Memoirs of a fat, lazy hack (fiction)

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Memoirs of a fat, lazy hack (fiction)

Postby Thomas » Sun Oct 11, 2009 11:43 am

Television paints a dreary picture for hacks. Watching some of the programs would give anyone a complex. Hell, all those scum bags are fat, lazy, and cowardly guards.

Guard. What a funny word. Every book out there touts the worthlessness of guards. You know they are corrupt. They’re crooked, they lie, and generally they are out to keep a brother down. You know what I’m saying.

Hell, I’d go as far to say that hacks are the lowest form of life on the planet. They’re all a pack of cowards, running around giving folks orders and such, all by themselves. Who do they think they are, superman? They’re all by themselves, and we got shanks and locks in the sock. We should brain one of them, teach them a lesson.

The trash that comes out of the mouth of thugs is sickening. Heck, the trash I read is sickening. The dreams still come, but hey, what’s a little PTSD? I’m not complaining, I signed up, though I still think I must have been retarded. Who goes into a unit with damn near three hundred thugs with nothing but radio, some keys, and balls the size of cantaloupes. What a career.
Are we never to learn that Socialism has its roots in envy and in nothing else?
The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity.
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Thomas
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Re: Memoirs of a fat, lazy hack (fiction)

Postby Thomas » Sun Oct 11, 2009 12:04 pm

Suicide watch
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“No, he’s on 15 minute checks.”

I shook my head. These assholes in administration didn’t know the job. As if we had time to watch this cat down here in the hole. He needed to be up in the hospital with some rookie watching him. Down here, on 15 minute checks, he could off himself any time. We had too much to do in the hole on evenings.

“Fine. Kick rocks, I got this.” Bobby Low laughed and handed over the keys. “Whatever. Let me out of here.” I took the equipment and handed him the slip. Then I popped him out.

What most people don’t understand is that a prison is all about security. Every door has a lock, every lock is usually secured. In certain areas, like segregation, there is usually more than one lock. There is usually a small area between two doors. I got the key to the inner door, and control handles the outer utilizing a camera and a button. Get the picture?

Anyhow, there are several things in segregation or what we call the bucket and inmates refer to as the hole, which must be done. I can hear you know. But they’re locked in the cells 23 hours a day, what do you possibly have to do? They don’t even have contact with other inmates.

That isn’t necessarily the case. On days they have to move recreation in and out of the building, which takes longer than an hour. In an old segregation like ours, we have to move the thugs to the shower and back. This is done on evenings. When you’ve got 60-80 showers to give it makes a long night. Two showers broken make it an even longer night. Plus you’ve got to feed and make your rounds, listening to their bitching. Good times.

Now they add this crybaby, Jocklin, who is on 15 minute checks. He says he’s going to kill himself, but they don’t have the staff, so I get him. Grand. He’s currently in our inside recreation room, in a smock with boxers and socks. The room is enclosed, but has a big glass window so I can see him from my office.
Are we never to learn that Socialism has its roots in envy and in nothing else?
The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity.
User avatar
Thomas
Lost Soul
 
Posts: 58
Joined: Tue Sep 29, 2009 10:29 am
Location: Oklahoma

Re: Memoirs of a fat, lazy hack (fiction)

Postby Thomas » Fri Oct 16, 2009 9:34 pm

Now, I know that sounds harsh. But you’ve got to understand, there are only so many hours in the day. I got 8 hours to get things done, and anything out of the ordinary screws up my schedule. Now, I will admit that I figured this guy was faking it. They usually are. However, I’d make sure Dirty Harry would watch him.

Yes, I said Dirty Harry. He’s hardcore into guns and everything about guns, so we gave him a nick name. He’s a loud, crazy little man. But we like him anyway.

Anyway, he’s the man who heads down the range and listens to the thugs. He escorts the inmates to the shower. He feeds them, talks to them, gives them hygiene supplies, including toilet paper. You could say he was mama, because without him the inmates wouldn’t last long. Unfortunately, he also had the pleasure of listening to their abusive language and taunts. They kept it to a minimum with some of us, but for some reason they liked getting into a pissing test with Dirty. I suppose boredom was their motivator.

I’m not going to get too much into our daily routine. I will touch on the interesting part, though. We were taking care of business all night. In between escorting inmates, I was sitting in the office drinking a cup of joe. Guess what I happened to see?
Are we never to learn that Socialism has its roots in envy and in nothing else?
The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity.
User avatar
Thomas
Lost Soul
 
Posts: 58
Joined: Tue Sep 29, 2009 10:29 am
Location: Oklahoma


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