Joe The S.O.

The Gum Job

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 09 May 2011 16:12:00 +0000

After living in prison for awhile, you become desensitized to the madness that surrounds you. Many things that you readers find shocking no longer bothers me. You just roll with the punches.

About a week ago, I was having a private conversation with a friend that is openly homosexual. I know that I’m breaking a rule here by associating with gays. There is the standard belief in prison that “birds of a feather flock together.” So if I hang out with a few gays, then I MUST be gay as well. Not true.

I don’t hang out with gays because of their sexual preference. I associate with them because most of them in this prison are SO’s like myself. So I guess that I am flocking with my group after all, just not the one some think that I am in.

There are very few gremlins here, so I’m not really worried about being singled out. If people figure that I’m an SO, or if they want to call me a fag, so what? I estimate that 60% of the population here are in one or both of those categories. As long as I stay quiet, I’m just a tree hiding in the middle of the forest.

So anyway, I was having a discussion with a friend. We talk about all sorts of things – what we were doing in the world before prison, strategies on how to survive once we get out, prison politics – all sorts of stuff.

The conversation took an erotic twist, but I really didn’t mind. I’ve been talking with this guy for just about the whole six months I’ve been here, and I know him to be a pretty decent guy. He also knows that I’m straight. VERY straight. I’d even told him about the episode in Texas where a sexual encounter was almost forced on me just to drive the point home. He seemed to understand, so I continued to associate with him.

Well, that understanding just kinda got thrown out of the window.

He told me that he started having sex when he was fourteen, and eventually worked his way to being a prostitute for wealthy men while he was still a minor. Not really for the money, he said, but for the opportunity to see the world, and for the sheer pleasure of it.

Everybody has a story to tell in prison, and his story was more interesting than most. He’d have a best-seller in his hands if he ever decided to put his story on paper. I’ll just leave it at that.

I didn’t know what to tell him when he asked about MY amorous pursuits. Let’s get this straight – Joe is a blank slate when it comes to love and relationships. Well, almost. Think of Steve Urkel from Family Matters or Screech from Saved By the Bell, and you have a comparative picture of me.

I’m a geek to the extreme. On the outside, I stay to myself and I keep my own counsel. Since I’ll have to register as a sex offender for the rest of my natural life once I’m released, I doubt these facts will change.

He didn’t believe me at first when I told him about my relative lack of experience. Stretch out every encounter I’ve had with a woman from end-to-end, and you get a span of about three months. Tops. Looking back, I should have given him a big, fat LIE.

“Are you sure you’re not gay?” he asked.

“Quite sure.”

(WHY is it that when you’re a guy with little experience with women, that you’re automatically put on the other side of the fence? I can’t even dissuade my own mother from believing that I’m a homosexual, despite the fact that she’s seen me with the rare woman! Kudos to the person who can tell me. Anyway . . . )

“You’re not even bi-curious?”

“No, and I plan to stay that way. My goal is to leave prison in the same state that I came in. Straight, sane and disease-free.”

His lips curled in a slight grin. “Well, if you should ever change your mind, I’ll be a good friend and hook you up with a blow job. My teeth even pop out.” He. Showed. Me.

Aw, come ON! Not again. I couldn’t tell if he was taking pity on me, preying on me, or both. I didn’t know what his game was, but I wanted no part of it.

“Look,” I growled, “I’m not interested. You KNOW this. I don’t want anything like that from anybody, ESPECIALLY from another guy!”

“Well, if you ever change your mind – “

“I’m outta here.” I was furious. I turned my back on him and left the indecent proposer in his own company.

To give you readers some additional perspective, this guy is almost TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLDER THAN ME. I don’t want to hate on him or anything, but he’s a geezer with false teeth. His youthful appearance has long departed him. He’s in prison with the exact same charges as me, so that’s why I chose to talk to him. NOT because of sexual interest.

This is the one bad thing that goes with being in an SO prison rather than a typical one. However, the benefit of relative safety still far outweighs the unwanted attention, so I’m forcing myself to deal with it. Even with that said . . .

I just want to be left alone.

Editor Requests Assistance

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Sun, 08 May 2011 16:55:00 +0000

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is my shout-out to all of you readers! I’d like your assistance with an upcoming project. I will NOT be providing monetary compensation for your help, so if you’re looking to generate cash up front, there is no need for you to read further.

Also, you must be sympathetic to the needs and struggles of current inmates, future inmates, and their loved ones. That applies to ALL classes of inmates, including accused sex offenders. If you find this offensive, please do not read any further.

Well, if anyone is still reading this, I am looking for the following:

Logo creation for a website, and full legal rights to the logo and design. In exchange, you will receive a statement (on the website) giving you credit for creating the logo, and a link back to YOUR website.
Home-based business products, training and packages that will meet the needs of individuals who need to replace the income of an incarcerated loved one, or the needs of a person on parole/probation, or the needs of those who must generate income (because of job loss) while awaiting sentencing and/or incarceration . NOTE: NO SCAMMERS NEED APPLY! All proposed home-based business opportunities must be legitimate and profitable. Also, I reserve the right to request a FREE copy of your product for evaluation purposes. Furthermore, should I select your package for review and/or sale on the site, you must agree to the following:
- Your product must sell for LESS THAN $50.00. No fair breaking up an expensive package and selling the modules separately!
- You MUST give away ONE of your packages to a former inmate, or to the family of an inmate. (We can discuss later how to select the recipient.)
Several useful and informative reports to give away (that’s right, for FREE) to the families of inmates, and to individuals who are awaiting sentencing and incarceration. (This would be a nice project for attorneys or sex offender counselors, BTW.) Your name and contact information would be included in the reports. (Don’t bother showing me JUNK reports full of fluff, just as a tool to funnel people to YOUR website! The reports must have value, all on their own, to Joe’s readers.)
REAL housing solutions for released sex offenders. Show me something that will help those individuals who have been forced into homelessness by the registry.
Reviews of products or services that are useful to released inmates and/or to the families of inmates. This is where ALL of you readers can contribute! (I reserve the right to determine if the product or service is of value to this particular group of people.) It doesn’t matter if the product or service is local to you. There will always be someone in YOUR area who will be able to benefit from what you can tell them about a product or service that works for YOU.
Ideas from YOU! Tell me what you would like to see, and what you would like to learn more about. What are YOUR needs as you try to reintegrate back into society? What would help YOU as you try to work and raise a family while a loved one is incarcerated? What are the specific needs of released sex offenders that need to be addressed? I will create a Suggestion Box for you to use to input your ideas and questions. In the meantime, you can contact me directly.

That’s enough for now, I guess! Please contact me directly at Editor@JoeTheSO.com. I look forward to hearing from you!

Bad Technology

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 15:45:00 +0000

Remember the short review I gave of the Sony SRF-M35FP radio a few months ago? Well, guess what? After only a year of use, my cheap piece of crap finally decided to start acting up on me. The radio broke in such a way that only the left speaker on my headphones would emit sound. I tried a different pair of headphones and got the same result. The problem was with the radio, not with my headphones.

So what do you do when your radio breaks while you’re in prison? Even if it were under warranty, the prison will only allow equipment repaired by the manufacturer to be sent HOME instead of being returned to you at the prison. Inmates used to commit acts of fraud by manipulating serial numbers and such to get the manufacturer to repair equipment that was well past the warranty expiration date, so the warden had to put a stop to that. Now no one even bothers to fill out their warranty cards any more.

So if your radio breaks while you’re in prison, “officially” you have to purchase a new one from the commissary. You can only make ONE such purchase PER YEAR, so you had better learn how to take care of your equipment. I really didn’t feel like shelling out another forty bucks for a brand new lemon, so I sought out an inmate solution. I found a fix-it guy.

Since headphones and radios are so expensive in prison, there is a huge hustle in repairing them. If you do quality work, you’ll find no shortage of business. All I had to do was ask around, and friends gave me suggestions of where to take my broken Sony.

If you are in the radio repair business, you’ll have to accumulate a ton of minor contraband to practice your trade. A homemade candle for soldering, duct tape, wire, and a broken pair of nail clippers to use for a screwdriver are just a few of the things you’ll need. As I walked into the fix-it guy’s cell, I caught him smoking a cigarette (also contraband).

I told him what the symptoms were, and I left my radio with him for an hour. When I returned, he had fixed my radio as best he could. He told me that the volume control knob had broken. Since I didn’t have a replacement, he rewired my radio so that the left side channel plays out of both sides.

The fix-it guy said that my radio’s problem is common. He told me that he’s fixed radios that were only five months old that had developed the same problem. So now I have confirmation that these radios are JUNK.

His fee was a mere 10 stamps ($2.50), but since I didn’t have the cash on me at the time, he accepted a bag of generic nacho cheese Doritos as payment. I gratefully gave him his chips, and now I’m the proud owner of a MONO-STEREO Sony Walkman. I don’t really notice the difference unless I’m listening to a song that likes to bounce notes around from one side to the other. All of the right-side stuff is just . . . missing. Oh, well.

. . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . . . . .

I miss my iPod.

Hold the Mayo

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 18:19:00 +0000

Welcome to the Jungle
We got fun and games
We’re stuffin’ ourselves up your crack
And we don’t even know your name

And if you think that was twisted, then you certainly DON’T want to hear the prison rendition of “Sweet Child of Mine.”

WELCOME, gremlins and devotees, to the latest grotesquely sticky edition of Joe the S.O., where I never spare you the details (unless they get cut out by my editor).

Well, I keep my eyes peeled and my ears open, and now I have a new tale to tell. I met a pair of newcomers the other day, and they spent a good half hour telling me about the warm welcome they’ve been getting from the gay population.

Both of these guys are s.o.’s, and one of them happens to look very young despite being 35 years old. They met in county jail and were transported here together. Since both guys have never done time before, they both hang out together while they figure out how to survive the gauntlet at federal prison. Their first test: Figuring out how to stop half the compound from trying to mate with them.

There are a TON of inmates here who will prey on new arrivals fresh off the bus, and if you look young, that’s just icing on the cake. Letting these two guys out on the yard was like trapping a pair of mice in a rattlesnake cage.

Gays came from all over trying to couple with them, and they’ve had their hands full refusing all the offers. Eventually, people started to think that they were a pair because they were always together and they weren’t warming to anyone’s advances. (Neither guy is homosexual, by the way.)

Finally, one inmate came up with a NEW tactic: Money. He offered the older guy TWENTY books of stamps ($100.00) for access to the younger guy. (This shows how badly people crave sex in here.) When the offer was refused, the horny inmate came up with a new one. He said that he’d be willing to pay $50.00 for a pill bottle full of the younger guy’s . . . seed. And NO, we’re not talking about sunflower or pumpkin seeds.

When they told me about the offer to pay FIFTY BUCKS for a man’s sexual emissions, I was caught between laughing and wanting to puke my guts out. Fifty bucks? Really?! Personally, I’d rather have 50 onions or 10 cases of soda rather than an ounce of . . . MAN-aise. YUCK.

So, as you might guess, this is a BIG culture shock for the newly-hatched jailbirds. Things are starting to calm down though, as people are finally starting to get it through their thick skulls that these two guys are NOT interested in prison sex. Good for them. As long as they keep their wits about them, I’m sure they’ll be able to survive here.

Religious Advantages

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 19:04:00 +0000

I’m thinking of converting to Judaism. Seriously. Well, sort of. The thought occurred to me last Friday in the cafeteria.

The meal that night was a hideous one. A bologna sandwich and chips does not make a proper dinner, especially when you’re getting the awful turkey bologna that the prison is so fond of serving. It’s so disgusting that I just give the meat away and eat a soy milk cheese sandwich with a bit of lettuce and tomato. I don’t care for the off-brand mayo they serve either, so I was going to have to swallow it dry. Yum.

I was wondering for the thousandth time why I didn’t just skip the cafeteria and fix up a ramen soup in my cell while I looked for a place to park my tray and eat. Even though the meal that night was crap, there was still no shortage of inmate partakers. I guess when all you make is six bucks a month, you can’t afford to turn your nose up at bad lunchmeat.

I finally found an empty seat on the side of the cafeteria where I normally take my meals. In prison, people don’t just sit anywhere in the cafeteria. The chow hall is a place of extreme racial division. Blacks sit with blacks, Mexicans sit with Mexicans, and so on. Although I’m in a place where the inmates don’t strictly enforce that rule, occasionally people will get complaints if they’re in “the wrong part of town.” I prefer to just avoid all that by following the established mores.

I parked myself at a table where three people were busy chowing away. I knew one of them from the rec yard, so I greeted him.

“Oh, hey Joe, what’s up?” he asked me.

“Nothing much. Just suffering in prison and eating dog food.”

He chuckled. “I hear ya, man. Hey! What happened to your bologna?”

“I never eat the bologna,” I said as I arranged the lettuce on my sandwich. “I always give it away.”

“You’re gonna eat it like THAT?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, if you’re going to eat a no-meat sandwich, at least put some of THIS on it.” He produced a plastic jar from his coat pocket. “Do you like horseradish?”

“Where did you get THAT? The commissary doesn’t sell horseradish!”

“Jewish SPO just came in,” he explained. “There’s a big list of stuff they can buy once a year for Passover.”

I like horseradish a LOT, but I didn’t want to use his once he said that he could only buy it yearly. He encouraged me to take his bottle anyway.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

I squeezed the bottle and dropped a miserly little smear of white on my bread. I doubted it was even enough to taste it, but I didn’t want to be rude and use half the bottle.

“Dude, you can put on more than that!” My friend snatched the bottle out of my hand and squeezed a liberal amount onto my bun.

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome, Joe.”

The horseradish made ALL the difference. It magically turned a bad meal into a good one. The heat and flavor covered up the taste of the nasty cheese, as well as reminded me of the free world. I thought I had died and gone to Arby’s. Horsey sauce for the win!

I started searching the black market for a bottle of horseradish since that day, but I can’t find any. Since horseradish is a once-a-year flavor on the compound, it’s highly sought after. Most inmates are unwilling to part with any of their supply, and the few that WILL are beginning to charge ten bucks for a two-dollar bottle. Forget that.

The only way that an inmate can place his yearly order of horseradish with the police is to register as a Jew with the compound chaplain. I hate to be dishonest, but it seems that certain faiths get extra goodies in prison. Anyone remember the double-meal Ramadan “fast” in Atlanta? I’ve heard of other people registering in the chapel just to get this stuff, and I may follow suit. I’ll even attend services and pay a tithe if I have to, but gimme my horsey sauce! ^_^

The Chomo Gremlin

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 03:18:00 +0000

See the above title? In a sane world, such a thing would be an oxymoron. But guess what? I’m in PRISON. There is no sanity in prison.

In my unit, living a few doors down from me, is a well-known sex offender. He’s not shy about it, either; he’ll tell you all about his crime if you ask. This guy’s in federal prison for dragging his own wife across state lines and forcing her to work as a prostitute. Physically, he’s HUGE and menacing, and he gets along well with the thugs and the other riff-raff I never care to associate with.

How does this well-known sex offender get along with the general population so well? He harasses other s.o.’s to keep the heat off himself.

This is a new level of disgusting. He’s a sex offender who will demand to see paperwork from new arrivals who he thinks are s.o.’s, and he has been known to check people into the hole from time to time. (I don’t see why he does this when the vast majority of us are s.o.’s anyway.) If you come on the compound, don’t give him anything but a well-placed “F*** YOU!”

This guy won’t hesitate to circulate your paperwork among his peers and harass you as though HE’S not an s.o. himself. His mentality: HIS crime isn’t against a minor, so it’s acceptable. AND THE THUGS BUY THIS!

He’ll sit around with some of his slimeball friends and snigger about some other guy’s misfortune while HE gets a free ride under the radar. I have a hard time believing it myself, but it’s true. I’m just lucky that he seems to like me for some reason, so he doesn’t bother me at all.

So in conclusion, if you’re reading my blog knowing that you’re headed to prison, DON’T be like this guy. It may work for a time, but I know if this guy were in any other prison, things would eventually backfire on him. And if that happened, the only people that would take him in would look the other way while the gremlins got him. Side with the enemy at your own peril.

Setting the Record Straight

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 01:30:00 +0000

My editor sent me some comments from another website in reference to my blog. One commenter stated that since I don’t talk about s.o.’s getting beat up in prison, then it all must be a myth. Of course the feds would keep people like ME away from those that would do me harm, right?

WRONG.

Although I’m relatively safe now in a prison crammed full of sex offenders, I couldn’t say the same thing while I was in Texas. There, s.o.’s were constantly harassed and persecuted. If you were to walk the compound at any given time, you were almost sure to overhear inmates saying chomo this and chomo that, as if they had nothing else to talk about. Which they probably didn’t.

So was there violence? Yes, it happened. In Texas, inmates took to assaulting s.o.’s in the shower.

The shower stalls in Texas were rooms about the size of a small walk-in closet, complete with view-obscuring shower curtains. (There are no shower curtains here; all we have are doors just long enough to hide your nether regions.) In other words, the showers in Texas were the perfect place to get ambushed.

The attackers would wait until you disrobed and got comfortable. Then they would charge in and beat you until you were bloody and unconscious. The cops found one guy beaten half to death in the showers after they conducted the 4:00 pm daily count and came up with one man missing. The inmate was rushed to the hospital, and he was placed in protective custody when he was hale enough to return. (I met him during my stay in the hole.)

Remember Shaggy, the guy that tried to explain his situation to the gremlins and got no mercy? He was assaulted after his cover story was blown. Shaggy was doing some legal work in the library one day, and he made copies of some paperwork which stated his specific offense. When he returned to the cell with the photocopies, he made the mistake of placing them on top of his locker. Shaggy had to leave his cell for some reason, and when he returned, his papers were GONE.

Oh, don’t worry, he eventually got them back. Two days later, Shaggy found the papers attached to a public bulletin board, displayed for all the world to see. And they had. Shaggy was ruined.

Once while doing laundry, a gremlin snatched one of Shaggy’s shirts out of the dryer while Shaggy wasn’t looking. The gremlin scrawled “I am a chomo” on it in permanent black marker. When he later discovered the ruined shirt, Shaggy got ballsy and found a permanent black marker of his own. He corrupted the derogatory phrase into “I am a champ.” And he actually wore the shirt! As you can imagine, the gremlins weren’t pleased.

One of the gremlins sucker-punched Shaggy in the hallway a few days later, to which Shaggy just replied, “So, how are you today?” The gremlin followed with a roundhouse kick to the ribs. (Shaggy may be a fool, but he’s a brave one.) Shaggy stood his ground, but did not return the gremlin’s attacks. Eventually, the gremlin got confused as to why Shaggy wasn’t fighting, so the gremlin left. Due to the code of silence in prison, no one snitched about the assault, so nothing was ever done about it.

Sometime later, Shaggy was checked into protective custody. I can’t remember exactly, but I think the cops overheard the gremlins talking about Shaggy being next in line for the “shower patrol.” I’m not 100% sure about that, but I do remember him telling me that the cops checked him into the hole, instead of him checking himself in.

The only reason that I didn’t get a beating in Texas is due to a few good people who tipped me off and told me that I was in danger. I checked (and re-checked) myself into the hole and avoided an unsavory fate.

I’ll give you one last story. I’ve recently met an s.o. who was originally designated to Leavenworth. He knew it was a rough place before he got there, and he knew that he wouldn’t be allowed to walk the compound. Once he arrived, however, the cops ignored his pleas for protection and told him that he’d be perfectly safe.

It was a setup. The guy had been on the compound for less than a day when he was assaulted by five inmates in his cell. He awoke to find himself in the hospital. Thankfully, he’s here with me now, so he’s safe. Mostly.

Yes, s.o.’s DO get the crap beaten out of them in prison. So gremlins, rejoice.

I see some hypocrisy in this, as some of the gangsters are s.o.’s themselves, but they won’t acknowledge it. Some of these moral crusading dope dealers are proud of telling stories of exchanging drugs for sexual favors from a minor, but they will admit no wrongdoing. They were “just playin’ da game,” or so they say. I’m not saying they’re all like that, but there’s enough of them to make it worthy of discussion. What’s worse is that this is widely accepted in prison culture, yet people like ME can’t catch a break. That has all changed now since I’m in a prison whose population is at least half s.o.’s, but I still get the shivers whenever I think back to my incarceration in Texas.

Wanna see some more hypocrisy? Tune in next time. We’re just getting started.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: You can read the first post about Shaggy HERE: http://joetheso.blogspot.com/2010/06/shaggy.html ]

Adventures in Transit

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 22:58:00 +0000

I’m still dreading that I’ll be leaving prison in a month or so to return home and face state charges. It’s not the court appearance that really bothers me (although it does a little), it’s the fact that I KNOW I’m going to face another horde of gremlins in county jail, and they’re the worst by far.

I know that it’s great for the blog and all, but I really wasn’t looking forward to another adventure. My goal was to sit here and wait out my remaining four years in relative peace, but nooooo. NOW I HAVE TO TAKE THE RING BACK TO MORDOR.

Gandalf: Joedo, I’m afraid that I have to burden you with returning the One Subpoena back to the place of its creation. The journey will be long, and you may not return alive. Are you up to the task, lad?

Me: I’ll tell you what. See that cardboard box in the corner? I’m going to toss that blighted Subpoena inside, write “Do Not Open – Throw Directly Into Volcano” on the outside, and have Sam run it to the FedEx up the street. It’ll be in Mordor before Second Breakfast tomorrow.

Gandalf: Joedo, you fool! Life is not eBay. Besides, your plan has one great flaw: Gremlins cannot read . . .

Me: (Sigh) Fine, so be it then. Hand me another loaf of that crappy Elf bread. I’ll set out at first light.

Seriously, travelling through the prison system can be a perilous ordeal. Multiply the danger by 100 if you’re going as an s.o.

Will I be fed enough today? Will I have to sleep next to someone who wants to stab me? Will the police even care if something happens? These are just some of the questions you’ll be asking yourself every day while you’re in transit. Prison isn’t a great place to be either, but at least there you have a few more options.

Of all the places to be incarcerated, county jail is the absolute WORST. Criminally high prices for commissary, meals so bad that the rats won’t eat them, and gremlins sadistic enough to scare the demons in the nine hells are all good reasons to stay away. What makes this worse is that I THOUGHT that I was done with this experience.

I almost had the memory of county jail suppressed – until now. In a month’s time, you’ll see me back in Mordor again with no magic sword, no mithril armor, and no Fellowship to back me up. I got through by the skin of my teeth the first time, and I don’t know if I’ll be lucky twice. I’ll have to use what little experience I have to my advantage and play the game of survival once more.

As always, my misfortune is your entertainment. Enjoy.

A Rant on Slavery

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 17:56:00 +0000

Since my judge seems to loathe modern technology, I’ll have to extradited back home for trial rather than doing a video conference to enter my plea.(In case any of you have forgotten, my home state placed a detainer on me several months ago. So now I have STATE charges in addition to my federal ones.)

So what ever happened to that “no double jeopardy” clause in the Constitution? It seems that lawmakers have the ability to twist the rules whenever it suits them, so now I’m going to get the snot kicked out of me. AGAIN.

Well, maybe not so much this time. My attorney has a deal on the table that will give me only two years of probation on the condition that I complete my federal sentence. Sounds good to me. (It’s not like I was planning escape anytime soon.) And since the two years of state probation will be up long before I’m done serving my federal sentence, I’ll never feel a thing.

So why bother in the first place? Can’t the state just drop the bloody charges if all they’re going to give me is probation time that I’ll never see? Nope. WHY? It’s all about the Benjamins, baby.

Beans, bread, cabbage. I’m NOT talking about food here; I’m referring to the Almighty Dollar.

If there’s money to be made, then the state is going to make it. If you still haven’t realized that our modern prison system is nothing but a huge money-making machine which runs off of citizens being conscripted into slavery, WAKE UP. And no, I’m not kidding about the slavery part.

Most Americans get a warm and fuzzy feeling whenever they think about the Constitution, and rightfully so. Freedom of speech, the right to bear arms, etc., are all good things. However, there are some things in the Constitution that I don’t agree with. Check out the Thirteenth Amendment which says that:

“Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.”

So yes, your pal Joe is a modern day slave.

I don’t think that the average person realizes this, or even cares. We’re only criminals, right? So what if felons are slaves?

It’s wrong for several reasons. First of all, the United States has more prisoners per capita than any other country, and this is NOT by mistake. Charge the taxpayers $36,000 a year to house one felon, but then in reality spend only about $10,000 a year for the same felon, and you’ve got massive profit. The federal and state governments are making huge amounts of money under the guise of justice. The byproduct of this is all the needless suffering they are causing people and their families.

Secondly, imprisonment doesn’t work as a punishment. Look at the war on drugs. It’s FAILED. There are more drugs floating around today than ever. Any time you outlaw something that’s in demand, you create a black market. The ban on drugs has made it worth the risk for people to sell them. A person with with little or no education, no references, and no job history can make several thousand dollars a week selling cocaine. It’s so attractive that many people are willing to take the risk of going to prison when they become drug dealers. There are people in here right now who are planning to go back to selling drugs as soon as they get out. I know too many people who just aren’t willing to sling burgers for $7.50 an hour after they’ve spent the last ten years making five grand a week.

Also, it’s my personal opinion that you should be able to do anything you want so long as it doesn’t harm another person. So if your drug of choice is crack, meth, or chocolate-covered Krispy Kremes, go right ahead and indulge yourself. You should have the right to your own body. Just don’t smoke the crack right before you drive me to the airport, okay? Now that could cause some harm. ;)

Finally, we shouldn’t enslave our own people – it sets a bad example for everyone else. There are a lot of countries that pay attention to our politics and elections, and ultimately follow our lead. Now, I do believe that a small, small percentage of people who can’t control themselves in society and constantly hurt others should be held in some way. But let’s get rid of the mass enslavement. It’s barbarism in the 21st century.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: I want to go on record with being in disagreement with Joe’s “personal opinion” that recreational drugs should be legal. However, I do support his right to express his opinion.]

Riding Shotgun

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 02:39:00 +0000

Thanks to my editor, I’m quickly gaining a reputation as an inmate that can get cool stuff mailed in. You’d think that inmates would get tons of games and other vices sent to them by family and friends, but this is really not the case. As I’ve said before, a lot of inmates get abandoned by their families while they’re incarcerated. It’s sad, but that’s what happens. Personally, I don’t think I’d be able to handle the suckitude of prison without the occasional helping hand from the outside.

Well, in addition to making a board game, I’ve been having other gaming materials sent in. And since gaming geeks always want more of their fix, this has turned into a little hustle for me.

A guy I gave some gaming stuff to broke it up into smaller groups to spread the cost amongst the gamers. He asked me for permission beforehand. Since I know gamers to be a generally reliable group of people, I gave him my consent.

The cost of the set of gaming stuff was split four ways. By the end of the week, three people had paid for their portions without incident. Of course, the last guy was a problem.

To be honest, I never really liked the guy. He is really, REALLY immature. You’d think that a stint in prison would force anyone to grow up pretty fast, but not THIS guy. Imagine a skinny, 20-year-old twerp with Harry Potter glasses, who’s incredibly self-centered, and who will lie constantly to get whatever he wants.

He had started to lie to people denying the fact that he’s gay, even though it was old news and everybody on the compound knew it. This earned him the nickname Snowflake, and he can’t stand it, which is why we ALWAYS use that in place of his real name. Don’t feel sorry for him; if you knew him, he’d get on your nerves as well. Then he’d laugh when you told him to act his age. How he’s survived prison thus far is a complete mystery to me.

So, because of “unforeseen circumstances,” he said that he wouldn’t be able to pay me. Now even though I wasn’t upset about it, the inmate I originally struck the deal with was furious. He had vouched for ALL these people, including Snowflake, that they would pay on time. The fact that Snowflake had reneged at the last minute was a black mark on HIS reputation, and he wasn’t about to tolerate it. This guy was ready to force Snowflake to check into the hole.

“The gamers are a CAR, not a gang,” he said. “I asked Snowflake three times if he’d be able to cover the debt, and he said that it would be no problem. I’m sick of putting up with his lies. He’s got until the end of the day to pay off the debt, or else. And I’m removing him from the group. If he chooses to disrespect me, then he has no place among us.”

When I asked him how he’d be able to remove Snowflake from the group, he told me that he was the shot-caller for the gamers. (We have a shot-caller?) The others would have no choice but to fall in line. And to believe all this was over a debt of $7.50.

I told him that Snowflake could pay me whenever, but he found this unacceptable. Apparently, he’d had some issues with Snowflake before, and this was the last straw. He was more upset about the disrespect than the money.

Inmates put a high value on respect in prison, and failure to pay this bill will do more than just send a debt collector to your door. People have wound up in the hole for a minor slight, others in the grave. Make sure to keep your ledger of respect balanced in the black if you should ever find yourself in prison.

Finally, the word got out to Snowflake’s boyfriend that the shot-caller was on the warpath. The boyfriend quickly defused the situation by fronting the money for him. Snowflake ended up getting exiled from the gaming community for a couple of weeks, but now he’s back in. I’m just happy that the situation is OVER.

Games Inmates Play

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 23:40:00 +0000

Hey, I’m back! I really needed a break, but now I’m rested and ready to go. If YOU tried blogging from prison for a year straight, you’d feel the same way that I did.

I’ll start by catching you up on what’s been happening lately. I’ve been spending more time with the nerdy gaming community as of late, and if they only liked me before, they now revere me as a minor deity.

Why? Because I had my editor mail in a few large envelopes with the rules and descriptions of a European board game called Carcassonne. Using the inmate black market, a pair of moustache scissors from the commissary, and the spirit of MacGuyver, I turned what I had into a close resemblance of the original.

So what’s the big deal about making a board game? Well, it’s not every day that someone can say that they have something NEW to do in prison. For a lot of the gaming geeks, this was a badly needed shot of Novocain to help numb the eternally mind-wrenching cavity of boredom that is federal prison. Needless to say, assembling that game earned me quite a few thanks.

I’m fortunate to have someone on the outside that is willing to do stuff like send me materials for gaming. More often than not, inmates are on their own. It’s as if family and friends forget about you while you’re locked up. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.

One of my friends enjoyed the game so much that I had to let him borrow it. For the next few days, every time I saw him in the rec yard, he was talking about the game, playing it, or showing someone how to play.

One of the bad things about my version of Carcassonne was that if you handled the pieces too much, the paper cutouts would start to separate from the cardboard backing I used to give the pieces some substance. (I thought that using just a glue stick would be sufficient for this project, but I was wrong.)

Anyway, my friend FIXED the problem by wrapping clear duct tape around all 72 tiles to hold the pieces together. He did an incredible job! There are no wrinkles in the taped pieces, and the tiles shine as the tape reflects light. He even went so far as to use colored pencils to draw the “C” logo on the underside of the starting tile. (Google or Wiki this if you don’t know what I’m talking about.)

He also swapped out the pieces I used as followers. Mine were plastic cuffs taken from retail clothes hangers; I guess that wasn’t good enough for him. The next time I saw my game, he had replaced my plastic cuffs with soldiers from an old Risk game that no longer exists. (I’m happy to say that my followers no longer have M or XXL on the side.)

My friend ended up adding a lot of polish to a game that I just designed to be functional. I guess that’s a good thing, since I have the feeling that it’ll be around long after I’m gone.

BONUS: Listening to the good advice of my readers, I’ve gotten rid of the guy that’s been chasing me around wanting a relationship. Although I told him up front that I wasn’t gay, he was still going out of his way to visit me, wanting to cook for me, passing messages to me through other people, etc. When I told him he was freaking me out, he stopped approaching me. I hated to do so because he is a decent fellow (despite his amorous interests), but I think this was the best move. For both of us. So readers, I say thank you.

A Cup of Joe

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 21:35:00 +0000

EDITOR’S NOTE: Some of you may have noticed that there is now a “Forum” tab at the top of this blog. Since Joe began his “Staycation,” there has been more activity on the “Ask Joe” page. I began to wonder if it would be helpful if you readers could talk to EACH OTHER.

The new forum, “A Cup of Joe,” is now open! Check it out, get comfortable, and talk to each other. And let me know how I can improve the forum.

See you there!

Staycation

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 13:16:00 +0000

EDITOR’S NOTE: Joe has asked me to tell you that he’s taking a short break. Not much is happening right now and he doesn’t want to bore you, so he is taking some time off from writing to recharge his batteries. (Frankly, I suspect that his wayward muse has flown the coop, and Joe is once again trying to track her down!) In the meantime, Joe would like for you to post any questions you have to the “Ask Joe” page, and he’ll respond as soon as possible.

Let’s hope that Joe returns in a couple of weeks refreshed and energized. Who knows, maybe we could even see a return of Indiana Joe! One can only dream . . .

Prison Literature

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 21:36:00 +0000

You can often spot a gremlin by the books he reads (if he’s literate). Forget Tom Clancy or Dean Koontz – those guys are far too sophisticated for the average gremlin. Instead, they prefer to read tiny little novellas in a genre known as “hood books.”

Whoever came out with the first of these is clearly EVIL because hood books are designed to attract the lowest common denominator (gremlins), and to keep them firmly anchored to a criminal lifestyle. Who could forget timeless classics such as Stackin’ Paper and Court in the Streets? :P All that these books have to offer are epic amounts of drugs, crime and violence. I think it’s sad that a lot of drug dealers can’t even IMAGINE a life different from the one that they were leading.

Thankfully, there are not many of these books at my current prison, due to the fact that there are wonderfully few gremlins here. I still see the hood books on occasion, though, and I shake my head in disapproval every time.

I’m happy to see that sci-fi and fantasy books are the overwhelming favorites in a prison mostly occupied by s.o.’s. It gives me more to choose from. ^_^ Also, if you ask the right people about a particular sci-fi or fantasy series, you’re bound to find it (privately owned) on the compound.

The library often has gaps in the most popular series of books due to the fact that when people get sent to the hole, all of their library books go with them. Usually these books end up getting shipped out with them, or they get added to the book cart that cycles through the hole every week. Inmate librarians aren’t allowed to retrieve library-owned books from the hole, and since the cops never care, the hole becomes a black hole for books. So if you want to read ALL of a series, you either need money to get the books for yourself, or you have to have connections.

Recently, I became a HERO when I had a friend send me books twelve and thirteen of The Wheel of Time. It’s a pretty popular series, and the library didn’t have the two most recent titles. One guy almost started drooling when he saw Towers of Shadow in hardcover. There’s not a lot to do in prison, so reading is serious business here.

I highly suspect that when I’m released, I’ll be very, very well read. Books are fun, and it’s a shame that it took a trip to prison to reawaken my love for reading.

Unrequited Love

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 16:49:00 +0000

An inmate has taken a liking to me recently, and at this point, I can’t say that I’m really surprised. It was inevitable. The only question was the timing.

It all started innocently enough. One day while I was working in the cafeteria during lunch service, some random old guy that I’d never talked to before popped up out of nowhere and asked me if I needed him to mule anything back to my cell. (A common method of theft in the kitchen is for a worker to hand off his loot to a partner who comes in during mealtime. This is done to avoid having said loot confiscated during the end-of-shift pat-downs that food service workers must submit to before they are allowed to leave for the day.) Although anyone leaving the cafeteria during a meal still has to get through a security checkpoint at the door, this is much easier to deal with than trying to get FIFTY cooked chicken thighs out by yourself at the end of the day.

Anyway, this guy was asking to be my smuggler. I suppose the expression on my face looked somewhat like a deer caught in headlights. Who IS this guy?

While I was thinking of a kind way to refuse his offer, he explained that he was my homeboy since we’re from the same region. (His idea of region must mean CONTINENT since he lives nowhere close to me.) “This is prison, and homeboys should stick together,” he said.

Well, that’s sorta true, but I judge people on an individual basis, not by which area of the United States they’re from. I’m determined not to adopt inmate logic and values while I’m here. That’s a taint that can stick with you for the rest of your life if you’re not careful, and I’m NOT taking prison home with me.

At the time when he asked, I didn’t really have much. Maybe two loaves of bread and some bleach. I knew the cops working that day would only take your goods if you had an excessive amount on you, and in here, two loaves of bread is nothing. I was able to honestly tell the guy that I didn’t need his assistance.

Before he turned to leave, he informed me that the cops were the enemy, and if I ever needed any help, that I could ask him. I put on a fake smile and said okay, thinking that I’d never speak with him again. Boy was I wrong.

(Despite all of the homosexual things I’ve seen in prison, the old man didn’t trip any of my alarms. He just looked like your average, old school drug dealer.)

After that day, the guy began to visit me whenever I had to work. That’s when I started to become suspicious. We have nothing in common, save for the fact that we’re both federal inmates. (I’m big into reading and gaming, and he does neither.) So since he was still looking for an “in” to get to know me, he used his trump card: money.

When he started offering to cook for me, my gay-dar instantly went from yellow to red. I pulled him aside and told him, “Despite what you may think, I’m not gay.”

He wasn’t taken aback, not even a bit. “I just want to be a friend to you,” he said. Yeah, right. His attitude became annoyingly patient, making me figure that he would try to turn me to the dark side.

So why didn’t I just tell him off? I don’t know; I’m probably just too nice. In addition, I also have a few homosexual friends (you can’t help having a few here), and we get along just fine. As long as someone’s NOT trying to declare by fiat that I’m gay and willing to service him, I can get along with just about anybody.

I probably made a mistake by letting the guy help me in getting a new job (I’m sick of the kitchen), and by eating the nachos he offered. Is he going to demand my rear as payment for his services? I highly doubt that, but I sort of feel that I’m taking advantage of him, even though I made it clear up front that I wasn’t interested in a relationship. He even offered to enroll the two of us in a leatherworking class, and pay for my material. (He told me that money was no object since he was able to bank a tidy sum before the feds caught up with him.)

He seems like a decent guy (unlike Fudd), so I really don’t want to hurt his feelings. I may HAVE to if this keeps up, though. He’s an okay dude, but his intentions are a little creepy.

More Gang Crap

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 02:16:00 +0000

On the heels of an inmate murder, a prisoner claiming to be a gang member has threatened violence against another inmate if he doesn’t find a new room to live in. What makes this sick is the fact that the thug doesn’t even live in the same room as the inmate he’s trying to move!

Is this related to the murder? I highly doubt it. So why is a thug declaring himself a prison cell real estate agent by fiat, and is moving an inmate against his will? The answer to that is simple, but the explanation is lengthy:

Gangs hate homosexuals. There’s your answer. I’ll fill in the blanks . . .

In my housing unit, there are cells which accommodate four people. The cell in question happens to be one of these, and until recently, only two of the bunks had occupants. I know both of these guys, and one of them is really, really openly gay. Being homosexual at this prison normally isn’t a problem, but it is if your cellies are gay-bashing gangsters.

The trouble occurred when the two occupants failed to fill their empty bunks with people they knew they could get along with. Instead, they waited for the cops to randomly assign inmates to those bunks, and of course they got screwed.

There are three scenarios in which the police will randomly assign an inmate to a cell:

First arrival here from another prison or holding facility.
Transferring from a normal housing unit to the DAP unit when an inmate gets accepted to the drug program.
Coming back to the compound after serving time in the hole.

The empty bunks in that four-man cell were filled with two people from the last scenario, and that’s what did them in. The two thugs that got dumped in that room had already been on the compound before, so they were well-established with the rest of the population.

Normally, the inmate with the most seniority in a cell is the shot-caller, but the first thing the thugs did was to usurp the gay man’s authority and set themselves up as the leaders of the cell. Now the poor guy finds himself getting kicked out of his own room. Things in prison can flip in an eye-blink, and often do.

So the thugs told the guy that he was being evicted from his own cell. Right now our unit is nearly full, so there are not a lot of options for moving. When the evictee told the usurpers this, they simply replied with, “Where would you like to live?” He told them of another cell he wouldn’t mind staying in, but it was full. “No problem,” the thugs said, “we’ll take care of it.”

The thugs made note of the current residents of the targeted cell. Even though this prison is mostly made up of s.o.’s, there is a pecking order for us as we discriminate against our own kind. The more heinous your crime, the lower your rank. People who can’t seem to control themselves and do things like clip children out of magazine ads are also considered to be untouchables.

Well, there is a rumor going around that one of the guys in that cell was in prison for doing something to an infant, so of course he became their mark. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Find somewhere else to live.” Don’cha just love how gangs use threats and violence to solve all their problems?

So now this guy is in a tight spot. Move, or else. Will the gang actually do something if he refuses to move? Maybe, maybe not. Gangs don’t really have much clout here, but wait, a guy just got murdered. This is still prison, and anything can happen.

By my estimate, this inmate has only three options. He can:

do nothing and stay in his cell, hoping that nothing bad happens,
bend to their will, or
snitch to the police.

There is only one safe answer here, and unfortunately that is to move like he’s being told.

Doing nothing is a coin toss. It all depends on if the gang is willing to back up their threat. Since gang activity is so quiet and underground here, it’s hard to say who is capable of what.

If he decides to snitch, he could be taking his life into his own hands. NOBODY in prison likes a snitch. Snitches ruin inmate fun. They point cops to all the hooch, drugs and intel they can sniff out, hoping to get a pat on the head and maybe a couple of stamps. If you are found out as a snitch in prison, you make yourself an instant enemy of the rest of the population. If the inmate snitches on the thug who threatened him, he’d have to worry about reprisal from the other members of the gang, even if the cops moved the thug to another prison.

I doubt this would happen, though. I’m willing to bet that if he snitched right now, the cops would move HIM to another prison for his own safety. Since prison life for an s.o. doesn’t get much better than this, being moved to another facility is a situation that he doesn’t want to find himself in.

I hate to say it, but the inmate is in a lose/lose situation. Even if he complies with the thug’s orders, this could make the inmate look weak enough for others to start tormenting him. I’m not sure what he’s going to do. I just hope things turn out for the best, whatever he decides.

Locked Down – AGAIN

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 01:29:00 +0000

Recently, thanks to some idiot who decided to beat another inmate nearly to death, the cops locked down the entire prison for 72 hours. None of us saw this coming. We were all locked into our cells at 9:30 one night, and then the next morning, nothing. They just never reopened the doors.

So why did this happen? Who knows. Maybe it was over drugs or a gambling debt. All I know for certain is that the cops found an inmate bloody and unconscious in front of the cafeteria around 8:20 one night. His injuries were to the point that he had to be rushed to a hospital on the outside.

Even though there are security cameras on the compound, the police don’t know who or how many people are responsible for the attack. Since they have no video footage, the cops are now forced to rely on a witness to come forward with information.

If there are any witnesses, they haven’t spilled the beans, so the warden is punishing the whole inmate population for being uncooperative. No TV, no shower, and our three squares a day are nothing but bologna sandwiches and water. If this isn’t suffering, I don’t know what is.

Even though this is primarily an s.o. prison, there are still some thugs roaming the compound. It’s important to keep your eyes open, even in an “easy” place like this. Prison has the tendency to be rainbows and sunshine one day, blood and gore the next. Don’t EVER forget where you are.

As I’m writing this, I’m making a mental note of keeping some peanut butter and crackers around in case this should happen again. I was fortunate that I had a few ramen soups and some of my Christmas bag candy in my locker when this started. I know of a lot of people less fortunate than I am, so I can imagine them laying in their bunks and starving right now. In a lot of ways, this feels like being back at the ADC.

I’ve only been on this compound for four months, and this happens. Hopefully, this is not the start of a trend. This whole situation stinks of gang violence, and I can imagine a retaliatory strike in the near future should my notion be correct. Maybe I should add a second jar of peanut butter to my mental list. If this happens again, we may be locked down for three WEEKS instead of three days. A couple of days of the bologna diet is barely tolerable at best, but after two weeks, I’ll find myself envying whoever got shanked. I’d volunteer to beta test the feds’ new electric chair before they subject me to that cruel fate of BOP turkey bologna. Yuck.

UPDATE: The inmate who was attacked died in the hospital. Rumors are the method of injury was via the classic “padlock in a sock” technique. At any rate, I feel sorry for the inmate who was attacked. I’m not going to go out on a limb and say that he was probably a good guy and didn’t deserve it, but coming to prison just to die at the hands of another inmate is beyond atrocious. This is one of the few times I’ll say that I hope the police catch whoever is responsible and punish them to the fullest extent of the law.

Web Gremlins

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 21:25:00 +0000

I have a message for those individuals who have been posting negative comments about me and my blog on various forums and websites over the last few weeks:

Thank you.

Negative publicity is still publicity, and all this has done is attract more visitors to my blog. If your goal was to blast me off the Internet, then you have failed miserably.

Although I have made some enemies by bringing this blog into existence, my supporters outnumber you by a hundredfold, and these are the people that I care about. I knew well in advance that when this site was created, Internet trolls would come in droves to start a never-ending flame war. So, none of this surprises me.

Since I’ve broken new ground by starting an s.o. prison blog (I think), I knew this site would be either favored, or infamous. It’s actually turning out to be a bit of both worlds since my audience is so polarized. I really had no idea that I’d draw tons of readers with pending cases to my site. I just thought that I’d get yelled at by a bunch of gremlins on the Web for attempting to educate the public about how prison life is for a sex offender. The positive interest and feedback is a welcome sight, and I would like for you guys to keep participating by asking me questions. [Editor’s Note: See the “Ask Joe” page on this blog.]

As far as you Web gremlins are concerned, this is my final message to you: If you are trying to insult me or hurt my feelings, be aware that I have never actually seen my own website on a computer. All that I see is the occasional screenshot printed on paper, or comments from readers that my editor sometimes emails me. All of YOUR dumb comments get filtered out by my editor so that the public and I NEVER see them, so you’re just wasting your time.

If you wanted to see me fail, you were better off just doing nothing. In your own way, you have contributed to my success, and I thank you. Please keep spreading the word about this blog, so that the readership will keep growing, and so that more people can benefit from the experiences shared here.

Christmas Party

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 00:10:00 +0000

December 24, 2010

Christmas Eve actually ended up being kind of nice. I was invited by the nerdy gaming community to attend a banquet they were having that overlapped the crappy dinner that was being served in the cafeteria that day.

I was asked to donate five bucks in commissary to help with the cost, but they told me that I wasn’t required to pay if I wanted to attend. I try to be a nice guy, so I paid the commissary, hoping I’d get to eat at least five dollars worth of whatever they were going to be serving.

The organizer told me that he was getting pizzas, and that the pizza guy wanted nine bagels as part of his payment. So, whatever. I bought the nine bagels and gave them to the organizer two weeks in advance.

When the 24th finally arrived, I really didn’t know what to expect. Dinnertime came, and I grabbed my plastic serving bowl and headed out to the rec yard per instructions.

I knew ahead of time that the party would be OUTSIDE instead of in the indoor complex, but the day was actually very warm for December. I thought I’d have to eat in the middle of a deep freeze, but the temperature was surprisingly pleasant. The other attendees and I all converged on the small group of outdoor tables that commonly get used for playing Dungeon and Dragons after working hours (no matter how cold it gets).

As I got there, some other inmates were arriving with two huge trash bags full of ice and canned sodas. Another guy looked like he was toting a giant stack of cardboard. Well, it WAS a giant stack of cardboard, but sandwiched between the layers of cardboard was the main course of the evening: Contraband Pizza.

When it comes to cuisine in this particular prison, pizza isn’t something that really exists. Of course, there’s no Papa John’s or Pizza Hut, but even though pizza is served occasionally in the cafeteria, I just can’t call cafeteria pizza PIZZA. The last time I got “pizza” in the chow hall, all I got was tomato sauce and a few slices of melted cheese ON A HOTDOG BUN. To make matters worse, the cops made sure that each prisoner got only ONE, like it was Grade A cuisine or something. I could just imagine all the departed Italian chefs rolling over in their graves as I took my first bite of that epic failure.

REAL pizza is a special treat in here, as well as being an industry. Wanna guess where a lot of those stolen onions, bell peppers and tomatoes from the kitchen go towards making? You guessed it, Contraband Pizza.

And we wouldn’t DARE commit an atrocity such as serving the ingredients on a hotdog bun. We use flour from the kitchen to make REAL pizza crust. Rob will sometimes fry tortillas in the microwave to make Mexican pizzas, but the toppings will always stretch farther on a traditional crust.

What does Contraband Pizza taste like? It varies based on the skill of the inmate chef and the ingredients being used. Taste typically ranges from near-restaurant quality to the cheap two-dollar Totino’s pizzas that are often found in the frozen foods section of a supermarket.

Is Contraband Pizza safe? Considering that many of the ingredients get smuggled out of the kitchen stuffed in inmates’ socks, pant legs and UNDERWEAR, don’t ask. Just tell yourself that microwaving makes food safe, then pray to whatever god you believe in that you don’t catch the latest strain of hepatitis. You’ll find that such practices will become necessary as your standards for food cleanliness will plummet to record low levels during your incarceration.

Anyway, the banquet was a complete success! It was fun to finally feel like a part of something despite being in an alien and somewhat hostile environment. I killed an entire pizza by myself, ate a bunch of chips, and washed it all down with two cans of Pepsi. That might seem mundane by free world standards, but in here, that bordered on overindulgence. And since I ate while being surrounded by geeks and nerds like myself, I could afford to enjoy the event without constantly having to look over my shoulder.

Our group made up most of the inmates out on the rec yard while the rest of the inmate population was busy eating a special seafood dinner in the cafeteria to celebrate Christmas Eve. I heard later that night that the “special” meal turned out to be a bland pasta salad with imitation crab meat, so I didn’t miss anything. Now, I just have to wait out the last few days of 2010, and hope that the next year will be better than this one was.

V for (Vegetable Oil) Vendetta

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 30 Dec 2010 16:54:00 +0000

December 12, 2010

Remember, remember the twelfth of December, and Joe's insidious plot. He pilfered with reason – an honest man's treason – in the kitchen that hygiene forgot.

When it comes to blogging from prison, I usually have either a drought or flood of topics to write about. Once again, it’s time to bring out the sandbags.

Since all my tales of woe seem to entertain you, my readers, I am proud to bring you my latest story of misfortune. Today, I almost got charged with assaulting a correctional officer.

To explain this, I need to give you a little back-story first. As you should have surmised from previous posts, I’m a sneak thief when I’m working in the kitchen. Unfortunately, I’m not a good one, since on Saturday I was caught smuggling vegetable oil for the fourth week in a row. For some reason, I have EXTREME unluck with cooking oil. I had stubbornly made it my prison life’s goal to successfully nab some.

On Saturday, I had almost achieved victory. I snuck into the kitchen, filled a 16-ounce spice container full of oil, and absconded with the loot undetected. I was home free, or so I thought.

My job in food service is to push a cart loaded with clean cafeteria trays from the dishwasher and deliver them to a staging area near the kitchen. My problem was that I still had to finish my shift before I could bring the oil back to my cell. I should have found a hiding place for the oil until it was time to leave, but instead I stupidly kept it in a pouch on the coat I was wearing. I was walking around with my contraband like an idiot all day.

I had thought it would be okay since I had kept the empty container on my person for weeks and the cops had never noticed (or at least had never questioned me about my slight bulge). Ironically, they chose the one day that the container was full to stop and search me.

It was during the middle of breakfast service when a lieutenant spotted me carrying. She stopped me while I was working and ordered me to remove my coat. Of course, she found the oil and confiscated it. Was I punished? No. I was merely caught in the same Tom and Jerry cat-and-mouse game inmates have been playing with correctional officers since prison’s inception.

It might have gone differently had I been caught with mountains of contraband, but I know my limits and never try to take much. Stealing is an art, and it takes tons of practice to become a Picasso or a Rembrandt. My sentence simply isn’t long enough to learn how to hide 90 eggs on my person at one time.

If you think that I need the money, you’re wrong. My editor kindly sends me money every month. So why do I bother pilfering food from the kitchen, you ask? Because I’m being paid slave wages. I made $10.00 last month. Go look at the commissary sheet and try buying a month’s worth of supplies with that. You can’t. Also remember that if you want to stay in contact with your family, you’ll need money for phone calls and postage stamps.

If you should ever become a federal prisoner (and I hope that you don’t), you will quickly realize that if you don’t have financial help from the outside, your stay in prison is going to be a rough one. I believe it’s morally acceptable – nay, I think it is a moral OBLIGATION for an inmate to rob the government in these circumstances. Everything I loot is sold at rates cheaper than the commissary, plus it contributes to the prison economy. In a way, I’m helping those with less means than myself.

The police who steal stuff that was rightfully stolen by inmates are stagnating the prison economy and causing a recession. I think it’s time for all inmates to go to their gang leader representatives and ask for an economic stimulus package. We need more thieving jobs in the cafeteria to increase the flow of goods inside the prison, and thus start an economic recovery!

. . .

. . . . . .

(Okay guys, I’m claiming temporary insanity on those last couple of paragraphs.)

So what was I talking about? Oh yes, the vendetta.

Saturday, I was caught smuggling vegetable oil by a female lieutenant. While doing my job the following day, I ACCIDENTALLY bumped into this same lieutenant with my pushcart. The cart has bad wheels, and it likes to veer to one side, so it was an honest mistake.

I tried to apologize, but when the lieutenant realized that I was the same guy she caught the day before with two dollars worth of vegetable oil, she exploded in anger. She actually thought that I was petty enough to hold a grudge against her for taking my oil, and that I hit her on purpose. Her anger would have been understandable if I rammed her at terminal velocity, but my actual speed was two, maybe three miles per hour. It’s like she was trying to be angry.

As soon as she realized who I was, a switched flipped in her head, and she became completely hostile. She wouldn’t accept my apology or let me say anything in my defense. The woman ordered me outside the cafeteria where she conducted a pat search (I had nothing), and then sent me to the Lieutenant’s Office. Being sent to the Lieutenant’s Office is equivalent to going to the Principal’s Office as a kid in grade school. In short, if you are headed to the LT’s Office, you’re in a heap of trouble.

I waited in the lobby (yeah, it’s that big) for about 20 minutes before anyone spoke to me. Finally, a different LT asked me why I was in the office. He waited for me to finish my story, then advised me that my punishment would probably depend on how well I kept my mouth in check when my “victim” questioned me. He also added, “I hope you don’t end up getting an assault charge.”

My mind was stuck between shock and disbelief. Assaulting a correctional officer could earn me extra prison time, and I can barely deal with the time that I have now!

My accuser entered the office after another ten minutes, and our conversation was brief. She was still upset with me, and she refused to listen to my side of the story. She took down my name and number, then she sent me back to the cafeteria for count time. She said that she would speak to me again later.

I did as I was told. When I reentered the cafeteria, I was approached by a ton of fellow workers wanting to know what happened. A few had seen the incident, but most hadn’t. I filled them in. When I got to the part about the assault charge, some of the inmates laughed at me. “That lieutenant is bs-ing you about the assault charge,” one inmate said. “They like to play head games.”

He was right; the lieutenant had changed her tune when I next saw her. I can only assume this is because she looked up my record on the computer and found out that I’m a short-timer, and that I don’t have a violent record (except in the case of Fudd). The pieces just didn’t fit. And she probably realized that a pushcart assault charge would stick to me about as well as marbles to a Teflon frying pan.

“I now believe it was just a simple accident,” she said, “but know that your stealing days are over. You belong to ME now.”

So now this woman is going to watch me like a hawk whenever I come to work. If I so much as belch without saying “excuse me,” I’ll be sent straight to the hole. Be warned, this can happen if you’re a federal inmate with rotten luck like mine.

BONUS: Remember the porn story that was written about Billy? The author was caught while typing it up in the library. The story was destroyed, and the author got a 300-series write-up for “misuse of government property.” I wonder if he’s going to rewrite his story. Only time will tell.

Death Over Slavery

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Sun, 26 Dec 2010 22:57:00 +0000

December 1, 2010

Billy is suicidal, and I’m not surprised. I still feel that way at times, and I’m serving a mere six-and-a-half years. (I’m considered a “short-timer” by federal inmate standards.)

As for Billy, the judge gave him thirty-five years. That’s more time than he’s been alive. He’s only twenty-five. He’ll be almost SIXTY by the time he gets out. His youth will be long gone.

He doesn’t want it to come to that, though, and he intends to commit suicide before prison life drives him mad. I can’t really blame him for that. Even when he gets released in 204X, Billy will still have to register as a sex offender, take random drug tests, and submit to his house being searched for the rest of his life. So why should he stay around for that?

Will I stop him if he tries to take his own life? No. I’d be a hypocrite if I did that. I did ask him, however, to at least wait until after his appeals had gone through, in the hope that he gets a sentence reduction. Billy regularly complains about the length of the appeals process, but I told him to be patient. I can only hope that he listened.

Going through the process of entering prison is a mentally hardening experience. A convict could have just been handed a life sentence, and you wouldn’t see him shed a tear. Incarceration changes a person at the core; I’m afraid that I won’t leave prison as the same person that went in. When I look at Billy, he’s just as hard as everyone else. That is the law of the land here.

I now know this hardening for what it is. It’s like cooking a steak with too much heat. Too much time is making inmates tough as a rock on the outside, while the inside is left raw and bloody.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: This post is the one that got Joe in so much trouble with the Psych department. (See the posts Unwanted Trouble and Crisis Averted from December 3, 2010.) I didn’t receive the post via snail mail until December 20, 2010.]

Welfare Candy

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 20:36:00 +0000

We just got our Christmas Bags today. Is it just me, or are they smaller than last year's? The bags are filled with less than $10.00 worth of fun size bags of chips and candy bars. Yay. Next year, they can just keep the bag and subtract one day off my sentence instead.

Dealing With Boredom

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 00:57:00 +0000

November 30, 2010

I guess I should be pleased to be in a position where my biggest complaint is having nothing to do. Back in Texas, I was too busy being scared of my surroundings to feel anything else. Here, boredom has taken the place of terror, and it’s slowly crushing my spirit.

Right now, I feel so blasé, just writing about boredom is making me bored. Usually, I can put an entertaining spin on just about anything, but I think I’m too down to come up with anything funny today. Well, I’m gonna try anyway, so let’s just see how the rest of this post goes . . .

I like to read. A lot. Right now, though, I’ve got nothing to scan. The library here has nothing I want, and even if I wanted to visit the library, it’s closed for Thanksgiving. Just WONDERFUL. There’s more that I want to say about s.o.’s and books, but I’ll leave that for another day.

My second love (in prison) is Scrabble. I probably never would have discovered it if not for the federal prison system. It seems that Scrabble, chess, and dominoes are prevalent in the feds. Why? My guess is because they are games that don’t use dice. (The feds have banned dice in prison due to gambling, yet they allow playing cards!)

So far, Rob (the grocery man from the ADC) has made over $800.00 from playing Texas hold ’em in the two months that he has been here. He says that he has competed in several Las Vegas poker tournaments, and it shows. Show him a deck of cards, and he’ll show you a prison full of broke inmates. I’m sure that if the cops took away all the cards, prisoners would start betting on who could drink the most bleach without going to the hospital or something. Trying to prevent us from gambling is pointless. You might as well try to put out a fire with gasoline.

Let’s get back to Scrabble. You’d think that a guy like me could beat the pants off a bunch of drug dealers who got their GEDs in prison, but you would be WRONG. I regularly get smashed in this game. This is because for every activity there is in prison, you’re bound to find someone who’s been doing it for 5, 10, maybe even 20 years. There is practically nothing to do in prison, so whatever games we have, we play to death.

Many words in the Scrabble dictionary are so obscure and bizarre, you’ll have to study it A LOT just to compete. I’ve been playing for five months, and I still get trumped by words like “umiaq” and “etamins.” No fair! It’s depressing to get beat in a word game by someone that never finished school . . . ;)

Chess is even worse. At least in Scrabble, I have a fighting chance, but in chess I get totally victimized. Back in the ADC, I got so numb with boredom, I made a chess set with nothing but a pencil and two sheets of paper in order to play against a cellmate. I figured that playing chess against this guy would be easier than shooting fish in a barrel by our conversations:

Celly: “Man, I can’t eat this Snickers. It tastes like it has syrup in it.”

Me: (What is this fool talking about?) “Trust me, there is no syrup in a Snickers bar.”

Celly: “But it’s sweet!”

Me: “Are you talking about CORN syrup?” (I had thought that he meant PANCAKE syrup.)

Celly: “Uh, yeah.”

Me: “It’s a CANDY bar! Of course CANDY is going to have SUGAR in it!”

He told me Snickers was way too sweet, but then he ate honey buns which had three times the amount of sugar and fat. I was perplexed.

Anyway, my cellmate informed me that he played chess, and he offered to play me to pass the time. I was SO looking forward to thoroughly annihilating him that I even endured the taunts he made about my makeshift chess pieces. He said that my knights looked like sea monsters . . .

Now I knew that I wasn’t a chess master. I barely knew anything more than how the pieces moved. I figured that was enough to handle this guy, though. Being locked up with this man for a week was annoying to say the least, and now it was time for some payback. Or not.

My celly toyed with me the way a cat plays with a mouse before finally putting it out of its misery. He controlled the whole game, and he shamed me further by letting me take some of his most powerful pieces before checkmating me!

What happened? He beat me with a formation called “King’s row,” if I remember correctly. The idea is to take control of the middle four squares in a particular way, and after that, victory is almost certain. He tried to make me feel better by telling me that he started playing back in 1992, but that made me feel even worse.

This guy’s been playing chess in prison since I was twelve years old. I never had a chance.

When my cellmate offered me a rematch, I decided to turn tail and run. I wasn’t about to run that gauntlet again. So now I was bored AND disheartened.

If you play anything in prison, show up with your best game. Just about every activity has a few savants, and they won’t hesitate to destroy you.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: This post was in the same envelope as the post that was held up by the Psych department. (See the posts Unwanted Trouble and Crisis Averted from December 3, 2010.) The envelope just arrived today.]

Yippee-ki-yay

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 19:25:00 +0000

It's snowing here today, and the cops have pretty much decided to keep us cooped up in our housing units. They can't have one of their precious cattle breaking a leg in the snow and ice, after all. So anyway, that is what's happening with me today. I'm ankle deep in snow, but knee deep in boredom.

S.O. + RDAP = ?

noreply@blogger.com (Joe) — Mon, 13 Dec 2010 23:17:00 +0000

EDITOR’S NOTE: Are there any of you out there who have a federal conviction for c.p. possession, AND who have received time off your sentence for completing the RDAP program? I have read only ONE post on Prison Talk Online from someone who states that he has done so.

From the way the RDAP regulation reads, I didn’t think that this was possible. So, will someone who has done this speak up and share your experience? Please leave a response in the Comments section. You do not have to identify yourself in any way.

Remember, the information that you share here will benefit much of the incarcerated S.O. community. So please let us know what you did, and how much time you were able to get off your sentence. Thank you!

– Editor