FLASHBACK TO YARD 4

Attempted Question Time with Xena

Writers in prison are subject to interruption at any time. Some days, I remain undisturbed for hours. On others, progress seems impossible. Even trying to hold an interview, like this one with Xena, has it's hazards.

“Xena, Jack in Illinois asked how he can become a member of COX.”
“To become a member of the Cult of Xena you’ve -”
My door swung open and Frankie, topless and sweaty, charged into the cell. “Englandman, let me make love to ya one time. I promise not to tell anyone.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I said. “Getting boofooed is not my idea of fun.”
Smiling like a fiend, he grabbed my neck.
“I’m trying to write something for Xena. Xena, I’ll keep writing if you’ll put Frankie in check.”
Xena’s long limbs leaped at Frankie. Frankie released my neck. Xena pinched Frankie's chest, then retreated.
“Xena!” Frankie shrieked. Frankie reached for my neck, but found himself tangled up in Xena's limbs. “Are you trying to manhandle me?” Frankie panted. Frankie was holding his own until Xena yanked his pants and boxers down. He fled as frantically as he had arrived. He hurried along the run, displaying his bare behind as he struggled to pull his pants up.
“Where were we?” Xena asked.
“Jack in Illinois wants to know about COX membership.”
“Well, first you’ve gotta be out, or if you’re not out you’ve gotta want out, and if you don’t want out, don’t worry about bein’ out, 'cause nobody has to know.”
“So you have to be in or out?”
“Both.”
“That’s all inclusive. It’s good to know that COX is a politically-correct organisation.”
“Then, you hafta like wearin’ pink tutus and spandex.”
“I hate spandex,” Blackheart said as he entered the room, holding a Palo Verde borer beetle.

An aside on Blackheart. This Lakota Indian is almost seven-foot tall. He has a female penpal in England. When there is a lull in their correspondence he takes it out on the nearest British person to him: me. On such occasions, instead of receiving his usual greeting (a punch in the chest, before being picked up, squeezed and dropped), I’m likely to be picked up, carried off somewhere, and tossed against a door or a wall. On one occasion, he was carrying me, and a female guard yelled, “Put Jon down right now!” He claims the more he beats you up the more he likes you.

“Why don’t you like spandex?” I asked Blackheart.
“It doesn’t show me in my best light.”
“You should insert some packaging,” Xena said. “Try a sausage. That way you can get it warm and eat it later on.”
“Stop tryin’ to kick me away with your legs, dude,” Blackheart said to the beetle and departed.
“What else should Jack in Illinois know about COX?”
“Girls are boys and boys are girls,” Xena said.
“That reminds me of a Killers' song.”
“Which one?”
“Where he says something like: somebody told me you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend.”
“Don’t you know?” Xena said.
“Don’t I know what?”
“That the Killers are members of COX, stupid.”
“I should have known. Duh!”
Looking like a disturbed character from a horror movie, Slingblade appeared at the door. He didn't enter or say a word. He just stood there. His eyes raking my room for signs of food.
“What do you need, Slingblade?” I asked.
“Got any peanut butter?” Slingblade's nostrils dilated in anticipation.
“Sorry, I’m all out, but here’s some crackers.”
He snatched the crackers, grunted, and moved along the balcony. The inmates on the balcony quickly got out of his way.
“This is all happening because of Jack in Illinois,” Xena said.
“Back to Jack in Illinois and COX,” I said.
“When COX members pray, they pray to lord and mistress Xena, which in the word of the Navajo is Na’ da’ hay. Sacred COX rituals include having strangers pee on you, and performing certain sexual favours for strangers in nightclubs - ”
"Rec time is over. Lock down."
"We'll have to try this again, Xena."
"Yeah, rectum is over. We must lock down."

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood