"In the interest of self-preservation, I'm going to avoid that."
The Deal-Breaker
When I was a kid, our family took vacations in this old
Ford station wagon. I have no idea what model year it was,
but the back end could be used to hold groceries or children,
complete with fold-down seats. Two children could easily
sit on either side, facing each other. Ford engineers probably
did not think about it at the time, but sitting sideways in a
moving vehicle caused many a child to upchuck on the one
sitting across from them.
Our wagon was old, and the carpet had been torn
out after it was completely ruined by some older siblings
repeated travel sickness. At this point, rust had eaten a
hole, large enough to watch the pavement going past, but
not large enough for father to worry about losing a small
child through it. The world became our urinal through this
hole. Dad knew we were doing it. In fact, he encouraged it.
He did not have to stop nearly as often, and we made much
better time on long hauls. He warned us frequently, "Don't
forget. Aim carefully. And don't stick your pecker through
the hole, the shocks are going." I never knew why he told
us that until I met inmate Pleskac. He had lost his penis in
a car accident. Whether it was ripped off clean, or grinded
off, he was not clear. I did not pry. My mind fl ashed back
to the potential nightmare of having my schwance removed
while trying to piss through a rusty hole at the same time
the car bottoms out.
It was an early August morning, and the temperature
was approaching the mid-80s already. As I watched out the
back of the offi ce window, I could see an inmate pull down
his pants, and shove a plastic wrapped sausage in his ass.
Then he pulled it out, unwrapped it, and ate it. It was a dare
for a fat cigarette.
I saw my fi rst butt-fucking. I was doing count, and I
stuck my face in the window where two black cell mates
resided. One was bent over the toilet with a centerfold laid
out on his back. The other was just pulling his pecker out
of his ass. There was blood on the fl oor and shit on his dick.
They were cousins. I think I will skip lunch today.
One of my inmates got kicked out of church for jacking
off in the confessional. He claimed it was part of his
penance.
Joe "The Hammer" Ruth shot his wife in the head
because she had aborted their third child without his consent.
Other than that isolated incident, I would say he has one of
the fi nest attributes a human being can have, in my opinion,
and that is kindness without motives. One Saturday morning
when I was at work with a huge hang-over, he "accidentally"
left a V-8 on my desk. Now I was concerned for several
reasons. First, I should not have consumed alcohol in such
quantities; second, I should not have come to work in this
condition; and thirdly, I should not have accepted this gift
from an inmate. Never, did he ask for any return favors. He
left it because he was genuinely concerned for my health
and well-being.
The Hammer gets out next year, because his now ex-wife
actually lived through the shooting. She must be some sort
of fucking Ninja, because he put six holes in her. Attempted
murder carries quite a lesser sentence than actually killing
somebody. The Hammer still talks about wanting to get
married and have kids when he discharges. He will be 46
when he gets out next year. It should not be too diffi cult
fi nding a woman of child-bearing age with which to build a
relationship. It should not be too diffi cult to get her to fall for
him. When she asks him where he has been all her life, let
alone the last 15 years, the answer could be a deal-breaker.
"I've got to tell you, I've gone to sleep with happier
thoughts."
Psychology of the Snake
Ok, so I am an asshole. I have spent the better part of my
life doing stupid shit, and making fun of people for a myriad
of "no real reasons" from their name needing an Ellis Island
refund to saying things like, "in and of itself."
One day, a co-worker, Shane (Rock) Girdlestone, asked
me to make a drawing for him. Not just any drawing. It
was intended to indicate something about my personality.
He asked me to get a piece of paper and a pen. In my mind
it was clearly a joke, so of course I am cautiously optimistic.
As soon as Rock tells me to draw a house, the sun, a snake,
some water, and a tree, I am reminded of a bullshit task I
performed in the past that was supposed to wind up looking
like something. I had previously heard and seen a joke
drawing where the collective lines were made to look like
a naked man bending over to pick up a bar of soap, with his
asshole glaring into the viewer's eye, so I attempted to make
mine look that way.
It turned out to not be the same joke. In fact, it was
not a joke at all. The task was intended to have serious
implications, in the hopes that people could learn more about
my personality. Rock explained that the house represented
me, the sun - my relationship with my father, the snake - my
sexuality, the water - my relationship with my mother, the
tree - my intellect. I was expecting something else.
After studying my drawing, Rock then explained to
me that I must be very close with my father, since the sun
was touching the house. Closer, in fact, than my mother,
represented by the water just out the front door. The height
of the tree indicated that I was fairly intelligent. The size
and location of the snake that was supposed to represent
my sexuality was very concerning. The snake took up the
majority of the paper, spanning three-fourths the width
and height of the paper, and surrounding the house and the
sun. Nobody wanted to speculate what that might indicate.
Exstrom said we should just shred mine.
