My Daily Journal in Federal Prison

Day 133

I always knew there was something up with that strange, fat black man.  First off, he was incredibly nosey.  Shortly after my arrival on the compound, he was always getting up in my business.

One of my biggest pet peeves here is how everyone makes it a point to tell you how you should do your time.  I would be a fool not to make the most of my time here — for me, that means spending most of my time reading and writing.  Not only is it what I enjoy doing, but I know that those are activities that will further my goals once I get out of here.  Some people take exception to that…and tell you to come down off of your bed, or come out of your room.  I guess I should take that as a compliment since the guys here want to get to know me…but after awhile, I find myself not doing the things that I really want to do, only so I could avoid hearing their goddamn opinions.  But the last thing I want to do is waste my time here watching t.v., gambling, or engaging in illegal activities.

This dude — I’ll call him D — was one of the worst offenders.  Stopping by announced, always asking me what I was reading…what I was writing, etc.  One day, when I was on e-mail, he was at the computer terminal sitting next to me.  Out of nowhere, he says:  “You don’t talk much, do you?”

So, I say to him:  “Someone once told me that you shouldn’t speak unless it is an improvement upon silence.”

And he says, “Well, alright.  Just want to make sure that you are okay.  Now, if you ever need someone to talk to…if you need a friend…”

Fast forward about 2-3 months.  Every couple of weeks a bus will show up and drop off a brand new bunch of riff raff.  One of these dudes had to have been one of the most unfortunate looking human beings that I had ever seen in my life.  I don’t know what was more repulsive — the excessive amount of fat on the back of his bald head…or the expansive veneer of zits covering it.  He kind of looked like Sloth, from “The Goonies,” only a little less pretty.  Of course, I could only assume that he was a chomo since he fit the profile — all around creepy.

One day I was walking to the Chow Hall with a buddy of mine and we were talking about a very specific area in Michigan.  This dude, I’ll call him Rocky Road, happened to be eavesdropping behind me and says, “Gosh, I don’t mean to interrupt, but one of my favorite wines is a Riesling from that area.”  Barf.  Just picturing this turd lounging around with a nice, crisp Riesling was enough for me to shudder into eternity.

Fast forward another week or two, and someone from my Unit opened the Storage Closet where we keep all of the cleaning supplies and walked right into Rocky Road, on his knees, performing fellatio on D.

Ebony.  Ivory.  Living in perfect harmony.

While that would have been a sight for any pair of sore eyes, it just happened that the most outspoken homophobe in our Unit just happened to be the one who caught them.

If this place is any indication, I can only imagine how quickly gossip travels in a WOMEN’S prison.  This event made the morning news across the entire compound.


Breakfast:  Oatmeal, Cake with White Frosting, Banana, 2 Cartons of 2% Milk

Lunch:  Chicken Fajitas, Spanish Rice, Black Beans, Salsa, Green Apple

Dinner:  Meat Loaf, Mashed Potatoes & Gravy, Green Peas


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