The blue-flu hit hardest on home football Saturdays. After all, we live in Nebraska, and we have to support our Huskers. When those mornings came, you could pretty much count on being shuffled around the facility by the shift supervisor in order to ensure that all the posts were manned. Late October 2005, the Sooners from Oklahoma were in town, and inevitably I was shuffled to the control unit, better known as the hole, or the South 40. Working in the hole was like jail in a jail. The worst of the inmates were housed there for crimes they committed while in jail. These guys had less privilege, less yard time, less canteen, less everything. If you think prison sucks, you should try the hole.
The control unit is an easy post because extra precautions are taken to manage the most hard-core idiots known to corrections. The inmates assigned there are commonly those with the worst tempers, and those that lack the ability to get along with other inmates. They seldom get along with staff either.
These inmates really had to be creative when it came to passing time. One of the things they liked best was winning. By winning, I mean, getting the staff to do something they do not want to do. Inmates will do anything, from hold a modified magazine to shit-down a cell, just so they can “get you,” and “win.” They will do anything within their circle of influence to make you do something. They see it as a personal victory if they can somehow cause you any discomfort or make you lift an extra finger. One of the Physician’s Assistants (P.A.) on call was in the middle of his rounds in the control unit, when his duties required him to deal with a particularly hated inmate.
Magnificent Crown of Neptune (a legally changed name) was severely disliked for many reasons, but two really mattered in this setting. Correctional policy dictated that we address inmates by their names, and not their numbers. Nobody wanted to address this fool as Magnificent, or Crown of Neptune. The other reason, and more importantly was that this fool was in the control unit for assaulting staff, after they caught him having sex with a female staff member. The female staff appeared to be willing at the time they were caught, but it came out later that she was pressured after getting caught up in the con games. Apparently she was making some money on the side by selling tobacco on the inside, where it was considered illegal contraband. Magnificent Crown of Neptune was also suing the State of Nebraska, claiming that the female caseworker raped him, and that he was suffering trauma from the sexual assault on him.
The inmate assault was a huge deal, because if it stuck, Magnificent Crown of Neptune would have his incarcerated time extended. If the assault was determined to be minor or charges were not pressed, he would jam (discharge) from the hole. The visit from the P.A. was about to bring brand new meaning to the phrase “jam from the hole.”
The Magnificent one was having a problem doing a number two. Speculation was that he got bored in the hole, and decided to insert some things into his hole. His backdoor responded by clamming up tight. Donald Baraby, the P.A., gave him a choice of ointment or suppositories.
“You can either push the suppository in your bottom or use the ointment.”
“But it itches inside…up in there.”
“Use your finger to insert the ointment then.”
“One day, my poop is hard, and the next, I’m filling the bowl with chocolate malt-o-meal. I feel like a sno-cone machine gone bad. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Call it traumatic stress disorder from the five-foot, 90-pound, caseworker that raped you.”
We are all hoping someday that he will meet a Bubba larger than him, and die of repetitive trauma to the anus.
“It isn’t worth the risk. What if you get caught?” “Man, I promise I’ll quit soon. I’m like this close to
being able to suck my own dick. As soon as I can, I’ll give up all my girlfriends.”
The control unit is an easy post because extra precautions are taken to manage the most hard-core idiots known to corrections. The inmates assigned there are commonly those with the worst tempers, and those that lack the ability to get along with other inmates. They seldom get along with staff either.
These inmates really had to be creative when it came to passing time. One of the things they liked best was winning. By winning, I mean, getting the staff to do something they do not want to do. Inmates will do anything, from hold a modified magazine to shit-down a cell, just so they can “get you,” and “win.” They will do anything within their circle of influence to make you do something. They see it as a personal victory if they can somehow cause you any discomfort or make you lift an extra finger. One of the Physician’s Assistants (P.A.) on call was in the middle of his rounds in the control unit, when his duties required him to deal with a particularly hated inmate.
Magnificent Crown of Neptune (a legally changed name) was severely disliked for many reasons, but two really mattered in this setting. Correctional policy dictated that we address inmates by their names, and not their numbers. Nobody wanted to address this fool as Magnificent, or Crown of Neptune. The other reason, and more importantly was that this fool was in the control unit for assaulting staff, after they caught him having sex with a female staff member. The female staff appeared to be willing at the time they were caught, but it came out later that she was pressured after getting caught up in the con games. Apparently she was making some money on the side by selling tobacco on the inside, where it was considered illegal contraband. Magnificent Crown of Neptune was also suing the State of Nebraska, claiming that the female caseworker raped him, and that he was suffering trauma from the sexual assault on him.
The inmate assault was a huge deal, because if it stuck, Magnificent Crown of Neptune would have his incarcerated time extended. If the assault was determined to be minor or charges were not pressed, he would jam (discharge) from the hole. The visit from the P.A. was about to bring brand new meaning to the phrase “jam from the hole.”
The Magnificent one was having a problem doing a number two. Speculation was that he got bored in the hole, and decided to insert some things into his hole. His backdoor responded by clamming up tight. Donald Baraby, the P.A., gave him a choice of ointment or suppositories.
“You can either push the suppository in your bottom or use the ointment.”
“But it itches inside…up in there.”
“Use your finger to insert the ointment then.”
“One day, my poop is hard, and the next, I’m filling the bowl with chocolate malt-o-meal. I feel like a sno-cone machine gone bad. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Call it traumatic stress disorder from the five-foot, 90-pound, caseworker that raped you.”
We are all hoping someday that he will meet a Bubba larger than him, and die of repetitive trauma to the anus.
“It isn’t worth the risk. What if you get caught?” “Man, I promise I’ll quit soon. I’m like this close to
being able to suck my own dick. As soon as I can, I’ll give up all my girlfriends.”
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