BRED FOR CRIME: DJ

I met a new kid last month. He was skinny, blond, not to tattoo'd and apparently more intelligent that the usual prison inmate. We were eating our garbage in the mess hall when he mentioned to me that he was broke, would never have any money sent to him, was never going to leave prison and thus might a well sue these encarcerrating bastards for the betterment of everyone suffering their caprices. He'd heard that I knew the law and suggested a deal: I would write the lawsuits and he would sign them and suffer getting his head shot off by the bureaucrats and lawyers for having the courage and gall to contest their daily harassment and enslavey. I promised to try and think up some things that we, (he) could sue for and have no chance of winning, and I explained to him the legal fact that the chances of winning anything from them is practically nil for two primary reasons. One, judges dodge prisoner lawsuits by simply stating their doctrine (dogma) of trying never to interfere with a warden's bailiwick: two, this “non-interference" doctor., is almost never broached until a pattern of prison deaths and/or injuries can be proved to be "negligence" AND "deliberate indifference" to death and abuse. Since few prisoners were dying or being maimed due to prison policies (aside firm the standard cleverly disguised medical malpractice and shackle torture, which is not counted), we could not win any suits for improved conditions.

A month later we met again in the big cage. While walking circles within it for exercise, I admitted to him that the lawyer's system was a costly fame that would sic the prison bureaucrats on him. Then I began to explain a better, more effective way that involved swaying the court of public opinion by w writing complaints that expose the corruption and propose a better solution. From this point our goal-oriented quest for better conditions more suited to twenty-first century man degenerated into a more rambling gripe session and me listening to his opinions and life story.

DJ is obviously intelligent but suffers a lot of ill-conceived `knowledge' and 'facts' sold to him by some of the most cunning propagandists on Earth. Though obviously of Nordic descent, DJ professes to Judaism since his conscious memories began. He's an Anarchist, though he likes all the video cops watching all the time because it cuts down on the "Bullshit" (meaning the rat-pack attacks on individuals). He staged unaware that anarchy would cause MORE attacks. He sits at the Nazi feeding-table, but disdains the gang practice of snatching up scared youngsters and indoctrinating them with supposed `Aryan' 'culture'. He disdains most of the people here and now does not feel he should sacrifice himself for their good. He described himself as a "geek" in that he actually did learn something impressive about computers, particularly the windows operating system and a bit of dos. He appears to know how to get into dos and how to construct custom characters. He's anti-abortion, wants to save the (fertilized human) eggs, wants to stop killing embryos for stem cell research. (He's a bit cloudy on this, not knowing the scientific arguments for therapeutic cloning, only the religious arguments against ALL cloning.) He disdains science in general, evolution in particular: another sign of lack of school and a self-accrued education. He dodged school and fell into drugs, burglary and other crimes. He started this behavior late and got caught early enough to be permitted to dodge prison by ducking into the service. He said this was where his Attention Deficit Disorder "came in handy", though I can't remember his reason for saying this: apparently the Army needs youngsters who can't concentrate too well.

The govt gave him plenty of lethal toys to play with and taught him murder-theory on how to kill (urban warfare), then sent him to Honduras to fold parachutes for the contras in Reagan's secret war against Nicaragua. (This makes him about 35 years old or so, if true.) They let him pretty much run wild. He remembers the fabulous "parties" of marathon drug use while “serving” his country. Some time later he learned he was an unknowing cog in Reagan's machine that imported crime into the US and Europe to pay for that war. He dropped one of those "harmless” "flash-bang" grenades: the same type the cops use and fried his eyeballs. This got him a discharge. He returned to his previous life of drug use and sponging off his mother. (His father died in a wreck.) He used and abused his family so badly that they won't write him. His mom and sister called the cops on him when he began robbing gas stations after finding him passed out drunk trying to hammer open a cash-box. The cops said, "Let us 'help' him." Too late, the mother and sister discovered that the cops' "help" consisted of burying him under a life sentence for mere robbery without any weapon in which no one was hurt. The "robbery by force and fear" was really only a snatch and run.

DJ has joined the Nazi clique, which is, incredibly, run by a wire-haired numbskull with a Polish suname and Semitic ancestry! Apparently today's Aryan brotherhood is a bit foggy about features to look for to detect their ancestral prey. "Lech", as leader of this tiny unit of Nazis, got into trouble when he bravely suited up at six AM, took his aluminum pipe and, soon as the doors opened, clubbed his sleeping victim into a coma and deftly made his getaway.

He bragged of his prowess to his pals, they gossiped about “the great hit" to their pals. Eventually the story reached someone who was appalled by it enough to break the inmate code of silence. The guards were told and Lech was dragged off to "jail". Thirty days later Lech whined to his buddies, “I can't take any more of this sensory deprivation and have come up with a great plan for you guys to get me out: you just go a round and ask for volunteers to go to jail until they fill up all the cages and squeeze me back out with you guys. Than it will be just like before; us shooting dope, eating junk food and rat-packing individuals who have too much coffee, tobacco, groceries and porno.”

Guess who gets sent to lead the first man to free Lech? You are correct! DJ: They picked his victim for him. The target was to be a studious, law-library type guy who was also a fellow dope fiend with them, but whose skin was too brown to qualify as Aryan. Bo was a tiny Orlando-looking English-Mexican mix, which made him a full foot taller and 40 pounds heavier than your average Mexican. Since he was big and DJ was thin, they assigned to him two "helpers": tough-acting children hot to do anything to join the Nazi clique. They barged into Bo's cage and delivered their ultimatum: 'Either you go attack some poor sap in front of the kop, thereby sending both you and your victim to the hole, or we three Aryan Brothers are going to rat-pack you right here and now, beating the crap out of you. Which is it going to be?"

No fool, Bo said, "Whoa! Wait a minute! Just let me get dressed (prison cages are so hot in summer that you can't stay in one long while fully dressed) and get my shoes on and I'll trot right out and attack some little runt of my choosing, just like you guys want!"

Soon as Bo got ready, he also put on thin, cotton work gloves. The three Aryans were bit slow in objecting to this and thus were very surprised when, while heading past them to the door, Bo bashed DJ in his face three times, slammed him back ever the other two and commenced to feed them a steady succession of lefts, rights, knees and head-butts as he fell on top of them in a pile. He hadn't meant to trip over DJ, maybe DJ tripped him on purpose as part of his military training. The result was that DJ was the last one able to squirm out from beneath Bo when the tables finally turned. The brawl didn't last five minutes. They never managed to subdue and gang-beat Bo as satisfactorily as they had wanted or been instructed to. They just got tired of beating a guy who kept punching, biting, kicking and gouging. They were all gasping like asthmatic whales when they finally left to report to Aryan Central and Fearless Leader. An inventory of harm was taken. The three "soldiers" looked like they had been pushed into a cement mixer with their bleeding contusions, fat lips, swelling eyes and heads all skobbed-up from the banging they'd taken off the steel racks and concrete on the way down and at the bottom of Bo's pile.

The stories were told and evaluated. The Fearless Leaders decided that Bo deserved better, so they got together a delegation to pay another visit. They ran in and they gang-beat Bo again like the rat-pack they were, then each of the dog-shits shook Bo's hand, told him how they were very impressed with the amount of "heart" he had shown. Lastly the told him that their targeting of him was over no hard feelings; all friends again now. Soon a Bo agreed that they were all buddies together again, the rat-pack left, feeling themselves safe from much deserved one-to-one retaliation of even a "knife" in their backs or a slash in their faces with a razor-blade melted onto the handle of a toothbrush. As is almost always the case, their chickens did NOT come home to roost; what goes around did NOT come around; instant karma did NOT get them and neither did God. They all got completely away with it and were never made to pay a cent, unless you count the food they had stolen cut of the mess hall to feed Bo, while he helped them get further away with their crimes against him by hiding in his cage so the guards would not see his wounds and force an explanation from him. It took a week for him to heal enough to walk to the food, at which time the `Aryans' were happy to loan Bo a pair of sunglasses to hide his black eyes for them until THEY healed.

Meanwhile, DJ is still the rising star of the Aryan clique leaders because he was more German than all of them put together, plus he had military training, which they, as mere poolhall scofflaws, wished to learn. DJ was ready to quit, though, he had both failed miserably and gotten his shit kicked. He told them that he wasn't good enough and they told him that he was the best; plus they offered him "The Patch". The "patch" is no longer the thing that poor kids' Moms put on the knees and seats of their britches. Nor was this patch a particularly colorful embroidery of skulls and spiders that Harley-riders sew onto their jackets. This patch began with the Aryan nation organization about 40 years ago and was two tiny light lightening bolts tattoo'd low on the neck where it could easily be covered with a shirt collar. This neck tattoo concept was quickly stolen by the next gang of illiterates, the Oklahoma "Aryan" Brotherhood who enlarged and colorized it so boldly that it looked like a huge red and blue Meadow cold milk emblem high up on the side of their necks. This proved too showy and they all rapidly met bad ends, but not bad enough for the concept to die. The patch tattoo concept was next pilfered by the current gang of knuckleheads, the universal "Aryan` Brotherhood, who moved it to their stomach. Their "roots" show that they probably spent a lot of time spray painting graffiti on buildings, because this is similar to what they engraved into their bellies. Usually it was two-inch high initials "UAB" on top of their belly buttons and their gang name below or a trite line out of a popular movie or video game.

In order to earn his patch, DJ would only have to suffer one more mission. He and three other want-to-be Nazis were told to make the same offer to Larry the Loser, (previously called 'Black' in Bred for crime: Robbery). LtL was a connive-artist and a sneak-thief of about 33 years of age and, though strong, muscled and confident, he was not easy to look at. His nose was shoved sideways and up into his face, his eyes were hideously cauliflowered and his yellow teeth were ragged, chopped and missing in two cases. Obviously his lifestyle of telling any type of lie about swearing to God to pay later for dope now had betrayed his actual fighting ability. No fool any longer, he quickly decided to take the second option. The five warriors trouped outside unobtrusively (for them) and took up positions not far from the guard, who was being "chatted-up" by an old, shriveled, former alcoholic/homeless/DUI person, LtL sneaks up from behind and, without warning, begins bashing the guy's face. Alkie takes one and a half hits before he falls over backward, both from the power and surprise of the attack. The guard shrieks in horror, leaps back, turns in midair, runs for his glass habitat and, while safely inside, calls on his radio for the swarm of guards to lock up their prisoners, then converge on this "trouble spot". This gives the prisoners plenty of time to fight before the kops come to pry them apart.

Most of these innate fights begin with a suckerpunch or two, a couple of retaliatory blows, then they lock together and roll in the dirt for a minute or two before stopping to gasp for a while maintaining a tangle of arms, legs, hair, etc, safe from more tiring, painful blows. They wait patiently in the tangle exchanging curses until the kops come and save them from further folly. But not this time. Alkie is down, LtL is winging a massive boot toward his victim's head. It slams into Alkie's face in what looks to be a devastating blow. But Alkie catches it in his hands and twists: LtL screams like a little girl, tries to save his knee by throwing himself over his leg. He nose-dives into the compacted dirt, then snakes free, crawls, rises, tries to scrabble away just as Alkie tackles him around his ankles. LtL eats dirt again, hard, with a loud "Oof!" Alkie tries to crawl up LtL's legs, but LtL lands a lucky boot to Alkie's face, gets loose and staggers away with Alkie right behind. LtL limps straight for DJ, as if he's expecting help. He groans something to him that includes, "My leg: My damn leg!" Then Alkie is on him again; gets him in a headlock and begins feeding him a steady s succession of knuckle sandwiches. DJ looks around, ostensibly to make sure no kops are looking, then snatches at Alkie"s wrist, trying to unlock LtL's head. Alkie throws an arm around DJ's neck! Now he's got both of them in headlocks, swinging them around and trying to keep them off their footing while he knocks their heads together: Finally a swarm of kops arrive with their knee pads, bean bag gun, electric shock shields, beatsticks, chains, shackles, legirons and cowties. They find Alkie, DJ, and LtL on the ground, still in headlocks, gasping for breath. LtL's nose is bleeding, Alkie"s face is gashed, and a gob of DJ's yellow hair blows across the yard like a tumbleweed. The kops drag them all off to solitary confinement.

This is the turning point for DJ. The last time I saw him, he was telling the Aryan pinheads that he'd just pass on the brotherhood thing. Privately he told me that while in the hole he had met Lech and found him to be the biggest buffoon he had ever encountered, excluding his ROTC CO’S in Honduras, of course. Then he said he might check with the Indian Brotherhood, officially called "IBH", or, because of their identifying tattoo, usually scratched into their faces, "Featherheads."

This decision, more than any other part of his life, is why I selected DJ to feature in this series cause it proves that DJ was, sincerely and truly, Bred for crime.