Moving On Up

This is one of a continuing series of posts recalling my youthful days while in incarceration (the previous one is here).

After my release from investment, I settled in to Unit 1. Things were a lot different on the upper units. Sunlight came pouring in from windows, we exercised in the outdoors, and the food was actually warm when it hit your esophageal tube. It wasn’t freedom, but it would have to suffice in the mean time.

I had a new set of handlers, and they were roommates on the outs. John was a shit-talking gung-ho bodybuilder who shaved his legs and chomped on sunflower seeds incessantly. He sported a tanning bed complexion and wore rolled up blue jean shorts. His roomie Bruce was the fattest chunk of worthless human debris that you ever laid eyes on. This muthafucka had to have been 500 pounds. We laid bets on where he hid his junk because the concave mound where his twig ‘n berries shoulda have been was as smooth as a baby tuckus. I hated both of them because they had shitty personalities and their job was to spy on me and report back to central command.

Here is how the game worked. The therapists were the primary intelligence gatherers. You were expected to spill your guts out to them twice a week in individual therapy and once a week in group therapy. The unit counselors, the teachers, the nurses, and the administrative staff filled in the gaps. Since the counselors had the primary exposure, they were required to keep detailed logs on all the shit that happened in the units and who said what. Even as a youngster I was a paranoid fuck, so I kept real mum around these shit heels.

Since I did not give the counselors much ammo, they had to fill in the gaps. Otherwise it would look like they wasn’t earning their keep. Being the college dropout armchair psychologists that they were, they would label me as passive-aggressive, anti-social, or just plain deceptive. All of the staff had monthly “action plan” meetings with the therapists to update their treatment agenda. I took a perverse delight in mucking up their Johnnypeepers profile. They had my body, but I was damned if they were going to hijack my inner brain workings.

During the day we went to school like the kids on the outs. One of my favorite teachers was this old senile hag named Rochelle. She was a big tubby broad that had cottage cheese jutting out of her stretch pants. She tried her best to teach Art and Humanities to a room full of bastards and mental cripples, but she was pushover. Her nephew had got popped for giving door-to-door gynecological and breast exams to housewives (without a medical license). Me and my buddies would bust up in her class hard up until the point where she would reach for the phone to the desk counselor to remove us from class. We would run to the front of the room, get down on our knees, and beg for her not to make the call. She loved the teenage male attention and would usually melt like butter in a heated sauce pan.

P.E. was a different story. The coach was a hunch-backed Swede with a thick accent. Anders shot so many steroids in the 70’s that he couldn’t even look forward when he walked. His limbs resembled gelatinous globs of flabby flesh hanging from a tortured frame. Worse than that though, the fucker was a pedophile. He always picked the pretty boys to be the shirtless basketball team. After P.E., when we had to shower, he would be the one to dispense the towels. I remember he would always make the boys stand naked for a few seconds, so he could ogle the glistening nude bodies, before he would throw you the towel. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had the locker room rigged with cameras to capture the visuals for his pedo video archive. Sick bastard. I hope he doesn’t have bowel control these days and has to eat from an IV tube.

9 Responses to “Moving On Up”

  1. July 9, 2008 at 5:38 am

    I don’t know why sexual predator laws restrict sex offenders from working with children; aren’t you supposed to do what you love and love what you do?

    Sex Mahoney for President

  2. 2 dummidumbwit
    July 9, 2008 at 12:27 pm

    Which is why my grade school principal got a PHD im Early Childhood Psychology and blew his brains out when he got a letter from the States Atty at his mailbox and that’s no shit. Too close to home Mahoney, Jeez. He had issues with half the male kids in the school.

  3. 3 Dougie Nugget
    July 9, 2008 at 1:46 pm

    There ain’t nuttin’ worse than a damn faggot.

    Yo, shit, I been there, Peepers. Not the same place, but I been to some places like that. It’ll melt a brother’s brain and crack his spirit, yo. The muthafuckin’ system ain’t no joke.

    Dummidumbwit, your name ain’t Matt, is it? I knew this boy back in Michigan used to call himself dumb wit. He was a dummy too. Just wondering if that’s you. If it is, raise them stakes, my brother…..the West is the best, bro.

    Sex Mahoney, the day you get popped for messing with little kids man, someone’s going to have a nice time with you. One of your kind was in the jail with me, man. Brothers bitched his ass every day. Even them old crazy skinhead white boys (all of them are faggots themselves) put this boy through the ringer. You don’t fuck with no kids man.
    Shit, Whitney may be coked out these days but she sang I believe that children are our future teach them well and let them lead the way show them all the beauty they possess inside give them a sense of pride to make it easier let the children’s laughter remind us how we used to be. Everybody searching for a hero people need someone to look up to I never found anyone to fulfill my needs a lonely place to be so I learned to depend on me.
    And then Whitney went for muthafuckin’ broke, fool. I decided long ago never to walk in anyone’s shadows if I fail, if I succeed at least I will live as I believe no matter what they take from me they can’t take away my dignity

    But, shit, that bitch smoking rock now so….shit.

  4. 4 dummidumbwit
    July 9, 2008 at 2:47 pm

    no, it’s not me, central Illinois is home, The name is cause my ex roomie thinks I act retarded which I do because she’s so cute, so I’d sign stuff dummidumbwit and it stuck.

  5. 5 Dougie Nugget
    July 9, 2008 at 10:57 pm

    Yeah, you do seem retarded, bra. If you think that ho cute, you ought to loosen up them guts, yo. Hit that shit.

  6. 6 dummidumbwit
    July 10, 2008 at 8:02 am

    Life would seem simpler if I thought all women were ugly, I could read and blog and do other stuff, but until then….jeez!!!

  7. 7 Dougie Nugget
    July 10, 2008 at 11:24 pm

    Man, what you talking about? I was just joking at first about you being retarded, but, damn, I thinks you really are retarded.

  8. 8 dummidumbwit
    July 10, 2008 at 11:31 pm

    Keep em wondering, they underestimate 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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