The Jailhouse Diaries: Part Two

Since being released from jail, I've had to move in with my whore of a mother. She lives in this place that's barely a shotgun shack in the middle of Mexican town. Her house smells like sour milk and piss. She is morbidly obese and sits all day on her second-hand, sweat-stained couch and does nothing but watch The 700 Club and listen to Michael Savage on the radio while getting drunk off of Black Label whiskey straight from the bottle. She rants on and on about how the liberals are destroying this country and how our culture is too "permissive".

This is the height of irony. My mother is living on welfare money, and she used to be the biggest slut in the world. She'd fuck bikers, homeless guys, fat black dudes; anything with a dick pretty much. She's force me to watch her and then beat me with a broom when I cried.

You'd think that sort of childhood abuse would have shaved at least a couple months off my sentence (and I told it all to the bitch in the DA's office who was filling out the pre-trial sentencing report) but nooooooo...

I despise living here. I despise living with her, but it's either this or go sleep on the street in a puddle of cold dog piss. I can take it for a little while.

Anyway, back to jail life...

Life in jail is pretty much structured around meal times. If you go to jail, I sure hope you like chicken nuggets and ketchup because you're gonna have to eat them about three times a week. Some days we get hot dogs, and mac and cheese was served often too. My first week, we were in lockdown for three days because one spic stabbed another spic over a game of checkers. We had to eat in gymnasium, three days of nothing but peanut butter and jelly, or ungrilled cheese sandwiches. It was disgusting. In jail, you just have to get used to the fact that everything you eat is going to taste like shit.

Figuring out where to sit in the cafeteria is hard for a newcomer. The tables in the cafeteria are divided mostly by racial lines, and then divided further by which gang or neighborhood you're from. The whites are closer knit, but it's mostly because there are so few of them. None of them are Nazis, mostly they are all wiggers who speak a dialect of ebonics that make the blacks sound comprehensible. For some reason, they didn't like me, and I was fine with that since I'd probably slit my wrist if I had to spend a significant amount of time with those Eminem wannabes.

Unfortunately, that left me with the only table that was left; the table where all the people who were so crazy nobody else wanted to sit with them congregated.

The moment I sat down, this bug eyed black dude stared at me. After a few minutes he said to me, "I'm a kill you honky."

I sat there shocked, but this old guy next to me (who was inside because he'd whipped out his dick to playground full of kids) put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Don't worry, he always says that. He wants to kill everyone."

"Shuddup!," Bug-Eyed Blacky said. "I'm a kill you too! I'm a kill alls of you niggas!" He kept muttering about killing shit to his mashed potatoes and fried bologna through the whole meal. He did that for about two of the months I was there before they actually RELEASED that guy for some reason.

But in the end, Bug-Eyed Blacky was not nearly as scary as the old guy, whose name was Nathan. At least you could kind of tune Blacky out. Nathan suddenly thought of me as his best friend, and started making all these creepy confessions to me.

"It wasn't really wrong what I did. I mean, I didn't hurt any of those kids. They weren't even scared. They were laughing the whole time. That's what I was doing, trying to make them laugh. The laughter of children is what makes my dick hard. You gotta believe me Poopy...I love children."

I didn't want to think about HOW he loved children. Suffice it to say, no one wanted to talk to this creep, but he persisted in humping my leg all day, every day in the jail. The final straw was when he started jerking off while I was in the shower and he said, "Do you think the Nuggets will get to the playoffs this year?" without skipping a stroke. From then on, I avoided the showers whenever Nathan was there.

The most pathetic was this little tweaker fuck named Reynaldo (or Rey-Rey, as he insisted we all call him by his "street name"). Rey-Rey was missing most of his teeth, and probably weighed at the most 110 lbs. He was always trying to hustle me out of food, like offering to make my bed if I gave him two of my chicken nuggets, or offering me a three month old Time magazine for my Jello. If he'd offered me a blowjob for my french fries, I'd probably have strangled him.

Worse, Rey-Rey was the biggest pussy in the world. You'd think prison would attract a harder type of character, but Rey-Rey would cry like a little girl with a skinned knee over EVERYTHING. He'd cry if you didn't trade your chicken nuggets; he'd cry if you broke down and yelled at him to get out of your face, he'd cry if he stubbed his fucking toe. He was in jail because he tried to rob and old lady, and the old lady beat the shit out of him and called the cops, that's how much of a pussy this guy was.

Anyway, let me end by saying that if I never see another chicken nugget in my whole life, it will be too soon.