20 July 05
Xena On Prison Rape
“What motivates prisoners to rape other prisoners?” I asked.
“Two things: sexual desire and anger,” Xena replied.
“In what proportion?”
“I’d say more than half are out of anger or hatred.”
“Hatred of themselves or their victims?”
“Probably both. Taking anger at themselves out on their victims.”
“Have you been raped in prison?”
“Yes”
“How did it make you feel?”
“Pretty fucked up. It’s very degrading.”
“What happened?”
“The first time was a gang rape. They beat the shit out of me. It was definitely motivated by anger. They stuffed things inside my body, beat me until I was unconscious, raped me while I was unconscious.”
“What did they stick inside your body?”
“A broomstick.”
“How do you know, if you were unconscious, that they raped you?"
“When I had to excrete afterwards. I could tell by what came out.”
“What did you do after being raped?"
“I sat in my cell for two weeks waiting for the physical scars to go away. I got moved to another yard where the same thing happened. They beat the shit out of me and raped me and used me afterwards as a sex toy, a prostitute, or as far as prison terminology is concerned, a punk.”
“Emotionally, how did you feel?”
“Degraded. There was no recourse, no one to talk to. Someone who’s raped can’t go to admin or they’ll throw you in the hole for months, or years, in a dungeon. They’ll say it’s for your own protection. A person can do absolutely nothing other than killing the perpetrators. There’s no way to have someone prosecuted. The victim is labelled a rat and a punk – considered less than a human being.”
“The guards won’t help you? There are no remedies?”
“Who would believe you? Even admin won’t believe you. They just think that you’re playing games.”
“Did you think about killing the people who did this to you?”
“I thought about killing myself first. I wanted to. I still do sometimes.”
At this point I stopped the interview because Xena was crying.
Xena returned an hour later.
“I’ve got more to tell you.”
“OK.”
“When prisoners are being used for sexual purposes they are told to appear like men – to grow moustaches, to shave their heads or to be clean cut – so nobody believes that so and so is using them for sex. The belief that we’re treated like females is a false belief. Looking how you’re told to look is denying who you are, what you are.”
“Do you have any advice for parents whose youngsters have been imprisoned for weed or DUIs? Does this happen mostly to youngsters?”
“Yes. Especially if they don’t have money. But it can happen to anybody. I’ve seen it happen to big mad mo’-fo’s, to skinny people, even to the ugliest people in the world. People who come to prison who aren’t street smart, who aren’t schooled, who don’t understand the mentality of the ghetto life, who have never been subjected to the hardships of street life, those are the people who get preyed upon.”
“How did you stop it?”
“I took the abuse for as long as I could, and then I started fighting. I won most of the fights. When I stood up, and told them that I didn’t care about getting killed, it stopped. You’ve got to be ruthless.”
“Well, Xena, I’m going to post this with your permission, hoping that your account will help the public to understand the prison-rape problem. Thanks for sharing such personal information.”
“You’re welcome.”
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post a message below:
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
17 July 05
Quote of the Month
The following conversation occurred between two convicted murderers. Two Tonys is a Detroit Irish-Italian whose wit could upstage Rodney Dangerfield's. Slope is a hillbilly with a tattoo of a broken heart on his penis. Slope is near the end of a twenty-five-year sentence, whereas Two Tonys is serving multiple life sentences. Two Tonys speaks like an old mobster. He used to be an associate of the Bonnano and Licavoli crime families.
Here’s Slope telling Two Tonys about the new reclassification system:
“There’s a new reclass system coming into effect. Education 'll help yer get yer score down,” Slope said.
“Great! I’ve got a GED and I’m only in here for killin’ two motherfuckers, maybe I’ll get some play,” Two Tonys said.
Slope laughed.
“It’s true. I only whacked two motherfuckers – the rest they still ain’t found. They were all pieces of shit though. They had it comin’. Just like I told the judge at my trial, ‘Your Honour, I never killed anyone who didn’t have it comin’.”
Two Tonys' admission to the judge wins the quote of the month award.
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post a comment below:
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Quote of the Month
The following conversation occurred between two convicted murderers. Two Tonys is a Detroit Irish-Italian whose wit could upstage Rodney Dangerfield's. Slope is a hillbilly with a tattoo of a broken heart on his penis. Slope is near the end of a twenty-five-year sentence, whereas Two Tonys is serving multiple life sentences. Two Tonys speaks like an old mobster. He used to be an associate of the Bonnano and Licavoli crime families.
Here’s Slope telling Two Tonys about the new reclassification system:
“There’s a new reclass system coming into effect. Education 'll help yer get yer score down,” Slope said.
“Great! I’ve got a GED and I’m only in here for killin’ two motherfuckers, maybe I’ll get some play,” Two Tonys said.
Slope laughed.
“It’s true. I only whacked two motherfuckers – the rest they still ain’t found. They were all pieces of shit though. They had it comin’. Just like I told the judge at my trial, ‘Your Honour, I never killed anyone who didn’t have it comin’.”
Two Tonys' admission to the judge wins the quote of the month award.
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post a comment below:
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
16 July 05
Orange Alert
It may take up to one month for mail to forward from Buckeye to Tucson, so I apologise for any delays in my replies.
I recently received some books from readers that had no sender information to send personal thanks to. Those books included The Evolving Self and The Dawn of All.
As always, I appreciate your correspondence and gifts of books. Your books are donated to the library when I’ve read them, thus providing countless Orangemen with reading material.
Good lookin’ out!
Jon
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post a comment below:
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Orange Alert
It may take up to one month for mail to forward from Buckeye to Tucson, so I apologise for any delays in my replies.
I recently received some books from readers that had no sender information to send personal thanks to. Those books included The Evolving Self and The Dawn of All.
As always, I appreciate your correspondence and gifts of books. Your books are donated to the library when I’ve read them, thus providing countless Orangemen with reading material.
Good lookin’ out!
Jon
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post a comment below:
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Monday, July 25, 2005
15 July 05
The Journey to Tucson
“Lockdown! Special count!” a guard announced at 6am on Monday morning.
“We’re leavin’. Here’s the blue bags!” Long Island said. (The blue bags are used to transport our property.)
My belongings were trolleyed to a warehouse to be inventoried. In the warehouse, inmates were trying to avoid the guards they suspected would confiscate extra property such as books, clothing, magazines and cassette tapes. Having no extra property, I approached Officer Perez who has a bad reputation with the inmates. Perez was cordial. He divulged that his favourite groups include The Smiths and New Order, and that he used to frequent dance clubs in Phoenix such as the Blue Iguana and the Works Club.
The rest of Monday I spent in my cell without anything to write with– argh! To pass time I read some Buddhist literature and a book called Revolutionary Guerrilla Warfare.
At 3am on Tuesday the cell door clicked open. I was instructed to roll up my mattress, to deposit it in the day room, and to proceed to the chow hall. Breakfast was an orange and a turkey-ham sandwich that Long Island described as, “Foul-ass shit with chunks of bone in it.”
After chow, the guards led 75 of us a warehouse. They strip-searched us, ten at a time, in the middle of the room without using any privacy divides.
“Put your arms in the air. Open your mouth. Raise your balls. Turn around. Bend over. Spread 'em. Cough.”
Outside, against a fence, I was hand and leg cuffed.
On the bus I was greeted by a transportation officer: “Number!” His tone seemed designed to make us feel less than human.
Near the front of the bus, I sat next to Blackheart. Through the barred windows I saw
forest-fire flames dancing on the surrounding mountaintops. The illusion, which was confusing the inmates, was due to the angle of the rising sun.
As the bus cruised at 80mph on the freeway, the security gate separating us from the two guards clattered incessantly – a reminder that my life was rattling away.
Travelling east on the Interstate 8, road signs brought to mind past journeys spent on that freeway. Most recently I had taken my ex-wife, Amy, on a trip to Sea World in San Diego on her birthday, where we had dinner with Shamu, the celebrity killer whale. Years before that trip, I used to travel on the I8 with my girlfriend, Stormy, to visit her parents who lived on two houseboats at Coronado Island. Stormy wanted to have children and for me to quit raving. I wondered how different my life would have been if we had married and started having children.
From time to time, the driver swigged from a gallon plastic water bottle.
At Casa Grande, the bus exited the I8 and joined the I10 to Tucson.
The driver's partner fell asleep. His right leg ended up horizontal, propped up by the front of the vehicle and his shotgun. His dark eyelids and long eyelashes gave him a feminine look.
The vehicle swerved. Inmates jeered. Like a startled child, the sleeping guard opened his eyes and blinked hard. On gathering his bearings he pulled a stern face.
Passing Picacho Peak, countless saguaros appeared to be marching up the mountain. Some were lodged in the cliff face. At the foot of Picacho Peak sat the Arizona Nut House.
Entering Tucson we passed the Ina Road exit – the exit I used to take to get to my home in the Catalina Foothills
The signs Wilmot Road Exit and Arizona State Prison 4 miles marked the journey’s end.
Here's what I brought from Buckeye to Tucson.
Inmate Property Inventory
1 Radio clear tech Walkman
1 Headphones
1 Corded electric razor without case
1 Reading Lamp with bulb
1 Fan
1 Box of legal material
1 Box of checkers
7 Books
1 Bulb ‘Phillips’
15 Cassette tapes ‘Learning tapes’
1 Box of toiletries
1 Box of crackers
1 Jar of Peanut butter
1 Tumbler
1 Bowl
1 Cup
1 Sunglasses
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Jon's new address is below:
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160
ASPC-Tucson
Santa Rita, Unit 4-D-11, PO BOX 24406, 10012 S Wilmot Rd
Tucson, 85734-4406, Arizona
U.S.A
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
The Journey to Tucson
“Lockdown! Special count!” a guard announced at 6am on Monday morning.
“We’re leavin’. Here’s the blue bags!” Long Island said. (The blue bags are used to transport our property.)
My belongings were trolleyed to a warehouse to be inventoried. In the warehouse, inmates were trying to avoid the guards they suspected would confiscate extra property such as books, clothing, magazines and cassette tapes. Having no extra property, I approached Officer Perez who has a bad reputation with the inmates. Perez was cordial. He divulged that his favourite groups include The Smiths and New Order, and that he used to frequent dance clubs in Phoenix such as the Blue Iguana and the Works Club.
The rest of Monday I spent in my cell without anything to write with– argh! To pass time I read some Buddhist literature and a book called Revolutionary Guerrilla Warfare.
At 3am on Tuesday the cell door clicked open. I was instructed to roll up my mattress, to deposit it in the day room, and to proceed to the chow hall. Breakfast was an orange and a turkey-ham sandwich that Long Island described as, “Foul-ass shit with chunks of bone in it.”
After chow, the guards led 75 of us a warehouse. They strip-searched us, ten at a time, in the middle of the room without using any privacy divides.
“Put your arms in the air. Open your mouth. Raise your balls. Turn around. Bend over. Spread 'em. Cough.”
Outside, against a fence, I was hand and leg cuffed.
On the bus I was greeted by a transportation officer: “Number!” His tone seemed designed to make us feel less than human.
Near the front of the bus, I sat next to Blackheart. Through the barred windows I saw
forest-fire flames dancing on the surrounding mountaintops. The illusion, which was confusing the inmates, was due to the angle of the rising sun.
As the bus cruised at 80mph on the freeway, the security gate separating us from the two guards clattered incessantly – a reminder that my life was rattling away.
Travelling east on the Interstate 8, road signs brought to mind past journeys spent on that freeway. Most recently I had taken my ex-wife, Amy, on a trip to Sea World in San Diego on her birthday, where we had dinner with Shamu, the celebrity killer whale. Years before that trip, I used to travel on the I8 with my girlfriend, Stormy, to visit her parents who lived on two houseboats at Coronado Island. Stormy wanted to have children and for me to quit raving. I wondered how different my life would have been if we had married and started having children.
From time to time, the driver swigged from a gallon plastic water bottle.
At Casa Grande, the bus exited the I8 and joined the I10 to Tucson.
The driver's partner fell asleep. His right leg ended up horizontal, propped up by the front of the vehicle and his shotgun. His dark eyelids and long eyelashes gave him a feminine look.
The vehicle swerved. Inmates jeered. Like a startled child, the sleeping guard opened his eyes and blinked hard. On gathering his bearings he pulled a stern face.
Passing Picacho Peak, countless saguaros appeared to be marching up the mountain. Some were lodged in the cliff face. At the foot of Picacho Peak sat the Arizona Nut House.
Entering Tucson we passed the Ina Road exit – the exit I used to take to get to my home in the Catalina Foothills
The signs Wilmot Road Exit and Arizona State Prison 4 miles marked the journey’s end.
Here's what I brought from Buckeye to Tucson.
Inmate Property Inventory
1 Radio clear tech Walkman
1 Headphones
1 Corded electric razor without case
1 Reading Lamp with bulb
1 Fan
1 Box of legal material
1 Box of checkers
7 Books
1 Bulb ‘Phillips’
15 Cassette tapes ‘Learning tapes’
1 Box of toiletries
1 Box of crackers
1 Jar of Peanut butter
1 Tumbler
1 Bowl
1 Cup
1 Sunglasses
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Jon's new address is below:
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160
ASPC-Tucson
Santa Rita, Unit 4-D-11, PO BOX 24406, 10012 S Wilmot Rd
Tucson, 85734-4406, Arizona
U.S.A
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Thursday, July 21, 2005
10 July 05
Lest We Forget
“The mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs nor a favoured few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately by the grace of God.”
Thomas Jefferson
It’s the one-year anniversary of my transfer from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s jail system to the Arizona Department of Corrections. Since being moved I’ve kept track of conditions at Arpaio’s jails via Linda and Pearl – the two founder members of Mothers Against Arpaio – who have provided testimonies from inmates and inmate family members. Here ares some excerpts the testimonies.
“…my fiancé committed suicide in Madison Street on December 28, 2004.”
“My brother…came into contact with what they call ‘Durango Rot’, a foot fungus. They refused him medical treatment for this until one toe became so large with disease that it literally exploded.”
“One lady who was in the holding cell with me…[her] uterus fell out while in the tents. She was holding it and told the sheriffs….[she was told] it was not an emergency and she could push it back in.”
“…my son has suffered constantly with anti-Semitism. He has been beaten tormented and denied medical care after a beating by a detention officer…. He suffered two hemiated discs and nerve compression in his back. He is suffering from reccurring staph infections…. He has had heart surgery due to a staph infection that attacked one of his valves. His body is covered with scars due to these infections eating away at his skin.”
“…a very close friend of mine was beaten into a coma, by other inmates in Madison Street Jail, and nearly died. Still today, he can barely walk.”
“My daughter…at Estrella [jail]…contracted an infection…. She may lose her leg; they took her [to hospital] with an open wound, a good 8 inches long, 2 inches wide cut almost to the bone and tissue….”
“…my daughter…saw a woman pepper sprayed because she had been asking and asking for medical help.”
“My son…has been beaten (resulting in broken ribs, bruises, cuts)….The jail is overheated, overcrowded and infested with bugs and lice. Sheriff Joe has NO RIGHT…to run his jail as a NAZI CONCENTRATION CAMP!”
“Our grandchildren’s father died while in the custody of Sheriff Joe Arpaio. Our grandchildren…are without a father now because of the horrific conditions that Eddie was subjected to.”
“…his tents aren’t saving tax dollars, they are making Joe rich…. His justice will come just like Hitler’s and the rest of the Third Reich.”
It seems to have been business as usual for Sheriff Joe Arpaio.
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post your comments below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Lest We Forget
“The mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs nor a favoured few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately by the grace of God.”
Thomas Jefferson
It’s the one-year anniversary of my transfer from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s jail system to the Arizona Department of Corrections. Since being moved I’ve kept track of conditions at Arpaio’s jails via Linda and Pearl – the two founder members of Mothers Against Arpaio – who have provided testimonies from inmates and inmate family members. Here ares some excerpts the testimonies.
“…my fiancé committed suicide in Madison Street on December 28, 2004.”
“My brother…came into contact with what they call ‘Durango Rot’, a foot fungus. They refused him medical treatment for this until one toe became so large with disease that it literally exploded.”
“One lady who was in the holding cell with me…[her] uterus fell out while in the tents. She was holding it and told the sheriffs….[she was told] it was not an emergency and she could push it back in.”
“…my son has suffered constantly with anti-Semitism. He has been beaten tormented and denied medical care after a beating by a detention officer…. He suffered two hemiated discs and nerve compression in his back. He is suffering from reccurring staph infections…. He has had heart surgery due to a staph infection that attacked one of his valves. His body is covered with scars due to these infections eating away at his skin.”
“…a very close friend of mine was beaten into a coma, by other inmates in Madison Street Jail, and nearly died. Still today, he can barely walk.”
“My daughter…at Estrella [jail]…contracted an infection…. She may lose her leg; they took her [to hospital] with an open wound, a good 8 inches long, 2 inches wide cut almost to the bone and tissue….”
“…my daughter…saw a woman pepper sprayed because she had been asking and asking for medical help.”
“My son…has been beaten (resulting in broken ribs, bruises, cuts)….The jail is overheated, overcrowded and infested with bugs and lice. Sheriff Joe has NO RIGHT…to run his jail as a NAZI CONCENTRATION CAMP!”
“Our grandchildren’s father died while in the custody of Sheriff Joe Arpaio. Our grandchildren…are without a father now because of the horrific conditions that Eddie was subjected to.”
“…his tents aren’t saving tax dollars, they are making Joe rich…. His justice will come just like Hitler’s and the rest of the Third Reich.”
It seems to have been business as usual for Sheriff Joe Arpaio.
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post your comments below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
9 July 05
Lunch with Frankie
“Early-outs lunch” enables inmates who have afternoon work or education to eat at 10am. As Frankie and I both attend programs, I was able to join him for early-outs lunch.
After giving Frankie a hug he disclosed that his wife has stopped visiting him causing him to go “straight gay”. Him and his friends asked if I’d “turned gay” yet. They seemed sceptical of my response and declared that, “It is only a matter of time”. Ogling Xena, Frankie complained about the quality of the cheetos on his side of the building.
Frankie was in possesion of a letter from my last cellmate at the Madison Street Jail, Mark. Sadly, Mark’s parents have had to put their house up for sale in order to pay Mark’s legal bill, which has climbed near to the six-figure mark.
Since having lunch with Frankie, I received a letter from him pertaining to George:
Para mi esposa [for my wife]
After reading about George in your journal, I’m very anxious about him. As you know I’m a very jealous man and you are engaged. Don’t this guy know that I will send in the dogs on him and make him pee. You better tell George about Caesar, I go way back and I love the back door.
By the way tell George that it wasn’t your Spanish that led me to fall in love with you, it was your yoga exercises that caught all my attention, and that one time at Madison Street jail when I caught you rubbing cream into your bed sores. [At Madison Street Jail, Frankie, on his hour out, appeared at my cell window when I had just pulled down my pink boxer shorts and was applying anti fungal cream to the bedsores on my buttocks.] It was love at first sight!
Also, if you need to know anything about your Hershey Highway that’s my department. I’m an expert in that area. I’m also a certified pipe layer.
Well my friend, I’m hearing that we’re being moved to South Unit in Florence which will be dorms… It will be really cool if we end up in the same dorm. Now that will be really nice Englandman.
I’m going to close now but not forever,
Much love and respect,
Frankie
ps Tell George I’m the number one in you vida [life] and that we’re engaged. By the way I want to meet this guy so introduce him to me. Take care and forget me not!
Since receiving this letter I’ve told George that Frankie wants to meet him, and George’s response was: “Tell him I’m in Siberia.”
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post comments below
Lunch with Frankie
“Early-outs lunch” enables inmates who have afternoon work or education to eat at 10am. As Frankie and I both attend programs, I was able to join him for early-outs lunch.
After giving Frankie a hug he disclosed that his wife has stopped visiting him causing him to go “straight gay”. Him and his friends asked if I’d “turned gay” yet. They seemed sceptical of my response and declared that, “It is only a matter of time”. Ogling Xena, Frankie complained about the quality of the cheetos on his side of the building.
Frankie was in possesion of a letter from my last cellmate at the Madison Street Jail, Mark. Sadly, Mark’s parents have had to put their house up for sale in order to pay Mark’s legal bill, which has climbed near to the six-figure mark.
Since having lunch with Frankie, I received a letter from him pertaining to George:
Para mi esposa [for my wife]
After reading about George in your journal, I’m very anxious about him. As you know I’m a very jealous man and you are engaged. Don’t this guy know that I will send in the dogs on him and make him pee. You better tell George about Caesar, I go way back and I love the back door.
By the way tell George that it wasn’t your Spanish that led me to fall in love with you, it was your yoga exercises that caught all my attention, and that one time at Madison Street jail when I caught you rubbing cream into your bed sores. [At Madison Street Jail, Frankie, on his hour out, appeared at my cell window when I had just pulled down my pink boxer shorts and was applying anti fungal cream to the bedsores on my buttocks.] It was love at first sight!
Also, if you need to know anything about your Hershey Highway that’s my department. I’m an expert in that area. I’m also a certified pipe layer.
Well my friend, I’m hearing that we’re being moved to South Unit in Florence which will be dorms… It will be really cool if we end up in the same dorm. Now that will be really nice Englandman.
I’m going to close now but not forever,
Much love and respect,
Frankie
ps Tell George I’m the number one in you vida [life] and that we’re engaged. By the way I want to meet this guy so introduce him to me. Take care and forget me not!
Since receiving this letter I’ve told George that Frankie wants to meet him, and George’s response was: “Tell him I’m in Siberia.”
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com or post comments below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Sunday, July 17, 2005
8 July 05
Battle for my Cheerios
Previously, I wrote that prisoners sometimes fight over trivialities such as candy bars or cups of Kool-Aid. Lets add a handful of Cheerios to that list.
As Ogre has been friendly since Boxing Day Punch, even showing me pictures of his multiple children with multiple women and nude photos of his pretty ex-wife, I have been giving him my Cheerio ration, which I never eat. Last Weekend, Druid asked for my cereal first, so I gave my Cheerios to Druid instead of Ogre.
Ogre approached our table, grinning and licking his moustache. But when he saw that my Cheerios had migrated from my tray to Druid’s, his eyes widened and he yelled, “I own his Cheerios.” He grabbed a handful of Cheerios from Druid’s tray.
In prison, laying your hands on another inmates tray is an act of war. Druid – who receives counselling for an anger problem – became enraged as Ogre’s hairy fingers scooped up more Cheerios. As Ogre strode away, Druid fumed and refused to eat his chow.
After chow, Druid accosted Ogre, and there was puffing and shouting, pushing and shoving, and
almost a fight.
Now, I don’t know what to do with my Cheerios. Maybe General Mills could withdraw them from the market before someone gets hurt.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Battle for my Cheerios
Previously, I wrote that prisoners sometimes fight over trivialities such as candy bars or cups of Kool-Aid. Lets add a handful of Cheerios to that list.
As Ogre has been friendly since Boxing Day Punch, even showing me pictures of his multiple children with multiple women and nude photos of his pretty ex-wife, I have been giving him my Cheerio ration, which I never eat. Last Weekend, Druid asked for my cereal first, so I gave my Cheerios to Druid instead of Ogre.
Ogre approached our table, grinning and licking his moustache. But when he saw that my Cheerios had migrated from my tray to Druid’s, his eyes widened and he yelled, “I own his Cheerios.” He grabbed a handful of Cheerios from Druid’s tray.
In prison, laying your hands on another inmates tray is an act of war. Druid – who receives counselling for an anger problem – became enraged as Ogre’s hairy fingers scooped up more Cheerios. As Ogre strode away, Druid fumed and refused to eat his chow.
After chow, Druid accosted Ogre, and there was puffing and shouting, pushing and shoving, and
almost a fight.
Now, I don’t know what to do with my Cheerios. Maybe General Mills could withdraw them from the market before someone gets hurt.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Saturday, July 16, 2005
7 July 05
London Bombs
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
London Bombs
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
06 July 05
Bloody Hell!
Suddenly, English swear words are all the rage. In the day room and in the chow line inmates can be heard swapping insults in mock British accents. I'm inundated with requests for swear words most of these people have never heard of.
Here's an exchange I heard while standing in the chow line.
“You pillock!”
“Bloody hell! Who are you callin’ a pillock, you plonker?”
“Cor blimey! You puddled bugger. Where’s the rent boys at?”
“Who are you callin’ a rent boy, you cheeky bugger?”
“Not you, you soft get.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Bloody Hell!
Suddenly, English swear words are all the rage. In the day room and in the chow line inmates can be heard swapping insults in mock British accents. I'm inundated with requests for swear words most of these people have never heard of.
Here's an exchange I heard while standing in the chow line.
“You pillock!”
“Bloody hell! Who are you callin’ a pillock, you plonker?”
“Cor blimey! You puddled bugger. Where’s the rent boys at?”
“Who are you callin’ a rent boy, you cheeky bugger?”
“Not you, you soft get.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
05 July 05
Friends
Recently, I lost three of my friends including my dining and workout companions. Popcorn was freed after a brief stint in lockdown where he was sent after being suspected of breaking his cellmate’s arm. Fish was freed to a housing unit that caters to people with AIDS. String Bean’s institutional score was dropped, and he is now housed in a minimum-security building, where he is eligible for food visits.
In the chow hall I sometimes sit with Slingblade, Will and Kenny. It is fascinating watching Slingblade grab trays from passing inmates, and devouring the leftovers. Will was arrested in 1970 and convicted of murder. He is personable and well-mannered. Since receiving Kenny’s letter I have explained to him that I am heterosexual, and our relationship is still on a solid footing.
I usually chat with Blackheart and Xena in the chow line. I spend most of the day alone, reading, writing and studying unless I receive a chess challenge – usually from Mooga or Red – in which case I am compelled to defend my title.
Naturally, I talk to my cellmate, Long Island, the most. I am teaching him the art of futures trading. In our hypothetical portfolios I’m long soy beans, short the Swiss franc, and he’s long copper, and short cattle.
Unlike the jail environment most of the people here have been inmates for years so everybody knows everybody else. Slowly, I’ve been making more friends.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Friends
Recently, I lost three of my friends including my dining and workout companions. Popcorn was freed after a brief stint in lockdown where he was sent after being suspected of breaking his cellmate’s arm. Fish was freed to a housing unit that caters to people with AIDS. String Bean’s institutional score was dropped, and he is now housed in a minimum-security building, where he is eligible for food visits.
In the chow hall I sometimes sit with Slingblade, Will and Kenny. It is fascinating watching Slingblade grab trays from passing inmates, and devouring the leftovers. Will was arrested in 1970 and convicted of murder. He is personable and well-mannered. Since receiving Kenny’s letter I have explained to him that I am heterosexual, and our relationship is still on a solid footing.
I usually chat with Blackheart and Xena in the chow line. I spend most of the day alone, reading, writing and studying unless I receive a chess challenge – usually from Mooga or Red – in which case I am compelled to defend my title.
Naturally, I talk to my cellmate, Long Island, the most. I am teaching him the art of futures trading. In our hypothetical portfolios I’m long soy beans, short the Swiss franc, and he’s long copper, and short cattle.
Unlike the jail environment most of the people here have been inmates for years so everybody knows everybody else. Slowly, I’ve been making more friends.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
03 July 05
Commodities Trading
Whoosh! Long Island is up 91% in his hypothetical commodity trading account started on May 27th 05.
Here are our results thus far: (up until June 7th 05)
Jon’s Account: Open price Close price Profit/loss
Short 20,000 Swiss Franc .8116 .7986 240
Long 3,000 Soybeans 6.665 Open 237.5
Long 300 Crude Oil 51.97 55 880
Short 100 Coffee 118.05 122 -420
Long 40,000 Japanese Yen .9283 Open 410
+1347.5
Long Island’s Account:
Short 200 Cattle 85.02 84.7 44
Long 150 Cattle 84.7 83.55 -192.5
Long 3000 Sugar 8.68 8.76 220
Long 200 Hogs 71.4 68.4 -620
Long 300 Crude Oil 51.97 55 880
Long 4000 Natural Gas 6.789 7.127 1332
Short 300 US Dollar 88.04 Open 158
+1821.5
Our starting capital was $2000, I have deducted $10 commission per trade, and we are operating on a 5% margin requirement.
In less than one month Long Island has almost doubled his investment and mine is up two thirds.
These are spectacular returns! Long Island’s performance is remarkable considering that I have only been teaching him to trade for two months. According to the Professors of Finance Edwin Elton, Martin Gruber and Joel Rentzler the average yearly return for professionally managed commodity funds over a surveyed nine year period was a measley 2.3%. (Source: Investments Vol 2) I suspect that Long Island and I have just outperformed most of the highly –paid professionals.
Simplicity is the key to our success. We receive no news nor do we have access to multi-million dollar computer programs. We are trading from five month price, volume and momentum charts in the Investors Business Daily.* I feel that our seclusion is helping us maintain psychological equilibria as we are not bombarded by the disinformation prevalent in the media, which could taint our decision making processes.
Long Island has become so enthused about trading the financial markets that he has written to the NASD requesting information about getting a Series 7 license and becoming a stockbroker. He is fully focussed and I expect him to do well when he gets released in Dec 05.
*I’d like to thank Barry in Tonopah for the subscription to the Investors Business Daily, the arrival of which is now the high point of our day!
***Readers please note that our trading is not for real, we haven't the facilities or cash to trade on the stock market.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Commodities Trading
Whoosh! Long Island is up 91% in his hypothetical commodity trading account started on May 27th 05.
Here are our results thus far: (up until June 7th 05)
Jon’s Account: Open price Close price Profit/loss
Short 20,000 Swiss Franc .8116 .7986 240
Long 3,000 Soybeans 6.665 Open 237.5
Long 300 Crude Oil 51.97 55 880
Short 100 Coffee 118.05 122 -420
Long 40,000 Japanese Yen .9283 Open 410
+1347.5
Long Island’s Account:
Short 200 Cattle 85.02 84.7 44
Long 150 Cattle 84.7 83.55 -192.5
Long 3000 Sugar 8.68 8.76 220
Long 200 Hogs 71.4 68.4 -620
Long 300 Crude Oil 51.97 55 880
Long 4000 Natural Gas 6.789 7.127 1332
Short 300 US Dollar 88.04 Open 158
+1821.5
Our starting capital was $2000, I have deducted $10 commission per trade, and we are operating on a 5% margin requirement.
In less than one month Long Island has almost doubled his investment and mine is up two thirds.
These are spectacular returns! Long Island’s performance is remarkable considering that I have only been teaching him to trade for two months. According to the Professors of Finance Edwin Elton, Martin Gruber and Joel Rentzler the average yearly return for professionally managed commodity funds over a surveyed nine year period was a measley 2.3%. (Source: Investments Vol 2) I suspect that Long Island and I have just outperformed most of the highly –paid professionals.
Simplicity is the key to our success. We receive no news nor do we have access to multi-million dollar computer programs. We are trading from five month price, volume and momentum charts in the Investors Business Daily.* I feel that our seclusion is helping us maintain psychological equilibria as we are not bombarded by the disinformation prevalent in the media, which could taint our decision making processes.
Long Island has become so enthused about trading the financial markets that he has written to the NASD requesting information about getting a Series 7 license and becoming a stockbroker. He is fully focussed and I expect him to do well when he gets released in Dec 05.
*I’d like to thank Barry in Tonopah for the subscription to the Investors Business Daily, the arrival of which is now the high point of our day!
***Readers please note that our trading is not for real, we haven't the facilities or cash to trade on the stock market.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Sunday, July 10, 2005
01 July 05
Distraught Pops
Pops stopped by and announced that he will be dead within six months. He followed this prediction with a ten minute ramble about the joys of farming in the first half of the twentieth century, with special emphasis on walking ploughs and the properties of alfalfa.
He also claimed that Slingblade has stopped using TV Guide pages to wipe his behind with. Pops said that Slingblade ate a whole box of Zingers on store day and guzzled down several RC Colas. Then Slingblade broke unusually loud wind and went to the toilet four times.
Pops said Slingblade is a veteran of the Vietnam war. (Perhaps he suffers from post traumatic stress disorder?) On the subject of war, Pops scolded the “Kansas City politician Harry Shit-ass Truman” for dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, “which killed a hell of a lotta Japanese children.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Distraught Pops
Pops stopped by and announced that he will be dead within six months. He followed this prediction with a ten minute ramble about the joys of farming in the first half of the twentieth century, with special emphasis on walking ploughs and the properties of alfalfa.
He also claimed that Slingblade has stopped using TV Guide pages to wipe his behind with. Pops said that Slingblade ate a whole box of Zingers on store day and guzzled down several RC Colas. Then Slingblade broke unusually loud wind and went to the toilet four times.
Pops said Slingblade is a veteran of the Vietnam war. (Perhaps he suffers from post traumatic stress disorder?) On the subject of war, Pops scolded the “Kansas City politician Harry Shit-ass Truman” for dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, “which killed a hell of a lotta Japanese children.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Friday, July 8, 2005
30 June 05
A Peculiar Passion
George - who was formerly a funeral director - divulged that he went to the same embalming school as a high profile female nechrophile.
“Which school did you guys go to?”
“The Dallas Institute of Funeral Services.”
“When?”
“In the eighties.”
“How did you find out that she was having sexual realtions with corpses?”
“She got busted and it was on the news.”
“I’m wondering, exactly how does a woman have sex with a dead body? Can you detail how she did it?”
“Yes. She used the embalming machine, which had variable rates of pressure and flow, to isolate the arteries so as not to swell portions of the body seen at an open casket viewing. She used embalming fluid to enlargen the penis, which would sometimes swell up much larger than normal - more than blood would - and then she would get on top, after the embalming had taken place and, I assume, ride herself to an orgasm.”
“That’s incredible. When you were a funeral director, did you see many aroused corpses?”
“No. You’re not supposed to turn the machine up that high.”
“Okay. How did she get caught?”
“She stole a body, a casket and a hearse. The authorities found her and the corpse naked in the back of the hearse, and she confessed to double-digit counts.”
“Where was she when she was arrested?”
“In California, I think…Sacramento.”
“Was she sentenced to prison?”
“I believe so.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alright. Thanks for the unusual story.”
“You’re welcome.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
A Peculiar Passion
George - who was formerly a funeral director - divulged that he went to the same embalming school as a high profile female nechrophile.
“Which school did you guys go to?”
“The Dallas Institute of Funeral Services.”
“When?”
“In the eighties.”
“How did you find out that she was having sexual realtions with corpses?”
“She got busted and it was on the news.”
“I’m wondering, exactly how does a woman have sex with a dead body? Can you detail how she did it?”
“Yes. She used the embalming machine, which had variable rates of pressure and flow, to isolate the arteries so as not to swell portions of the body seen at an open casket viewing. She used embalming fluid to enlargen the penis, which would sometimes swell up much larger than normal - more than blood would - and then she would get on top, after the embalming had taken place and, I assume, ride herself to an orgasm.”
“That’s incredible. When you were a funeral director, did you see many aroused corpses?”
“No. You’re not supposed to turn the machine up that high.”
“Okay. How did she get caught?”
“She stole a body, a casket and a hearse. The authorities found her and the corpse naked in the back of the hearse, and she confessed to double-digit counts.”
“Where was she when she was arrested?”
“In California, I think…Sacramento.”
“Was she sentenced to prison?”
“I believe so.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alright. Thanks for the unusual story.”
“You’re welcome.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Wednesday, July 6, 2005
28 June 05
Red & Bones
Soft-spoken Red, a new addition to our pod who I enjoy playing chess with, is one of the most likable people I have ever met. His nickname stems from his long wispy orange hair and beard. Bespectacled Red limps due to degenerative bone disease in his right knee, a condition requiring him to wear a leg brace, to use a quad cane and to take 1800 milligrams of Ibuprofin every day.
This evening, after a game of chess with Red, he revealed the injustice that got him a 36 year sentence in September 1987. He then divulged an incident that occurred in October of 2000 whereby he and his codefendant Bones saved two prison employees from being raped and possibly murdered by three inmates trying to escape — two murderers and an armed robber —who had planned to go on a violent crime spree. After listening to Red and reviewing his legal paperwork I am convinced that neither he nor Bones should be in prison.
At age 23 Red quit truckdriving and moved from Springdale, Arkansas to Tucson, Arizona to study electronics. Red was a pot smoker and partier, and one evening he rented his Tucson home to a drug dealer. After being paid with an ounce of weed, Red went partying all night.
Meanwhile, at his house, a man who had robbed a drug dealer was beaten with a billy club, taken out into the desert and shot in the back of the head with a shotgun.
The victim survived, the crime was traced to Red’s house and Red and Bones were arrested. Although Red protested his innocence and the victim was unable to identify him, the authorities pursued the case. A plea bargain for 10.5 years was offered, which Red, who was confident about winning a jury trial rejected. An inept public defender was assigned to the case and despite having alibi witnesses and the prosecutor blatantly coaching the victim to identify Red during the trial, Red was found guilty of kidnapping, armed robbery and aggravated assault. The judge doled out the maximum sentence for each charge. One of the aggravating factors being that Red, by maintaining his innocence, must have been remorseless.
Red became a model inmate. Excelling in mathematics and computer studies, he earned 77 college credits, an associates degree and a paralegal certificate. Then in October 2000, Red and Bones risked their lives to save two of their captors.
At ASPC Tucson, three dangerous lifers (one of whom had shot a female cop during a routine traffic stop) attempted to escape. A shank was held to a female guard’s throat as she was handcuffed to a chair and tied up with duct tape. The same was happening to a female contractor in the sign shop where Red worked. When he heard the contractor cry out for help and one of the lifers say, “ I just wanna tie her up and have some fun,” Red and Bones sprang into action. They disarmed the lifers and freed the women. Their actions allowed backup to be called and the escape attempt was ended.
The two female hostages received medals of valour and were credited by the local press for thwarting the escape. Red and Bones were locked down, fired from the sign shop and transferred to a different prison. Red, armed with a thank-you letter from the husband of one of the captives, requested a sentence reduction but was denied.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Red & Bones
Soft-spoken Red, a new addition to our pod who I enjoy playing chess with, is one of the most likable people I have ever met. His nickname stems from his long wispy orange hair and beard. Bespectacled Red limps due to degenerative bone disease in his right knee, a condition requiring him to wear a leg brace, to use a quad cane and to take 1800 milligrams of Ibuprofin every day.
This evening, after a game of chess with Red, he revealed the injustice that got him a 36 year sentence in September 1987. He then divulged an incident that occurred in October of 2000 whereby he and his codefendant Bones saved two prison employees from being raped and possibly murdered by three inmates trying to escape — two murderers and an armed robber —who had planned to go on a violent crime spree. After listening to Red and reviewing his legal paperwork I am convinced that neither he nor Bones should be in prison.
At age 23 Red quit truckdriving and moved from Springdale, Arkansas to Tucson, Arizona to study electronics. Red was a pot smoker and partier, and one evening he rented his Tucson home to a drug dealer. After being paid with an ounce of weed, Red went partying all night.
Meanwhile, at his house, a man who had robbed a drug dealer was beaten with a billy club, taken out into the desert and shot in the back of the head with a shotgun.
The victim survived, the crime was traced to Red’s house and Red and Bones were arrested. Although Red protested his innocence and the victim was unable to identify him, the authorities pursued the case. A plea bargain for 10.5 years was offered, which Red, who was confident about winning a jury trial rejected. An inept public defender was assigned to the case and despite having alibi witnesses and the prosecutor blatantly coaching the victim to identify Red during the trial, Red was found guilty of kidnapping, armed robbery and aggravated assault. The judge doled out the maximum sentence for each charge. One of the aggravating factors being that Red, by maintaining his innocence, must have been remorseless.
Red became a model inmate. Excelling in mathematics and computer studies, he earned 77 college credits, an associates degree and a paralegal certificate. Then in October 2000, Red and Bones risked their lives to save two of their captors.
At ASPC Tucson, three dangerous lifers (one of whom had shot a female cop during a routine traffic stop) attempted to escape. A shank was held to a female guard’s throat as she was handcuffed to a chair and tied up with duct tape. The same was happening to a female contractor in the sign shop where Red worked. When he heard the contractor cry out for help and one of the lifers say, “ I just wanna tie her up and have some fun,” Red and Bones sprang into action. They disarmed the lifers and freed the women. Their actions allowed backup to be called and the escape attempt was ended.
The two female hostages received medals of valour and were credited by the local press for thwarting the escape. Red and Bones were locked down, fired from the sign shop and transferred to a different prison. Red, armed with a thank-you letter from the husband of one of the captives, requested a sentence reduction but was denied.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Sunday, July 3, 2005
26 June 05
The Move
The move of hundreds of inmates from here to Tucson prison is in progress. Every few days 75 inmates are rolled up.
Sadly, the move has claimed one victim. An inmate in his fifties with a history of heart problems is rumoured to have died.
Us remaining inmates have been housed in Building 2, pods A and B. I was moved to 2A20, an upper-story cell, where it is hard to sleep in because it is so hot. At least Long Island is still my cellmate.
Since Jon wrote this a week ago he has been moved.
His new mailing address is:
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160
ASPC-Tucson
Santa Rita Unit 4-D-11, PO BOX 24406,
10012 S Wilmot Rd
Tucson, 85734-4406, Arizona
U.S.A.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
The Move
The move of hundreds of inmates from here to Tucson prison is in progress. Every few days 75 inmates are rolled up.
Sadly, the move has claimed one victim. An inmate in his fifties with a history of heart problems is rumoured to have died.
Us remaining inmates have been housed in Building 2, pods A and B. I was moved to 2A20, an upper-story cell, where it is hard to sleep in because it is so hot. At least Long Island is still my cellmate.
Since Jon wrote this a week ago he has been moved.
His new mailing address is:
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160
ASPC-Tucson
Santa Rita Unit 4-D-11, PO BOX 24406,
10012 S Wilmot Rd
Tucson, 85734-4406, Arizona
U.S.A.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
24 June 05
Following a recent Anal Virginity Threats entry an anonymous commentator asked about prison rape.
Prison rape is prevalent nationwide.
According to Stop Prison Rape http://www.spr.org/ there are now more men getting raped in America’s prisons than women being raped on the outside. They estimate that one quarter of a million inmates are getting raped each year, that youngsters are five times more likely to be attacked, and that the prison rape victims are ten times more likely to contract a deadly disease.
Imagine a young pothead getting sent to prison, raped by older, tougher inmates and contracting hepatitis C or AIDS. Similar scenarios are unfolding in America’s prisons every day, while you are reading this, somewhere, out of the guards' view, a youngster may be being held down and raped.
The mother of a rape victim who committed suicide in prison testified in Congress that a prison warden told her before her son’s suicide that, “This happens to everbody. Learn to deal with it. It’s no big deal.”
Support Stop Prison Rape, check out their website.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Following a recent Anal Virginity Threats entry an anonymous commentator asked about prison rape.
Prison rape is prevalent nationwide.
According to Stop Prison Rape http://www.spr.org/ there are now more men getting raped in America’s prisons than women being raped on the outside. They estimate that one quarter of a million inmates are getting raped each year, that youngsters are five times more likely to be attacked, and that the prison rape victims are ten times more likely to contract a deadly disease.
Imagine a young pothead getting sent to prison, raped by older, tougher inmates and contracting hepatitis C or AIDS. Similar scenarios are unfolding in America’s prisons every day, while you are reading this, somewhere, out of the guards' view, a youngster may be being held down and raped.
The mother of a rape victim who committed suicide in prison testified in Congress that a prison warden told her before her son’s suicide that, “This happens to everbody. Learn to deal with it. It’s no big deal.”
Support Stop Prison Rape, check out their website.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)