with some staples to eat, some soup to warm up for lunch, and a good plasma TV. But what would I be missin’ if I had all of that? The adrenalin. Does adrenalin count for anythin’? Yes it does. With all due respect to people of the world: crime can be fun even when it’s not profitable.
Do I think people should get life without parole no matter what the circumstances of the murder were? Of course not. There are people who need killin’ in this fuckin’ world, such as some chomo at a kids playground lustin’ on a six-year-old girl. Then there’s some poor bloke – I’m using bloke outta respect for the British Empire – who leaves a New Year’s Eve party after havin’ too many glasses of Mumms or Piper Heidsek, runs over some other poor bloke, and next thing he’s in the county jail. He made a mistake, but there’s no malice, no forethought. If I crack Jon in the head with my clock, and try and strangle him with my stinger cable, and he jumps up with his pen and stabs me in the ear and I die of a cerebral haemorrhage, Jon wouldn’t deserve life in prison. That’s self-defence.
I’ve gotta be honest with ya: I shouldn’t be allowed outta this motherfucker. Prison was built for me. I accept that and live with it. I’m doin’ it every day, and tryin’ to have fun playin’ a little chess, watchin’ TV shows like Big Brother, and makin’ myself a nice roast-beef supper with a bag of iced-down Coca-Cola, and havin’ a good conversation with my Brit friend.
But there are people who don’t deserve to be in prison. That’s what happens when you don’t consider the circumstances of the murder.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
28 July 07
How Wall Basher Disfigured His Hands
Wall Basher said to Two Tonys, “Tell Jon about the time you were beefin’ about your ingrown toenail, and I had to pull the fucker out.”
“Wall Basher took a sharp pen and some fingernail clippers, and dug it out. It hurt like hell. For that, I let him get away with certain liberties – but if it were anyone else I’d slice their fuckin’ throats.”
“Why dontcha try knockin’ someone out with your hands?” Wall Basher clenched his fists.
“I prefer pipes,” Two Tonys said.
“How did Wall Basher’s hands get all lumpy like that?” I said.
“One time, I fucked up my hands 'cause the cops squeezed Noxzema all over a picture of my dead grandfather. They laughed at me, and wouldn’t open the door. I shattered my fist on the door, and demanded medical attention. I told 'em to call a sergeant for me to speak to. I kept doin’ full-thrustin’ punches to the steel and glass. They called an IMS. A sergeant came, and they put me in an outdoor cage in the middle of summer. I tore down the sunscreens and stripped butt naked. I took a boot string, put it around my neck, and pretended to hang myself. The sergeant pepper-sprayed me. So I grabbed the bench outta the cement, and went off. I injured my right leg, and calmed down. The faggot-ass punks gave me seven major tickets. I had a fractured hand. I was gone for over a year. I spent eight months in the hole.”
“Wow!” I said. “I’d say you’ve got a steep anger gradient.”
“This animale’s got fuckin’ issues,” Two Tonys said. “But he’s the kinda guy I’d want in a foxhole with me when all hell’s breakin’ loose.”
Who would you rather be in a foxhole with: Wall Basher or Prince Harry?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
How Wall Basher Disfigured His Hands
Wall Basher said to Two Tonys, “Tell Jon about the time you were beefin’ about your ingrown toenail, and I had to pull the fucker out.”
“Wall Basher took a sharp pen and some fingernail clippers, and dug it out. It hurt like hell. For that, I let him get away with certain liberties – but if it were anyone else I’d slice their fuckin’ throats.”
“Why dontcha try knockin’ someone out with your hands?” Wall Basher clenched his fists.
“I prefer pipes,” Two Tonys said.
“How did Wall Basher’s hands get all lumpy like that?” I said.
“One time, I fucked up my hands 'cause the cops squeezed Noxzema all over a picture of my dead grandfather. They laughed at me, and wouldn’t open the door. I shattered my fist on the door, and demanded medical attention. I told 'em to call a sergeant for me to speak to. I kept doin’ full-thrustin’ punches to the steel and glass. They called an IMS. A sergeant came, and they put me in an outdoor cage in the middle of summer. I tore down the sunscreens and stripped butt naked. I took a boot string, put it around my neck, and pretended to hang myself. The sergeant pepper-sprayed me. So I grabbed the bench outta the cement, and went off. I injured my right leg, and calmed down. The faggot-ass punks gave me seven major tickets. I had a fractured hand. I was gone for over a year. I spent eight months in the hole.”
“Wow!” I said. “I’d say you’ve got a steep anger gradient.”
“This animale’s got fuckin’ issues,” Two Tonys said. “But he’s the kinda guy I’d want in a foxhole with me when all hell’s breakin’ loose.”
Who would you rather be in a foxhole with: Wall Basher or Prince Harry?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
26 July 07
Pyschotherapy with Dr. T. (4)
“How are you feeling?”
“Last time you saw me, I was on an upswing. That peaked in a manic spurt of short-story writing that lasted three weeks. It was so intense I went through all my pens and paper and had to borrow some. Last year I wrote two short stories, not even two thousand words long. Just now, in three weeks, I wrote seven stories of average length four thousand words. But then I hit a funk. I don’t feel depressed. I’m still happy, but a little spacey.”
“And how much of what you wrote was gibberish?”
“Well, I’ve forwarded the first of my rewrites to my critique partner, and he thinks it’s the best short-story work I’ve done so far. I’m slowly learning to filter the gibberish out. Concentrating on dialogue helps.”
“Are you still worried about your release?”
“Not like I was, but it still weighs on my mind. I imagine there’ll be delays. I’m making allowances for those in my mind.”
“Most prisoners don’t get out exactly when they think they will.”
“I’ve noticed a lot of people on Yard 1 haven’t got their TRs [temporary releases] or have had the dates changed.”
“Paperwork takes time to get processed and mistakes are made. I’d allow yourself a good four to six weeks after you expect to be released.”
“I’ll be happy to get home by Christmas.”
“What else is new?”
“I’m reading Current Psychotherapies. I’m on the chapter about Adlerian psychotherapy. I like how Adler urges us to give meaning to our lives.”
“How is that influencing you?”
“I believe I’m putting constructive meaning into my life via the friendships I’m building with people, including people I write to around the world. Also, I derive meaning from my creative attempts, mostly my writing. I feel there’s a good purpose to it, and it’s a form of self-medication. Studying and writing make me feel that this prison time isn’t being wasted. My dad used to call me a nihilist, and he was right. Breaking the law is easier when you believe life is meaningless. But reading Nietzsche, the existentialists, and now Adler, has helped me learn that although it seems life is meaningless it's up to me to infuse my life with meaning. Adler acknowledges that life is bigger than us, but instead of being crushed by its weight, we have to have the courage and will to make the most of it.”
“And it’s important to remind yourself these things when you start to worry.”
“Yes. Learning these things is one step, but being able to apply them when things get stressful is another.”
“Well, keep studying, it’s fortifying your cognitive techniques. Any when you need to see me again, just put in a HNR.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Pyschotherapy with Dr. T. (4)
“How are you feeling?”
“Last time you saw me, I was on an upswing. That peaked in a manic spurt of short-story writing that lasted three weeks. It was so intense I went through all my pens and paper and had to borrow some. Last year I wrote two short stories, not even two thousand words long. Just now, in three weeks, I wrote seven stories of average length four thousand words. But then I hit a funk. I don’t feel depressed. I’m still happy, but a little spacey.”
“And how much of what you wrote was gibberish?”
“Well, I’ve forwarded the first of my rewrites to my critique partner, and he thinks it’s the best short-story work I’ve done so far. I’m slowly learning to filter the gibberish out. Concentrating on dialogue helps.”
“Are you still worried about your release?”
“Not like I was, but it still weighs on my mind. I imagine there’ll be delays. I’m making allowances for those in my mind.”
“Most prisoners don’t get out exactly when they think they will.”
“I’ve noticed a lot of people on Yard 1 haven’t got their TRs [temporary releases] or have had the dates changed.”
“Paperwork takes time to get processed and mistakes are made. I’d allow yourself a good four to six weeks after you expect to be released.”
“I’ll be happy to get home by Christmas.”
“What else is new?”
“I’m reading Current Psychotherapies. I’m on the chapter about Adlerian psychotherapy. I like how Adler urges us to give meaning to our lives.”
“How is that influencing you?”
“I believe I’m putting constructive meaning into my life via the friendships I’m building with people, including people I write to around the world. Also, I derive meaning from my creative attempts, mostly my writing. I feel there’s a good purpose to it, and it’s a form of self-medication. Studying and writing make me feel that this prison time isn’t being wasted. My dad used to call me a nihilist, and he was right. Breaking the law is easier when you believe life is meaningless. But reading Nietzsche, the existentialists, and now Adler, has helped me learn that although it seems life is meaningless it's up to me to infuse my life with meaning. Adler acknowledges that life is bigger than us, but instead of being crushed by its weight, we have to have the courage and will to make the most of it.”
“And it’s important to remind yourself these things when you start to worry.”
“Yes. Learning these things is one step, but being able to apply them when things get stressful is another.”
“Well, keep studying, it’s fortifying your cognitive techniques. Any when you need to see me again, just put in a HNR.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
24 July 07
Xena & Slope
“Xena,” I said, “every time I come to see you, Slope and Bones talk all kinds of rubbish about me being an Englishman.”
“Yeah, well,” Xena said, “when Americans talk shit about foreigners they’re talkin’ shit about themselves too 'cause America is made up of foreigners. Slope’s got a split personality anyway.”
“Yeah. I think Slope secretly wants to move to England.”
“With you spotted-dick-eatin’ motherfuckers! Spotted dick over here is a cock infected with the clap. Y’all eat spotted dick, man. There’s somethin’ freaky goin’ on across the pond.”
“All the more reason for Slope to go there,” Xena said.
“Lookit, I know for a fact that the goddamn Limeys would like me to go there to show 'em how we do it in America. They’re so uptight you couldn’t drive a BB up their asses with a ball-peen hammer and a sowin’ needle. I’d get good and drunk and charge around their houses with my wiener in my hand. I’d get my motorceeckle indoors, smoke it up, and lay some skid marks on their dining-room floors. And I’d piss in all their cricket trophies.”
“Slope would bring all his American ways, and England would be bled out," Xena said. "Before you know it there’d be a buncha rednecks takin’ over England, chewin’ tobacco, spittin’ beer, runnin’ around your houses with their wieners in their hands, bouncin’ them off the walls.”
“At least I know where to put my wiener.” Slope said. “I’d be the one their moms warned 'em about.”
“It’s mums not moms,” I said.
“It takes a special kinda person to be a mom,” Slope said. “And I should know 'cause I’m a motherfucker.”
“But he ain’t never fucked me,” said Xena.
“’Cause I’m too damn short. I’d need a stepladder.”
If Slope were ever to get to England, what would the people make of him?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Xena & Slope
“Xena,” I said, “every time I come to see you, Slope and Bones talk all kinds of rubbish about me being an Englishman.”
“Yeah, well,” Xena said, “when Americans talk shit about foreigners they’re talkin’ shit about themselves too 'cause America is made up of foreigners. Slope’s got a split personality anyway.”
“Yeah. I think Slope secretly wants to move to England.”
“With you spotted-dick-eatin’ motherfuckers! Spotted dick over here is a cock infected with the clap. Y’all eat spotted dick, man. There’s somethin’ freaky goin’ on across the pond.”
“All the more reason for Slope to go there,” Xena said.
“Lookit, I know for a fact that the goddamn Limeys would like me to go there to show 'em how we do it in America. They’re so uptight you couldn’t drive a BB up their asses with a ball-peen hammer and a sowin’ needle. I’d get good and drunk and charge around their houses with my wiener in my hand. I’d get my motorceeckle indoors, smoke it up, and lay some skid marks on their dining-room floors. And I’d piss in all their cricket trophies.”
“Slope would bring all his American ways, and England would be bled out," Xena said. "Before you know it there’d be a buncha rednecks takin’ over England, chewin’ tobacco, spittin’ beer, runnin’ around your houses with their wieners in their hands, bouncin’ them off the walls.”
“At least I know where to put my wiener.” Slope said. “I’d be the one their moms warned 'em about.”
“It’s mums not moms,” I said.
“It takes a special kinda person to be a mom,” Slope said. “And I should know 'cause I’m a motherfucker.”
“But he ain’t never fucked me,” said Xena.
“’Cause I’m too damn short. I’d need a stepladder.”
If Slope were ever to get to England, what would the people make of him?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
22 July 07
Kat (4)
Kat agreed to talk about prison sex.
“Xena said most prisoners do sexual things with each other,” I said.
“Well, Xena would know 'cause she’s been down longer than I have,” Kat said.
“How can a prisoner get a blow job and still consider himself straight?”
“’Cause of where we are. They need the sexual gratification, so they go to a gay person and that’s acceptable in here.”
“In the book Freakonomics, Levitt and Dubner claim that when a man is sent to prison, the cost of sex with women rises so high it makes sex with men more attractive. Do you think that’s true?”
“I agree with that. There’s a lot of inmates who turn gay while in prison.”
“What percent of prisoners do you estimate are doing gay acts?”
“Seventy-five percent. A lot of 'em say, ‘You know what, Kat? I’ve never considered having sex with another guy, but there’s something about you that brings that on.’ Guys who say they’re straight are always hitting on me.”
My door swung open. Outcast charged in, shook his behind near Kat’s lap, put his face to mine and said, “I see what you’re up to. You Brits come over here and steal our women like Madonna and Gwen and now you think you can steal our men. I’ve got this, Jon. I’ll show you how to do it gay style 'cause I’m queerer than a three-dollar bill and today is Pleasure Yourself Day. Kat has tight buns. Wouldja like to come by and watch sometime?”
“Whatever!” Kat said, scowling at Outcast.
“I’ll pass,” I said.
Outcast ran out of the cell.
“What’s the freakiest sex stuff that goes on in here?”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Kat (4)
Kat agreed to talk about prison sex.
“Xena said most prisoners do sexual things with each other,” I said.
“Well, Xena would know 'cause she’s been down longer than I have,” Kat said.
“How can a prisoner get a blow job and still consider himself straight?”
“’Cause of where we are. They need the sexual gratification, so they go to a gay person and that’s acceptable in here.”
“In the book Freakonomics, Levitt and Dubner claim that when a man is sent to prison, the cost of sex with women rises so high it makes sex with men more attractive. Do you think that’s true?”
“I agree with that. There’s a lot of inmates who turn gay while in prison.”
“What percent of prisoners do you estimate are doing gay acts?”
“Seventy-five percent. A lot of 'em say, ‘You know what, Kat? I’ve never considered having sex with another guy, but there’s something about you that brings that on.’ Guys who say they’re straight are always hitting on me.”
My door swung open. Outcast charged in, shook his behind near Kat’s lap, put his face to mine and said, “I see what you’re up to. You Brits come over here and steal our women like Madonna and Gwen and now you think you can steal our men. I’ve got this, Jon. I’ll show you how to do it gay style 'cause I’m queerer than a three-dollar bill and today is Pleasure Yourself Day. Kat has tight buns. Wouldja like to come by and watch sometime?”
“Whatever!” Kat said, scowling at Outcast.
“I’ll pass,” I said.
Outcast ran out of the cell.
“What’s the freakiest sex stuff that goes on in here?”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
20 July 07
The Royo Romance (12)
The Royo Romance (12)
Click here for Part 11.
Letter from Royo Girl:
I can’t believe that it has taken me this long to write you back. It is a seriously ridiculous amount of time. I would make excuses, but at the end of the day, I have been sorely lacking in my mail correspondence with you. My humble apologies, Jon.
In relation to your most recent letter, YOU’RE WELCOME. It was an inconvenience to drive all the way to Gandhi’s and then to prison, but that’s OK because you are a good friend. I am just glad that you really enjoyed the food.
You are the second person to tell me I’m sharp in the last couple of weeks. Ironically, I know that you and this other person both fancy me. I don’t think many others pick up on my dry humour or little comments here and there. At least a few of you enjoy them.
I really don’t hold back from you. I am baffled as to why you think that, given that I tell you more than I tell anyone else. True, I give considered answers, but it is not to conceal the truth. It is merely to articulate my rough thoughts into a communicable sentence.
You are not making a fool of yourself. I take everything you say in the right spirit, so don’t worry about it. I enjoy reading your compliments, and moments of excitedness. And stop viewing your openness with me as weakness. Jeez-o-pete, you are such a man sometimes!
I hope everything is good with you and that your parents and sister are good too. Keep that bald head gleaming. Bye, Jon
Royo Girl
p.s. I sprayed this letter with Ralph by Ralph Lauren.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Guardian Weekly
Jon has had an article published online on the Guardian Weekly Global Network. Click here to
read it.
Many thanks to Mark King, editor.
Jon has had an article published online on the Guardian Weekly Global Network. Click here to
read it.
Many thanks to Mark King, editor.
18 July 07
Xena’s Woes
“Don’t ya wish your girlfriend was hot like Xena?” they were singing on Yard 4.
“How’s it going, Xeen?” I asked.
“I’ve had a bad year so far,” Xena said. “First they took my man away from me. They said he was fightin’, which is bullshit. He never got in no fight. He can’t help it if someone jumps in front of his fist.”
“When’s he getting out of the hole?”
“It doesn’t look like he is. That’s OK. I’ll follow him anyway. He’s the only one I ever will. Otherwise they follow me. And once I’m gone, no one will know what to do on the yard anymore. I guess it’s back to the Thorazine line.”
“What else is bothering you?”
“My sister died.”
“That’s terrible. I’m really sorry, you have my condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“How did she die?”
“In a car accident. She was forty-five-years old.”
“That’s rough.”
“She just had a birthday.”
“Are you trying to stay positive?”
“Yes.”
“How.”
“Readin’. D&D. If I cut my nuts off do you think that will send inspiration to the rest of me? Do you know anyone who knows the best methods to remove the testicles?”
“Have you talked to Gina about it?”
“I really don’t want anybody else seein’ me do this. I really must do it on my own.”
“You’re not gonna cut the wasp off are you?”
“Definitely. I’m gonna make a small lampshade out of it by puttin’ a small pin light up inside my penis. I’ll attach the batteries to where my balls used to be, so if I make it to any dark holes I can see where I’m going.”
"You're not going to do it in here are you?"
“No. But I’d like to get some info on it, so I can learn about it, 'cause when I get out I wanna do it legally. There’s no way I’d do it in here. I’m too damn scared. I don’t think I have the balls for it. I have the nipples though!”
Any advice on this for Xena?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Xena’s Woes
“Don’t ya wish your girlfriend was hot like Xena?” they were singing on Yard 4.
“How’s it going, Xeen?” I asked.
“I’ve had a bad year so far,” Xena said. “First they took my man away from me. They said he was fightin’, which is bullshit. He never got in no fight. He can’t help it if someone jumps in front of his fist.”
“When’s he getting out of the hole?”
“It doesn’t look like he is. That’s OK. I’ll follow him anyway. He’s the only one I ever will. Otherwise they follow me. And once I’m gone, no one will know what to do on the yard anymore. I guess it’s back to the Thorazine line.”
“What else is bothering you?”
“My sister died.”
“That’s terrible. I’m really sorry, you have my condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“How did she die?”
“In a car accident. She was forty-five-years old.”
“That’s rough.”
“She just had a birthday.”
“Are you trying to stay positive?”
“Yes.”
“How.”
“Readin’. D&D. If I cut my nuts off do you think that will send inspiration to the rest of me? Do you know anyone who knows the best methods to remove the testicles?”
“Have you talked to Gina about it?”
“I really don’t want anybody else seein’ me do this. I really must do it on my own.”
“You’re not gonna cut the wasp off are you?”
“Definitely. I’m gonna make a small lampshade out of it by puttin’ a small pin light up inside my penis. I’ll attach the batteries to where my balls used to be, so if I make it to any dark holes I can see where I’m going.”
"You're not going to do it in here are you?"
“No. But I’d like to get some info on it, so I can learn about it, 'cause when I get out I wanna do it legally. There’s no way I’d do it in here. I’m too damn scared. I don’t think I have the balls for it. I have the nipples though!”
Any advice on this for Xena?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
16 July 07
Midnight Needs a Home
“How short are you?” I asked Midnight.
“Jan 19 2008 is my TR [a 90-day-early temporary release]. April 5 is my ERC [early release credit date, usually calculated at 85 percent of the prisoner’s sentence]. But to get my TR, I’ve gotta have a residence approved and I don’t have one. I have no family or friends on the streets.”
“Can you go to a shelter for the homeless?”
“You can’t go to a homeless persons’ shelter on a TR. I’d hafta wait till April for my ERC.”
“Hopefully this time when you get out, the cops won’t steal your fifty-dollar gate money.”
“What’s fifty bucks gonna get me? You can’t make it on fifty dollars. I hafta buy socks and underwear as soon as I get out. Then I’ll hafta go to McDonalds or Burger King. And then I’ll be broke.”
“And then what?”
“I dunno. My social security disability will start, but it’ll be a month or two before I can receive a check, and I can’t get a check unless I have an address, and I can’t afford to pay rent until I get a check.”
“Catch-22.”
“Yeah. I can get a P.O. Box with my check, but that’ll cost almost half of my fifty-dollar gate fee.”
“What if someone had a place for you to stay at on the basis you would pay them rent when your checks come in?”
“That would work for my TR, but I won’t get a check till March.”
“Where would the residence need to be?”
“I’d like to try and stay here in Tucson if possible. I’d like to give it a fresh start. But I can go anywhere that’ll have me within the State of Arizona as long as the person whose house it is isn’t a felon. They would hafta agree that there would be no alcohols, drugs, or firearms in the residence.”
“So if someone reading this offers you a place in Arizona - ”
“I’d get out in January instead of April. They’d hafta send a letter sayin’ I could stay there, and I’d give it to CO3 Rose, and he’d give it to the parole people, and they would verify it with the person. Then they’d go to the residence, make sure there’s a room I could sleep in, and that they agree to the conditions of parole.”
“So any person in Arizona could do this?”
“Yes.”
“How much rent could you afford?”
“I’ll pay five or six hundred monthly out of my disability check. I’ll be gettin’ nine-hundred-and-seventeen dollars a month. But I’ll need some for clothes, food, and eventually a car 'cause I wanna be able to return to work. That’s my goal. If I have a phone number to be contacted at, I’ll be able to find a job. If I leave in April, I’ll be homeless. The parole officer will give me a listing of shelters, but it won’t be easy gettin’ my life together from a homeless shelter.”
Is anyone in Arizona willing to house Midnight?”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Midnight Needs a Home
“How short are you?” I asked Midnight.
“Jan 19 2008 is my TR [a 90-day-early temporary release]. April 5 is my ERC [early release credit date, usually calculated at 85 percent of the prisoner’s sentence]. But to get my TR, I’ve gotta have a residence approved and I don’t have one. I have no family or friends on the streets.”
“Can you go to a shelter for the homeless?”
“You can’t go to a homeless persons’ shelter on a TR. I’d hafta wait till April for my ERC.”
“Hopefully this time when you get out, the cops won’t steal your fifty-dollar gate money.”
“What’s fifty bucks gonna get me? You can’t make it on fifty dollars. I hafta buy socks and underwear as soon as I get out. Then I’ll hafta go to McDonalds or Burger King. And then I’ll be broke.”
“And then what?”
“I dunno. My social security disability will start, but it’ll be a month or two before I can receive a check, and I can’t get a check unless I have an address, and I can’t afford to pay rent until I get a check.”
“Catch-22.”
“Yeah. I can get a P.O. Box with my check, but that’ll cost almost half of my fifty-dollar gate fee.”
“What if someone had a place for you to stay at on the basis you would pay them rent when your checks come in?”
“That would work for my TR, but I won’t get a check till March.”
“Where would the residence need to be?”
“I’d like to try and stay here in Tucson if possible. I’d like to give it a fresh start. But I can go anywhere that’ll have me within the State of Arizona as long as the person whose house it is isn’t a felon. They would hafta agree that there would be no alcohols, drugs, or firearms in the residence.”
“So if someone reading this offers you a place in Arizona - ”
“I’d get out in January instead of April. They’d hafta send a letter sayin’ I could stay there, and I’d give it to CO3 Rose, and he’d give it to the parole people, and they would verify it with the person. Then they’d go to the residence, make sure there’s a room I could sleep in, and that they agree to the conditions of parole.”
“So any person in Arizona could do this?”
“Yes.”
“How much rent could you afford?”
“I’ll pay five or six hundred monthly out of my disability check. I’ll be gettin’ nine-hundred-and-seventeen dollars a month. But I’ll need some for clothes, food, and eventually a car 'cause I wanna be able to return to work. That’s my goal. If I have a phone number to be contacted at, I’ll be able to find a job. If I leave in April, I’ll be homeless. The parole officer will give me a listing of shelters, but it won’t be easy gettin’ my life together from a homeless shelter.”
Is anyone in Arizona willing to house Midnight?”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
14 July 07
Raging Heat
Desert prisons during summertime provide plenty to write home about. Deaths here are up to two now. The murder of the Indian was followed by the death of an old-timer from pneumonia. TooTall had a heart attack. A life-support team took him to hospital. 105 to 112 degree temperatures have caused countless cases of heatstroke, including an old-timer who was extracted from the outdoor cage at the commissary station on a stretcher. A Chicano collapsed and was hospitalised.
The raging heat has served to increase the sadistic gleam in Iron Man’s eyes as he pushes us through outdoor workouts to our maximum endurance levels. He waited for the dog days of July to implement a week of “Torture Olympics”. Various timed strength and fitness events, during which I managed to do two hundred pushups in five minutes. A few of my neighbours said I’m getting "cut," and one said, “You’re not getting big, but you’re looking sexy.” You know you’ve been in prison for too long when you start appreciating men telling you you look sexy.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Raging Heat
Desert prisons during summertime provide plenty to write home about. Deaths here are up to two now. The murder of the Indian was followed by the death of an old-timer from pneumonia. TooTall had a heart attack. A life-support team took him to hospital. 105 to 112 degree temperatures have caused countless cases of heatstroke, including an old-timer who was extracted from the outdoor cage at the commissary station on a stretcher. A Chicano collapsed and was hospitalised.
The raging heat has served to increase the sadistic gleam in Iron Man’s eyes as he pushes us through outdoor workouts to our maximum endurance levels. He waited for the dog days of July to implement a week of “Torture Olympics”. Various timed strength and fitness events, during which I managed to do two hundred pushups in five minutes. A few of my neighbours said I’m getting "cut," and one said, “You’re not getting big, but you’re looking sexy.” You know you’ve been in prison for too long when you start appreciating men telling you you look sexy.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
12 July 07
Frankie
Cuban Boy wrote:
Frankie is making me strange proposals. He wants me to go out and sell my body for him, to be his whore and get some money for him, so when he is released he will be able to be the man, and show off in nice clothes. He wrote if I were in jail with him, he would make sure I share his cell, and I would have to pay respect to him on the first day. Later on, he would make me wear funny panties, and lease me out to other guys in prison, guarded by one of his goons. Strangely enough, my mind is so twisted, I would do it for him.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Frankie
Cuban Boy wrote:
Frankie is making me strange proposals. He wants me to go out and sell my body for him, to be his whore and get some money for him, so when he is released he will be able to be the man, and show off in nice clothes. He wrote if I were in jail with him, he would make sure I share his cell, and I would have to pay respect to him on the first day. Later on, he would make me wear funny panties, and lease me out to other guys in prison, guarded by one of his goons. Strangely enough, my mind is so twisted, I would do it for him.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood