The Post Orders for our third-shift personnel state that you must wake up inmates on work lists twice per individual, even if they own and possess an alarm clock. How much Mommy do we have to be? An inmate can get out of a misconduct report for being late for work if you failed to wake them twice. Nobody wakes me twice. I think of it this way. They go to work, they earn money, and alarm clocks are available at the canteen. Even idiots can figure this out. Oh, the coddling!
Inmate Walsh was a dog-handler in the K-9 Pen-Pals program. His best story was his claim regarding the name his ancestors brought from the old country with them.
According to Walsh, he should be named Walarashardski, but his ancestors were victims of the Ellis Island renaming phenomenon. Walsh was not a serious pain in the ass, but he definitely had one. He had developed an ingrown hair that was extremely close to his asshole. No, I have not seen it. I am taking his word for it. In fact, for anybody in the world who would admit such a thing, your word is good here. Walsh had been to medical, and they told him that the treatment, which included soaking, prescriptions, hoping the body would push it out on its own, or careful removal could take weeks.
Walsh explains this medical plan with the least bit of interest, “I’m thinking, go up there every day like Williams to have my genital warts froze off? No way, not for me.” In the beginning, Walsh was impatient, and asked some other trusted inmate friends to accomplish the task of removal. This question was much like the quadruple-amputee best-friend with the screaming hard-on. Would you jack him off? Eventually, Walsh just wanted a mirror, some tweezers, and some privacy. He thought he could manage the task alone. He asked Walker about using the staff bathroom, “Hey Walker. You s’pose I could use the staff bathroom for a bit?”
“What for?” Walker humored him.
“Member that conversation we were having about me going to medical, and talking to that nurse?”
“You mean the one that keeps missing the periodic condescension clinics?”
“Yah, that’s the one.”
“She reminds me of the kitchen lady who keeps telling me she is missing a thong. She’s so stupid; I’m not sure if she’s hitting on me, or if she just lost a salad utensil.”
“Yah, well, I ain’t got time to wait for her plan to remove this hair.”
“What, you want to do it yourself?”
“Yah, I think I can pull it off, I mean out, so to speak.” “What if it gets infected?”
“I don’t care. Besides, I’ll just use the alcohol wipes from the diabetic bag.”
“I don’t know.”
“Dude, I just saw you catch Garris pulling a splinter out of his ass in there!”
“That’s different.” “How?”
“He’s the unit porter, and I caught him after the fact. You know how I hate doing paperwork.”
“How did he get in?”
“It gets left open for the cleaning porters.”
“So, if it got left open for the porters, hypothetically speaking, and I got in to take care of my problem…”
“You’re just like a politician, aren’t you?” “Them glad-handing sacks of shit?”
“You better not fuck me on this one. I hold a grudge like a teenage girl. I’ll come down your row and start throwing everybody under the bus.”
“Dude, I promise.”
“Just don’t do it when anybody is looking. And don’t you be taking no dump either.”
We did not want to explain to Exstrom how the Mother of All Bombs got in our staff bathroom.
“Bring the purple-wiggler and the stink-bait.”
Inmate Walsh was a dog-handler in the K-9 Pen-Pals program. His best story was his claim regarding the name his ancestors brought from the old country with them.
According to Walsh, he should be named Walarashardski, but his ancestors were victims of the Ellis Island renaming phenomenon. Walsh was not a serious pain in the ass, but he definitely had one. He had developed an ingrown hair that was extremely close to his asshole. No, I have not seen it. I am taking his word for it. In fact, for anybody in the world who would admit such a thing, your word is good here. Walsh had been to medical, and they told him that the treatment, which included soaking, prescriptions, hoping the body would push it out on its own, or careful removal could take weeks.
Walsh explains this medical plan with the least bit of interest, “I’m thinking, go up there every day like Williams to have my genital warts froze off? No way, not for me.” In the beginning, Walsh was impatient, and asked some other trusted inmate friends to accomplish the task of removal. This question was much like the quadruple-amputee best-friend with the screaming hard-on. Would you jack him off? Eventually, Walsh just wanted a mirror, some tweezers, and some privacy. He thought he could manage the task alone. He asked Walker about using the staff bathroom, “Hey Walker. You s’pose I could use the staff bathroom for a bit?”
“What for?” Walker humored him.
“Member that conversation we were having about me going to medical, and talking to that nurse?”
“You mean the one that keeps missing the periodic condescension clinics?”
“Yah, that’s the one.”
“She reminds me of the kitchen lady who keeps telling me she is missing a thong. She’s so stupid; I’m not sure if she’s hitting on me, or if she just lost a salad utensil.”
“Yah, well, I ain’t got time to wait for her plan to remove this hair.”
“What, you want to do it yourself?”
“Yah, I think I can pull it off, I mean out, so to speak.” “What if it gets infected?”
“I don’t care. Besides, I’ll just use the alcohol wipes from the diabetic bag.”
“I don’t know.”
“Dude, I just saw you catch Garris pulling a splinter out of his ass in there!”
“That’s different.” “How?”
“He’s the unit porter, and I caught him after the fact. You know how I hate doing paperwork.”
“How did he get in?”
“It gets left open for the cleaning porters.”
“So, if it got left open for the porters, hypothetically speaking, and I got in to take care of my problem…”
“You’re just like a politician, aren’t you?” “Them glad-handing sacks of shit?”
“You better not fuck me on this one. I hold a grudge like a teenage girl. I’ll come down your row and start throwing everybody under the bus.”
“Dude, I promise.”
“Just don’t do it when anybody is looking. And don’t you be taking no dump either.”
We did not want to explain to Exstrom how the Mother of All Bombs got in our staff bathroom.
“Bring the purple-wiggler and the stink-bait.”
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