BRED FOR CRIME: CS                                                                                James Bauhaus 2002

12-3-02: You can call me all the racists you want, but I'm only recording the ugly facts. After that shitbrain, Mikey Mitchell pulled his cowardly sneak attack and I delicately peeled his scuzzy ass off my back and convinced the Kops to finally take him away and leave me relatively unpunished for their making me suffer him for months, they put another, more intelligent Indian in with me. He is not quite so young and dumb as MM, and a lot less scheming and less requiring of the constant ego-petting and attention most of these ignorami insist upon. Even so, he thought other judges would forgive his robbery of his Aunt's cigarette store on the technicality that it occurred on 'Indian' land. I am always amazed at how inmates will believe that judges somehow are bound by the constitution: they are not bound by anything, except perhaps generalities.

The next inmate I got was a Scot who is 22 and enamored of the Irish Mob Gang, into which he was inducted while I lived with him. He was very intelligent in the ways of being a thief, and solved the gold bellrope problem even more efficiently than the book, "Aha! Insight!" by Martin Gardener. He did this by proposing slamming the knife into the hole in the ceiling in such a way that from the floor you could send up waves that would cut it down, effectively stealing 100% of both ropes. He once stole a car and was in the trunk when the cops came to steal it back. He hid there and successfully escaped while the cops' wrecker service was stopped at a red light. He is a nice guy who may dodge a lifetime of state abduction by inheriting his dad's barber shop. His philosophy is that he is entitled to steal anything he desires unless it belongs to a friend. He was being tortured by a much larger redneck when they moved me into his cage. He was almost forced to cave the guy's head in while he slept, but the prison pigs finally solved his problem by moving that piece of shit into the cage with my Indian.

Next was CS, a 43 year old, 270 pound food addict who claimed German/Indian ancestry. He was able to sit still and read/enjoy pulp fiction for long hours-my idea of a low maintenance inmate-one who didn't require you to entertain him; one who could entertain himself, wasn't illiterate and had a life going on beyond and above the usual inmate plane of ego-tripping and bullshitting. He'd gotten 7 lifes and 10 years, some without parole, for mere marijuana sales. His story got bigger every time he told it, and he told it often, but he apparently got caught with 300 pounds of dope and claimed to sell this much every month with the help of his twin sons. Of course he spent it as fast as he made it, and the lawyers got about 20 to 50 thousand of it and had him stupidly cop out to all his maximum sentences! This is clearly a case of robbery-by-lawyer, who made CS believe the lie "We'll win on appeal." The judge and lawyer simply performed as is usual in their supposed 'adversarial' system-by being in cahoots in stripping victims of all their assets and burying their client in prison so the silksuited Mafia can sleep fearlessly in their beds. CS didn't appeal and feigns the appearance of going to appeal by waiting 7 years for his wife to photocopy his copout transcript. He seems to think the law will change so he can get out through no effort of his own.

Like most fat people, he's fat because he is a food addict. He spent a major fraction of his profits taking himself and family and sycophants to "gormet" restaurants every day. He can't taste anything because he drowns everything in hot sauce and pepper. Fat-sos also think they are gormet cooks. Some are, and CS had these inmates eating out of my trashcan. He'd buy that ground gutz 'chili', toss in beans, hot sauce, cheetos, noodles and 'summer sausage' (more gutmeat) chunks, and mix it all up in the wastebasket. This is the only thing he had big enough to hold all this crap. Then he'd spread it on tortillas and call it 'burritos'. He'd insist people eat this shit, and most would, willingly and with relish. I did once, just to shut him up, tossing out the sausage chunks, of course, and have to admit that it was good, though too hot. It tasted like burittos with too much pepper, but the other inmates went nuts over it. One even emulated him by making 'tuna' 'burritos' in his trashcan. Food is such a factor in CSs life that whereever he goes, he starts a food-loaning business to supply his habit. He's full of stories of how fat and rich he got doing this the last time, and seems incapable of accepting the fact that his 'best customers' eventually clean him out. Every purchase day (2 times per month at Big Crack) he'd get paid his debts and 10 minutes later they borrow even more from him. They can only pay back $20/fortnight, so eventually CSs food is eaten by them for credit. They make token payments by mail, vend hard-luck stories, then move off to other cage-stacks to continue their process of 'borrowing' without paying. CS can't beat payment out of them during the 1-hour of 'yard' we have every few days since this would get him removed to the super-harassment cages, thereby losing all his debtors. He likes to say he can hire others to collect debts, but this doesn't work, since you can't spend a beating. If any money can be coerced out of the debtor before he can have the guards move him to safety, it goes to the thug, not CS.

CS is a nice enough guy and has a certain amount of cunning. He feigns membership in both the Indian Brother Hood (IBH) gang and the Nazi gang when expedient to coerce payment. He's got an even bigger cousin in the Nazi gang who sucked out a $10 payment from CS for pretending he was a Nazi and had their gang behind him. He and I once had a shouting match over his electronic pacifier noise and he shaved his head into a stupid looking 'war bonnet' (Iriquois Indian style) to make me think he was in the Indian gang and better shut up about his radio. Many inmates, trooping by for shower, commented on how idiotic it made him look. The shaving makes you look like a bald man, which is shocking to see on one who yesterday had a pile of kinky brown hair on top. This embarrassed CS into claiming he just had a wild hair up his huge ass instead of the obvious "I'm on the warpath:" nonsense.

CS got over it, and it turns out that he isn't a loudness freak about the radio like the youngsters. (He's at least 40). He does have a habit of combining a sneeze with a shriek. This is undoubtedly a type of power trip that almost all large, fat faux indulge in-a way of saying, "I'm large, and I can get away with harassing you in subtle ways that are too mild for you to decide it's worth bashing me in my sleep."

Being a fat, sweaty hog, he had a skin condition that he attributed to a soap allergy. His skin is a feast for bacteria because he was so fat that he'd always overheat and sweat moisture and salt, which bacteria love. Sleeping on a plastic pad helped to cultivate these bacteria too. You couldn't make him see this. Instead he'd blame it on the prison laundry, which is only half at fault, and wash his bedclothes in the laziest way possible. He'd soak them for hours in a trashcan of boiling water, then rinse them thoroughly. (Not as bad a technique as some, who will actually rinse clothes by flushing them down the crapper pipe.)

Living with CS was like living in a stall with a large farm animal that possessed two huge asses. He's a nervous type who would do the little 3-step pace, back and forth, for hours. Reminds me of a scared parakeet that's had too many buffoons slap its cage trying to make it talk. Or a dog constantly running between windows to press its nose up against the glass to catch the 'action'. The action in this case was the innate substitute for TV, You have only 2 channels; chain-link-fence/empty-street drama or runman-mopping theatre. He'd leave greasy face-prints on the door glass. He'd also do an hour workout 2 or 3 times a week that he'd stretch into 3 hours per day. He's too fat to do pullups, pushups or jumping jacks, but would lay on the floor with his arms locked straight and vertical, looking like a beached walrus. (I hereby revise my estimate of his weight to 300 plus pounds, just thinking of this.) For an extremely obese person, he was in very good shape. He would do squat thrusts and 'lunges' so much that he had grotesquely misshapen thighs, particularly the quadriceps muscles. This was because his style of fighting called for strong legs. His strategy was to sweep the opponent off his feet with a kick, then throw his full weight of blubber onto him in a smother-move. Once the victim was pinned to the floor under all his fat, there was nothing to do but absorb punches, which CS had in abundance. This fat guy could even jog for a few minutes.

CS used to pay Will next door 25% to receive money for him. Wil had no money, but could spend $60 every fortnight. CS would have him buy food for him and his 'store'.

One of the stories CS would tell me many times involved Wils guts. He'd enjoy plying ma with tales of how Wil had gotten gutshot by many police slugs while stealing a car. The subsequent surgery created many pockets where Wills feces would catch and rot. CS assurred me many times that Wil was thus given to much farting which stank prodigiously worse than anyone's ordinary farts. His purpose in trying to grind this nonsense into my memory was unknowable at first, but probably had to do with a fear that I may want to enter into some kind of business arrangement with Wil or, more likely, try to move in with him. CS also early-on told me of someone having caught Wil with his hand far up into his ass. This 'fact' he appeared to merely enjoy telling, rather than have an ulterior motive in doing so.

Almost every inmate's primary timekiller is boasting. You can't stop them. Now-adays they pretty much follow a program. They begin by telling you all the many fights they have won. The more they fear attack, the more vicious and numerous are their fight stories. Soon as they feel safe, they try to discover what you have or what you can do to benefit them. They're looking for anything of value, but primarily tobacco, coffee, food, stamps or anything they can trade for dope, food, etc. Then they start re-living the past by bragging.

Over the course of the months I lived with him, CSs life story came to this: His parents let him run wild. He dodged most school, he learned to sniff paint early. He was befriended by an adult homosexual who would treat him very special for certain liberties. They would go 'fishing' and practice perversion at the same time. He spent so much time doing this that he enjoys it even as an adult in prison, though he is very subtle in fishing around for fellow perverts in prison. It would not do for a big, fat, tough guy to be found to like rectal massage. He spent a weekend bashing a hole into the side of a building and stole a pop truck out of there. He drove it to a river, then got caught by his dad. His dad helped him abscond with cases of pop he'd hidden. The woods came alive with piranhas wanting pop before they got back with a truck. He also ripped open a boxcar and stole 10 or 12 boxes of lawn mowers. His dad helped sell these too.

He and a retarded teenager used to rob wine-os, (or just beat them up for fun, seeing how much alcohol or money they had) and actually killed one at the trainyards one winter in okc. .They never got caught. He sold a lot of marijuana, using his sons in doing so, for a few years. A special forces friend enlisted CS to help kill a rat who'd stolen some of his dope. It turned into a clusterfaux of stupidity and incompetence. The cops' rat took 2 slugs while snatching the gun out of special force's hand. Then he ran into the dark. CS finally killed him by smacking him with a car. CS dodged prison somehow, probably by snitching on his pal. Special forces had set CS up in the marijuana business, and now his customers switched to CS. A salesman stole a trailer of marijuana from CS and he got snitched off for beating the guy into a coma and sexually assaulting his wife. One of his suns got blown away for undercutting a bunch of Vietnamese.            A judge and a lawyer connived away thousands of his marijuana money by tricking him into saying "guilty" to the maximum on 7 or 8 crimes, all of which were equal to mere sales of marijuana.

CS told this story with considerably less candor than I. Much of it I threw away in favor of the 'facts' which are available in police/court and other records. CS will die in prison because the judges and cops have inscribed upon their secret record of him the notion that he dodged 2 murder convictions. Also they have probably got accounts by numerous prison snitches who relate to them CSs detailed revenge fantasies. He blames all his convictions on only one cop's snitch, a guy who used to sell weed for CS. CS enjoys telling each of his cagemates for the past 11 years exactly how he'd like to torture this guy if ever the wall fell down and he was able to waddle away.

CSs excess blubber tries to smother his heart and lungs. He has to sleep on an incline so that gravity pulls his fat off his vital organs. I like to give him most of the inedible gutmeat the prisoncrats pass off on these inmates as mystery meat patties, poisonous balonas or ground tendon and cartilage hidden under sauces and gravies. I'd sneer at it, call it the worst kind of garbage that would gag a maggot, then ask him if he wants it. He'd act like he was disgusted too, just for show, and act like he has to think about it for a while, as if weighing important factors. When he sees me move to dump it in the shitter, he quickly says, "Oh, all right. Give it here:"

He likes to get back at me for this by cutting loud farts very often, in addition to his sneeze-shrieking. I'd hope he'd get diarrhea from this garbage like everyone else. So far he has not shit down his leg yet that I know of, but it hasn't been for lack of goading by me. Also, fat people are able to eat with impunity crap that would kill a vulture. It is odd that so many are thought to be gormets. CS eats stuff so vile that it would chase dogs off a gut wagon, and though he shits at least once every day, he knows when it is diarrhea and has not yet made the Morales mistake. He craps the same way a coo-coo drops an egg into a strange bird's nest: quickly and easily, barely pausing long enough to alight.

One o£ the quirky things CS liked to do was look up words in his dictionary whenever he found a new one in the many pulp thrillers he would read. He'd sneak it out, look up the word quietly, read the definition, then tick me what the word means. I'd answer be cause I kind of like the guy. If he thought I'd just make something up if I didn't know, he was disappointed every time. If I do not know something, it's no bother to me to admit that I do not know. Usually I'd get at least one definition right, then CS would pretend to dig out his dictionary and read all its definitions to me, acting as if he was scoring me. Since I was helping him with the math and English parts of his GED homework, 'maybe this was his way of returning the favor.

As for CSs crimes, they gradually got so big with the telling that he was making $2 million/year, and he got away with them for 7 years. I asked him what he did with all the money. He said he bought 7 waterbikes for $5,000 each, a home for his wife (probably not more than $100,000), various cars and trucks, (surprisingly not 'vettes of suv's), a few electronic toys that were also nothing special, and karate classes for him and his kids. He mentioned having excess cash and was thinking of buying a hot dog business, (gormet, of course). He never did. Then he got busted and the lawyers skipped off with no more than $70,000. So, the big question is; what happened to the other 13 million dollars and change? I don't think the comet restaurants got them, no matter how many mouths he brought with him. Besides, they all seemed to be glorified taco joints anyway. How pricey can you make corn, beans, cheese and ground beef?

Despite CSs temporary success as a dope wholesaler and lack of investment and accounting skills, he did far, far better than any of these ghetto rats I've met in 30 plus years of my experience in Okie prisons. Nevertheless, I must mark him down as being bred for crime.