Unusual Circumstances You Luckily Can't Relate To

Yes, I realize I'm an idiot! A reformed one...

1. Snorting cocaine while in the lavatory of an airplane: Might as well start the list off right. I was 17 and on my way to Utah to meet my biological father for the first time. I had found him on the internet and after surprising him with a call he thought he'd probably never receive, went to visit for a week. This trip just happened to coincide with my coke days and I was nervous enough that I thought it almost a necessity. I am a member of an entirely different mile-high club -- and yes, I licked the bag. Talk about being jittery when you stepped off the plane. On the trip I learned that Mormon girls are indeed easy, my dad was as big an asshole as me, and that Utah, although beautiful, was not my cup of tea. That trip remains the only time I've ever visited my father and to this day I still haven't spoken with him again.

2. Telling a black off-duty police officer, "Well maybe you outta suck my....": With only a week left on parole, I decided to visit Birmingham. I had gone over to a friend's house with a six-pack of Steel Reserve tall-boys. I know, disgusting...but beer in Alabama is weak across the board, except for the Reserve. I had only made my way through two of the beers when he and I got into an argument and I decided to leave.

I had been dropped off by a girl I dated while she went to one of her own friend's houses on the same side of town. I walked to the base of the apartment complex and posted-up outside the gates of the pool with my only beer in hand (we had split the six pack) and waited for Hannah to show up. While minding my own damn business, just a cracker trying to keep his cool, an Explorer pulled into the parking lot. Some real Magnum P.I. shit.

The SUV nearly slid into a spot used for pool-goers and out jumped a sawed-off little lady with an obvious scowl. She looked as if she'd just left the gym and I almost retreated a step. I didn't know what the hell she wanted, but I was the only person around. "Maybe you should throw your beer away," she said. Her tone was demeaning, authoritative, and totally out of line. Her dislike of whitey was apparent. I should have told her how I sat on the black side of the prison cafeteria for three years and to just chill -- we were on the same side. But I was already pissed and assumed she thought I was below the legal drinking limit (I've been carded for video games at Wal-Mart). I was 27 and replied with my best smirk, "Well maybe you outta suck my...."

After she realigned her jaw, I was informed she was a courtesy officer for the apartment complex and that she was going to get her cruiser and come back down the hill to prove it to me. I believed her (that was the only way a cop could afford to live there), but why hadn't she identified herself to begin with? I would have gladly complied in that case. Such is my luck though; and the reason I drink infrequently.

The officer held true to her word and quickly returned with her squad car. While I sat on the curb waiting for an on-duty police officer to show up, Hannah arrived and tried talking the woman into just letting her give me a ride home. The officer replied, "Don't worry honey, he told me to suck his.... I'll give him a ride." I am in no way a racist, but take a trip to Alabama and you'll be hard-pressed to meet white or black people that aren't. I find it highly unlikely she would have treated a black man the same way. I mean, we're talking about a BEER here.

3. 360 degree turn at 135 MPH: It was my first week of having a 300zx. I was 17 and decided to take a road trip to Tyler, Texas. I headed up I-45 with my friend David as co-pilot and when on a deserted stretch of the highway in a remote region of the state, I pushed my new car to see what it had. I've always had an obsession with speed and quickly accelerated to 135 MPH. The highway was two-lanes wide on each side and separated by nothing but grass.

I can remember approaching what looked too be a painter's van (there were several ladders on top). The van was in the fast lane and I was doing more than twice his speed. Texas highways are notorious for their signs cautioning, "Left lane for passing only."

The van didn't look like it had any intentions of abandoning the fast lane and I calmly steered my way into the slow lane. Just as I was about to pass the van, the driver cut me off and I was forced to swerve back into the vacant lane. I immediately lost control and passed him in reverse before completing the turn and careening off into the median. The T-tops were down and my black interior became littered with freshly cut grass. David sat in the passenger seat, hands clenched to the dash with a pile of shit in his pants. Alive and without a scratch to the car, I headed on my way to Tyler. David rarely rode with me again.

4. Having sex with a married woman and then her daughter while a resident of their home: The consequences of this act are what set my crime spree into motion. Homeless in the winter of Colorado, this "achievement" had little chance to set in. I definitely regret this one and for more reasons than one. No one likes being called a whore, right?

5. Taking a dump in the middle of the aforementioned crime spree and getting apprehended because of it: You haven't started reading my autobiography yet?

6. Getting charged with 17 counts of second degree burglary and not calling your mom to tell her about it and beg for legal representation: I ended up not needing one. I was facing 8-24 years and was ineligible for probation. I was sentenced to 8 years in prison at the age of 19.

7. Driving a Suburban into the ocean: This was another "what the hell" moment of my teen years. At the beach with my high school quarterback Quincy Tennon, we got wasted and started looking through cars of vacationers. A Suburban owner had left their keys in the ignition and we...drove it into the ocean. Why? Who the hell knows, but I can still see the headlights shining into the night and the waves crashing into the hood. We didn't entirely submerge it, but it was in Galveston Bay for sure.

8. Taking my SAT in the joint: I might have been the first person in the whole United States to do such. The GED teacher at my facility had to get certified to administer the test and the warden had to approve of the whole idea. All those books I had read in 23 hour lock-down definitely helped with the verbal sections. I scored a 1310 overall and often wonder what my score would have been had I not been out of high school for four years. Some of the math required had long been forgotten. BTW, colleges weren't exactly beating on my cell-door to offer me a scholarship.

9. Wahooing beer while tripping on shrooms: Wahooing is a term used to describe stealing beer. You walk into the place and grab your beer and then run out. Pretty simple. Doing so while trippin' and in the rain can be a disaster. I parked the car across three available spots and almost directly in front of the door. I guess I thought I was in a Dukes of Hazzard episode, except Felipe, Mario and David definitely wouldn't have agreed on a Rebel Flag paint scheme.

Felipe and I casually walked into the quickie mart, grabbed two cases each and walked out. You are supposed to run, but I guess we were invincible or some shit. I jumped into the car after handing my two cases to my friends in the backseat and closed the door. Felipe was already in the passenger seat as I depressed the clutch and threw the car into gear.

I looked to the right and a dude with a turban was holding the longest crow-bar I'd ever seen. He took a check swing at the front windshield -- Felipe's side -- and Felipe fell for it, leaping up and out of his seat onto the console. This of course knocked my car out of gear as I let the clutch out, and my car died. The clerk heard it and took three healthy swipes at my windshield before I could pull away. The windshield looked kind of cool sagging inward without entirely caving in. They were some good shrooms! Why did we need beer?

10. Stealing a rented crotch-rocket from Panama City: Senior week, 16 years old, and someone had a fake identification. I was there with my older cousins from my step-father's side of the family. This wasn't my idea, but I rode back to Alabama with it in my cousin's Escort hatchback. Ok, it was a mini-crotch-rocket, and it fit snuggly inside the back of his car. The problem was that you had to lay it on its side. Motorcycles leak gas when you do so, and the cigarettes we smoked on the way home were pretty nerve-wracking. A state trooper would have gotten a kick out of pulling us two over.

We did make it home though, and the motorcycle sat at my cousin's lake-house for more than a year before his dad discovered it and called the company to have them pick it up. He was a detective in Hueytown, Alabama and must have handled the situation perfectly.

11. Stealing a keg with the same Escort getaway car: Panama City again, and the same trip to boot. This was an impulse buy -- Budweiser truck, open door, kegs, Escort. The problem was that once the keg was yanked down from the truck (it yanked me down actually) it nearly crushed my feet and was a definite hassle. This was a two-door Escort and the seat had to be pushed forward. Even then it was no easy fit through the door opening. We escaped and then were pissed to discover it was a keg of Natty Light. Damn you Anheuser-Busch!

12. Tripping on acid in the halfway-house: Not sure which is worse. This one, or blow on an airplane?

Prison Vocab

Below is a list of common prison terms and some other unusual prison tidbits.

• Spread -- A spread is a meal prepared by a group of inmates. A trash bag is usually filled with 4 to 5 Ramen Noodles packages, diced summer sausages, dehydrated refried beans, beef or chicken sometimes stolen by the kitchen workers, Louisiana Hot Sauce, and whatever else the group might prefer. Boiling water is then added to the mixture and the trash bag is tied closed and encased in newspaper to keep the heat in. After about 5 minutes the trash bag can then be untied and carefully torn open to provide a perfect eating surface. Not until you pour the melted cheese over the top through. College kids everywhere should give it a try. You'd be surprised.
  
  
• Fifi (French Whore) -- A device used to simulate sex with a woman. It is usually made by rolling a trash bag inside of a towel. The excess plastic is then folded back and over the outside of the towel and secured in place by several rubber-bands at different intervals along its length. A cup of lotion is then heated and squirted generously inside of the inmate's new toy.

• A Drop -- Is a package being delivered outside of the prison walls for an inmate on an outside work crew to pick up and smuggle back in. Most drops consist of a can of Bugler tobacco, rolling papers, Vaseline, Syran Wrap, and whatever drug that inmate might prefer. Loose tobacco was the norm because shoving a whole cigarette up your ass without breaking it has to be impossible.

• Keister Bunny -- The person packing his ass. This term isn't reserved for the people bringing the contraband into the place either. Many inmates keep their anal cavities packed as it is the last place correction's officers usually search for banned substances and items. The announcement of "Full-Body Cavity Searches" sent most of the bunnies scrambling from the day-room with the quickness.

• Mule -- See Keister Bunny

• Canteen/Commissary -- Items sold to inmates by the state. This includes everything from Ramen Noodles to New Balance and Televisions.
  

• Store -- An inmate runs a store. This means his cell is usually packed with excess amounts of canteen. The merchant prisoner usually charges two for one. The prison system refers to this as bartering and it is not permitted.
  

• Rollie -- A rolled tobacco cigarette. When papers aren't available the note section of state-issue Bibles are the usual substitute. Individual rolls of toilet paper are also encased in a waxy form of paper which could also be used. A rollie generally ran you from a $1 to a $1.50 worth of canteen.

• Taylor-Made -- A whole cigarette as you would find in a pack. A rarity in prison. (I explained why already. ) These generally ran you $3 bucks a piece and were most high in demand when of the menthol variety.

• Snitch -- Anyone who rats someone out for something. Whether it occur inside the prison walls, in the court room, or behind closed doors at the police station.
  

• Dry-Snitch -- Someone who rats another person out unintentionally or through more clever means. For instance...Picture two men about to get into it over a bad tobacco transaction. They head to a location where the beef can be handled. One of these inmates begins running his mouth, calling out the other inmate, but in such a manner as to draw attention from "The Man". This of course halts the confrontation before it can get ugly.

• The Man -- Just like the Police, Prison Officials are referred to as The Man.

• Hooch -- Fermented bread and fruit which is held in a trash-bag until it becomes alcoholic. The smell alone is generally enough to keep most inmates from trying to brew their own.

• Chow -- Dinner, Lunch, and Breakfast. They are all Chow.

• Cho-Mo -- A child molester. The most hated person in prison. More than snitches or cops believe it or not.

• Tree-Jumper -- A child molester. In Colorado they were housed at the Fremont facility to protect their lives. We referred to it as Treemont.

• Baby-Raper -- A child molester. I could probably come up with a few more names for these pricks, but I'l leave it at three and with this note: I once saw one get his wig split by a tube-sock weighted with Irish Spring. A one-hitter-quitter that likely served him as good as castration. Prison justice can be beneficial at times.

• The Yard -- Where all the inmates get to play. All the "good" inmates anyway.

• Punk -- Someone who takes it up the ass.

• Bitch -- Someone who takes it up the ass.

• Ho -- Someone who takes it up the ass. Which means if you call someone any of those, you should be prepared to fight.

• The Bootie Flu -- AID's/HIV

• Moist -- As in "You're Moist". You know, soft as hell.

• Peckerwood -- A racist white bastard.

• Race Traitor -- The Peckerwoods most hated enemy.

• Lean -- Those from Texas already know what I'm talking about to a degree, but the term Lean in prison referred to Sucrettes. You could order the cough drops on canteen and then melt them down in your miniature crock-pot. After allowing to cool a bit, the medicine can then be drank down providing an adequate buzz very familiar to that of Hydrocodone. They banned the Sucrettes just before I was paroled.

• Cap -- A cap always referred to the lid of a Chapstick. This was used as a measuring device for marijuana and always cost you $25 a pop. The joints people would roll would be no more than an inch and a half in length, but Colorado bud is all good so there were never any worries about whether or not you'd get high.

If you have any words to add to the list, please drop a comment and I'll gladly include it.

Separated at Birth -- Karen Corr Colbert

Try to tell me Stephen Colbert and professional pool player Karen Corr weren't separated from birth and I'll call you a liar. They were no doubt birthed by the same mother and almost certainly shared a uterus. That is beside the point though.

In the video located below their strikingly similar photos, Ms. Karen Corr is a direct participant in one of the most hilarious and odd ESPN blooper moments of all time. Watch for the phalic telestrator miscue and one nasty drawn out fart that might have left her wishing she had a spare set of panties. The commentators only heighten the humor of it all.

Come on...tell me you don't see the resemblance...Now watch the video...

Go Green or Go Home: Wipe Your Ass w/ 1 Piece of Toilet Paper

This environmentally friendly tip comes directly from an Airborne Ranger who was a drill instructor of mine while in disciplinary boot camp. A few of the recruits had complained about only being provided with ten squares when attacking the head for a number 2. I was sure we were about to be thrashed mercilessly but instead were offered the following lesson -- You can wipe your ass efficiently with just one piece. Pay attention! I'm sure you'll never have to do this.

1. Start with one section of your favorite brand of toilet paper. Avoid single-ply!

2. Fold the piece in half.













3. Fold in half once more, creating a square.

4. Locate the corner of the square in which the center of the toilet paper section rests.

5. And tear it off, being sure to preserve the smaller piece for later.

6. This should create a hole in the middle of the paper which you can then slide your index finger through. You figure out where this is going yet? Yeah, not anywhere near me either!

7. Using your finger (Yeah, fucking gross!), you then remove the fecal matter from your nether region. Afterwards, using your free hand, pull back on the toilet paper, removing the shit from your hand and depositing it onto the T.P.. Remember the tiny corner you removed?

8. It comes in handy when removing any stubborn debris which might have become lodged beneath your fingernail. Happy wiping!

Prison Oddities: A Reflection

Anyone who has spent ANY time behind bars can attest to at least one odd story or another pertaining to their stay. There is a "What the fuck?" factor to every jail. Just keep your eyes open and you will find some detail that has you either scratching your head or laughing emphatically.

One of these "What the fuck?" moments came while spending a month in segregation for a "tobacco-related incident". The cells were bright red and had open barred faces which provided the occupant with a wonderfully pock-marked view of concrete nothingness. The slitted windows toward the ceiling of the three-story human warehouse mocked those of us confined to 23-hour lock-down with thin rays of piercing sunshine. None of us would be outdoors breathing clean air for a while, and the airborne detritus illuminated by the always fading daylight was a sickening reminder.

Very little was provided for reading in these circumstances. You could get a Bible or Book of Koran from Prison Ministries if that was your thing. You could also fill out a "kite" to the librarian requesting books of your choice to read. I'm not sure where that expression was derived from, but that was the name they had for the form. This would ultimately result in a two-week wait for requested materials to be gathered and delivered. Inmates don't like to wait and this results in reading materials being passed from one cell to another. I like to call it literary hot-potato, except that there is more than one potato and they are all different.

You never knew what you would be handed when the guy in the cell to either side of you said, "Hey!" It could be anything from Shakespeare to Machiavelli. It was usually just porn though, which always deserved a look. You usually started questioning what people had been doing with the magazine before it made it to your cell by about page 2. Then once you had turned from page 2 to the next page, page 16, you'd get your breath back. How considerate of everyone to not whack off with a community magazine in their possession! My fellow inmates had been stealing the pages one by one as the magazine made its rounds through the cell-house. Rip a page out for yourself and pass it on! It was a porn democracy. Sometimes though, you'd get the magazine and so many pages would be missing that even the thumbnail adds for Asian call girls and such would be missing

I often wondered what everyone was doing with these pages and clippings. I mean, I knew what they were doing with them, but did they keep them and archive them or what? This question was answered shortly into my stay when an inmate on my tier had his cell searched. I stood quickly and held my mirror through the bars to get a look-see. Outside of the man's cell, amongst all of his scattered belongings the corrections officers were going through, was a huge collage of porn. I can remember laughing at first and wondering if the pictures were secured in place with toothpaste or his unborn children. You could no doubt judge a man's stay in segregation by his porn accumulation. At that moment I was thankful I wasn't going to be in prison, much less segregation, long enough to go through that much adhesive. (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)

Cannabis is No Scapegoat for Idiocy

This is exactly the kind of publicity cannabis users need with public focus finally being directed towards legalization and decriminalization of my favorite little friend. When you commit a crime and are caught red-handed, don't try and use drugs or alcohol as a scapegoat. The post below, taken from StoptheDrugWar.org, is a riot. To keep you reading, the crime involves cannabis, two crocodiles, a monkey, and an Australian teenager with a pathetic excuse.

Written by Scott Morgan of StoptheDrugWar.org

I'm so sick of people blaming marijuana for the stupid things they do. Lest we should all be further stigmatized by his mischief, someone needs to stop hooking this guy up:

DARWIN, Australia (AP) — An Australian teenager[*] blamed the influence of marijuana for his decision to steal two crocodiles and a monkey, local media reported Wednesday. …

Watts said he planned to sell the stolen baby crocodiles and the marmoset but had been unable to find buyers, ABC reported. …

Watts' lawyer told the court his client admitted it was a "dumb stoner" thing to do and had written to Crocodylus Park to apologize. [AP]

Marijuana isn't for everyone, to be sure, but most people are more than a few tokes away from busting into the zoo and stealing crocodiles. I think he's just embarrassed to admit that these are the sorts of things he generally feels inclined to do.

But there's also a revealing subplot here that's worth exploring. Consider that this young man snuck into the zoo high on marijuana, successfully captured two crocodiles and a monkey, and escaped undetected. It's a rather impressive outcome compared to the carnage that ensues when drunken zoo-goers attempt to interact with the animals.

A victim of the recent San Francisco tiger attack was at twice the legal limit when he taunted the tiger until it leapt over the wall and attacked him. A drunken Lithuanian was hospitalized in May after climbing into a Giraffe exhibit and getting trampled. Then there's the intoxicated Chinese man who entered the Panda cage at the Beijing Zoo to "hug" the Panda and ended up biting the bear when it attacked him. Not to mention the drunken Ukrainian who tried to show off for friends by taking on a caged grizzly and was nearly killed, or the corpse found in the grizzly den at the Belgrade Zoo during an annual beer festival.

Clearly, from a harm reduction standpoint, marijuana is the safer choice for zoo-going trouble-makers. (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)

Deep Thoughts about the Drug War

by Pete Guither of DrugWarRant.com


In regulated markets, disputes are handled by lawyers. In the black market, disputes are handled by guns. I have no love for lawyers, but I'd rather get hit by a stray brief than a stray bullet.

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The entire philosophy behind SWAT-style drug raids is that the death of a mother, a child, or the family pet is an acceptable risk to prevent flushing.

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As anyone who has tried to quit smoking knows, dependence is hardest to overcome during difficult or stressful times. That must be why, when the government helps drug abusers quit, they arrest them and take away their job, possessions, and children.

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If I wanted to win the hearts and minds of farmers in Latin America and Afghanistan, I probably wouldn't start by destroying their fields and removing their only hope of feeding their families.

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Those massive drug seizures you read about in the paper affect traffickers much the same way a DVD shoplifter affects Wal-Mart -- an annoyance, but part of the normal cost of doing business.

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No government in the world can compete with the black market in financial compensation for police officers.

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When a government uses military personnel, equipment, and tactics against its own citizens, is it time to call it a Civil War rather than a Drug War?

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The drunk driver speeds through the stop sign without seeing it.
The stoned driver stops and patiently waits for it to turn green.

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The government is good at job creation. Every arrest of a drug dealer creates a new high-paying job opening.

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If you want to bring a community together, hold a pot-luck dinner. If you want to drive it apart, hold a drug war.

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Americans are generally pretty brave... although some are apparently terrified of people who listen to Pink Floyd and eat Cheetos.

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Even the characters played by Tommy Chong make more sense than most politicians. (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)

A Lesbian's Worst Nightmare

Part of being a felon is that you acquire unique friends--people who can hardly be judgmental of you. One of these friends I have is a girl I like to call Infelicitous. There are a few definitions to this word; one being "inappropriate". Infelicitous just sounds better!

Miss Infelicitous is a close friend of mine who graduated from college, has a budding career, is attractive, and is without a doubt one of the sweetest people I know. But boy can that girl drink! And when she is drinking, you are in for it. The gays in Dallas love her, although her height at first made them think she was a Tranny. She is probably the only girl in Dallas that can go into a gay men's club and not pay for a drink. You know how the gays love drama, and she brings it!

Her most famous adventure involves a night on the town with these aforementioned gays. She was a sloppy mess no doubt, under the influence of Xanex or some other prescription alcohol enhancer, when she followed a male into the men's bathroom at a Dallas club. Her history with this guy I am in no position to speak on, but she proceeded to have sex with this guy while in the bathroom. Nothing too edgy, right?

Later on that evening, while at another of the more gay oriented night clubs, she was drug into the bathroom by a lesbian that was a part of her non-hetero partying entourage. This lesbian was unaware of Miss Infelicitous' prior bathroom tryst and was in for the surprise of her life.

As the couple posted up inside of a stall and began to do their thing, the lesbian woman extracted a condom from the hoo-hoo of Miss Infelicitous. Shock was of course followed by disgust, and then anger. Miss Infelicitous had to respond, right? This woman was standing before her in total horror. She was a man-hater and was cursing herself silently for having ever taken a chance on a straight girl. All Infelicitous could say was, "How'd that get in there?" (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)

Earning a Trip to Bootcamp.

My senior year of high school I spent a good part of the first two weeks of classes raiding a local mushroom field. I was the only individual of my clique to have not yet graduated. This doesn't mean that I was behind in my studies, but simply the youngster.

Most of my time during those first couple of weeks was filled with picking, boiling, trippin', and analyzing over and over again every nuance and perceived subliminal message of the movie Natural Born Killers. "Repetition works David...Repetition works!"

I'm pretty sure David, Mario, and myself had the dialog reverted to memory by day two. The memorization enhancement of hallucinogens was indeed remarkable. Quite a convenient counter-balance to all of the pot we were also ingesting. Yeah, right!

While in one of these drug-induced mid-morning skip sessions, we decided we wanted some beer. As a freshman and sophomore we would just steal beer; or "wahoo" as the locals dubbed it. In Texas, however, you become an adult at the age of seventeen. That was no longer our M.O.. Could you imagine going to jail for stealing beer? Us either.

All we had on us was our lunch money. Which meant MY lunch money, because I was the only one still in school. Five bucks wasn't going to get us many beers. Lots of $1 Whoppers, but not many beers. You remember when Burger King had $1 Whoppers? No, not Junior Whoppers. Fuckin' Whoppers.

I was driving my father's truck that day for some reason that I can't recall. My 300zx was probably in the shop. I really mistreated that car. Anyway, when I say that, "we decided we wanted some beer," I mean we drove past a house, saw some golf clubs sitting on someone's front porch, and we took them. David jumped from the truck and walked as inconspicuously as a black man can in a suburban neighborhood. While doing so, a brown astro-minivan had passed us, heading the opposite direction.

Tiger Woods tossed the clubs into the bed as he returned and stepped back into the truck. Just as I began to let my foot off of the clutch, the astro-van power-slid like a beaching whale into our pathway. Was this really happening? Super-Mom was here to save the day?

What I found out about a half-second later, while staring down the barrel of a gun, was that Mom was a Man, and this Man was on his way to work, which just happened to be the local police station. He just had to drop his daughter off at day-care first! She was still in the baby-seat though. Guess he got to work a little early. Can you imagine going to jail for stealing golf clubs? Pathetic, but that was our fate. (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)

(To be continued.)

Water is Free!

If any of you have ever been to jail, you have probably noticed that your nose isn't necessarily in agreeance with your surroundings. Micro-organisms mask the walls, floors, and even the air. Your fellow patrons aren't any cleaner either. People enter the system with lice, scabies, VD's, and in many cases very poor health. Many prisons now shave the heads of new inmates to try and lessen the influx of filth. With all of that in mind, why not take a fucking shower once you get to jail? You don't have to buy water or soap on commissary. Both are provided by tax dollars. And while State-issue soap might sap the moisture out of your skin, at least you wont be contributing to the pungency. Jail is already a place filled with sadness and unpleasantness. No one wants to smell your ass, have your dandruff flakes in their morning chow, or share a cell with a nasty bastard. So, next time you are unfortunate enough to wind up behind bars, just wash your ass. It's FREE! (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)

3 Words to Forget When You Get to Prison

1. Bitch: You don't call anyone a bitch unless you're ready to display how big of one you might be. The word bitch carries a whole 'nother set of definitions behind the walls. There is absolutely no reference to a woman in its use. "You're acting like a bitch," is what substitutes for that.


2. Punk: A punk is neither a rocker or mischievous youth. It is explicitly someone who takes it in the ass. Gay people wind up in jail and they continue doing what it is gay people do. Why wouldn't they? But to be a heterosexual male in prison and be called a punk is the ultimate insult.
   


3. Ho: I think you can understand from the first two words why this one's not accepted either. Use any of them as much as you like, just don't refer to any of your fellow tenants in jail as being one unless you are prepared to fight. When presented with an opportunity to use any of the first three words on this list, you just have to swallow your pride and understand that being ignorant is what placed you in this situation. The person you are contemplating insulting, because he fouled you in a pick-up basketball game, is possibly a convicted murderer serving a life sentence. Convicts, for the most part, have nothing to lose. My three years was a blink of the eye in comparison to most of their sentences. Plus, unlike some of those folks, I didn't have any practice maiming and killing people. Use of these words falls under the "When keeping it real goes wrong" category. (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)