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Top 10 worst things about prison

20.07.10

Glasshouse smells like shit. Smells worse than shit. You be sure the smell you imagine jenkem to smell like? Envision that, only it's being rubbed on the arm pits of a sweaty mexican and then his armpit pubes are being set fire too. It's that bad. No one flushes the fucking john. Ever. You be acquainted with how clean prison looks in all the pictures? It is, because we spend all fucking day cleaning it. And then convicts honest basically shit themselves for a laugh. I switched buses on the way back and sat next to this guy wearing cologne. I'm not gay (well, as not gay as you can be after being favoured) but I got a boner as soon as I smelt it. Fucking amazing. After the first year, I was chagrined to be white. In the world, white people are capable of all kinds of tremendous things, and all kinds of bad things. But inside we're just in all cases cunts. Aryan Brotherhood weren't a big presence in my blot out, but they were bad enough to make you kind of wish your mother had been raped by a nigger. And that's before you come together your boss's. Correctional Services officers come in all flavours, but pale screws were the worst. Black screws, you could tell were just ill-fated niggers trying to get by in a shitty job. Only white guys ever seemed to utilize their shit. Rape, dispite the rumours, is not a big deal guts. It doesn't happen that often. But everytime it happened on my block it was a oyster-white guy. And every time anyone got murdered, it was a white guy. There were 33 murders while I was inside, 12 of them in my bar. All because white cunts couldn't keep their dicks in their pants, or else 'cut someone's eyes' which was slang for pilferage someone's shit. Being black in prison would have been awesome. There is no gym equipment in prison. That whole, 'crowd of guys sitting around pumping iron' image you have? Leave behind it. Gym equipment is a weapon, and weapons are forbidden. Our block had one treadmill that would occassionaly calling. You couple that with high fat food, all day, everyday, you start to go flaccid really quickly. One of the things that occupies a lot convict's days is find someway to try and do some physical activity. After about six months I could feel my muscle throng going, so me and my cellmate would deadlift each other for a few hours. Gayest detail you've ever seen, but it filled in the time. I was fucking terrified of cloistered confinement when I first went inside, which contributed to me behaving myself. Until I realised that lonesome isn't something you can hold off by just not being a dick. It's a reality of life and you will, at somepoint, be put in unfrequented for no fucking reason at all. Usually, because there is a remand inmate that needs to be cycled into gen pop before venture and they need to free up your cell - so you go into solitary because there aren't any other beds. I did two months of that all up. No books, no blankets, no incandescent, 23 hour lockdown. Most they can do is 1 week at a stretch - worst part was eloquent you were going to go back after a week if the block was too over crowded. You spent your whole all at once in gen pop just anxious as fuck because you could get dragged off the chain at any gravity and sent back. After a while, drugs become a viable option inside. There is a lot on advance. If you can get it out in the world, you can get it inside - for a better price strangely enough, all in all the difficulty of getting it in. That is if it is what your man says it is. I decided to get onto horse after a few months, mostly as something to do. I'd tried heroin surface, but hadn't liked it since getting on the nod seemed like a waste of once upon a time. But inside, it's great - a shot in solitary can make a week old-fashioned in no time at all. Problem is the shit it will be cut with. Flour, baking soda, thicken-o crystals - all shit that should not be in a vein. After a while, you just end up doing things that surface, you never would have dreamed of. I was paranoid about getting the AIDS, so I kept this one needle the whole spell I was inside. Went rusty and I ended up spending a month in squeamish bay with tetenus. When I couldn't score for junk, I scored for codeine tablets. Grew my thumb suffer long and wrecked it on the concrete so it was sharp enough to cut open my thigh, and would stay the crushed up tablet inside. I joked to my cell chap on the first day that at least the GFC couldn't fuck us inside. He'd been done for assaulting a cop when his house got charmed by the bank. But within months 'GFC Nigger' became the standard reply to any problem as to how black market prices were suddenly going through the roof. The toll of a deck of smokes tripled. There was an actual economic motive about this. I went away in Michigan, where a lot of people lost their houses, mostly under par people already. When they had to move away from the prison, it meant they couldn't breed their loved ones as much contraband group, which meant the toll of what there was sky rocketed. And the worse things got, the more the people who worked in the stockpile would wonk and take home with them, which meant stocks ran low which fucked us even further. No one ever talks about this because glasshouse makes you a hard ass. Or at least you teach yourself to think it does. The first ones to go are your friends. They determine you they'll write and send you stuff - take every friend you've ever had, now pick one. There will be one that indeed does it. But they'll stop after a few months. Then your sister - they might say they'll wait, but you identify they won't. I called mine on my second week and told her it was over. Apart from the whole shock of going away, I couldn't stand spending every darkness wondering if she was getting cranked by some other dude. Was one less thing to concern about. My kid, who was about to turn 1 when I went away, will never have any idea who the fuck I am. Her mom took her away the faulty I went inside. Never called. Don't even know where to begin looking. My Mom and Dad were the worst. They promised me when I went advantageous that they'd stick by me if I stuck by them, that all they wanted was the occassional phone call to let them understand I was okay, and they'd make sure they visited regularly. I was so fucked up half the occasionally I forgot when visiting day even was. I realised, and tried to tell the boss that I didn't penury to see them, that I was too messed up. So the cunts dragged me by the hair through the block to the visiting live and propped me up on a chair in front of them and laughed. They never came back, and they haven't seen me since I got out. One emotional attachment the boss' do very well is create an atmosphere of constant paranoia. If you get shaken down and you get contrapedophile gathering found on you, they'll stick you in solitary and finger your best friend for locale you up. If you come inside with a pre-existing gang affiliation, like a lot of black guys do, they start by stepping on your friends unaltered away and blaming you for it until you're a pariah. Forget about the yard being full of big groups of guys chilling together. No one hangs with anymore than three people for a period. If you're seen with a big group, you'll be targeted by the screws. Mostly, people do their outdated alone. Pacing the yard, or even just ignoring their cell mates flatly. I saw 12 deaths inside. Three of them were at the hands of screws. One of those was a gunshot to the paramount while a guy was trying to escape. The other two were beatings, and I didn't know they'd died until later. It's not good to call a prison shanking a 'stabbing' because that's not how you die. Inside, we called it 'digging a recess' or 'digging a well' like 'he got a well dug in him' or 'pulled out a hole'. The reason for this is the constitute shift weapons used inside are not easy to put to death with. You basically make a hole as fast as you can, by stabbing as intemperately as you can, and then you try and get a grip inside it and just start pulling. I saw this vindicate up close one time. I had the distinct misfortune of having my room behind a pillar, like a bulkhead kind of thing in the middle of the obstruction. So if you wanted to shank someone, it was a great place to hide. On the furious side, it meant the boss' gave it a lot of extra attention, which was bad for rubbing one out or alluring a hit. Two guys were loitering around the pillar one day, waiting for this fresh kid to wander defunct. Prison gossip said he's been worked over on his first night by someone who wanted him for a bride, but the kid fought back and nearly bit some fucker's nuts off. So his friends tarry with a t-shirt, and a filed down toothbrush. They've cracked down on plastic toothbrushes, but there Euphemistic pre-owned to be enough of them that a lot of guys have them stashed away. You can file down the ends on the real to a point. One guy wraped a t-shirt around the kid's neck and lifted him off the clay from behind, and the other starts stabbing his gut. After a few stabs, he starts trying to get his fingers interior and he just pulls all this meat out. I thought he was going to leverage out his intestines like you'd see in a horror movie, but instead, he honourable pulls out fist after fist of this yellow jelly shit, and then big hunks of edibles like raw mince. Screw's arrived and tasered everyone. Even the kid. He was on his side, promising in front of my cell, and every jolt from the taser made the big hole in his stomach smoke. Two years is a great time. The world literally changes without you. I got off the bus and went to my white-haired bar. It was empty. I went to a cafe my friends used to touch dicks at. None of them were there. I went to my legislative body, pulled the boards off and went inside. Everything was just as I'd left-hand it with two years worth of dust. Most depressing thing you've ever seen. I lay down on my bed and paranoia started location in. I realised I was pretty much squating and was paranoid about being picked up by the cops and breaching my parole, so I went to my parents concern. They let me in, but told me I couldn't stay until they were sure I was off the drugs. I checked into a motel and sat on the touchy of the bed, watching MTV and ordering Pizza. I must have ordered like five pizzas from five special places, stayed up till dawn. Thing about calaboose, is that sleep becomes like a chore you do each day. You're never really tired, so you never genuinely want to sleep, it just breaks up the time. I felt like I didn't after to sleep ever again. Next morning I decided to go for a drive, and thought I'd charter out a car - but my driver's licence had expired. I went to get a new one, but because I'd been inside they needed me to get a missive from my parole officer. So I just wandered around for a day. Felt like everyone was staring at me. Only period I ever started a fight was over Dr Pepper. I don't know why, but Dr Pepper was the only obsession that ever made me feel better about my fucked up situation. Apart from Heroin. You could get Dr Sprinkle in these really small plastic bottles, like on planes, but they were the least fetch effective snack in the store. So i'd pretty much save up for one every now and then, smuggle it back to my chamber on a Friday, chill the fuck out with my tape deck and rot-gut it really slow. One time a guy stood over me for my Dr. Pepper and I entirely snapped and tried to ram the thing up his nostril. Scored a week in single, and just as extra kick in the guts - store baton were forbidden from selling me Dr Pepper. Is it true that there's a hierarchy in slammer systems with armed robbers generally being considered top of the pecking request and rapists and paedophiles at the bottom? I'm assuming not given what you've said so far but this is something I've heard a twosome of times before. Also, what are you planning on doing now you're out? What made you commit armed depredation in the first place? Did you make any friends in prison that you'd stay in come near with outside? I know you said about the suspicion thing (which sounds categorically fucked up and a ridiculous thing for the authorities to want to do by the way) but you also mentioned having a ridicule with your cell mate so I thought maybe you might have.

Source: PocketFives.com (blog)