BRED FOR CRIME: MM CONTINUED

We are plagued with vicious, silly, Fatherless children in men's bodies when there is no need for it but to be scapegoat and stepladder to even more vicious merchants and politicians.

I just had to whiz. MM has a plastic bag over his mess in the shitter. I'd rather piss out the window than suffer what he's done, but gingerly I take the bag off and hurridly whiz. The fumes rise like the stench of death reborn. It is like Yeti shit in a truck tire and then set afire. The choking miasma stalks the run and visits each cage within 50 feet. A chorus of cursing ensues. They bring their dogs out and try to zero in on the offending cage. Their eyes bulge, their necks crane, they shout up and down trying to see or find anyone in the act of defecating. The invisible belching smoke is so thick that I pinch off pissing and run to the window, frantically cranking it even farther open. Returning to finish pissing, I'm spotted. The turd-Posse has turned up no one, but I am their chief suspect. It is amazing how accurate 20 or 30 inmate shitsniffers can become through concerted effort. The hue and cry is raised on my cage, and confirmation enough for them is when I try to replace MM's plastic sack over his mess. They are certain MM is the culprit now, because they know him, and they haven't the guts to accuse me. (They are different from the run-Negroes and the run-Cauc who previously brought forth their nasal accusations. They get courage from not living nearby and showering separately from their targets. Also, there is no gainsaying these pig's asskissers because they will contaminate your food on the sly. Run-rats are carefully selected by the pigs for their snitching, asskissing and bootlicking abilities. The bigger the pigkissers they are, the scummier they are toward their victims. They are careful not to victimize anyone they live near or must have contact with.)

MM suffers the catcalls and abuse of the local stink-police. Since they live nearby, they are careful to keep the abuse half-humorous. Since they are illiterate rubes with most of their brains wired directly to their olfaction centers, they are particularly inclined to cock their Chameleon-like nostrils in every direction until they acquire a target. It's just MM's habit of doing aerobics then crawling into his never-washed, sheep-hair coccoon that makes him their usual target.

12-29-00: Seems like we've been without water and electricity for weeks instead of days. My finger is too dirty to rub my eye with. Fifty crappers reek in unison. Ninety-nine people have shit twice or thrice each, and it stinks. They are passing bags of feces to cages with holes in the windows to throw them outside. The guards in the towers caught this and thought it was smuggling. The Captain-guard sent Lt. Flunky to investigate. His recommendation is that they steal all plastic bags in prisoner areas that exhibit emptiness while threatening all prisoners with revocation of privileges. Since the pigs have stolen the privileges of 1914 era sewage service and the privileges of light, heat and water, next theft must be the privilege of sustenance.

Yesterday MM got some sage advice from the kid directly across the run. He taught MM to make a straw out of a stack of styrofoam cups. This he stuck into the cropper and blew into for several minutes. He had his head deep inside the thing. The smell some how didn't seem to bother him, and suprizingly, his loudmouth Injun buddy, Chief Foghorn watched in uncharacteristic silence (Karl Tiger), at least until he was finished. Next, MM decided it would be a terrific idea to also send the shitter Gods the only source of drinkable water he had. (He'd filled a plastic bag with about 3.5 gallons o£ water. Inmates commonly use these for dumbells.) Not two hours after having ditched it, he was begging for some from the guards, who of course have plenty and taunt us from behind their bulletproof habitat by slurping messily from bottled-water jugs. They hold up their gallons, wipe their lips with the back of their hands and shout "Ozarka!" Previously the Kops had given tea to their runrats to pass out with supper. Tea and coffee is poison to me, but I suffered it better than the hogs who tried and often succeeded in cheating the weaker and poorer inmates out of theirs.

Prior to this, MM defecated again. This time he chose to use the bag trick kid had taught him. He wrapped it into a dripping mess, strung it over the length of this cage and tried to push it out the window. The holes inmates can make in stainless steel screens with nothing are small and ragged. Plus, MM was in a big hurry to drop his bomb down 4 floors before the smell-cops caught him. His bag of shit ripped, he cut his fingers, the stuff oozed out, but caught on the wire to hang by a stretched shred of plastic, just out of reach. The bag would not fall. He dug around at it with rolled-up sheets of paper, poking at it through the tiny holes as if with chopsticks, trying to lift or tear the shit loose. After 5 minutes of cold winter wind blowing in his face, he finally managed to stretch the plastic shred enough so that the bag of his partially escaped shit gradually skidded over the lip of bricks and out of sight except for the smudge-track it left. It was too biting-cold to make it fall. He shut the window. His bag of shit will hang off the building til spring and beyond, probably, because only the guards can retrieve it, and they already know what it is.

Something the inmate-geniuses across the run told MM caused him to tape over the heat-hole with plastic. It is amazing to observe these goofs struggle to maintain competing goals of "surcease from their stench" and "capture some heat." They chase around in circles holding their noses and begging for ventilation. Soon as they get it, they whine of the chill and begin blocking all the holes and cracks. MM tolerates both exceedingly well until some maggot plants a social stigma in his head by telling him he stinks. Anyone who can stick his head in a well-used, very ripe shitter for half an hour and flush it by blowing bubbles into it has plenty of control over his own sense of smell.

Soon as the plumbers manage to get the water working again, the Kops had their runsuckasses pass out Ozarka water. Of course they could not pass out water in the plastic jugs it came in. This would be too easy and logical. Inmates might use the gallon plastic jugs for something sinister, such as to hold water for the next time they fcuk us out of water. Worse, some alcoholic inmates might try to rot some fruit in them and drink the shit! (This is something they do with mere plastic bags they pass out in relative plenty for trash disposal. The pig-mind is set to sadism and cruelty. Deprivation is the means, and phony, unspecified threats to "security" are the excuses used to perpetrate sadism and cruelty through senseless deprivation. Also the pigs are just mean and jealous, perhaps from having been slapped and mocked by bullies in school, which they never got over and warped them forever. A fuller explanation of this phenomenon is elaborated in "Copculture".)

The stupidest way they could figure to do it is to put the now-unneeded water into plastic sacks. To ensure maximum contamination, labor and hassle, they had guards empty the jugs into the nasty 5 gallon thermos containers they use to serve coffee and tea that they never wash and seldom rinse. Then they push these out to the server-inmates. They drag these to each cage and dip the cut-off bottom flimsy of a gallon jug, plus their fingers and unwashed hand, repeatedly in to slop water into each inmate's waiting sack.

MM and his peers are ecstatic to get something, anything "free", even if it is only Wow-ee! store-bought water and a plastic bag to spill it with. And spill it MM did! Like the slow and dis-educated, careless fool he is, MM immediately tied the sac in a knot and set it right next to all my papers, books and everything else water can destroy when it gets stepped on, the bag splits and splashes everywhere. Then he has to get surly about it when I don't take my half. To the run-Negro he says, "I don't know about dis old dude." The stuff lays on the floor while MM does his endless step, step turn dance. In 85 years of enslaving people here, the backward state of Okie-coma still has no conception of shelves except to tear them down when inmates build them. Your state is this way too, in maxpriz places.) It is impossible to ignore such an oaf, but I try to get my work done. The store-bought 'special" water calls to MM, and before 20 circuits of his dance, he's drawn to it like dope. He spends 5 minutes untying the knot he tied in it 5 minutes ago. He tries for a full minute to pour 3 cups of water from a trashbag. He calls for help. He won't dip his cup in like they dipped it out to him. Instead of telling him to lay his sac in the sink and dip it out, I become an idiot's idiot. Trying to teach this punk anything results in an explosion of verbal stupidity from him that prevents his ears from working. I don't have to be malicious and spill water on purpose. Plenty of water spills anyway due to idiot's long-distance pouring. It is like tying strings onto the pitcher and having a blind man crawl up in the eaves and pour for another marionette. Goof has never seen a winesac either. Plenty spills, and though I toss him a cloth rag, he wastes gobs of scarce, valuable toilet paper mopping it up. All the time he's blowing senselessly on and on, repeating himself at least 3 times each in his mindless nervousness and rage, the culled gist of which is: "I only want 3 cups. The rest is yours."

My reply is as simple as possible. A mere statement of the fact that I do not went any. My minimalist strategy results in another explosion of loud, oft-repeated stupidness from Idiot that boils down simply to "Why don't you want free, store-bought water? I can't understand why you are different from everyone else." I state the obvious, which is that I filled up my jars and drank my fill while he and his peers were drooling out the bars gleefully awaiting the arrival of their "special" too-late water. (Note: in all fairness I mention that the "hot" water is all that came on and was not clean at first.) Like a fool, I add that if the rest in that sac, knotted and resting near my books, papers and his clumping feet, was mine, I'd immediately throw it away.

Idiot explodes again, but he moves his precious water to his area near the shitter. .  There it sits still, two days later, half a gallon of special water in Vie thinnest bag human (merchant) engineers can devise, waiting silently for the time to come when it can spread everywhere and require even more work and scarce materials to mop it up.

The most "fun" part of this fiasco, intellectually speaking, was the inmates trying to figure out what the plumbers were doing and then telling each other what they should have done. We are on the 4th floor, and inexplicably (to the inmates) the first floor had water hours and hours ago. The first floor is what the inmates call "rat-row" and "catch out' row" Inmates catch out when threatened or suckerpunched by bigger or many other inmates. The inmates who haven't yet caught out are very loud and proud to display their hatred of they who have. (Most 'out-catching' is on dope debts.) The inmates seemed to think that the guards and plumbers had a conspiracy to provide ratrow with water first. Gravity seems to have never entered their equasions.

This same, exact breakdown of plumbing and electricity and heat happens here every year at least twice and has occurred with this frequency for almost 3 solid decades that I personally know of. Only difference here is that they had all 3 types of breakdown occur simultaneously. Today, 1-5-00 the heat is still not turned back on!

A few days ago MM found himself a friend next door in #21 They stayed up all night talking. They're both from a tiny little no-name okie town called Lawton, ironically, and LH (Leon Hart) is a tattoo'd cauc of probable Nazi-wantabe empathy whom I'd angered previously. Last year. I'd almost got to sleep when out of nowhere this guy I didn't know decided to throw a note at me. (I never found out exactly what the content of this note was, but they always have only one object: to mooch something for free.) I didn't get out of bed to see what it was or to fish it in. He seemed to think that it was my duty to see to his needs. The more he insisted end demanded, the less I was inclined to bother, because if you let them put you to work for them, they never stop power-mooching on you. Then he turned it into a "Hot" kite, which means a note that could get him in trouble if the kop found it lying around. Since it is not my job to protect idiots who write about "hot" stuff, sign it and throw it out where the kops can find it before they can fish it back, I went to sleep and he worked at fishing it back in himself. This should have taught him a valuable lesson in restraint.

Now, this fool and MM are talking bad about someone else, and the head Nazi in 23 leaps up. He's an even bigger idiot who talks like a country bumpkin who might say, "I'm stupid and proud, and that's why I tawlk hard and loud!" In reality he says, "That is my "brother" yore tawlkin' about and I'm mad, Blab, blah, blah!" This scares the bejesus out of MM, and he pisses the guy off worse by continually trying to kiss and slurp the guy's ass until he promises not to kill him in the shower. BP ("Bubba-punk") won't promise, thus MM spends the 3 days til shower scheming up how he's going to duck shower while appearing to be a man. But MM is only a man in body. In mind, he is a somewhat devious 9 year old girl. Since he's previously adopted the "nut" defense, this plays a major role in all his strategies. The morning of shower day, MM pulls his nut act. He perches in the door to draw an audience of witnesses (the run-Negroes provide this as a free service. They are attracted to every noise and all movement, plus they spread their observations wide, along with their interpretations and opinions, fast.) MM pretends to devoutly read his bible while innocently standing in the door, then he springs into action soon as one of the run-Negroes strolls by. MM beats his bible up against the wall, then slaps around on the wall with his fists, making plenty of fight-sounding noises.

A few kicks, grunts and moans completes the act. All that remains is to lie-up a plausible scenario. "I got drove up behind a girl I used to know. Time just got to me, blah, blah, blah!"

An hour or so later, our turn for shower comes, and BP has not stopped barking to let anyone forget. MM runs to try and plant a story in my head. "My hands are too fcuked up!            (No; they are not. Another schitz, a true schitz I wrote about (Morales) pulled this same trick, and he did break his hand.) I can't fight! What shall I evah dew?" (He even said he didn't have a "knife", as if this would make any difference.)

I wished I had a "knife" to give this idiot, but even that wouldn't have sufficed to make him go stand up with his "Buddy" LH in the shower against HP in a shitstorm he created. End result, MM ducks, BP slaps LH down, the pigs go nuts and somehow nobody gets dragged off to the pig's extra-torture unit, ostensibly because the head Nazi and Lt. Hess are in bed together. Anyone else would have dragged off four people.

MM has dodged every shower since then, and his knucklebrain gangmember pals (Negroes and Indians) all harass him every day for it.

Anyway, back to the plumbing. The inmates can't seem to remember the previous time that this same exact type of plumbing nightmare occurred, a mere 7 months age. The plumbers shut off the water to the top floors, they told ratrow inmates, "Stop pushing your flush buttons!" Then they turned their water on only and began fixing all the stuck-on flush buttons on that floor. Then they move to the next highest floor and repeat this process 3 more times.

I propose some secret taping of the next crisis like this so that young people can see first-hand exactly what kinds of people, abysmal lackwits, guard and inmate alike, the state politicians make you subject to when their cops and lawyers decide to target you for their profit. Then make sure they know that this is only a few hours in an eternity of bi-hourly sadism they gleefully crucify you with in prison. No Hollywood bulshit can duplicate this reality. Their self-censoring apparatchik would not permit it even if they could play-act it near realism.

The other day this pinhead woke to find me brazenly reading peacefully at 4AM without being disturbed by his constant antsing around and incessant ego-tripping. Instantly he enraged himself and began childishly slamming and beating on his matress while on all fours. He looked so much like a chimpanzee throwing a tantrum that Z burst out laughing and could not stop. Like the chimpanzee's display, his also was intended to frighten with sudden noise. This was probably the first time he'd gotten a reaction of gales of mirth, and he liked even less my description of what he looked like. He turned red and slunk back under the covers to speculate what he had done wrong. By 2 PM he'd thought up a cover story and fed it to me by porxy. He called to his Indian pal Chief Foghorn explaining how his mom used to catch him "sleepwalking", and that his nut medicine (which he always spits out) "made him go screwy".

This goof is so wound up in his nut routine and confident that it covers every possible contingency that he will not even bother to keep track of which lies he tells and which ones are current. I've seen him blithely switch his story 180 degrees in the record time of only 2 hours! He apparently chooses his "reality" on a minutely basis. The prison scum rebated $5 to each of us this mid-January, arrogantly calling it a "Christmas" "bonus" (it was neither). Everyone had the same SS and Mr. Supermooch does guess what? He needs his own comb, mirror, soap, envelopes, stamps, pen, pencil, eraser and everything else, but he buys none of this. Instead he plans to continue mooching all this off me and everyone else, plus eat all the food he can suck out of us with his universal "Pity me!" trip. He brashly says "I'm ordering all soups and snuff. The snuff I'll sell for double or triple cash, one dip at a time while I beg smokes off everyone else!" What really happened is he spent most of it before he even got it, and wound up with 4 twenty-cent soups, a stamp and a can of cherry snuff. I bought stamps, envelopes and Doritos. He pestered me the whole time I ate Doritos by increasing his step-dance routine to include a squirm between the pinchpoint of desk and rack to the window and back. This he did so as to increase the number of times he could give me his hangdog look, hoping I'd get a guilt trip and offer him some.  I don't pity parasites, and he didn't have the guts to ask for some. He knew he would get none but my question, "If you wanted some, why didn't you BUY some?" He did finally get so frustrated at my impoliteness to say "You gettin you munch on, aincha, Cellie?" To this I agreed, adding, "When you gittin your smoke on?" He began smoking immediately. I refused his "deal" of a stamp for Doritos. He didn't get a smell of chips or soup, but I'm smelling his snuff smoke all day and night for 8 days now. Still, he didn't pull his tantrum out this time, which is a good sign. I sure get tired of dealing with devious, arrogant children such as he.

CHIMP CULTURE: CONCLUSION

A last few items that might be instructive about poor, undisciplined street urchins bred for crime are here listed for your edification. All of them are anecdotes from MM's personal treasury of the past "Good Old Days".

The first should be entitled "Parasites Prefer Rich People". This involves one of MM best friends in the ghetto who always had money to share. "Dan" would buy the gang's friendship with cokes, candybars and other luxuries. This caused jealousy amongst one of them as they were all sniffing gluerags in an alleyw. One of them slapped Dan, causing Dan to take his largesse and go home. After a few days of no candy or other luxuries Dan used to provide, MM got angry and attacked Sam for running off Dan and ruining his meal ticket. MM took Sam's gluerag and stomped his bandana, their "gang colors". Then MM and his pals found Dan and tried to give him Sam's gluerag and bandana. Plus they tried to regale Dan with the tale of Sam's embarassment. Dan wouldn't listen and slammed the door in their faces. The same cycle of friendship, envy, jealousy, attack and remorse had happened once too often, apparently.

MM was desolate. Also angry that a good source of supply escaped his use. Though he and his pals vandalized Dan's mother's home and car til they moved away, he found no solace. Even his crackwhore "girlfriend" got tired of his whining and took MM's dope and money and had him give her a ride away from him.

Having lived such a short, brutal life of seeking respect where no respect was deserved, and thus making it a point to disrespect everyone else, it is no wonder that MM was Bred for Crime.