BRED FOR CRIME: MM (cont'd)

 MARCHING MORONS/CHIMP CULTURE II (cont'd)

Just a few forgotten and new observations: MM had sought attention by feigning sleeptalking. Often it would be some of the usual intimidationist crap. Other times it would be fantasies about women. This would be his fear speaking in defense mechanisms, then his ego wishing a boost, begging to be let to regale any listener with boasts of sexual prowess. Mostly this was so he could enjoy reliving the past aloud and making it better. Each of about 6 times MM pulled this ploy, his voice would be crystal clear, not the least affected by sleep paralysis. His unsophisticated mind seemed unable to appreciate the fact that this told knowledgeable persons he was shamming sleep. Since he mostly dealt with persons as ignorant as he, no doubt this clever conversational gambit led to titillating amounts of attention later when the target would usually remark upon his sleep talking. MM's personality of inferiority desiring dominance and validation would thoroughly enjoy the inquisition he would then command. His desire to play this role was great indeed, considering that he played it 2 ways 6 times to no effect on me before giving it up.

About every day is a new crisis for MM. His newfound pal next door, LH, mooched us for our free Chaplain's cards (the priscrats help fraud-up some sense of normalcy here to outsiders by providing gay holiday-type cards inmates can mail to anyone outside that may still desire to maintain some type of association with them, for whatever reasons.) Since MM. has no use for them, nor I, we gave them to LH, but not before MM picked through and took 3 of the best. LH and MM next went back and forth for 30 minutes like children: "Let me see all of them!" "You got to promise to send them back!" Like children fighting over a new toy, eventually LH managed to get his hands on all of them and promptly screwed MM down to two of 20. MM even complained that LH had switched envelopes on him. Then he promptly began selling the crap for pinches of tobacco. MM's pal Foghorn made sure MM discovered this by relaying a snuff "messenger can" noisily into our door instead of the correct door. MM had it open, saw the snuff and was reading the note ordering more cards before LH realized Chief had purposely snitched off his game with a deliberately inaccurate throw.

MM exploded quietly, as if this same, exact plan hadn't occurred to him. Only reason he didn't is because he couldn't. (His plan to sell pinches of snuff failed too when he decided to smoke half of it himself and pay LH and co the other half for igniting themfor him.) This time his tantrum was only verbal, making vague threats against LH in secret, to me, like visiting the people he's writing and making up derogatory things about him. Not more than 3 days after making these threats, MM had apparently become amnesiac and asked me about my "people". Fat chance this vicious pinhead is getting anything from me he can use as a threat later. He really does seem to have very little memory of what issues from that great, gasping hole of his. MM's main fantasy in this regard are adolescent scenes where he steals the victim's women. MM particularly likes to recount stories where he stole away with a sheriff's or judge's (or both's) daughter. (The story changes, or it is 2 stories. One can only "listen" to this crap with half an ear or suffer brain damage, and only a minimum of affirmative grunts suffice; to feign more than ample reinforcement in the tale'er.) MM seems not to realize there is a difference between drugwhores/barflies/brats of affluence/ gluttons of privilege and actual normal women. MM's only a "terror" to very young and very ignorant women, if them. All others have bled him dry and left the husk to rot in the rain. He reveals this himself when viewing LH's pictures of girls he once gave dope to in exchange for sex. He keeps saying "cryptically", "She kept a lotta secrets from me! Had secret life!"

MM continued to dither all day long at the sink, crapper and floor when not pacing or exercising. Again he wiped the toilet bacteria all over the sink, but hasn't yet wiped out his cups with the same rag. I'm torn between letting natural selection take its course or trying to teach this fish to ski. If I saw a single redeeming value in this ape . .    But I can't find one. This is why I'm wasting so much paper on him. Because I have never seen such vicious, childish, devious, evil concentrated in one bag. MM is nothing but an anvil, from what I see, and can only predate upon a society he refuses to try and improve, or at least let suffer his touch lightly.

Filling him with hate again are the nameless individuals who have resumed loudly proclaiming stink as MM exercises in the cage. MM has obtained a large rock and wants me and a run-Negro he has confided in to believe he'll throw it on the next guy who walks by this cage saying "stink!" The only guy who has done this is the negro he confided in and who brought him the rock. Nothing was thrown, of course, and it was this negro, who was running by when he said it. Then he came back hours later to "apologize" for this "joke".

For the 3rd time, MM has told me he's going to move out next week. This never happens, because he gets over it, then thinks of all the ground-gut dishes I give him. He is a hambone, and he's not going anywhere until I cut off my part of his extra food supply. In one instance of brilliance MM actually complained to me about my use of food as a reward for good behavior on his part. Not said, but at least subliminally realized was its withdrawal as punishment for bad behavior.

On the stink issue MM has apparently tried to shift his workout to night while the nose-cop inmates are asleep. He intends to sleep all day curled around the shitter for unknown reasons. This will stop.

It turns out that MM's pal is this Pothead who screwed us out of our toothbrushes by poking a Negro with one. MM was instantaneous in making up a lie in defense of him when I mentioned this. MM said he used no toothbrush, but a "real" "knife". If I was like MM, I would stop Pothead and ask him, "Is it true that you had 7 inches of metal up your ass?" The lie would immediately come undone, but to no purpose. MM is always bragging to people about his "dumb" game and how he should have been an actor. His dumb game is nothing I want to fault. MM does not need any ideas.

His dumb game is why he refuses to read anything but the bible. He plays dumb and asks questions. Each of us are his personal information market; his shortcut to knowledge. Why should he read when we can simply explain everything to him? This cuts out all the boring parts, and he can rudely interrupt, talking loudly over the parts he's not interested in and direct his personal tutor to explain precisely what he wants to know and nothing else. 

Surprisingly, he doesn't ask me to be his dictionary. Idiots have tried to cast me in this role all my life and I simply will not do it. He gave up quickly on this. When he gets out next year, he will go beeline for the liquor store, black out, rob someone, and wake up in a cage again. Then some suits-on-TV can smugly claim how efficient their lawyersystem is.

MM proudly boasts of being a major weapons merchant of Fort Sill's black market. He has sold small pistols to "yuppie kids", but complains of no market for grenades, claymores, machine guns, etc. The most believable part is a couple of soldiers asked him for some dope and they became "friends" and taught him a choke hold. Thankfully they did not teach him the break of it, if they knew it. The last thing MM needs to know is military choke holds. It is tragic enough that the cops were taught to kill this way. Twice MM has bragged to me of his choking expertise. I will relish breaking his fingers, should he develop courage enough to attack. He's been waiting for a gang-name. How about "3-finger"?

Another thing that needs to be recounted about young "nuts" is they all seem to have a desire to observe the effects of their medicine on others. Of the several I've had to live with, MM is the most devious in trying to entice people into trying his medicine.

At first he described it as a tranquilizer, which is true. He is stuck in the manic phase and needs tranquilization. When they switched his medication, he tried some out of curiosity. Despite their sales pitch, it was just another tranquilizer-like drug. MM, feeling cheated and used, strove to entice me and others to try it by describing it as ". . . like good weed!" for 2 hours before it puts you to sleep. No one would try it, not even for free. Weeks later, MM claims they switched it again, and this time he tries to dupe people into taking it by claiming it made him laugh himself silly for 7 hours. Still no takers. MM might get better results in his attempts to manipulate people into trying his medication if he would realize haw transparent his motivation is. Still this is doubtful, because it appears that most of these youngsters have long ago tried all the kinds of "nut" "dope" and found it not only lacking, but unpleasant as well.

Chimps can be devious. In them deception has been documented. Prison denisons likewise make rudimentary attempts at deviousness. This one goof I've been detailing, MM, both thinks he is a genius at playing games, and suffers a monumental inferiority complex. It surfaces in his self-image many times per day when he prefaces many of his remarks with "People think I'm a nut (or stupid), but. . . '

His ignorance is an eyesore for everyone to see, even him, and he compensates by believing himself the king of tricksters. He is so proud of his ability to dupe what he wants from people that he loves to explain how and give testimonials of his successes.

I guess everyone feels the need for self-esteem, and what better way to obtain it and validation than through teaching? I'm guilty of this myself, here, and no doubt some tenured professor will chuckle at the eyesore of my ignorance soon.

His many testimonials are inconsequential and relate only hi; version of how he was abused by someone else while crippled on "nut" medicine, or how he abused someone else with his intimidation game. (He actually has a little song lie sings about this intimidation game he made up himself, apparently. It is part of his ego/esteem/validation "game".

Important is how he describes this game, which he was taught by indigent, caged Negroes in his same situation. It is simplicity. It involves encroaching upon your intended victim's territory by increments. He and they call this "testing"/ They test until they obtain sufficient negative reinforcement. In ghetto culture slang, they push until their victim hits back, then they back off and figure a new, safer direction to push. Some of the "frills" included in this operation is softening up your target beforehand with accounts of personal violence they claim have previously perpetrated along with the singing of particular verses of ultraviolence in the lyrics of rap songs. He describes "testing" as subtle as merely pushing your shoes or other personal objects further out into the way of their target's path or territory. Since he is still testing me, he is careful not to reveal less subtle ways he was taught, lest I counter them before he is able to spring them on me.

Basically, this testing program they've made part of their culture boils down to pretty much being nothing more than an asshole. MM is such an asshole that he has many enemies and few friends. One of his ostensible friends is the one leading the pack (from behind) that harasses him over his stench. He's so cunningly successful at being an asshole that he is afraid to shower. (It is a communal shower, with 5 other persons). Nor can he go to the "yard" with 12 other persons.

At the height of their loudtalking war on MM over his stench he had one of his pals bring him a flat rock. He wanted me to believe he would throw it on the next one who walked by his cage and made a stink remark. As he perched at the aide of the door, sullenly hiding his rock, one Negro ran by and yelled "Stink!" It was the same server inmate who'd brought him his rock.

This told MM that his asshole/testing strategy was working too well. He decided he’d better make an alliance with me, however meaningless. In prison ghetto culture, tradition dictates that persons thrust together two to a cage form alliances and seal the pact with patriotic nonsense like, "Anything I got is yours (usually nothing)" and "Cellies fight together, right or wrong!" Like dogs sniffing asses, they work out details and agree how far this extends on a case by case basis as need occurs. The ones who fear retaliation the most are the ones most rabidly patriotic about cage warfare. They need protection and will make vociferous (yet pretty much worthless) promises to weld a two-man selfprotection team.

MM is sorely disappointed with the pact he made with me the day we met. He wanted someone to protect him so he could shower, walk the yard or sleep peacefully. He could sleep peacefully, but I told him specifically that I do not help people with their luggage. He was told that whatever dirt he brought with him was his own personal problem.

Now that he saw his asshole problem was much larger than he thought, extending even into his "ace boon-coon" friends, he wanted to make certain of our previous deal. He had of course violated this 'sacred' trust almost immediately by harassing me as much as he dared. He told me that he had to feel safe while in this cage and sleeping. He wanted reaffirmation of our 'friendship'. This I gave him again, and did not have to explain to him that this new pact was more meaningless than the last one he wanted. He used the word 'friendship' but he meant my eventual submission to his childish will. I used the same term, but I meant 'mutual nonaggression'.

Within days he was again engaging in minor harassments like violating my territory, peace and routine. I stopped pandering to him even in the polite ways of feigning minimal interest in his sole hobby, ego tripping. My philosophy is that assholes need to go join their own kind. He complained that I didn't 'kick it' with him.  I told him I'm busy trying to get out of prison and other pursuits, such as learning and research. Like a child, he really only has one hobby, and that is gathering attention to himself. Since I had no interest in MM or his pitifully deprived short life and mindless viciousness, he complained that I rustled paper and breathed too loudly. I laughed and told him that the 'no breathing' cage is not on this floor. MM was miffed and nonplussed. He paced sullenly until he thought up another way to be obnoxious.

Since I wouldn't talk to him and his Indian and Negro pals quit talking to him, he decided to meld his 'nut' routine with a strategy of loudly talking to himself. Prior to this, he informed me that he was going to "catch out"' to the nut ward in a clever way that would trick everyone into believing he was really nutty and not just a miserable buffoon the inmates would automatically assume is also a coward. He. would cleverly manipulate the psychiatrist somehow too, and spent many minutes of two days struggling to correctly spell psy-words. In one moment of extreme frustration with the dictionary he developed courage enough to beg me to give him the first 3 letters of 'psychiatrist'. (I also wrote him a lawsuit against his family on the basis of his story of him being screwed out of his grandmother's inheritance of over a million dollars. This came to nothing also and was merely another plea for attention.) 

His surreal plan made sense only to him. He demanded a diagnosis from the true Indian who ran Psych-Services at the prison. MM added threats of lawsuits and justified his anger by alluding to past mistreatment. Also, he demanded an interview with a male psych because Mrs Ramaputra made him feel like a child scolded by his mother. This he told me: them he told she would simply not explain anything while telling him to take the pills she prescribed.

The inmates all told him to stop taking his nut pills, and he did exactly this when the doctors sent word he would neither see their record on him nor receive any diagnosis. His rage at this caused him to invent and play out the super tantrum I've partially described.

He began performing all he knew about being a bonafide nut. He began early, before dawn, by waking me and proudly claiming he'd been voted President. Apparently he'd forgotten that he'd bragged to me of his coming plan the previous day. Or he thought I'd forgotten. Who knows what mental midgets think, or even if they think at all? He gave me his breakfast slop, which really was abnormal if you'd seen what kind of gobbler he is. (He once ate a tube of gel toothpaste from hunger and the sugar it contained.)

Next trick was to convince the cage-server Negroes of his nuttiness. This he accomplished by claiming a TV camera was in the vent. He complained of being watched on national TV. The first day was a repeating monologue of him addressing the president with frequent breaks to mooch snuff cigarettes, lights for them and coffee from inmates in nearby cages. Being very much the empty headed fool, he ran out of material in that genre quickly. He began another monologue with the vent, ostensibly talking to various drug whores he'd 'loved'. He made up an offspring of no revealed sex, age or name, then rambled on about how he wanted only to marry and lead a virtuous life caring for wife and baby.

Wednesday he began simply making loud, obnoxious noises of a meaningless sort often termed 'talking in tongues.' Thursday and Friday were endless repeats of these 3 monologues plus spates of off-key racist rap songs. His self imposed deadline of Friday came and went with no men with nets to carry him to his luxurious quarters in nut ward heaven. I politely failed to comment on this fact. He nonetheless continued being obnoxious all weekend.

Having to feed his nicotine addiction put the lie to his nut routine. Insane persons are not thought to mooch cigarettes, so he had to explain. He told them he must have gotten a bad nut pill and sold them a plausible scenario for this having happened. I'd watched this twerp spit out all of his medicine twice/day for 60 days except for once when a grizzled old barfly-looking 'Nurse' called Rose stood and watched til he had to actually swallow. The inmates swallowed this lie too, eager to believe in bad nut pill instead of devious inmate.

The guy finally got angry that the guards were not falling for his clever plan. He asked, nay demanded, to see the Captain Monday morning. The guards laughed at him and advised him that the Captain was too busy to come up 4 floors for nothing. "Tell me what you want," they said, "and I'll tell the Captain." MM of course refused, because his new plan was about to devolve into the old plan of "Inmates X, Y and Z plan to kill me. Move me to safety on protection". He could not relay this with at least 10 inmate ears straining to hear from nearby cages. Impasse. MM took quick refuge in raging incoherently at the fat guard (Wala, known as "Whale" to the prisoners), who left.

Anxious to rid myself of this vicious cur as he was anxious to catch out from his present misery, I asked him if he would like me to assist him in attracting the Captain's attention. He agreed instantly.

Knowing exactly what to do, but knowing better than to give away dangerous knowledge to vicious children, I scribbled a note and gave it to the pig. The pig read it right in front of me, then moved off. I said 'Thanks'. They continued their routine of service the inmates for many hours. Finally they finished and came and took nutso to the cracker factory.

Having this cage free of scheming illiterates for a little while was much better than having one constantly trying to force you to 'respect' him. Trouble with empty headed children is that despite all their bragging, they have no plan, no ability, no hope and are clueless. I put this buffoon in precisely the situation he'd connived for all week, and he still couldn't convince them to let him slither back to nut row where he came from. All he had to do is answer 'yes' to their loaded questions, snivel, whimper and cry like he had intermittently all week long then kiss ass a bit. He would have spent one day on observation, then gotten his new cage among his protective custody/nut ward friends. (He particularly wanted to rejoin a Negro pal who appropriately called himself 'Hard Times.) 

But his anger usurped his deductive and reasoning functions. The ignorant guards shackled him up and on the lone, slow trudge to the clinic they slyly asked their own nosy questions, providing MM with all the hints he needed to show him which of his many clever games was called for now. Instead of listening for clues, he raged at their nosiness. Instead of planning what he would say to the nurse, he cursed the pigs.

They played with him for a full 2 hours, then decided finally that it was indeed safe to stuff him back into the same cage he so desperately wanted to escape. They were angry too, and tortured him with rough handling and pinching his ankles and wrists. Upon throwing him back in my cage, they told him not to ever waste their time again.

Soon as I asked Airhead what he was doing back, his paranoid defense screens shot up. He would only say vaguely that they asked him some 'stupid questions' and 'pissed me off'. If I'd been one of his idiot 'brothers' I'd have harassed him about how worthless his 'game' is. Instead I was silently amazed to find he apparently has no deductive powers at all. The nurses also could not have inquired of him without being forced to provide him a roadmap to where he wanted to go. Somehow his train to Providence had jumped the tracks, spilling him beck in my lap.

Within half an hour the pigs were back, and of course they wanted to pilfer through our cage and all our possessions for certain specific items, just to cover their own immune-from all-negligence hides. They shackled us up and dragged us off to another cage while they burglarized. It took 2 of them twenty minutes to pilfer through our little dribble of possessions. They stole my inkpen barrel 'faucet', used to jack up the water pressure enough to wash hands. They stole Idiot's waterbag (for weightlifting), found his book, stole it, his sheet and our ripped sheet curtain string. He says they stole his 4 inch toothbrush too.

The weightbag is sanctioned, as is the rock, but they didn't take him back to their dungeon though they found it in the corner of his bunk barely covered by his smelly jail pad. Ordinarily they'd dungeonize all prisoners found in the vicinity of such a danger to guard's heads. By some miracle, these rules didn't apply now. They were going to make me suffer this moron no matter what. A nuclear detonation would be insufficient to peel him off me.

Goof never seemed to figure out why they stole his sheet and our curtain 'rope'. All he evidenced was more unthinking rage.

The next day was the first time in 2 months that we were close enough to first in line for non-cold showers. We'd refused before: him from fear they'd wash the stink off him; me from not desiring such torture. (Instead of freezing in a cold winter shower in a leaky, breezy building, I'd wait a few hours and wash with hot water from the sink. This takes twice as long, but is cleaner.)

When the guard made it to our cage and offered us a shower, I tested the water temperature in the sink. It was barely warm enough, and I stupidly said so. Then I began fulfilling the guard's routine requirement by stripping. My announcement and acceptance caused Shit-for-Brains to panic. It would make him look like the coward he is if I showered and he didn't. All other times he could hide behind me, also claiming that the water was too cold. He could not claim this if Skinny-old-Man went.

In an instant he formed a plan. He leaped up while I was preoccupied and began screeching to the guard, ending up threatening to beat him up if he opened the gate to our cage.            The pig laughed and told me I could thank Shitbrain for him having stolen my shower 'privilege'. (As if he could make me attack Shitbrain for his cowardice.) Another miracle occurred. Shitbrain again simply could not get jailed for threatening a guard with violence, an act their own policy book states 'will not be tolerated'. Tolerate it is exactly what they did, twice.

MM took my fatalistic (realistic) attitude as more weakness on my part that he could exploit for his own sadistic pleasure. He became even more obnoxious and asshole-ish than before. When he decided to sit close to me and mumble while I tried to sleep, it became time to teach this maggot some manners or simply send him to the hospital. I'm not going to tolerate a vicious child hovering over me while I try to sleep, mumbling thinly veiled threats disguised as a nut's conversation with his former drugwhore. The pigs and MM are going to force me to make this idiot act right or somebody to get hurt. It's not going to be me who gets hurt; I'm not even going to get stuffed back into their dungeon, if this is possible to avoid. (Easier said than done, of course.)

I let Nutty do his hovering, leaning and mumbling act until his attention span gave out from lack of response; not even a full 10 minutes. During that time I devised my own cure for his sadism and harassment toward me. Next day or so I unfolded it in brief increments he could absorb without being able to duck away into his fantasy world when he saw, too late, what was coming. Devious scum such as he resist forced learning by capitalizing on their so-called short attention spans. Their attention spans are actually as long as you want them to be when you have them by the throat or lip.

But I wasn't going to be so crude as to knock him out, tie him up and truly teach him as he deserved. The Psych-aides and guards had done this and it hadn't worked. Worse, it probably had generated his current sick personality that similarly desires to abuse others, or at least some of it.

No. My technique is more effective and relies on their own imagination. It comes from many sources, mostly from U.S. military training manuals circa 1968. First, I took time out from everything I was doing and became friendly toward him by feigning an interest in his life. You can't help but pity a guy too stupid to make the pigs supply him with bed sheets. Next I had to cure him of his very irritating habit of interrupting me to tell his own stories. It was necessary to condition him to let me talk and to take turns because I had complex concepts and situations to convey clearly and in sequence to be effective. Also they must be conditioned to pay attention. Airhead is so extremely self-centered that he couldn't care less about me except as a listener to provide him with attention, validation and anything else he cared to predate.

This was the hardest part. No message can get out when it is chopped off in midsentence. Shaming him into giving me equal time did not work, and neither did negative reinforcement such as sanctioning him when he interrupted me. What I finally had to add to these techniques was a 'secret' that wise old men know that he could get from me free that would give him an overwhelming advantage over other arrogant snots like him.

It began as a version of his fantasized big-rock-candy-mountain; the fabled El Dorado; Treasure of Sierra Madre and King Solomon's mine. The only thing that will hold this fool's mouth shut and eyes forward for 20 second intervals was how to get his favorite drug dropped into his lap in large quantities without his having to rob someone of it. He is a crack fiend, so this is the gold I had to use to make him listen.

The story I concocted was short and like a quest novel. It involved me duping a wise old man out of this secret when I was a snot MM's age. Of course it was entirely fiction, but it held his interest long enough to cram a moral down his gasping throat before he realized it. The last element is the only part that mattered. Supposedly this old man put me through hell to get his 'formula', cutting me, pulling guns and beating me while he showed me how to make crack cocaine from ordinary chemicals found in an home, a lie made plausible by the cop/media alliance's many antidrug commercials. It ended when I supposedly 'hovered' over him while he was asleep, debating whether to steal his dope or wake him up and tell him it was ready to take to market. Kid vicious was expecting me to wake the guy and to share equally. He himself was thinking about how he would have long since stolen the guy blind and been gone. Just before the twerp could lose interest and interrupt, I surprized him by dramatically whipping out sharpened corndog sticks from nowhere and stabbing them rapidly and effectively into the pillow where the old man's eyes should have been. "Blap-blap-blap-blap!" I shouted unexpectedly while I pummeled.

Then I put on my most hate-filled face, stuck it in punk-kid's face of horror and shrieked "The guy's blind now! I let him live so that schoolchildren could throw dog shit on him as he goes tapping along the curb with his cane! AH-HA-HA-HA-HA!" I laughed like Satan himself, then I reiterated the exact same moral I'd tried to impress upon this idiot the very first day we met. I stuck my hand out into punk-kid's chest for a Negro-type handpat and shouted gleefully, "You shit on people, they shit back! Am I right?" he tried to squirm away, but I was already an top and blocked his escape, all the while insisting he answer, "Am I right? AM I RIGHT?"

Since I'm not the CIA and don't have the U.S. govt behind me, my little trick to induce mutual respect into MM only worked 2 weeks or so. He expanded his nut routine to include so much obnoxious, loud, gibberish-speaking that the 'Chief' began complaining directly to MM and the run community in general. The two Hitler-huggers in 73, Dan and Bubba, also were tired of it. These two shitbirds were the ones MM was afraid to shower with and the cause, in large part, of the problem. Chief Tiger and the HH kids vied with each other to be the 'leaders' who set standards and the topics of conversation. Basically, this means 'Alpha-Ape' and means that their opinions are parroted by the lesser apes of the pecking order. KT has a mind, ethics and intelligence. The HH kids are mindless, egomaniacal, vicious sadists of the country hick variety. Their main pursuits are homosexual-advance 'jokes', rat-calling and being the stink-police. KT's cage mate is a grizzled old tub of guts who sounds and looks like a fat Gabby Hayes, the chuck wagon cook on "Wagon Train". "Dale" derives no end of pleasure by quietly instigating the HH kids, whispering about the stinks he's traced to this cage. The main hick, Bubba, immediately and loudly proclaims his disgust, etc, to his sychophants (sic). Like quacking ducks, they spread this and other important news far and wide. Bubba sounds exactly like the standard caricature of a barefoot, wingeared, arkansas banjo buffoon you might see on "Deliverance". It is for him I coined the phrase "Ah tawlk sloew 'n loud 'cuz Ahm stupit and proud!" You'd have to see and hear this goof to get a proper perspective on how he could possibly command any respect. His voice screams "I'm an Idiot!" but he is the Alpha (cauc) ape here because he's muscular, tattoo covered and teamed with Danny, another muscular pinhead.

Like an idiot, I sent KT a note asking for specific legal advice on a small claims suit coming up on 2-28-01. He used this as an excuse to loudtalk about MM, who dropped his nut act long enough to defend himself. The end result of this was to agitate MM worse when the HH kids and their asskissers joined in. KT loudly revealed to the run community that I had apologized for MM's stink and explained that it would be less now that the kops had hacked off the sheephair blanket Negroes "True" and "Devil" had sewn onto the jailpad MM now used.            MM had been using it without sheets. He'd do a sweaty workout, then sleep on the thing. It thus smelled like a horse's saddlepad and could never be washed, being sewn around a plastic covered jailpad.

KT was trying to enamor me to the HH kids, who "don't trust me" for unspecified reasons. MM heard them say this and concluded I gave a rat's ass what they thought. MM also heard them talking about him. This pushed him into a day of moderation in which he told the camera that Satan had temporarily entered him, but he was all right now. This lasted only one day. The next he was at his nut routine with renewed frenzy. He began pissing while I ate, and he increased his pacing to pass by my rack more often. Clearly his plans were evolving. There is a pinch point in this extended path where MM has to decide if he wants to knock his knee on an immovable steel stool or knock his shoulder on the corner of the top rack. He gimped and squirmed his way past these obstructions many times/day until he could do it unharmed and speedily.

His nut act got louder and more obnoxious. He'd ask himself questions in English, and answer himself in "Islamic". (This is his term for the gibberish he spoke.) He'd hear one of his detractors defame him. MM would perform a routine in which he would indicate the offender, loudly ask "his daddy" if the guy was a rat, rape-o, snitch or child molester. MM's daddy would answer in gibberish that had 2 actual words that meant either yes or no. Then MM would ask and answer himself further questions such as who, where, how many times, etc.

The other routine was to pretend he was minding first a small boy of his, then a daughter. He placed restrictions on me, ostensibly to keep me from running over his imaginary children. Actually it was simply more harassment.

A 3rd schtick he enjoyed while maniacally pacing and mirror-vent-talking was pretending Garth Brooks paid him 600 gigabucks for a song he'd stolen from MM. MM spent 2 days giving this money to various organizations and friends. He’d write the subtractions down. Gradually even this became a bore to him. His frustration was evident by how violently he scribbled with his pen.

He cracked on 2-20-01, shortly after supper. I was lying on my stomach on my rack writing letters when he finally got courage enough to mount the cowardly sneak attack he had been planning for weeks. He even foretold his method somewhat in imaginary fights he'd create between "Christi Zinti", his "wife" and some other female from his past. He taught Christi how to choke her opponent. He paced behind me, leaped on my back, bashed me twice in the head and began choking me. I reared up, losing my pencil. I was supposed to break his choke hold by jabbing it in his face and eyes. He didn't know how to choke despite his bragging. Even so, I twisted out from under him, and this caused my windpipe to close. A vicious, sadistic maggot like MM prefers stomping an unconscious victim more than one who can possibly fight back. He was taking no chances with this old man. Unable to breathe or shout, I had no choice but to go for this eyes with my fingers. This loosened his choke and freed my windpipe. I dragged this scummy, 190 pounds of dog shit to the cage door, landed on top and began loudly calling for the pigs in as cool a fashion as possible. "Somebody get this maggot off me." (I couldn't make any threats or the pigs would surely dungeonize me for attacking too.)   I repeated this about 10 times before the pigs got there. They gazed stupidly at us for more minutes while the others gathered with their clubs. After only about 5 or 6 minutes more they'd gathered a large mob, locked up the service inmates and obtained courage enough to open the cage and make scumbag escape from beneath me.

Shit-for-brains was not injured. Knowing the prison fight policy of "everyone is guilty", my strategy for weeks had been to try and escape. The pigs obviously were not going to let me escape. My fallback strategy was to prepare for Shitbrain's attack and minimize both our injuries. Only if I left Shitbrain's eyes in his sockets could I hope to possibly avoid another 60 days in the pig's supertorture dungeon. (Remember they'd framed me for Towler's "knife" and stuck me with 30 suspended in addition to the 40 days I'd actually spent in their dungeon being "investigated".) Muckbrain would get 30 for attacking me, and I'd get 30 more for being attacked.

The shit-eating maggots quietly enjoyed my pain, suffering and struggle, especially "Ray", a gamma ape hanger-on with the best view, in 3, directly across. He was amazed that a 50-year-old-man was able to drag youngster-maggot to the door, land on top and calmly call for the pigs. KT, the only one with any normality about him, has bowed his head, ignoring me in favor of siding with the Alpha apes in 23. The hick brothers immediately denounced me as a "rat", as if MM was now their fellow homosexual lover instead of "Stinkpot". Sycophant Smith in 21, a sonorous, lickspittal, know-it-all, fell immediately in line with the ratcallers, as did some shrieking voice-in-the-dark from 10, far up the hall who saw nothing and barely heard me over His radio blasting "Pantera".

This tiny little exertion caused me to bleed from knees, elbow and tongue. My jaw muscle is so wrecked I can barely open wide enough to eat the slop. My back is wrenched, elbow jammed, shoulder partially dislocated, and I've still got a headache. It is now 2-24-01 and I'm still screwed up badly, but it was worth it.

Guard Grider, a grinning young kid who himself seems a closet sadist and instigator, came back the next day and told me "MM is downstairs", and "He jumped you, didn't he?" MM was supposed to be in their super hell unit. Like a fool falling for the oldest pig ploy in the book, I answered "Yes" to his trick question. Of course both the HH kids in 23 were pressing their ears through the bars eavesdropping like snoopy old harridans. Grider knew this and had set me up well: Appalling me with a lie (MM was really back in superhell), then suckering me into yes-ing his question before I realized a yes made me a rat in inmate eyes. The hick twins quietly waited until their secret pig-pal left, then began their rat-calling schtick. The pigs put another Indian gangster here. He's not a sick mental deviate like MM.

Yesterday the pig Spears" brought me a paper accusing me of fighting. He had a lot of farcical rituals to perform that required me to sign away any rights I might have had and/or confirm my rathood by trying to defend myself as 20 or 30 inmate ears tried to press through the bars, straining mightily to hear every word. This is how the pigs get you to lose your witnesses. They make you declare right there while all the ratcallers eavesdrop. You can't tell all the listening scum your witnesses, else you're a rat. You can't make a statement for the same reason: the ratcallers are straining at every noise, and will spew anything their imagination tells them they heard. Inmate wisdumb dictates that I do my cowardly attacker a favor for trying to murder/maim me by letting the figs nail us both. These morons hold the myth that if I pretend we were "playing", we might "beat" the pig's conviction machine. There is no stupider belief that can be held. Pig 'courts' are even more crooked than judge courts, and there is no chance this ploy will work despite mounds of lying inmate testimonials claiming success. Fact is, even the passive attackee must be extremely blessed to escape guard "justice".

Despite my severe injuries and MM’s light injuries and the fact that mine were offensive and his were defensive, only one guard named Shitbrain as the aggressor. His signature is an indecipherable scribble.

I have numerous witnesses who know I was trying desperately to escape this cage before Shitbrain attacked. All of them are guards and thus will deny everything, as policy dictates. I even had family call these pigs and try to save me and them this hassle. I even wrote a judge. Not one of these scum ever replied. I have 2 carbon copies and a postal receipt proving I was trying to make these scum escape his pending attack. One was faxed to the prison HQ. Nothing worked. The entire bureaucracy was blind and deaf.

Only the future will tell if I can avoid guard punishment for surviving a murder/ maim attempt. (Nope. They punished me for 30 days for "fighting".)