December 31, 2014
There have been some exciting events the past few days that have led to some positive changes here in the dungeons of Montgomery County, Texas.
I should begin with the catalyst:
I was watching the might Case Keenum,(UH!), lead the pitiful Texans to victory with 3 or 4 other guys. One of them, (it was not me!), released a cloud of the most wretched smelling gas ever passed. It was foul. It was toxic. It was not bad enough to justify what followed.
Our resident unstable gang member took offense, and decided this fart necessitated a violent response. So, he went back to the corner, where the guards could not see, and began calling out the guy accused of farting. He took off all of his clothes, except his underwear, and called him out, repeatedly. This went on for some time and everyone knew the unstable guy would eventually give up because his rants usually went on for no more than a hour. Why, it was just last week he only yelled and threatened for a hour when no one would bet him a soup that the Texans would lose and he only went on and on for 2 hours when he was mad at himself for losing at cards. But this guy was new, he didn't know. So despite the fact that he gave up 7 inches in height, and 50 pounds, he felt he had to answer the call or be labelled a "ho". There is nothing worse than being a "ho". It is worse than being a "bitch". Not sure about "punk", I think they are equally bad. But I am digressing.
So, he went into battle. Undersized, and full of courage he went fourth.
I was on the phone talking to my lovely wife and missed the initial blows, but I knew it was going to be a slaughter, and I knew nobody would break it up.
I wish I could tell you that David slew Goliath, but this isn't a fairy tale. David was massacred. When I hung up with Lesa, his head was being bounced off the floor. Nobody was stopping him. So I did.
I have always been the guy who broke up the fights. In the Navy, that led to me catching stray punches. I don't like catching stray punches anymore, as a rule. I also don't want to be involved in jail fights because they are often 6 layers of intrigue I don't know about, in every fight. But I have known the unstable "Blood" longer than anyone in there, he trusts me, and I was reasonably confident he wouldn't hit me as he pounded away on the man's head.
He didn't. I pulled him off and he went to ranting about how it wasn't over because "David" had landed one good punch that bloodied his lip. Nevermind, that "David" was a bloody mess, that "Blood" felt he needed redemption.
I guess a bully will only start a fight when he is sure he will not only win, but has such a significant advantages, that he will come away unscathed. I hate bullies.
So, everything died down.....until a guy returned from a visit. Except that, he didn't go to a visit. The guards called him out for a chit chat. He said that the guards knew there had been an assault, they had narrowed it down to our quad and they were investigating. I heard him say that and I thought, "That's weird. I wonder how they would have found out? Someone would have had to have been on the phone. Hmmmm, I was on the phone. What a coincidence."
Except it wasn't a coincidence. And I was moved. To the Pods. The Shagri-La, the Xanadu of the dungeons. A fabled land of milk and honey. Well, the milk is powdered, still. And there is no honey, because it is still jail, but it's quiet and there's carpeting. A guard stays in here and there are no violent offenders, so it's a different world.
But, of course, it is fraught with it's own pitfalls, which I shall endeavor to explain later.
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