"Either two people shit in here back to back without wiping or fl ushing, or somebody has been eating MREs." "It's like parfait. That shit comes out in layers."
CSI: Lincoln
I got whored-out to a post to cover for a sick-bay
commando, and what made things worse, was the post. Bbay
and C-bay were two posts within the confi nes of housing
unit six, the Medium Security Unit (MSU). B-bay was not
as bad as C-bay. Though you had a similar inmate, you did
not have to put up with Devo, the tyrannical case manager
in charge of supervising you.
While performing a locker search in housing unit 6B,
I found what appeared to be a six-inch dried-up turd. For
starters, I could not imagine why someone would save a turd
in their locker. Well, that is not entirely true. I can imagine
why a young Marine would. A young Marine would want
to show it off to his biological brother, and in the mean time,
he would show it off to his fellow Marine brother. That
thought led me to believe that this inmate might have pranks
in mind. I paged the offender back to his sleeping location
to question him.
It turned out that it was not a turd at all, but a mixture
of items made to look like one. The recipe included paper
towels, old kitchen brownies, and instant coffee. He would
not divulge the entire list of secret ingredients, because it
would prove he stole items from work in the CSI shops. I am
not sure I needed to know unless I ever wanted to design my
own creation. All this discussion had passed a good portion
of my morning, so I decided to reward the inmate by leaving
him a real turd. When I got home, I took a dump in a ziplock
bag and carried it in my lunchbox everyday until I got
back to B-bay. It was plenty dried out by then. Holding the
bag and aiming without peeing was the tricky part.
In the Department of Corrections in Nebraska, CSI
means Cornhusker State Industries. Nebraska correctional
offi cers have called it CSI long before the Crime Scene
Investigation television shows were popular. This CSI is a
very simple manufacturing facility that provides products
for use by Nebraska State Agencies such as offi ce furniture,
institutional furniture, brooms, fi ling cabinets, picnic tables,
and road signs, just to name a few.
The nature of their business does not stop their personnel
from thinking they are anything short of a crack investigative
team. We also make remarks at their expense when our staff
members go a little overboard in their duties. "You need to
work for CSI." One such relief control station offi cer, M.
Leybold, was posted in our housing unit to work the B/D
side of the house on Wednesday, and it so happened that
this particular offi cer did not like to spend much time in the
control station. It was slightly claustrophobic, and boring,
and he liked to stretch his legs, often. Consequently, every
time I stepped into his work area, he would leave, thinking
I was relieving him to roam around the housing unit. That
was defi nitely not the case, so I had to step on his toes
frequently.
On one occasion when I allowed him out, I requested
that he do a cell search. He had just fi nished the task and
was on his way back to the control station when a new
commit (fresh inmate) was entering the housing unit with a
garbage sack full of his own property. The old salty offi cer
properly halted him and asked for identifi cation and a patdown
(search for contraband without undressing the inmate).
What happened next was not terribly unlike what you would
expect from a Wal-Mart greeter. During the pat-down,
Leybold gave him the housing unit three welcome as he
moved his gloved hands over his entire body.
"Welcome to housing unit three, I'm Offi cer Leybold.
Your caseworkers are Batiste and Whalen. They are the best
in the entire department. You are going to love it here. In
just a few days, our unit will be fi rst in line for chow. Our
canteen day is tomorrow, so you're just in time. I see you'll
be in cell A-7 with inmate Munoz. He has made the bottom
bunk available, and we've placed a brand new mattress and
pillow there just for you. Munoz even has a color television
that you can watch." The guy was visibly cheering up and
did not give Leybold any static at all. I kept waiting for
Leybold to say, "Can I get you a cart?"
"He's got a smile and a boner, so you know he's all
right."
Cy Wildberger
Cy was an old inmate. I do not mean he had been around
for a long time, though he had. When I say old, I mean, he
had seen many years of his life go by. Not coincidentally,
he had seen many of them go by at the Nebraska State
Penitentiary. Cy had originally begun his incarcerated
time in the Old Cell House, prior to the construction of the
Nebraska State Penitentiary. He was in for murder, and
conspiracy to commit murder, and he would continue to
serve his life sentence until he perished. That time appeared
to be coming soon.
You would not know it by looking at the sweet old
man, particularly when you had to call the hospital for an
emergency breathing treatment, but once upon a time he and
his wife were swingers. The multiple crimes resulted from
the stalking neighbor lady that just could not get enough
of old Cy. Apparently, she went a little Psycho and Fatal
Attraction on him, so Cy and his wife made plans to get rid
of her.
Normally, we would just send him to the NSP clinic,
which is located in the upper fl oor of the administration
building, but his lips were blue and we did not want to take
a chance that he would not make it across the yard. He was
88-years old after all. We called for a wheelchair. Cy did not
want it. It was degrading to his dignity. He declared that he
would not go. I asked him if he would allow me to talk to the
offi cers providing his escort to see if they could just follow
him with the wheelchair, and that was acceptable to him.
"My neighbor in the next cell is in because he and his
girlfriend wanted the Avon lady to participate in their kinky
activities so much, they abducted and raped her. Now there
is a fantasy-visual permanently engraved on the back of my
retinas."
About the only thing that pisses off Cy anymore is when
a good cell neighbor moves to a single-cell in another unit.
It was not as if he would miss them, his concern only had to
do with who might move in as his replacement. There goes
the neighborhood.
Dream Journal
I have had the typical underwear dreams while sitting
in class, even though I know that nobody forgets to wear
clothes to school, I would frequently catch myself sitting in
class without pants. The most frequently recurring type of
dream I have these days is the one where I pose as a dentist
and give some poor unsuspecting large-breasted blonde
with a short-white skirt too much numbing. Of course, the
dental chair tips way back like most. I simply lift up the skirt
(no panties of course) to reveal a freshly-waxed snapper,
spread her deeply-tanned legs, and try to push my face
inside. After an hour or so of licking and sucking, I fuck it
like crazy.