"Somebody should warn the fat-nasties in the Staff Training Academy. You are the target, and you will give in."
The Warning
Many lengthy conversations were held between inmates
and staff via intercom. After all, there was not much else to
do. Control station offi cers were posted in a control station
(bubble) that was roughly half the size of a child's bedroom.
Much to the chagrin of our chimo population, the primary
difference between the control stations and children's
bedrooms was the transparency. The bubbles were aptly
named due to the plexi-glass shields that made up the vast
majority of the walls separating the control station offi cers
from the inmates. Control stations get boring. Directly in
front of your post are two dayrooms, viewed split-level, top
and bottom, where you can monitor inmates on both fl oors
of the housing unit watching television.
You could watch the television yourself, but the angle
is bad, and the volume is not loud enough. For some reason
the intercom-system acoustics do not match up well with the
volume projected from the television set.
Inmates often start conversations with new staff;
particularly if they are female. Females often respond.
There is just something about a taboo screw. If they wanted
laid that bad, all they would have to do is walk out into the
parking lot at 2 p.m., and say,
"Would somebody please take me home and fuck me?"
It would not be easier for a female if she lived on a Marine
Corps base.
"What's for breakfast?"
"Matted meat particles."
"No, really."
"The same thing you have every morning punk. All the
dicks you can fi t in your mouth."
"Why you so mean? Did you have a big bowl of Bitch
for breakfast? I used to like women. But then they just sit
around growing yeast between their legs, stinkin' up the
place."
"Shut the fuck up, pussy, or you'll be locking down in
your cell."
"Pussy, did you just say pussy? You just said dick and
pussy in your last two sentences. What would make you say
things like that? Are you hinting that you might be wanting
to have show-and-tell or something?"
"You ain't had pussy since pussy had you. If you licked
it on your way out, consider yourself lucky."
"Don't you want some dick?"
"We are not having this conversation. Besides, I'm
batting for the other team."
"You wrong for that, ya know."
"My self-worth is in no way tied-up in your opinion."
"Whatchu mean by that?"
"That means, I don't care what you think of me."
"You dance on tables?"
"Not occasionally. What does that have to do with
anything?"
"I bet if you saw a penis, you would throw up."
"I've seen 'em before, and I did not feel the urge to do
anything because of it, or to it. So incorporate that in your
next therapy session."
"I think you would like to see this one. Ain't no way
you've seen one this big before."
"No. I do not wish to see your penis."
"But baby, I graduated Magna Cum Loudly!"
"I don't care if you graduated."
"Hypothetically, would I get a write-up if I showed it to
you anyway?"
Nervously looking around for other staff and inmate
eavesdroppers, ".probably wouldn't get a write-up."
The cock of majesty was out and semi-chubbing before
she could fi nish the sentence. "I bet you ain't never seen one
that big before," claimed the inmate as he began to stroke the
remaining hardness into his pecker.
The female control station offi cer stood up in her chair
to get a better look. "Not sure if I have or not; I don't think
so," nervously looking around, "I'd need a closer look."
"They call me the Bone-Crusher."
"Why do they call you that?" in a much sweeter tone
than before.
"When I start stroking this in my ladies, it's hard to stop.
It's like a fuckin' freight train."
"Oh God, that sounds nice."
"You want some of this?"
"Fuck yes, but there is no way."
"Where there's a will."
"When do you get out?"
"I'm parole eligible in three years. I don't think either
of us can wait that long."
"Look on the bright side. I just bought furniture from
Ernie's in Ceresco. You'll get out before I start paying
interest!"
