03 July 06
The Danger of Being a Brit in an American Prison on Independence Day (Part 1)
Travelling home from Two Tonys’, some inmates obstructed my way.
“Down with the queen I say!” Short Dog yelled. “No taxation without representation!”
“Two-hundred-and-thirty years of independence, and we’re still barbarians!” Slope howled.
“Bugger Independence Day!” I yelled at the inmates gathering in front of Building B.
My reply caused more inmates, large and tattooed, to come out of their cells and stare at me.
Hurrying away, I heard one of them shout, “Whatthafuck did the goddam Limey just say?”
If I were a Cyclops I would have chopped them up and eaten them for supper. Instead, I opted for appeasement. I stopped walking, raised my fist, and yelled, “I said, ‘Hurrah for Independence Day!’" Chased by their yells, I dashed home.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Friday, July 28, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
29 June 06
Halo
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Halo
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Monday, July 24, 2006
27 June 06
Interview With A Crip
Ever wondered what it’s like to be a Crip?
Xena arranged for me to interview Savage, aka C-Ducc – a member of the Los Angeles street gang, the Crips.
“How did Crips come about?”
“It stands for Community Response In Progress. We were neighbourhood activists – protectin’ the neighbourhood from police brutality.”
“Which branch were you in?”
“99 Mafia.”
“Which means?”
“It’s where I grew up. 99th Street and Main. On the west side of South Central L.A.”
“How’d you join?”
“I got jumped in. They beat me pretty good. My teeth went through here below my lip.” Savage pointed at a scar below his left lip.
“What did they have you do for them?”
“At first I was just a BG – Baby Gangster – so I was stealin’ stuff like car stereos, car parts, and bicycles.”
“How old are BGs?”
“Young teenagers.”
“That’s the youngest division?”
“No. There’s the Pee-Wees. Kids, six to nine year olds. They don’t get jumped in. They were just born in the neighbourhood. They can ask to be jumped in though, which shows heart and respect.”
“When you graduate from the BGs what do you become?”
“A gangbanger. Like fifteen- to twenty-one-year olds.”
“What else is there?”
“There’s party crews and there’s OGs.”
“What’s a party crew?”
“A party crew is a bunch of gangbangers that don’t dress gangster. They wear nice clothes, go to clubs, and find white girls to recruit.”
“What do they have the white girls do?”
“They use 'em for money, and cars, and to do drive-byes. 'Cause they’ve got no records, they can buy guns and cash cheques. Wherever they work, like at a supermarket, they’ll give us free stuff. The main purpose is for sex. They feel loved 'cause so many guys are with 'em – until we don’t need 'em anymore, then we tell 'em to get out.”
“When they’re all used up?”
“Yeah.”
“An OG is an original gangster, right?”
“Someone who’s twenty-five to thirty can be considered an OG. They’ve bin-there-done-that. They don’t hafta gangbang no more. They can lay back and give orders to the younger generation.”
“Let’s go back to the work you put in for them.”
“I used to spray paint neighbourhoods, and rival areas. Enemy neighbourhoods like East Side 9th Street, East Side 40 Ounce Posse, and South Side Posse Bloods – Crips’ sworn enemies.”
“What happens if you’re a Crip gangbanger and you come across a Blood?”
“You’re supposed to say ‘Wassup cuz.’ That’s automatic disrespect. So’s maddoggin’ – lookin’ at them for more than three seconds.”
“It’s not a KOS [Kill On Sight] situation then?”
“It depends. There’s usually a fight. If there’s guns there’ll be a shootout.”
“When you graduated from BG to gangbanger what were your duties?”
“Gangbangers are obligated to represent the neighbourhood. If you don’t, you’re a busta.”
“Busta?”
“B-U-S-T-A, like Busta Rhymes. That’s someone who claims the neighbourhood but won’t stand up for it.”
“What kind of stuff did you do as a gangbanger?”
“I won’t implicate myself.”
“That’s understandable.”
“The craziest stuff gangbangers get up to is killin’ people – drive-bys, shoot-outs. It has to be real serious though.”
“For what kind of reasons?”
“Disrespectin’ the neighbourhood. Sayin’ shit like, ‘Fuck your neighbourhood. Fuck your dead home boys.’ Or if we catch rivals spray paintin’ our names out. That means they wanna kill you. My name used to be crossed out everywhere 'cause I was a bully. Always takin’ things and disrespectin’ people. I’ve always been big for my age.”
“What about the drug scene?”
“The BGs transport the dope, and drop it off with the gangbangers and OGs who sell it. They’re supposed to give money back to the community, but they use it for cars, clothes and guns.”
“What do you think of Tookie?”
“He was a cofounder of the Crips. It’s sad that they had to kill him. Back in the day, he was about negativity, but he turned positive. He’s one of the reasons for the Blood-Crip peace treaty.”
“Can any race become a Blood or a Crip?”
“If you’re raised in the neighbourhood – white, Asian, it don’t matter – you can join 'cause you grew up there and you know what the gang's about.”
“What about getting out of the gang?”
“I’m recognised as what I was when I was a teenager. I can’t escape that identity.”
“Isn’t that a mental thing?”
“No. There’s things you do which earn you enemies for life. I’d hafta to leave the State to get out, but my family’s here, my kids and my mom.”
“What happens on the streets, after you get out, if you run into an enemy?”
“I guess it’s the first one who can pull out the gun fast enough. It’s hard to walk away, 'cause that’s who I am.”
“What Crip tattoos do you have?”
“Here’s a Crip throwin’ up an M for Mafia – not Mexican Mafia.” Savage displayed the Crip on his right forearm. “Here’s my name C-Ducc.” (Duck was tattooed with two C's because Crips never use C-K which spells Crip Killer.) “Here’s 99 on my shoulder for 99th Street, and the MCG on the back of my neck stands for Mafia Crip Gang.”
“What are the Crips wearing these days?”
“The fashion currently is blue and grey – navy or royal blue. We have blue bandanas hangin’ from our left pockets. Bloods put red ones in their back right pockets. We’ll wear sports clothin’: yellow, brown, and green – except red. A true Crip will wear nothin’ but blue and grey with no kind of red in it. Pants are dickies: industrial clothes like maintenance janitors or farm workers wear. These days companies are catering to gangbangers, makin’ clothin’ that’s fashionable to the urban community.”
“What slang’s used?”
“Stuff like shiznit – shit – that’s the shiznit, meanin’ it’s good. You could say, ‘That shit is off the heezee for sheezee. Heezee is hook, and sheezee is sure, so I’m sayin’, ‘That shit is off the hook for sure.’ It’s somethin’ real good. If someone’s a mark or a busta, it’s terminology for disrespect.”
“What music do Crips listen to?”
“It’s mostly gangsta rap. West Coast Underground. There’s Crips makin’ music: Brotha Lynch Hung, C-Bo, X-Raided. They were makin’ music in the early nineties when Crips and Bloods were evolving, and they’re still puttin’ music out. Then there’s the mainstream Crips: Snoop Dog, and WC, Jayo Felon. The Bloods are also puttin’ music out: DJ Quik, The Game, and Mack 10. There’s the Samoan Bloods, Boo-Yaa Tribe.”
“You’ve given me a fascinating insight into Crip culture. I appreciate you spending the time to do this. Before I finish up, is there anything you’d like to say for the Internet, kind of summing up what we’ve discussed?”
“Yeah. If you’re not down for ass whups or bullet holes, you have no business bein’ in a gang. I’ve also got an RIP. Give my love to the homies that are dead and gone: Crazy-C, Little Cub, and Smoker.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Interview With A Crip
Ever wondered what it’s like to be a Crip?
Xena arranged for me to interview Savage, aka C-Ducc – a member of the Los Angeles street gang, the Crips.
“How did Crips come about?”
“It stands for Community Response In Progress. We were neighbourhood activists – protectin’ the neighbourhood from police brutality.”
“Which branch were you in?”
“99 Mafia.”
“Which means?”
“It’s where I grew up. 99th Street and Main. On the west side of South Central L.A.”
“How’d you join?”
“I got jumped in. They beat me pretty good. My teeth went through here below my lip.” Savage pointed at a scar below his left lip.
“What did they have you do for them?”
“At first I was just a BG – Baby Gangster – so I was stealin’ stuff like car stereos, car parts, and bicycles.”
“How old are BGs?”
“Young teenagers.”
“That’s the youngest division?”
“No. There’s the Pee-Wees. Kids, six to nine year olds. They don’t get jumped in. They were just born in the neighbourhood. They can ask to be jumped in though, which shows heart and respect.”
“When you graduate from the BGs what do you become?”
“A gangbanger. Like fifteen- to twenty-one-year olds.”
“What else is there?”
“There’s party crews and there’s OGs.”
“What’s a party crew?”
“A party crew is a bunch of gangbangers that don’t dress gangster. They wear nice clothes, go to clubs, and find white girls to recruit.”
“What do they have the white girls do?”
“They use 'em for money, and cars, and to do drive-byes. 'Cause they’ve got no records, they can buy guns and cash cheques. Wherever they work, like at a supermarket, they’ll give us free stuff. The main purpose is for sex. They feel loved 'cause so many guys are with 'em – until we don’t need 'em anymore, then we tell 'em to get out.”
“When they’re all used up?”
“Yeah.”
“An OG is an original gangster, right?”
“Someone who’s twenty-five to thirty can be considered an OG. They’ve bin-there-done-that. They don’t hafta gangbang no more. They can lay back and give orders to the younger generation.”
“Let’s go back to the work you put in for them.”
“I used to spray paint neighbourhoods, and rival areas. Enemy neighbourhoods like East Side 9th Street, East Side 40 Ounce Posse, and South Side Posse Bloods – Crips’ sworn enemies.”
“What happens if you’re a Crip gangbanger and you come across a Blood?”
“You’re supposed to say ‘Wassup cuz.’ That’s automatic disrespect. So’s maddoggin’ – lookin’ at them for more than three seconds.”
“It’s not a KOS [Kill On Sight] situation then?”
“It depends. There’s usually a fight. If there’s guns there’ll be a shootout.”
“When you graduated from BG to gangbanger what were your duties?”
“Gangbangers are obligated to represent the neighbourhood. If you don’t, you’re a busta.”
“Busta?”
“B-U-S-T-A, like Busta Rhymes. That’s someone who claims the neighbourhood but won’t stand up for it.”
“What kind of stuff did you do as a gangbanger?”
“I won’t implicate myself.”
“That’s understandable.”
“The craziest stuff gangbangers get up to is killin’ people – drive-bys, shoot-outs. It has to be real serious though.”
“For what kind of reasons?”
“Disrespectin’ the neighbourhood. Sayin’ shit like, ‘Fuck your neighbourhood. Fuck your dead home boys.’ Or if we catch rivals spray paintin’ our names out. That means they wanna kill you. My name used to be crossed out everywhere 'cause I was a bully. Always takin’ things and disrespectin’ people. I’ve always been big for my age.”
“What about the drug scene?”
“The BGs transport the dope, and drop it off with the gangbangers and OGs who sell it. They’re supposed to give money back to the community, but they use it for cars, clothes and guns.”
“What do you think of Tookie?”
“He was a cofounder of the Crips. It’s sad that they had to kill him. Back in the day, he was about negativity, but he turned positive. He’s one of the reasons for the Blood-Crip peace treaty.”
“Can any race become a Blood or a Crip?”
“If you’re raised in the neighbourhood – white, Asian, it don’t matter – you can join 'cause you grew up there and you know what the gang's about.”
“What about getting out of the gang?”
“I’m recognised as what I was when I was a teenager. I can’t escape that identity.”
“Isn’t that a mental thing?”
“No. There’s things you do which earn you enemies for life. I’d hafta to leave the State to get out, but my family’s here, my kids and my mom.”
“What happens on the streets, after you get out, if you run into an enemy?”
“I guess it’s the first one who can pull out the gun fast enough. It’s hard to walk away, 'cause that’s who I am.”
“What Crip tattoos do you have?”
“Here’s a Crip throwin’ up an M for Mafia – not Mexican Mafia.” Savage displayed the Crip on his right forearm. “Here’s my name C-Ducc.” (Duck was tattooed with two C's because Crips never use C-K which spells Crip Killer.) “Here’s 99 on my shoulder for 99th Street, and the MCG on the back of my neck stands for Mafia Crip Gang.”
“What are the Crips wearing these days?”
“The fashion currently is blue and grey – navy or royal blue. We have blue bandanas hangin’ from our left pockets. Bloods put red ones in their back right pockets. We’ll wear sports clothin’: yellow, brown, and green – except red. A true Crip will wear nothin’ but blue and grey with no kind of red in it. Pants are dickies: industrial clothes like maintenance janitors or farm workers wear. These days companies are catering to gangbangers, makin’ clothin’ that’s fashionable to the urban community.”
“What slang’s used?”
“Stuff like shiznit – shit – that’s the shiznit, meanin’ it’s good. You could say, ‘That shit is off the heezee for sheezee. Heezee is hook, and sheezee is sure, so I’m sayin’, ‘That shit is off the hook for sure.’ It’s somethin’ real good. If someone’s a mark or a busta, it’s terminology for disrespect.”
“What music do Crips listen to?”
“It’s mostly gangsta rap. West Coast Underground. There’s Crips makin’ music: Brotha Lynch Hung, C-Bo, X-Raided. They were makin’ music in the early nineties when Crips and Bloods were evolving, and they’re still puttin’ music out. Then there’s the mainstream Crips: Snoop Dog, and WC, Jayo Felon. The Bloods are also puttin’ music out: DJ Quik, The Game, and Mack 10. There’s the Samoan Bloods, Boo-Yaa Tribe.”
“You’ve given me a fascinating insight into Crip culture. I appreciate you spending the time to do this. Before I finish up, is there anything you’d like to say for the Internet, kind of summing up what we’ve discussed?”
“Yeah. If you’re not down for ass whups or bullet holes, you have no business bein’ in a gang. I’ve also got an RIP. Give my love to the homies that are dead and gone: Crazy-C, Little Cub, and Smoker.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Friday, July 21, 2006
24 June 06
Pops and Slingblade's Shank Saga
Pops and Slingblade were brought back from lockdown to Yard 4. Pops ended up in A run in his own cell, and Slingblade was housed in C run with Bobble Head Bob (a murderer who is reputed to have set fire to his boyfriend).
“How’d you get out of the hole so fast?” I asked Pops.
“A guard brought me some forms.” Pops held up two forms: DI#6 Inmate Discipline Witness Request Form, and ADOC Inmate Disciplinary Report.
The latter read: On the below date and approximate time CO3 Dunn secured inmate [Pops] mattress. The scanner detected a metal object. Upon further searching of the mattress Sergeant Rios found a prison-made weapon sharpened to a point. Inmate [Pops] was verbally placed on report by Sergeant Rios.
“So what happened with the dangerous-weapon charge?”
“At first they acted like ass-holes, like I was a no-good man." Pops said. "Then the hearin’ officer never showed up by the hearin’ date, so, I guess by that time they’d found out the truth, and the ticket was dropped.”
“What was the truth?”
“The truth? By Gawd I don’t appreciate bein’ framed. They took a picture of me and all that bowlshit. They rolled us up like we were dirty guilty bastards – sonsofbitches!”
“Were you worried that Slingblade would get so hungry he would try to eat you in lockdown?”
“No. I gave him my pancakes and other stuff I couldn’t eat. I thought he was gonna go crazy 'cause there was less food. But 'cause he ate less, there was less farts. He eats five trays like I eat one, 'cause he don’t chew. He just sucks it down – schkkkkkk!”
“Even with your food, he still suffered a huge calorie cut, considering he eats five to ten leftover trays per meal.”
“He could eat a whole damn weddin’ cake! He don’t eat right. He’s gonna face the music one of these days. The way he eats, he inhales a lotta air, which is more gas. That’s why he has big-ol’, real-loud, long-lastin’ farts.”
“Are you missing him being your celly?”
“Hell no!”
“Will you ever have him back?”
“Never!”
“Did the guards ever find out whose shank was in your mattress?”
“They didn’t. It’s a mystery. Somebody musta threw it out on purpose, or forgot about it.”
“Alright, thanks for letting me know what happened.”
“You’re welcome. Remember to say hi to Queen Elizabeth for me.”
“I sure will, Pops.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Pops and Slingblade's Shank Saga
Pops and Slingblade were brought back from lockdown to Yard 4. Pops ended up in A run in his own cell, and Slingblade was housed in C run with Bobble Head Bob (a murderer who is reputed to have set fire to his boyfriend).
“How’d you get out of the hole so fast?” I asked Pops.
“A guard brought me some forms.” Pops held up two forms: DI#6 Inmate Discipline Witness Request Form, and ADOC Inmate Disciplinary Report.
The latter read: On the below date and approximate time CO3 Dunn secured inmate [Pops] mattress. The scanner detected a metal object. Upon further searching of the mattress Sergeant Rios found a prison-made weapon sharpened to a point. Inmate [Pops] was verbally placed on report by Sergeant Rios.
“So what happened with the dangerous-weapon charge?”
“At first they acted like ass-holes, like I was a no-good man." Pops said. "Then the hearin’ officer never showed up by the hearin’ date, so, I guess by that time they’d found out the truth, and the ticket was dropped.”
“What was the truth?”
“The truth? By Gawd I don’t appreciate bein’ framed. They took a picture of me and all that bowlshit. They rolled us up like we were dirty guilty bastards – sonsofbitches!”
“Were you worried that Slingblade would get so hungry he would try to eat you in lockdown?”
“No. I gave him my pancakes and other stuff I couldn’t eat. I thought he was gonna go crazy 'cause there was less food. But 'cause he ate less, there was less farts. He eats five trays like I eat one, 'cause he don’t chew. He just sucks it down – schkkkkkk!”
“Even with your food, he still suffered a huge calorie cut, considering he eats five to ten leftover trays per meal.”
“He could eat a whole damn weddin’ cake! He don’t eat right. He’s gonna face the music one of these days. The way he eats, he inhales a lotta air, which is more gas. That’s why he has big-ol’, real-loud, long-lastin’ farts.”
“Are you missing him being your celly?”
“Hell no!”
“Will you ever have him back?”
“Never!”
“Did the guards ever find out whose shank was in your mattress?”
“They didn’t. It’s a mystery. Somebody musta threw it out on purpose, or forgot about it.”
“Alright, thanks for letting me know what happened.”
“You’re welcome. Remember to say hi to Queen Elizabeth for me.”
“I sure will, Pops.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
21 June 06
T-Bone
Fresh from the hole after smashing a prison rapist, African American T-Bone arrived at Yard 4 looking as if he had just walked out of a Conan movie. Almost six-foot-six tall, weighing over three-hundred pounds, with arms that made his 6XL T-shirt look too small, T-Bone has got to be one of the toughest men on the yard. His body is covered in scars from stab wounds - which naturally caused my anecdote detector to start beeping. We talked, and I discovered an incredible story behind each scar. He said he had heard of my good reputation, and that he hoped nobody here has given me "any shit." After divulging his charges (drugs and violent crimes) he told me about a fight with an ex-cellmate.
“What did your celly look like?”
“He was six-feet tall and about 230 pounds. He had gold teeth and long greasy hair. He was a strong man. A cut up dude. He was benchin’ 385, squattin’ 475, and dead liftin’ 400 or more.”
“Wow! Why’d you get into it with him?”
“It came about 'cause he was a raper. He was rapin’ people on the yard. He raped a retarded kid with mental problems, in our cell. I said to him, ‘It smells like crap in here. What’s been goin’ on man?’ He said, ‘Whattaya thinks goin’ on? I just got me some.’ I told him, ‘Man, you’ve gotta get your nasty tail up outta here.’ He said, ‘No. You gotta get your tail outta here. You ain’t nothin’ but a punk anyway, and I’m gonna cut ya.’ He stood up, lookin’ at me all crazy. I hit him with a straight right and broke his jaw in two places. He lost four teeth. Another blow fractured his eye socket. I hit him flush and he was out.”
“What’s flush?”
“Flat. I thought he was dead. I laid him on his bunk and took a shower. When I came back, he was still on his bunk callin’ for his mama. Some white guys came over who wanted to kill him 'cause the dude he raped was a white guy. I stopped that. He was alone on his bunk, bleedin’ and groanin’, and I looked in his eyes and I saw a spark like he was becomin’ more aware.”
“Was he regrouping?”
“He had regrouped. From the top bunk, I moved my right leg. He jumped up. He had a rod of finely-sharpened iron. An eight-inch blade with a rag on one end and a real nice point on the other. I backhanded the wrist of the hand holdin’ the shank. He came at me. His eyes were red with rage. His jaw was swollen up. Blood was comin’ outta the corner of his mouth. He had death in his eyes - black pupils totally empty and void of emotion and feeling. I still have nightmares about the way he looked. He made his move: a lunge. I hit him in the right eye and he stumbled back. I kicked him in his right thigh and I felt my foot penetrate the muscle down to the bone. I knew I had to disarm him. His leg was momentarily numb, so in a split second I grabbed his right hand with both of mine and twisted his wrist. I broke his wrist and elbow, and kicked him in his lung.”
“Did he go down?”
“Oh yeah, he was finished. I put him on his bunk but he couldn’t keep still 'cause of the pain. An hour later it’s count time. A cop comes by. I’m usin’ the toilet. My celly rolled over and blood came outta his mouth in front of the cop. He said I’d assaulted him in his sleep. They took me to the hole. I was charged with dangerous and deadly assault on an inmate. I got a
seven-and-a-half-year sentence that ran concurrent with my other time.”
“So you did no additional prison time 'cause of the fight?”
“No, but the cops thought I was a real bad character after that.”
As this is T-Bone’s first blog, your comments would be greatly appreciated.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
T-Bone
Fresh from the hole after smashing a prison rapist, African American T-Bone arrived at Yard 4 looking as if he had just walked out of a Conan movie. Almost six-foot-six tall, weighing over three-hundred pounds, with arms that made his 6XL T-shirt look too small, T-Bone has got to be one of the toughest men on the yard. His body is covered in scars from stab wounds - which naturally caused my anecdote detector to start beeping. We talked, and I discovered an incredible story behind each scar. He said he had heard of my good reputation, and that he hoped nobody here has given me "any shit." After divulging his charges (drugs and violent crimes) he told me about a fight with an ex-cellmate.
“What did your celly look like?”
“He was six-feet tall and about 230 pounds. He had gold teeth and long greasy hair. He was a strong man. A cut up dude. He was benchin’ 385, squattin’ 475, and dead liftin’ 400 or more.”
“Wow! Why’d you get into it with him?”
“It came about 'cause he was a raper. He was rapin’ people on the yard. He raped a retarded kid with mental problems, in our cell. I said to him, ‘It smells like crap in here. What’s been goin’ on man?’ He said, ‘Whattaya thinks goin’ on? I just got me some.’ I told him, ‘Man, you’ve gotta get your nasty tail up outta here.’ He said, ‘No. You gotta get your tail outta here. You ain’t nothin’ but a punk anyway, and I’m gonna cut ya.’ He stood up, lookin’ at me all crazy. I hit him with a straight right and broke his jaw in two places. He lost four teeth. Another blow fractured his eye socket. I hit him flush and he was out.”
“What’s flush?”
“Flat. I thought he was dead. I laid him on his bunk and took a shower. When I came back, he was still on his bunk callin’ for his mama. Some white guys came over who wanted to kill him 'cause the dude he raped was a white guy. I stopped that. He was alone on his bunk, bleedin’ and groanin’, and I looked in his eyes and I saw a spark like he was becomin’ more aware.”
“Was he regrouping?”
“He had regrouped. From the top bunk, I moved my right leg. He jumped up. He had a rod of finely-sharpened iron. An eight-inch blade with a rag on one end and a real nice point on the other. I backhanded the wrist of the hand holdin’ the shank. He came at me. His eyes were red with rage. His jaw was swollen up. Blood was comin’ outta the corner of his mouth. He had death in his eyes - black pupils totally empty and void of emotion and feeling. I still have nightmares about the way he looked. He made his move: a lunge. I hit him in the right eye and he stumbled back. I kicked him in his right thigh and I felt my foot penetrate the muscle down to the bone. I knew I had to disarm him. His leg was momentarily numb, so in a split second I grabbed his right hand with both of mine and twisted his wrist. I broke his wrist and elbow, and kicked him in his lung.”
“Did he go down?”
“Oh yeah, he was finished. I put him on his bunk but he couldn’t keep still 'cause of the pain. An hour later it’s count time. A cop comes by. I’m usin’ the toilet. My celly rolled over and blood came outta his mouth in front of the cop. He said I’d assaulted him in his sleep. They took me to the hole. I was charged with dangerous and deadly assault on an inmate. I got a
seven-and-a-half-year sentence that ran concurrent with my other time.”
“So you did no additional prison time 'cause of the fight?”
“No, but the cops thought I was a real bad character after that.”
As this is T-Bone’s first blog, your comments would be greatly appreciated.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Friday, July 14, 2006
15 June 06
Slave-X Deprogrammed By Televangelist?
One week after Slave-X made a vow to serve Xena, his mother and televangelist stepfather came from Florida to see him for their annual visit. Slave-X returned from the visit in a high state of agitation.
“Xena, I gotta tell you somethin’. It’s bad news. I can’t be Slave-X anymore. You know about my visit. My mother married a televangelist, and all we talked about was Jesus, and me walkin’ the right path, and how if I veer from that path, I’ll burn in hell, and there’ll be fire and brimstone.”
“You’re not gonna burn in hell for havin’ fun,” Xena said.
Trembling, Slave-X said, “You don’t understand! I have to face them! I couldn’t look them in the eye.”
“When are they comin’ back?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinkin’ of takin’ my stepfather off my visitation list.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“The whole time they were talkin’ about the wrath of God, and half the time we were holdin’ hands in front of everyone at visitation, and they were holdin’ my hands up in the air, and prayin’ to Jesus for my everlastin’ soul, but all I could think about was your legs. They made me realise that if I continued to be your slave, they would know my soul was doomed. Oh God, I think they know already! I had the thought in my head the whole time. Knowin’ I’m your slave, I couldn’t look at them, and tell them everything’s gonna be OK. I was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed of me!” Xena’s soft voice hardened.
“Oh no!” Slave-X squealed. “Oh my God! I could never be embarrassed of you. You’re the love of my life, the lastin’ wholeness, everythin’ that’s good in this world.”
“And how is it you’re gonna burn in hell for feelin’ like that?”
“You don’t understand!” Slave-X seemed at his wits end, and near to tears. “I have to face him – the televangelist! I have to look in his eyes, and tell him I’m not doin’ wrong. Not that I am doin’ anythin’ wrong, it’s just that I have the thought of bein’ your slave, and you spankin’ me, and your long legs in my head when I talk to him. He sees through me. I can’t lie.”
“So what are you sayin’?”
“I don’t know...er... I guess...er...I still want you to... er...spank me, if I can caress your lovely long legs.” Slave-X began to cry, his lower lip trembled. Lasciviously.
Xena abandoned Slave-X to his inner dilemma.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Slave-X Deprogrammed By Televangelist?
One week after Slave-X made a vow to serve Xena, his mother and televangelist stepfather came from Florida to see him for their annual visit. Slave-X returned from the visit in a high state of agitation.
“Xena, I gotta tell you somethin’. It’s bad news. I can’t be Slave-X anymore. You know about my visit. My mother married a televangelist, and all we talked about was Jesus, and me walkin’ the right path, and how if I veer from that path, I’ll burn in hell, and there’ll be fire and brimstone.”
“You’re not gonna burn in hell for havin’ fun,” Xena said.
Trembling, Slave-X said, “You don’t understand! I have to face them! I couldn’t look them in the eye.”
“When are they comin’ back?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinkin’ of takin’ my stepfather off my visitation list.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“The whole time they were talkin’ about the wrath of God, and half the time we were holdin’ hands in front of everyone at visitation, and they were holdin’ my hands up in the air, and prayin’ to Jesus for my everlastin’ soul, but all I could think about was your legs. They made me realise that if I continued to be your slave, they would know my soul was doomed. Oh God, I think they know already! I had the thought in my head the whole time. Knowin’ I’m your slave, I couldn’t look at them, and tell them everything’s gonna be OK. I was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed of me!” Xena’s soft voice hardened.
“Oh no!” Slave-X squealed. “Oh my God! I could never be embarrassed of you. You’re the love of my life, the lastin’ wholeness, everythin’ that’s good in this world.”
“And how is it you’re gonna burn in hell for feelin’ like that?”
“You don’t understand!” Slave-X seemed at his wits end, and near to tears. “I have to face him – the televangelist! I have to look in his eyes, and tell him I’m not doin’ wrong. Not that I am doin’ anythin’ wrong, it’s just that I have the thought of bein’ your slave, and you spankin’ me, and your long legs in my head when I talk to him. He sees through me. I can’t lie.”
“So what are you sayin’?”
“I don’t know...er... I guess...er...I still want you to... er...spank me, if I can caress your lovely long legs.” Slave-X began to cry, his lower lip trembled. Lasciviously.
Xena abandoned Slave-X to his inner dilemma.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
12 June 06
Question Time for Two Tonys
Here are Two Tonys responses to some of your comments and questions.
Adele asked if Two Tonys is sorry about the whackings, or has any regrets about his life.
“I’ve got a lotta regrets about my life, but I never whacked a motherfucker that I didn’t feel good about afterwards. For the record: there was no workin’ stiffs amongst those I whacked. None of 'em were on the way to the mill, lunchbox in hand. They were all in –.” Two Tonys pinched his right thumb and forefinger together, raised his hand, and pronounced slowly, “ - de bizznezz. And I didn’t learn that expression from Elmore fuckin’ Leonard. I’m sincere about that. I’m not layin’ on my bunk at nights, tossin’ and turnin’, seein’ this dead motherfuckers face, or worryin’ if he had a wife or a daughter. I’m seein’ the eyes of a motherfucker – and I’m not plagiarizin’ Chicago here – of a motherfucker who had it comin’. So what if I nailed the motherfucker, put slugs in him. I’ve got no remorse for that, 'cause he had it comin’.”
Bill asked how long Two Tonys is in for, if he’ll ever get to whack anybody else, and if Bill could hire him for such services.
“I’m in till 2082. I’m in a real comfortable spot in my life right now. I don’t see any reason to have to whack a motherfucker again. I stay outta the line of fire. I don’t get in other people’s business. There’s a quote I read every day: Don’t interfere with somethin’ that ain’t botherin’ you none. That’s my Ten Commandments right there. That’s my Exodus, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John rolled into one.
No: I will not whack a motherfucker for Bill. The record will show I never whacked anyone for affronts committed to somebody else in my whole fuckin’ life.”
Terry B suggested Two Tonys take up Shakespeare.
“I’ve read Shakespeare. ‘Hark, hark. Who knocks at yonder door.’ ‘Out, out damn spot.’ That was when Macbeth and his wife had just whacked the king, and they were tryin’ to wash the blood outta their clothes and hands. ‘A horse. My kingdom for a horse’ That’s Richard the Third.”
Anonymous pointed out that Two Tonys only used six ‘fucks’ in the blog Books.
“My thesis on the word fuck is: it’s like sayin’ DWI or any other acronym. When the Puritans first came to this country, after leavin’ sunny ol’ England, they had their rules and regulations they established when they got off the fuckin’ Mayflower. One happened to cover fornicating in public. The legal term was For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. Abbreviated in legal terminology to F-U-C-K, to save them time.
Back then, when they busted a guy from the marketplace behind a bale of beeswax, boffin’ some wench – and I’m only sayin’ wench 'cause that’s the terminology they used in the 1600s. I don’t want the readers thinkin’ I’m a chauvinist pig, 'cause I have respect for real ladies, my mother and sister were real ladies. Anyway, they arrested him and took him to pilgrim court, and explained to the judge it’s for -U-C-K. So I’m not swearin’. Swearin’ is like sayin’ somethin’ like, ‘you punk-ass sonuvabitch’.”
Anonymous pointed out that some of the dialogue in Elmore Leonard’s novel Get Shorty is similar to Two Tonys speech.
“The element I’ve been brought up and raised in didn’t copy Elmore Leonard. It’s the other way round. Elmore Leonard gets his shit from people like me, unless you think Mr.Leonard is a whacker of men.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Question Time for Two Tonys
Here are Two Tonys responses to some of your comments and questions.
Adele asked if Two Tonys is sorry about the whackings, or has any regrets about his life.
“I’ve got a lotta regrets about my life, but I never whacked a motherfucker that I didn’t feel good about afterwards. For the record: there was no workin’ stiffs amongst those I whacked. None of 'em were on the way to the mill, lunchbox in hand. They were all in –.” Two Tonys pinched his right thumb and forefinger together, raised his hand, and pronounced slowly, “ - de bizznezz. And I didn’t learn that expression from Elmore fuckin’ Leonard. I’m sincere about that. I’m not layin’ on my bunk at nights, tossin’ and turnin’, seein’ this dead motherfuckers face, or worryin’ if he had a wife or a daughter. I’m seein’ the eyes of a motherfucker – and I’m not plagiarizin’ Chicago here – of a motherfucker who had it comin’. So what if I nailed the motherfucker, put slugs in him. I’ve got no remorse for that, 'cause he had it comin’.”
Bill asked how long Two Tonys is in for, if he’ll ever get to whack anybody else, and if Bill could hire him for such services.
“I’m in till 2082. I’m in a real comfortable spot in my life right now. I don’t see any reason to have to whack a motherfucker again. I stay outta the line of fire. I don’t get in other people’s business. There’s a quote I read every day: Don’t interfere with somethin’ that ain’t botherin’ you none. That’s my Ten Commandments right there. That’s my Exodus, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John rolled into one.
No: I will not whack a motherfucker for Bill. The record will show I never whacked anyone for affronts committed to somebody else in my whole fuckin’ life.”
Terry B suggested Two Tonys take up Shakespeare.
“I’ve read Shakespeare. ‘Hark, hark. Who knocks at yonder door.’ ‘Out, out damn spot.’ That was when Macbeth and his wife had just whacked the king, and they were tryin’ to wash the blood outta their clothes and hands. ‘A horse. My kingdom for a horse’ That’s Richard the Third.”
Anonymous pointed out that Two Tonys only used six ‘fucks’ in the blog Books.
“My thesis on the word fuck is: it’s like sayin’ DWI or any other acronym. When the Puritans first came to this country, after leavin’ sunny ol’ England, they had their rules and regulations they established when they got off the fuckin’ Mayflower. One happened to cover fornicating in public. The legal term was For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. Abbreviated in legal terminology to F-U-C-K, to save them time.
Back then, when they busted a guy from the marketplace behind a bale of beeswax, boffin’ some wench – and I’m only sayin’ wench 'cause that’s the terminology they used in the 1600s. I don’t want the readers thinkin’ I’m a chauvinist pig, 'cause I have respect for real ladies, my mother and sister were real ladies. Anyway, they arrested him and took him to pilgrim court, and explained to the judge it’s for -U-C-K. So I’m not swearin’. Swearin’ is like sayin’ somethin’ like, ‘you punk-ass sonuvabitch’.”
Anonymous pointed out that some of the dialogue in Elmore Leonard’s novel Get Shorty is similar to Two Tonys speech.
“The element I’ve been brought up and raised in didn’t copy Elmore Leonard. It’s the other way round. Elmore Leonard gets his shit from people like me, unless you think Mr.Leonard is a whacker of men.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Monday, July 10, 2006
08 June 06
Slave-X
After reading The Complete Marquis de Sade, Xena decided to convert one of her adorers here, a lifer, into Slave-X.
“I have a proposition for you,” Xena said.
“What’s that?” Slave-X asked.
“Would you be my slave?”
“Would you want me to do anythin’ you ask, without question?”
“Yes, and you’d get spanked.”
“Every day?”
“Yes, everyday.”
“Oh, Xena, you’ve got beautiful legs - the best I’ve ever seen. I want to be a thing, an entity, an object - all for your pleasure. That would be exciting, a little bondage, all for you.”
“You want me to spank you right now don’t you?”
“Wow! You’ve got me all excited. I can feel my toes curling.”
“Then you can start by kissin’ my feet…”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Slave-X
After reading The Complete Marquis de Sade, Xena decided to convert one of her adorers here, a lifer, into Slave-X.
“I have a proposition for you,” Xena said.
“What’s that?” Slave-X asked.
“Would you be my slave?”
“Would you want me to do anythin’ you ask, without question?”
“Yes, and you’d get spanked.”
“Every day?”
“Yes, everyday.”
“Oh, Xena, you’ve got beautiful legs - the best I’ve ever seen. I want to be a thing, an entity, an object - all for your pleasure. That would be exciting, a little bondage, all for you.”
“You want me to spank you right now don’t you?”
“Wow! You’ve got me all excited. I can feel my toes curling.”
“Then you can start by kissin’ my feet…”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Thursday, July 6, 2006
05 June 06
Nan
On the phone today, Dad disclosed Nan had died.
It was hard not to cry when I heard that Nan had asked for me on the eve of her death. Suddenly, I felt so sad. I even forgot to wish Mum a happy birthday.
I had no one to share my sadness with, so I stayed in my cell. I pondered how my crimes continued to affect my family, how I couldn't be there for Nan because of the bad decisions that put me in prison, of how I'll never see Nan again.
Goodbye, Nan. Thanks for being there for me when I was growing up. You knew how special our love was. I’ll always miss you, the delicious apple pies you baked, and the games of Scrabble we played for hours on end. It hurts that I didn’t get to see you before you departed. May you, reunited with Granddad Fred, rest in peace. I adored you both.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Nan
On the phone today, Dad disclosed Nan had died.
It was hard not to cry when I heard that Nan had asked for me on the eve of her death. Suddenly, I felt so sad. I even forgot to wish Mum a happy birthday.
I had no one to share my sadness with, so I stayed in my cell. I pondered how my crimes continued to affect my family, how I couldn't be there for Nan because of the bad decisions that put me in prison, of how I'll never see Nan again.
Goodbye, Nan. Thanks for being there for me when I was growing up. You knew how special our love was. I’ll always miss you, the delicious apple pies you baked, and the games of Scrabble we played for hours on end. It hurts that I didn’t get to see you before you departed. May you, reunited with Granddad Fred, rest in peace. I adored you both.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
03 June 06
Tae Kwon Do
“Whatthafucks yer problem, you old motherfucker?” The question, swung like a battle-axe by Ogre, stopped the conversation between Two Tonys and the Chicanos.
“Don’t fuck with me,” Two Tonys said. “I kill Californians, motherfucker.”
Ogre swaggered from a gang of woods (peckerwoods) and grabbed and squeezed Two Tonys' ID.
Two Tonys’, seeing his ID get bent in half, made a tae kwon do move. He hitched his right leg behind Ogre's, and pushed Ogre's shoulders.
Ogre, who was stood precariously on a curb, lost his footingand fell to the ground. Too startled to speak. Too stunned to rise.
“Why’d you grab my ID?” Two Tonys said. “I warned you never to lay hands on me, motherfucker!”
“I told you a long time ago that I’d never hurt you," Ogre said. "Well fuck all that. Come on, motherfucker! Get some of this, old man.” Ogre rose.
It took a group of inmates to keep Ogre away from Two Tonys.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Tae Kwon Do
“Whatthafucks yer problem, you old motherfucker?” The question, swung like a battle-axe by Ogre, stopped the conversation between Two Tonys and the Chicanos.
“Don’t fuck with me,” Two Tonys said. “I kill Californians, motherfucker.”
Ogre swaggered from a gang of woods (peckerwoods) and grabbed and squeezed Two Tonys' ID.
Two Tonys’, seeing his ID get bent in half, made a tae kwon do move. He hitched his right leg behind Ogre's, and pushed Ogre's shoulders.
Ogre, who was stood precariously on a curb, lost his footingand fell to the ground. Too startled to speak. Too stunned to rise.
“Why’d you grab my ID?” Two Tonys said. “I warned you never to lay hands on me, motherfucker!”
“I told you a long time ago that I’d never hurt you," Ogre said. "Well fuck all that. Come on, motherfucker! Get some of this, old man.” Ogre rose.
It took a group of inmates to keep Ogre away from Two Tonys.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
01 June 06
A Kiss (Part 2)
Click here for A Kiss Part 1.
A Kiss (Part 2)
Click here for A Kiss Part 1.
Thoughts on the kiss:
When I first see Royo Girl at visitation, should I play it cool and just kiss her hand? Kiss her hand! Wait a minute, since when have you been afraid to make a bold move? Plant one on her lips right away. But not for too long. Just long enough to leave a lasting impression. Then go for a longer one at the end when everyone else in the visitation room is doing it. Then, you’ll be able to get in a good sniff of her neck.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Tuesday, July 4, 2006
30 May 06
Shakedowns
After breakfast, guards swarmed Yard 4, and began to search our cells.
My penis shrinkage began when I saw a guard known to search inmates' foreskins walking toward Building D. I felt relieved when he stopped at the downstairs run.
A guard entered my cell and said, “Enjoying reading?”
I'd spent the morning in a world created by John Updike. “Yeah. I sure am.”
“I need you to strip.” After examining my body, he said,“Get dressed, and take your mattress outside.”
Outdoors, an ovoid man wearing an Arizona T-shirt was scanning mattresses with a metal detector that looked like a flying saucer on a stick. He was the oldest staff member I had ever seen. Next to Ovoid Man, stood the GED teacher, Mr Davidson. “And how are you this fine mornin’?” he asked as he ticked my name on a clipboard.
“Jolly good,” I said.
Ovoid Man began cruising his metal detector over an area of dirt, and it beeped frantically. “Lieutenant, this durts got fuckin’ metal in it everywhere,” he rasped as if gasping for oxygen.
The lieutenant aimlessly kicked some dirt around. Nothing was found.
“Jon, you can go back to your cell now,” said the guard who had searched my cell.
I was welcomed home by a mess on my bunk consisting of clothes, jars of peanut butter,
boxes of crackers, bags of pretzels, books, cassette tapes, bedding, pens, writing pads, and letters. I quickly put everything back where it belonged, and made the bed.
The cluster of inmates outside watched everything of theirs deemed contraband get seized. Some looked tense. Some irate. Some clowned around.
Dressed in black and looking like a vampire who didn't belong out in the sun, ADW Smith arrived. With him came a large operations officer (OO), chewing on a cigar and with a wild look in his eyes. A guard presented the OO with some pieces of metal. The OO removed the cigar from his mouth, nodded knowingly at the metal, grinned at the metal, clicked his walkie-talkie, and said, “Can you come to Yard 4? We need some info regarding metal objects.” Then he put the cigar back in his mouth, and blew out a cloud of smoke. The cloud steadily ascended until a flock of pigeons flew through it.
The shakedowns on Yard 4 lasted all morning. Then the guards invaded Yard 3.
Addendum: a lengthy shank was found in Pop’s mattress. Pops and Slingblade were sent to lockdown. There’s now an investigation and possible criminal charges for dangerous weapon possession, which could jeopardise Slingblade’s parole.
There’s a rumour the shank was planted. But who did it or why remains a mystery.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Shakedowns
After breakfast, guards swarmed Yard 4, and began to search our cells.
My penis shrinkage began when I saw a guard known to search inmates' foreskins walking toward Building D. I felt relieved when he stopped at the downstairs run.
A guard entered my cell and said, “Enjoying reading?”
I'd spent the morning in a world created by John Updike. “Yeah. I sure am.”
“I need you to strip.” After examining my body, he said,“Get dressed, and take your mattress outside.”
Outdoors, an ovoid man wearing an Arizona T-shirt was scanning mattresses with a metal detector that looked like a flying saucer on a stick. He was the oldest staff member I had ever seen. Next to Ovoid Man, stood the GED teacher, Mr Davidson. “And how are you this fine mornin’?” he asked as he ticked my name on a clipboard.
“Jolly good,” I said.
Ovoid Man began cruising his metal detector over an area of dirt, and it beeped frantically. “Lieutenant, this durts got fuckin’ metal in it everywhere,” he rasped as if gasping for oxygen.
The lieutenant aimlessly kicked some dirt around. Nothing was found.
“Jon, you can go back to your cell now,” said the guard who had searched my cell.
I was welcomed home by a mess on my bunk consisting of clothes, jars of peanut butter,
boxes of crackers, bags of pretzels, books, cassette tapes, bedding, pens, writing pads, and letters. I quickly put everything back where it belonged, and made the bed.
The cluster of inmates outside watched everything of theirs deemed contraband get seized. Some looked tense. Some irate. Some clowned around.
Dressed in black and looking like a vampire who didn't belong out in the sun, ADW Smith arrived. With him came a large operations officer (OO), chewing on a cigar and with a wild look in his eyes. A guard presented the OO with some pieces of metal. The OO removed the cigar from his mouth, nodded knowingly at the metal, grinned at the metal, clicked his walkie-talkie, and said, “Can you come to Yard 4? We need some info regarding metal objects.” Then he put the cigar back in his mouth, and blew out a cloud of smoke. The cloud steadily ascended until a flock of pigeons flew through it.
The shakedowns on Yard 4 lasted all morning. Then the guards invaded Yard 3.
Addendum: a lengthy shank was found in Pop’s mattress. Pops and Slingblade were sent to lockdown. There’s now an investigation and possible criminal charges for dangerous weapon possession, which could jeopardise Slingblade’s parole.
There’s a rumour the shank was planted. But who did it or why remains a mystery.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)