Mouth of Madness


Wednesday, March 24, 2010

For Fuck's Sake

So I was pissing around on Facebook, and came upon this group about the Free Credit Report commercials (I swear to God I am not endorsing the fucking FCR because it sucks balls. Sorry for the Tourette's moment).  Anyway, it made me realize that my old post about them was way out of date, so I thought I'd update it.  Well guess what, bitches?  If you cancel your Comcast internet account, they'll cancel your web storage account quick as fuck, too.  I only thought of this after the fact of course.  So yeah, if you're looking at this page?  It's all fucked up.  And I haven't really quite decided whether I give enough of a fuck to fix it.  It's not like I'm a what's his face - Perez fucking Hilton or something.  I'm pretty sure only 2 people even read this shit anymore, so... if you find anything in this blog remotely interesting or informative or worth a chuckle, let me know.  In the mean time, I'll be rotting my mind on /b/.

Posted at 3/24/2010 10:40:17 pm by Rowan
(2) Comments


Friday, February 26, 2010

Don't forget to check the back of the toilet

Things not allowed in the home or car of a person on probation in the state of Virginia:

Guns (including BB guns or Airsoft guns, paintball guns, or anything that resembles a gun)
Knives (unless they are deemed for use in the kitchen, and this includes knives for decoration, such as swords)
Drugs (of course - however, if someone else in the house is prescribed a controlled substance, that person must have said drug under lock and key)
Anything gang related (which includes Pirates t-shirts, Duke University sweatshirts, and paw prints - evidently The Girlchild and I are possible members of some gang out of Fresno with our paw print tattoos)

And how will determine that your home is free of said things?  Why by searching it, of course!

Places that may/probably will be searched:
Under matresses

I'm not kidding.

Now before you go off on a "they're criminals, there should be restrictions, blah blah blah", cool your jets while I get to the point I am trying to make.

What prevents someone from getting a pocket knife?  Do they ask for ID?  Of course not.  Can you buy a BB gun without a background check?  Of course you can.  So what is preventing someone from getting any of these things after the inspection is over?  What's preventing someone from hiding all that stuff at Uncle Bob's house until after the inspection?  Nothing and nothing.  If you were going to hide a gun in the house, would you stick it in a drawer knowing someone was coming to inspect?  Only if you're pretty stupid.

Do you know how many places one could hide something in plain sight if they really wanted to?  Now honestly.  I've seen a lot of forensics shows.  I've read a lot of forensics books.  I haven't given the topic a lot of thought, but I can see numerous places just here in my living room where I could stash something and it not be suspicious.

Okay, rant over.  Gonna go get my nine out of the freezer so if I decide to kill something in cold blood, my gun will be cold and ready.  (Kidding!!)

Posted at 2/26/2010 9:41:13 pm by Rowan
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Thursday, February 25, 2010

Don Burleson: Educated Nincompoop

So I was going to write a rant about this pompous asshole who thinks he knows everything there is to know about the type of person who wears tattoos (hint: we're all poor, uneducated, and most likely, criminals).  But since The Girlchild found the article and started a discussion on Facebook, I don't wanna steal away her thunder.  However, if you're tattooed and don't fall into those aforementioned categories, (or even if you do, who am I to judge?  I could care less.) you should go have a look at his article.  Here's the beginning of The Girlchild's Facebook discussion (transcribed with photos removed and aliases added where necessary), and if I remember (don't hold your breath it's been a year since I've posted anything here) I will post updated copies.

The Girlchild: 

If you've got any tattoos, this is sure to offend. And for those of you who don't, what's your opinion? Click --> Professional dress code and Tattoos

The Boychild: 

To be honest, I'm in agreement with a good portion of that. My interpretation displays that a lot of places just aren't interested in tattoos being visible in the work place. Yes, we've come a long way with the availability of tattoos. Every class finds some way to afford a tattoo (if not several), but it doesn't mean that someone should hire you because you have a smiley face on your forehead. You do have to think about the location/subject matter these rules seriously apply to. The usual is going to be because of a profane image. And because we, as individualists, have different points of view on terms of what is acceptable. Someone might find a butterfly on the ankle provocative (stupid, I agree). People that find tattoos offensive no matter what they are subjectively will lead to the same crap. I'm all about being yourself, but my tattoo(s - provided Cory can do more) are on my shoulder, or will always be under clothing just because they're for me. Screw the rest of the world, if they wanna see -- they can ask. But that's just me.

The Girlchild:

I was more so referring to the part where the author was vehement in his opinion that tattoos are "more popular among the poor and under educated" and " tattoos are a sign of immaturity, bad judgment and bad taste", and the like.

BTW, late schedule tomorrow.                        < --- See?  Educated college kids!)

The Boychild: 

It's wrong to generalize tattoos with poor and under-educated. I've seen lots of rotten-tooth broke-arse people with them, but that doesn't mean it's the only populous. And as for the last part, look at the picture of that guy! He's an old fart set in his ways (like most). His opinion blows. Saying such a thing goes against the "1/4th of the population is retarded."

Thanks for the update, phone didn't tell meh!


I think he's a pompous ass. I agree that tattoos are not appropriate in certain situations, and that companies have the right to stipulate a dress code. But what is under that crisp white shirt and tie is none of anybody's damned business. We are not poor and uneducated people. We are not criminals. To lump us all into one category is uneducated. Incidentally, for someone who claims to be so much better and higher on the food chain than we are, have a look at his blog. I guess it's okay with his consulting company for half naked women to be displayed on his blog, but it's not okay for someone to have a tattoo under their shirt. I would find the former more offensive than the latter.

The Boychild:




As for the blog mentioned, here is the link.  I enjoyed what comments there were, and I would have left one myself, but it appears that Mr. Burleson disabled that option.  Per chance he will stumble across my blog.  He's welcome to leave comments.  He also might want to check out Ink meets Inc: Twenty Tattooed Professionals - that is, if he can stand being wrong.

PS  My current tattoo count:  10

Posted at 2/25/2010 12:56:52 am by Rowan
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Tuesday, February 23, 2010

It's only been a year...

... or so.  Guess last year's comeback wasn't much to get excited over, eh?  I really need to make this entry something special to make up for lost time.  Two seconds.  Damn.  I got nothing.  Let's just go play some video games in the shed. I'll be back when I'm not feeling like such a zombie.

Posted at 2/23/2010 12:20:57 am by Rowan
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Friday, January 23, 2009

Bathing Erin

So I haven't blogged since like what, April?  Feel free to invent a story to cover my absence.  Feel free to send it to me.  I like stories.  I'll post it if it's good.

So I just wanted to say thank you to the woman in the maroon SUV at the car wash.  Yeah, I know this isn't typical of me to thank someone, usually I'm bitching, but...  Maroon SUV lady:  You left enough time in the car wash for me to wash, rinse, and wax The Girlchild's car.  Muchas gracias.  The poor girl needed a bath.  And since my baby Frankie is broken down (again), I felt it only right to give Erin a good scrubbing. 

Not a very exciting way to make my blog comeback, but hey, at least it's something.  Right-O.  In other news, some of the local boys have been in a bit of trouble.  For shame.  Couldn't you do something more interesting than vandalize a mailbox?  Come on, show some spirit!  How about some graffiti?  At least we'd all get to enjoy it.  Speaking of, The Girlchild and I need to reclaim the tunnel.  Are you game, Purplekitten?

Posted at 1/23/2009 2:53:32 pm by Rowan
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Thursday, April 10, 2008

I heart the free credit report dot com guy

For your listening pleasure, a compilation of the free credit report dot com jingles, with lyrics:)  Don't be shy now... you know you want to sing along

Well I was shopping for a new car
Which one's me?
A cool convertible or an SUV
Too bad I didn't know my credit was whack
Cause now I'm driving off the lot in a used subcompact
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby
Saw their ads on my TV
Thought about going but was too lazy
Now instead of lookin' fly and rollin' phat
My legs are sticking to the vinyl
And my posse's gettin' laughed at
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby.

Well I married my dream girl
I married my dream girl
But she didn't tell me her credit was bad
So now instead of living in a pleasant suburb
We're living in the basement at her mom and dad's
No we can't get a loan
For a respectable home
Just because my girl defaulted on some old credit card
If we'd gone to free credit report dot com
I'd be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard

They say a man should always dress for the job he wants
So why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?
It's all because some hacker stole my identity
Now I'm in here every evening serving chowder and iced tea
Shoulda gone to free credit report dot com (yee haw!)
I could have seen this coming at me like an atom bomb
They monitor your credit and send you email alerts
So you don't wind up selling fish to tourists in t-shirts

UPDATE:  If you're interested in finding out more about "free credit report guy" his name is Eric Violette, and here are some links:

Eric's youtube channel

Eric's homepage

Posted at 4/10/2008 5:47:01 pm by Rowan
(3) Comments


Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Conversation Between Me and The Girlchild

Me:  Johnny Depp doesn't have a myspace.
TG: If you were Johnny Depp, would YOU have a myspace?
Me: *sigh* No.

So The Girlchild's birthday is coming up, and I was going to get her a Diary Queen ice cream cake with Sweeney Todd on it.  You know, they have that "put any picture you want on a cake" deal?  Well not ANY picture, evidently.  Only a photograph.  Regardless of the fact that I got the picture from the Sweeney Todd website where it was available as a FREE download, they still wouldn't put it on a cake because of "copyright issues".  Apparently, they once put Elvis on a cake and got fined for $500.  I told the lady that Elvis was dead, and could probably care less if his face was on a cake.  She said "They gotta make their money somehow."  I'm not sure who "they" are, but I bet "they" are the ones who take me from my bed at night and leave perfectly round bruises on my thighs.  No, not THERE, you pervert.

So anyway, this other DQ chick actually asked me why someone would want Johnny Depp on a cake.  Sweet Ra, why wouldn't you?!  I mean, a chocolately, ice creamy version of Johnny Depp would be the next best thing to the real thing.  Right?

People.  I swear.

And I really wanted to be Johnny's myspace friend.

Posted at 3/5/2008 10:08:35 pm by Rowan
(1) Comments


Monday, October 08, 2007

I miss him.

I miss him

Ever have one of those dreams that you can't seem to shake when you wake up?  One of those that latched on to your emotions so hard, that you mourned the fact that the dream wasn't real?

I had one of those last night, and I can't stop thinking about him.  Not the band - although that would be a right fucking awesome dream.  Him - the man in my dream.

I don't know who he was.  I never got a name.  He looked like nobody I've met, his voice was unlike anyone I know, and he made me feel like I've never felt.  It was short, and oh so sweet.  I woke up missing him.  I've been thinking about him all day.

Life is one cruel bitch.  I found the perfect man in Sandland, and I'll probably never find that channel again.  That's probably a good thing.  Otherwise, I'd probably overdose on sleeping pills trying to spend every unwaking second with him.  The man.  Not the band.

Yesterday I had a long conversation with a relative of someone I dated.  It was mostly a question answer session - somewhat uncomfortable, somewhat not.  I promised to keep our convo a secret, so I won't say any more about it.  Besides, it's not the convo that is important.  The thing was, I got to thinking afterward about when the last time I had a phone conversation with a female was.  Other than my mother (and one liners with The Girlchild and The Girlfriend), I have not had a telephone conversation with another female since 1999.  That's seven freaking years for those of you who were in the LD math class.  Seven years. 

Most of the time I'm secure with my lack of intimate relationships, because they are usually more trouble than they are worth.  But here, in less than 24 hours, I got a not so subtle reminder of what is missing in my life.

It bloody sucks, dammit.

Since I'm in a fuckitall mood, and especially moody in the relationship arena, here is one of those survey things from Myspace, completed with a heaping helping of who fucking gives a shit and just a hint of sour grapes.

THE UNCOMFORTABLE SURVEY (note:  I don't see what could be so unfuckingcomfortable about it... it's not like they're asking if you spit or swallow)

1. Longest relationship:
12 years

2. Shortest relationship:
I have no fucking recollection - but unless something lasts a couple of months, it doesn't qualify as a relationship in my dictionary.

3. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have told you they love you?
All of those bastards

4. Have you ever thought that you were going to marry the person you were dating?
Yeah, talked about it with a couple of the no good mouth breathing shitlickers.

5. Have you ever liked someone so much that it hurts?
I liked someone so much that death seemed preferable to living without them, however, since death wasn't practical, I suffered miserably for a few months and just wished for death.

6. Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry?:
Yes.  I wish I could make them all cry. 

7. Are you happier single or in a relationship?:
Single single single.

8. Have you ever been cheated on?
Does a bear shit in the woods?  By all but two.  I hope their dicks fall off.

9. What is your favorite thing about the opposite sex?
Usually they smell good.  That's the only positive thing I can think of right now.

10.Have you ever had your heart broken?
Do I really have to fucking answer this question?

11. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
Yes.  But not intentionally.

12. Talk to any of your exes?
Only the one that stalks me, and my ex husband, when I fucking have to.  However, the former is going to find his ass with a restraining order nailed to his door if he doesn't leave me the fuck alone.

13. If you could go back in time would you change things to where you could still be with one of your exes?
Sorry, I fell over laughing.  What was the question?

14. Think any of your ex's feel the same way?
I hope they all are completely and totally miserable wishing that they hadn't fucked me over.  Oh, and I hope that their dicks never get hard again.  Those that had a dick, that is.

15. Do you believe that you are a good boyfriend or girlfriend?
Yes, except for that one, and he just wouldn't take the hint.

16. Have you dated people who were not good to you?
Does Pamela Anderson have fake tits?

17. Have you dated someone older then you?
Yes. (but sure as hell not more mature)

18. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?
Hell.  Fucking.  No. 

19. Believe in love at first sight?
Yes.  It's called a puppy.

20. Ever dated two people at once?
No, and nobody with any morals at all would.

21. Do you want to get married?
Only if he's 104 with an estate worth millions and is leaving it all to me.

22. Do you have something to say to any of your exes?
I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

23. Ever stolen someone's boyfriend or girlfriend?
No, I'm not a vicious fucking cunt.

24. Ever liked someone else's boyfriend or girlfriend?
I didn't KNOW they belonged to someone else, because the rat bastards LIED and said they were SEPARATED, and my dumb ass fell for it twice... I hope their balls shrivel up into tiny raisin-like lesions, and a squirrel chews them off.

25. Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds?
What the fuck do you think?  What a stupid fucking question.

26. Are you looking for a boyfriend or girlfriend?
No, and if I find one, I have mace, a box cutter, and a billy club embedded with nails.

Any more stupid questions?


Posted at 10/8/2007 9:03:32 pm by Rowan
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Wednesday, September 05, 2007

I feel Fluffy.

Last week I saw an exboyfriend's truck parked a few houses away from where I work.  I don't know who lives there, but his truck stayed there several days, and had me wondering what he was doing.  It's an interesting house, in that their entire front porch is covered with unidentifiable pieces of junk, and their grass is always high.  At any rate, I didn't dwell on being nosy too long, but I did have occassion to reminisce about our short relationship.  Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking when it comes to men.

This guy, who a friend and I used to refer to as "Aneurysm Boy" after the breakup, was one of the flakier guys I've ever dated.  The friend and I met him at a club one night.  It was karaoke night, and the friend fancied that she could sing - which she could, don't get me wrong, if you happen to like Broadway hits (which I don't).  She could turn Mary Had a Little Lamb into a Broadway soundtrack.

I recently ran across a YouTube video of hers.  We haven't spoken in quite a long time... the last being at the wake of her aunt, whom she had been waiting on to die so she could sell her house and hook up with some guy from Alaska she'd met on the internet.  It seemed that her plan worked, because she was married and video blogging from Alaska.

I stopped associating with her after she began proclaiming to whomever cared to listen that I was a slut.  This came about after a guy she liked showed some interest in me.  I wasn't interested in her guy, but evidently, she wanted to discourage him from any further communication with me, and I guess she thought that my being the proposed slut would put him off.  Hey, I'm not the one that showed up at his place the morning after their first date for a booty call.  No, I am not.  I am also not the one that on another first date with some internet dude, gave him oral pleasures in the mall parking lot.  Okay? 

Be that as it may, we did have some interesting times before the fallout.  She was an odd one, to say the least.  She had a thing for Queer as Folk and the Beatles, called herself "The Fluff" (because she was "fluffy" not "fat") and had a hysterectomy at the age of 30 (I think) because she didn't want children.  She also had her appendix removed at the same time, since she didn't need them.  What kinda quack doctor agrees to cut someone open and remove things just because the patient had a whim?  Then again, maybe he figured this chick shouldn't breed. 

She was constantly on some sort of medically supervised diet, and taking those diet pills that block the absorption of fat, but which also will cause you to have "leakage" if you consume too much fat.  She called it "orange oil", and would loudly proclaim that she had it.  I think someone should have told her that the diet pills wouldn't counteract 12 Fazoli's breadsticks.

You had to feel a little bad for her.  She had a confusing childhood.  Her real mother gave her to her grandmother, who she thought was her actual mother for a long time, and then found out that her real mother didn't want her, and her mother was her grandmother, and her father didn't want anything to do with her.  She was spoiled beyond belief, and was such a total bitch to her aunt, who took her in after her grandmother/mother went a little nuts.  This aunt practically raised her, gave her everything she could ever want and more, and "The Fluff" would scream at her and call her names - it was horrible.  And then the whole "I was just waiting for her to die so I could sell the house" thing.  Sheesh.

My first ever memory of this girl was her coming to visit my neighbor.  I happened to be there, too, and Fluff was all decked out in a pretty little dress - you know, her family had money, and she had all the best.  Anyway, she bounced about the yard, and I followed her around to the back, where I saw her reach down and pick up a nice piece of dog poop.

Some interesting memories in her teenage years were of her sticking her fingers into a fan to see if it would cut them (it did) and snorting Doritos.  Another time, she volunteered to drive me up to see a boyfriend, and somehow managed to run over into a ditch and smash her other aunt's car.  Oddly enough, I got blamed for this.  Of course I did.  The Fluff never did any wrong, at least in her aunt's eyes.

Where was I going with this?  Oh yes, I was speaking of the exboyfriend.  At any rate, he was most a most flaky character.  He was rather cute, a bit round, and most anxious to show me off to all of his friends.  Our first date ended up being a double date at Macados with two of his friends, one of which flirted with me the entire evening.  XBF didn't seem to notice.  The next "date" consisted of us riding around in his truck from one of his friend's houses to the next, to "introduce me".  A little odd, but somewhat flattering, too.  We spent a considerable amount of time on the telephone.  He worked for the railroad, and was gone 5 days a week.  We would get together on weekends.

Our most "memorable" date was spent drinking sodas in K-Mart parking lot after dark, because he was "broke".  Ah... so romantic.  Eventually he started acting really weird, and making up stories about his sister that I still can't make any sense of, but the point of which was that I shouldn't call his house.  Once he called me and asked if I could meet him in a few minutes at Walmart.  I said yes, and went to the designated spot, only to have him not show up.  He eventually called, and had an excuse about being delayed, and asked me to meet him in Arby's parking lot (which, incidentally, was where we met up on the first date, prior to Macados).  I went there, waited... once again, no show.  A call to him only gave me voice mail, so I decided to go home.  He had the most wonderful excuse that a naive woman like myself ate up like candy.  So the next time he called me to meet him somewhere, I went again, like a lamb to slaughter.  Of course, he didn't show, and I didn't buy the excuse this time.

I can't remember the exact details of our breakup, but there was something about calling him from a club and having his mother tell me that he was out with his girlfriend.  Ahem.  I told her this WAS his girlfriend... and shortly thereafter he called me, whereupon I told him to blow it out his ass.  Not really, I can't remember what I said... but it had the same sentiment.

I later found out from his cousin (with whom I was attending college) that he'd had an aneurysm when he was a boy, and hadn't been right sense.

I know how to pick 'em, all right.

Posted at 9/5/2007 9:08:37 pm by Rowan
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Sunday, September 02, 2007

The Pocy Pen

Remember back when I was bitching about the costs on my ticket, particularly the parts about being charged for a two day stay in jail (that I didn't do) and the accompanying jail upkeep fees?

Well, by Ra, I know why now. And I wasn't too far off when I said it must have been the fucking Ritz Carlton.

Granddolly (as we call my mother, because she calls me "Dolly" all the time... and now, The Girlchild as well: she's "Dolly #2), The Boychild, and The Girlfriend and I all went on a tour of the new Pocahontas State Correctional Center, which happens to be only a couple of miles from my house.

The prison is a Level 3 prison, which houses a variety of prisoners, from new criminals to lifers. They have to be fairly well behaved to qualify for a level three. Virginia has 5 prison level.

The prison is brand new, of course, so everything was white and clean and pristine. The razorwire gleamed in the sunlight, and there was a smell of fresh pain.

Our first main stop was the visiting area, which was right near the front door. I suppose that made it more accessible to visitors, but also seemed like it would be awfully tempting for a prisoner, especially since the guards don't carry guns. Their only weapons were a radio and a whistle. Gee, now that would deter me. Wouldn't it you?

There were several rows of chairs for those allowed direct contact with their loved ones, and then four of the phone and window deals like you see so much on TV. The inmates get at least an hour, and may get to visit longer if there aren't too many visitors that day. I can't remember how often they are permitted to receive visitors.

Next was the gym, which was pretty darn spiffy, and then to the laundromat. The washers and dryers were HUGE. The lady giving the tour (who was the prison psychologist) said inmates worked in the laundry, and they got paid anywhere from 20-60 cents per hour. Each inmate puts their dirty laundry in a bag, and the workers throw bag and all into the washer. They don't even have to add detergent - it comes out automatically. I'd love to have one of those washers. I'd only have to do one load a week. Wonder if they would wanna contract their laundry out? Hell, I might even go as high as 75 cents an hour. I'm generous like that.

We were standing next to a black corrections officer (and DON'T call them "guards", they don't like it, and may very well strangle you with their whistle) who looked like the guy from Saturday Night Live. Granddolly insisted on having her picture taken with one of the giant washers.

The next area was "the yard". There were basketball goals out there, too, and two weight machines, which The Boychild said were nicer than the ones in his school gym. Ms. Psyche said the prisoners are allowed an hour a day outside, year round.

Next we went past some offices, and there were water fountains along the wall. I had the big idea of getting pictures of us all drinking "prison water", which I did. Miras los fotos:

Unfortunately, we took so long doing it that we got lost from our group, and had to find someone to get us back where we were supposed to be. Ever the troublemaker, that's me. The next room was to be a small engine repair shop. The cons work on lawnmower and motorcycle motors - stuff like that. People on the outside can bring their things in to be fixed, along with the proper parts, and it only costs $5.

I leaned up against the wall, and felt something depress under my shoulder. It was a red button, which SNL CO said was a panic button. There was one on either side of the room. Evidently, they'd disabled that stuff, because nobody came running, and no alarm sounded. That room was pretty big, and I'm thinking that if I were a prisoner going to cause a ruckous, I'd make sure that I did it where the person in charge couldn't reach the button. Which would be pretty much anywhere a foot away.

Oh yeah! Did you know they get to smoke in there? I thought that you couldn't smoke in prison. Maybe that's just West Virginia. I remember my former friend who spent some time there talking about women hiding dope and tobacco inside their hoohahs. They used pages of the Bible to roll their cigarettes in. I guess they smuggled in lighters, too.

But I digress... in this prison, they can smoke, and they get to have lighters so long as they are clear. Why clear? So they can't hide anything in them. I asked Latino CO what kept them from breaking open the lighter, throwing fluid on someone, and lighting him on fire. Latino CO said, "Thanks, I hadn't thought of that. Now I have something else to worry about." I'm here to help.

We went through the dining area, which aside from being mostly stainless steel, looked like it could have been any pretty much any institution. They have a little slot for the tray to go through, which they said was a "blind slot" because tray giver and tray taker couldn't see one another. This prevented anyone from giving their buddy extra helpings. What prevents them from spitting in the soup? Hey, I've seen these things on TV. Someone even ejaculated into a pot of food once. Now tell me, what was the CO doing that gave someone long enough to pull out his monkey, spank it, and let it throw up in the stew? Psyche Lady said that the inmates also cook for the staff. I'd brown bag it, thankyouverymuch.

We went through part of the medical wing, and learned that the inmates get their teeth fixed and it only costs $5. That is SO unfair. I had insurance the last time I went to the dentist and STILL owed $300.

The next part we went to was the segregation area, where they put the prisoners who don't play well with others. The cells had only one bed, and the shower area was interesting. There were shower stalls, which you could see right into. The doors looked like the ones you might see at the mall entrance. And get this - they were right in front of this little guard area, and they locked you in there while you showered. Neato. The segregated prisoners got to go outside, too, but instead of getting to walk around, they were in a little cage. No ciggies for them.

Our last stop was one of the "pods" which is what they called the group of cells along with the central area that consisted of tables and a 42 INCH TELEVISION. I am not shitting you. They get to watch a TV that's bigger than my office window. Sure, it's only an hour a day, and they don't get to channel surf, but man! They also are permitted a 5" TV in their room. Somehow, watching TV and reading books doesn't sound like a lot of punishment to me. I tested out the sink and the toilets... and if you go potty in the middle of the night, you're going to wake up the whole cell block when you flush the toilet. Those things are loud. The beds, while pretty darn narrow, were pretty comfy. I don't think I would have a hard time sleeping, provided my cell mate didn't keep me up all night. And that's a double entendre if there ever was one.

The showers were behind this half wall, and they looked relatively safe. I don't know how they are set up in other prisons, but it would be awfully hard to take someone against their will in the showers. IF you know what I mean.

The whole time we were in there, my mother was chatting up this Latino CO. My mother will ask anyone anything at any time. She calls it being friendly. I called it flirting. The CO probably called it being nosey. She wasn't really flirting, but it got her wired up when we told her to stop flirting. It was quite amusing. However, if there's anything you want to know about Latino CO and SNL CO, feel free to ask my mom. I'm pretty sure she got their life stories.

Our guide told us that those prisoners transferring in were excited about the move. Well, I guess so. I was rather thinking of moving in myself. Unfortunately, the prison only houses men. Okay, maybe I wouldn't want to stay for a year, but a week or so would seem like a vacation. All my meals cooked, my laundry done, time to catch up on some reading... I could finally finish that vampire novel I did one chapter of years ago.

The one thing that I wanted to get a shot of was the razor wire, and wouldn't ya know it, the camera battery died right before we got to pass under it. There was this one archway that had the wire over the top of it, and also parallel. I tried to stick my finger through so I could touch it (touch it, not slice my finger open, let's be clear), but there was plexiglass between the two layers of fence. SNL CO said, "We put that there because we knew you'd try and stick your finger in there." Hmph!

The whole prison tour experience made me really curious as to what it was really like in there. I mean, if you saw the place, you'd really think that aside from being unable to leave, it wasn't all that bad. Three square meals a day, your laundry washed, air conditioning (excellent air conditioning), a warm bed, entertainment, medical and dental care - heck, they've got it better than a lot of people. The cells were bigger than my office area. So I decided I was gonna do a little research on the subject, and what better way than to talk to real prisoners. There are several prison pen pal sites on the web, and I went to the first one in the Google search. They have pictures and a little bit about themselves, kinda like a personal ad. Now let's get one thing clear here, boys and girls... I am not, I repeat, NOT looking for a hookup. Matter of fact, I made sure that the guys I picked out were just looking for a friend or someone to write to, AND, that they wouldn't be getting out any time soon. I'll be writing my first letters tomorrow. I'll let ya know if I learn anything interesting.


Posted at 9/2/2007 4:30:42 am by Rowan
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