The Lock Up

I think hitting junior high fucked me up real bad. There was no specific incident, or brick wall in the face deserving mention, but I knew shit was gonna be real different from that point on. I went from being a mop headed little runt shielded by my parents, prior experiences, and societal programming, to being an observantly cautious (and devious) little bastard.

I immediately realized that my smart mouth wasn’t gonna fly too well in my new environs. I was in the racial minority at my new inner city school. There were fights almost every day. Girls brought razor blades to slash their enemies with. The dudes would trample muthafuckas with an 8:1 ration. I figured out pretty quick that I needed to operate well beneath the radar if I wanted to emerge unscathed.

I loathed every minute of my government mandated incarceration period that masqueraded as an education. The teachers didn’t give a shit, they were on auto-pilot to retirement. Between the brawls, the flying padlocks in the PE locker room, and the vacuous class/race/clique strata, I was there only in a physical form.

The hours after school, and my entire weekends, were spent shredding concrete on skateboards with my mates. I was a skater punk, and I couldn’t of been happier. In hindsight, it was a subconscious rejection of the social norms and customs that I had been socialized to embrace. Eventually, the desecration of public and private property, daily trespass offenses, and the police (and mayoral) bullying was not enough to satiate my inner demon(s).

Although I do not wish to go into too much detail (due to statue of limitation tolling periods), I embarked on a violent campaign to wreak havoc on other’s property and lives. This behavior culminated in my arrest and incarceration in the city’s youth facility.

After I was Mirandized, cuffed, and stuffed, I spent the next several harrowing hours being grilled by juvenile police detectives in the cavernous basement of the police station. Every statement I made was recorded, cross-examined, and scrutinized. I was a slab of meat on a cold steel forensic analyst table. I told them the truth, but they kept asking me why I did it. I didn’t have an answer then, and I do not have an answer now. The best I could muster at the time was, “I was bored.”

I was scared, real fucking scared. But whatever fear I felt at the time was exponentially reduced by what I found out next. I was gonna be locked up at the youth facility. From what I knew about that place, my future was was gonna be real bleak. The ride down in the back of the patrol car seemed like an eternity. I can trace the entire path in my mind.

I endured my first (but not last) strip search and institutionalized processing dehumanization procedure. I was given a set of scrubs and led to general population. From the movies and television, I knew the drill about having to prove yourself with an initiation beat down to demonstrate your testicular worth. Luckily, I did not have to go down that path.

When the steel door shut behind me, all eyes were directed at my emerging presence. A menacing cat inquired into the circumstances warranting my visit. Evidently, whatever I told him began to circulate around the room. Another bloke came up to me and remarked that they had heard about my exploits on the 6 o’clock news. I overheard a dude who said, “that’s that crazy White muthafucka we seen on TV.”

By the grace of Allah, I had earned a modicum of respect from my new violent offender and felonious peers (of which I shared the ignoble distinction). Of course, another maxim could have been at play – don’t fuck with an insane son of a bitch. From that point on, I made it my goal to project a sick and deranged personality profile.

Despite my extreme racial minority status, I managed to blend in well with my co-residents (primarily facilitated by my junior high school experience). We spent the days playing spades (a card game) and watching daytime television. Due to the varying personalities (many of which where predisposed to immediate violence), I felt it was time that I ushered forth a bit of alpha male display.

The opportunity came soon enough. A corpulent shaggy haired White punk thought it was in his best interest to jack my chair at the card game while I was away at the pisser. Upon returning to the table I kindly asked him to remove himself from my chair. He scoffed at my request and attempted to resume the game. I promptly yanked the seat out from under him and his cellulose-ridden backbone slammed onto the smooth concrete. He scurried away with a poorly disguised tear in his eye.


7 Responses to “The Lock Up”

  1. 1 bestialboo
    June 2, 2008 at 7:08 am

    I went to a private catholic school that cost thousands per year, had a huge campus and a nice brick convent next door. I’m always skeptical when I hear these kinds of stories. It’s a school dammit, how the hell can it be that bad!? Does tbc mean we get to hear prison sodomy stories…that would be yummy.

  2. June 2, 2008 at 11:39 am

    The “thousands per year” that someone paid for your tuition ensured that you were shielded from many traumatic school experiences. Well, not all of them I am sure. Where you went to school, there was probably a naughty, supposedly celibate, disgusting man behind a locked office door who preyed on the children’s innocence.

    Don’t get your hopes up bb. My purpose in writing is not to titillate your depraved fetish-driven mind.

  3. 3 Manco
    June 2, 2008 at 1:24 pm

    Beastialboo: You pricks that attended private school were effectively shielded from the uglier aspects of childhood in that you went to school with like-minded, brain-washed twits whose family status ensured you would never know adversity (I myself come from one of these types of families so I know what I’m talking about). While you tend to assign yourself to some skyward plane far above the heads of the “ordinary”, let me assure you my hawk-nosed little friend that it is your kind that are truly weak and without merit, for if the “ordinary” people, wracked by a lifetime of pain and abhorrent observances, were to occupy your plane and fell, they would not break into the million pieces that you and your cohorts will when the sand runs out.
    My family sought to control my surroundings but I resisted and for my sins I was sent through the public school system. It wasn’t the best choice education-wise, but I was able to see at an early age what our society is built upon and it sickened me. I finished school for my parents benefit and then chose to frequent the fringes of society where my education truly began amongst those beneath the American Dream’s crushing weight.
    No private school nimrod such as yourself should comment on what Johnny has written about for the simple fact you don’t have a fucking clue. I’ve been keeping an eye on you Beastial and I can see that you are here primarily to start trouble. Let me assure you, my bovine friend, that if trouble is what you seek then I’m your huckleberry.

  4. June 2, 2008 at 4:59 pm

    Hey Peeps!

    I haven’t been around much lately, but I had to comment. The power of any written piece is in the emotions it evokes and Baby . . . you do get them going!

    I like what you do here. I wish I was so edgy! Your’s is a powerful and beautiful gift. Thanks for sharing.

    Miss D

  5. 5 bestialboo
    June 2, 2008 at 6:07 pm

    “I am sure. Where you went to school, there was probably a naughty, supposedly celibate, disgusting man behind a locked office door who preyed on the children’s innocence.”

    Yeah, his name was Bob.

    “Don’t get your hopes up bb. My purpose in writing is not to titillate your depraved fetish-driven mind.”


  6. 6 bestialboo
    June 2, 2008 at 6:08 pm

    Manco take a chill pill. I like it here and I’m just doing a little quid pro quo blogger style. 😉

  7. June 3, 2008 at 12:25 pm

    Miss D: I greatly appreciate the compliment. It is encouraging to know that others enjoy reading my words.

    bestialboo: Bob huh? Catholic institutions and pedophiles go together like chopped liver and onions. The seminaries are well known for their alcohol fueled same-sex orgies. When they get to their parishes, or schools, they prey on the kids because they usually don’t talk. Sick bastards, the whole lot of them.

    Don’t worry about manco, his comment just means he likes you.

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Johnny Peepers

----> is a socio-pathetic degenerate with a penchant for cheap booze, ruphy-laden broads, and dim sum soup.


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