Chapter 33 vs. Mail Room

Chapter 33 is the title given to the handbook of rules for both inmate and officer conduct.

Since coming to prison, I have never seen Chapter 33 enforced on an officer.  Only inmates.  Prison is a one-way street with the men in blue always dead wrong.  There are specification for the length of your hair, your fingernails and the slack in your belt.  None of these have bothered me.  It's the way prison rolls.  But everybody has to report to somebody.  And sometimes some people needed to be reminded of that.

Chapter 33 covers dress code to visiting privileges.  Basically every point in between.  The rules are ever changing and added to and even manipulated to fit the special need of the current situation.  Even if you are right according to Chapter 33, there is one final clause in the rule book: "The verbal order of a superior officer is to be followed at all times."

That is a charge...disobeying a verbal order...which carries loss of gain time (inmates earn time that will taken off their sentence for behaving; that is called gain time), a possible D.R. (disciplinary report, which is a write up when you have broken a rule and again lose gain time or pull a potential transfer, etc) and even confinement time (or "the box").

Most recently the problems I have encountered have been with the prison's mail room.  The people sorting mail are given the job of a mail handler.  They are to scan read your outgoing and incoming mail to make sure there are no security risks present.  What exactly is a security risk you ask?  Good question....

Obviously, my lady in a bathing suit has been branded a security threat to the well being of this establishment. And not only my lady, but the lady of nearly every man at this institution.  When your lady chooses to send you a spicy picture of herself, it will most certainly be rejected by this prisons mail room.

If there were men in the mail room sorting, these letters would come in without delay.  No doubt.  However, Marion's mail room is operated by women.

Currently I have one or more packages rejected each week by this prison's mail room.  I don't believe my lady in her bikini is a threat to the security of this prison.  I may give myself a heart attack, but that's not the point here.  These packages are being rejected according to Chapter 33.  How?  Again, good question...by using the rule that states: "No nudity allowed.  A fully opaque covering must cover all genitalia.  Nothing may suggest that sexual contact is imminent."   

Somehow, my lady holding a volleyball on the beach in a conservative swimsuit met resistance to this rule and was rejected.  In fact, the resistance my mail is hitting is this mail room.  Bending Chapter 33 to fit their need.

Lately, it's been my art.  I'm an artist.  For years I have mailed out and received pieces of art.  Recently all my art is being rejected.  You ask why?  Chapter 33 of course!  "Art is of size and clarity to possibly be used for tattoo patterns."

Yeah....really!  My own art that I drew.  Taken from my gallery and mailed back to me so I can review my art over the years.  Rejected.

Along with this update, I am currently preparing grievances to file against the mail room personnel of this prison. Sure there must be rules, but they need to be enforced both ways.

If you chain up your dog in the sun with no food and water, then poke it with a stick?  You are breaking the law.  Not to mention, you're an asshole.

Mail is considered federal property.  Tampering with it is a federal offense.  So quit poking us with a stick!  Damn Yankees said it best.....

Don't tread on me.      

Praise The Lord!

Three thousand.

I hear that for 3-grand I can have the lasik surgery that will correct my eye sight.  For 3-grand I can have a pulled tooth replaced with an implant.

I didn't want to have the tooth pulled.  A year ago the prison's dentist told me I needed a root canal.  A year later they still have yet to "canal" me.  I know what they're doing....blowing me off until they have to pull it.  It's pissing me off enough that I'm about to have them pull it.  That's why I know the implant will cost about 3-grand.  I checked into my options.  A long time ago I realized if you want it done?  Do it yourself.

The tooth is directly in my smile.  That's why I wanted to have the root canal.  I have since decided that if they indeed have to pull lit, then when I replace it with an implant, the replacement will be gold.  Just so I can fuck with people.

And fuck with people is what I do.  And that's where three thousand comes up once again.  It's the number of hits this blog currently pulls in a month.  Cool huh?

I was shaving my balls the other day when it hit me.  I needed another tattoo.  Not on my balls.  That's not necessary.  Instead, I decided to finish my chest off.  The phrase Tattoo'd Hooligan is my registered trademark.  They call me the Hooligan here, so I had it tattooed across my chest.  And, I must say it's bad ass.  Now all I need is that gold tooth.  Then I can be a bad-ass gangster.

My new chest piece had me singing soprano.  However, my rib cage had me filled with the holy spirit and speaking in tongues.  I'm laying there wild-eyed and clenched fists saying "Praise the Lord!" 

No....I mean for real.  The other alternative was to yell, "Fuck me sideways!"  And that's not the sort of thing you want to yell out of your cell in prison.  No way!

All down my ribs it says: "There once was a boy...before you stands a warrior."  That rib cage is some serious shit man.  I kid you not.  Talk about separating the men from the boys....pussies need not apply.  

Speak of the devil, it amazes me a woman's tolerance for pain.  If you can't stand the pain and quit here, we say you taped out.  I'm not tapping out.  Tears can run down my face, but I'm not screaming mercy.  Fat chance in hell.

I recently drew a back piece for my sister.  When she asked me to draw one for her, I knew I didn't want no tramp stamp on my sister.  So I drew her a bad-ass piece since that's what I do.  It was way bigger than she expected and I halfway expected her to photo shop it down.  Not my sister.  Mind you, this is my very quiet, meek, humble and most conservative sister. 

Tattoo design by the Tattoo'd Hooligan, for his sweet yet bad-ass sister!

It amazes me the tolerance for pain a woman has.  Then again...most woman have to deal with some man whose a pain in their ass all day.  I guess they get used to it.  

As you read this, you just pushed the stats one more time.  Thank you, my friend.  Way to put some Hooligan in your life. 

Takin' Over The World

Here is one of J.J.'s favorite cartoons from the past: Pinky and The Brain.  

This how J.J. rolls.....every day, trying to take over the world!

Eat Balls.

Uh....meatballs that is.

J.J. would like to feature a bad-ass every week. 

This week, after reading his recent Inc. Magazine, he selected both Daniel Holzman, Executive Chef and Co-Owner and Michael Chernow, General Manager and Co-Owner of The Meatball Shop.

Daniel Holzman is on the left.  Michael Chernow is to the right.

Captain Jack

Just Killin' Time

Guess your probably posted up in front of a computer.  Perhaps you hold in your hand the latest gadget in technology.  Something brought you to this place in time where right here and now you're sharing thoughts with a prisoner.

Imagine that.  Later today when you meet your friends for lunch you should tell them what you did today.  Let them know that earlier today you hung out with an incarcerated man. 

Way back in the far back when Jailbird started I made a promise.  You would not always agree with me, my thoughts more than likely will not be your own.  But, I will always make you think.  Since day one, I have done just that.  Wherever you were just prior to this is now history.  You are hanging with a Hooligan and I am about to fire up and bend your ear. 

Since the dawn of time there have been good guys and bad guys.  As far back as I can remember I have always taken the bad guy.  To this day I smile when the bad guy gets away.  Riding off into the sunset with the loot.  Long gone are the days of the outlaw.  You can barely run a stop sign these days.  They send you a ticket in the mail and a picture that a camera took of your rear end California-rollin' through 5th and Main.

Somehow I had to find a compromise of sorts.  We wouldn't be having this chat if I were not on the wrong side of the fence.  I'm not even certain if many of you would talk to me if not for the convenience of the internet.  Like, "cool, I have five minutes to burn in my day, how about I check and see what that prisoner dude is up to."

So my compromise is this.  I trade my past life as a bad guy for an ink pen and a tattoo machine.  Even then, some of society still frowns.

They say you can boil a toad if you ease the water to boil slowly.  Blindside the poor sucker.  We all laugh at the thought.  If you ever tried this method, you're one sick puppy.

Then again, when you see a heavily tattooed biker park alongside your new Beamer, do you engage in conversation, or do you hold your purse a little tighter and double-check your door locks?  My point exactly.

So when you meet your girlfriend for lunch later, you go on and tell her you been having your ear twisted be a convicted felon lost somewhere in the prison system.  Today you put a little hooligan in your life.

Nah, I'm just playing with you.  What you are is a little more like that poor toad.  You been sitting here just killing five minutes of your day....while all the time I've been turning the heat up a little at a time.  Crazy, huh?

Now that you've come this far with me, one last thought...

Next time you park next to the heavily tattooed biker, why don't you give him a smile?  After all, you two have friends in low places.  That's stolen straight from Mr. Garth Brooks.  Better get out of the water now.  Hop along little toad....

Appreciate the Art

This is a shout-out to Dillards!

We are diggin' this ad!  

Moreso, we love that you appreciate people and their art.

High Cost of Living

Just sitting here in room 3107 listening to the songs that shape my life.  Songs that tell a story.  Today my hat is off to a music man name Jamey Johnson. 

About three years ago I was walking the track at Gulf Correctional Institute when a song came across the radio that struck me to the core.  The song was High Cost of Living by Mr. Johnson.   The song goes on to say it ain’t nothing like the cost of getting high.  He speaks of all the life drugs rob you of.  I remember hearing the song and immediately I was in a re-run of my life.  There I was, walking a track in one of Florida’s hardest prisons.  Lost in thought about what my drug use had taken from me. 

Well…a few years have gone by and they don’t play that song much on the radio no more.  So when I went down to download new songs to my MP3, I punched in a request for High Cost of Living. 

Sitting here now, I have a change of perspective.  Last time I heard the song I was one foot in prison, one foot still in the free world.   Today, I’m both feet in sobriety.  I have a whole new appreciation for these lyrics.  Instead of crying over what I lost, I can smile at the chance I have to get I all back.  And I’m well on my way.

My very next music choice was a little number by Mr. Jimmy Buffet….A Pirate Looks at 40.  I smile as I tap my foot thinking to myself I too am a pirate born in the wrong year.  Instead of sailing the seas in search of treasure, I was digging to the bottom of a cereal box to find it.  I was raised eating Pop Rocks and french rolling my pants.  Back when a pack of smokes rolled up in your t-shirt sleeve was the cool look. 

These days kids run around in skinny jeans, wearing their sneakers in neon colors.  They have no idea was “french roll” is….and if you have a youngster sporting skinny jeans and a shag hair cut….that’s the new rebel.  Just smile…there’s a whole lot worse stuff he could be into.  Look where my two feet are planted.  Be happy your youngster has two feet on a skateboard.  Keep him that way.

My daughter is on her way to being 16.  She’s 15 and a half now.  I figure I’ll throw that in since kids seem to want you to recognize that extra few months of life.  She’s not smoking cigarettes behind the skating rink like I was.  She has her butt in a church pew instead.  She gets good grades in school and is the best thing I ever did with my 33 years of life.  She has my talent to make art and she makes me proud.  One day I hope to make her proud as well.

I have a past history of addiction and miles of mistakes and poor choices.  Still…I sort through it all and make the best of it.  What’s your past look like? 

My friend told me the other day she married the wrong man.  Yet she has two beautiful children to show for that mess. 

Even on a cloudy day we know the sun is up there.  Somewhere…trying to shine through.  Learning to see life through eyes filled with love is priceless.

A special thanks to Jamey Johnson and Mr. Jimmy Buffett for letting the sun shine through my clouds.  As always, a special thanks to my lady, my daughter, my mother and all my sisters….the women who stand beside me. My hats off to you all.

Darkness

Tattoo'd Hooligan Copyright 2013.

An Important Visit

Well, looking at yet another year in the rear-view.  Wondering where the time went, but I'm certainly not complaining.  I see a new year ahead and one less I'll spend without my family.  Can't complain about that.  Looking back I remember the day a judge sentenced me to twelve years behind this fence.  I was much greener then and had a lot of growing up to do.  There was a time I wondered if I could make this journey.  Not only am I making the trip, but I'm learning lessons I can hold on to for the rest of my life.

I enjoyed a visit the other weekend from my aunt and uncle.  My uncle who is waiting for a kidney transplant.  The last visit we shared was a couple months ago.  During that visit I encouraged my uncle to live life to its absolute fullness.

This visit I asked him what he was doing to enjoy life.  I'm used to getting answers like, "well....this bill was due and I pulled some overtime to cover it."  Or "something else came up and the tires on the car needed to be replaced."  So, I was truly blessed when I got the answers of....

"I've been fishing a lot."  My uncle told me the Spanish Mackerel were in the jetti so thick the water was churning.  He said as soon as his line hit the water he was reeling in a fish.  My aunt verified that his story was indeed true...since she had been only feet away watching the pelicans fly over and dive bomb down on the bait fish.  The picture they painted was perfect.  No doubt in my mind they have both been living life.

This man married my aunt twenty years ago.  He told me this with a smile during our visit.  Obviously that ranks pretty high on his list since I heard it right next to the fishing story.  Though I can't quite remember whether it came before or after the Spanish Mackerel took his bait.

At one point I pointed out my new art on my hands.  I explained what hold fast means to me.  I then went on to say that yes, I have a lot of tattoos....then pointed out that they have to love me because I'm family.  Even if they don't particularly care for my art work.  My uncle looked at me and said, "what tattoos?"

There's a country song that says to live life like your dying.  My aunt and uncle are two people who are doing just that.   

Prisoner's Do the Dew!

This is how we DEW!

In the visiting park of a correctional institute.

Shandy Hook Angels

As the terrible tragedy of the Connecticut School Shooting was unfolding, heaven was busy greeting the newest angels.  While this world and these parents learned of its loss, heaven rejoiced in its gain.  In loving memory of those who lost their life, and to their families.  

Reflections of a Baker

Just looking through my rear-view mirror at 2012.  Did it ever fly past.  In the four years I have been in prison, this has been the shortest year yet.  Writing for The Jailbird has helped make my sentence fly by.  All the time spent on my art projects.  The blog has helped me remain productive, though some may question how productive my rants truly are.

I'm basically half way through the sentence handed to me.  Reconnecting with my childhood friend, Brooke, has put a huge smile on my face.  Finding a mutual connection between us has given me many hopes and dreams that await my release.  Making plans for when I am free keeps me from slipping into the depths of prison life.  So I roll on.

The year 2012 has been good to me.  As I watch it come to a close, I hope that 2013 will be as rewarding.  If life is indeed what we make of it, then I have no doubt I will do fine.  A great group of people cheer me on.

I am truly blessed to have the people in my life that choose to stand tall beside me.  Only a couple months ago I was transferred from the Florida panhandle to a central Florida prison.  This prison has turned out to be a true blessing.

My bunkie's name is Rose, my spider's name is Diablo and I sleep in a two-man cell.  Once a week I have music class and get to jam on a guitar.  Even here I have surrounded myself with positive things to fill my day.   Like the candy factory, where we melt and re-shape Jolly Rancher candies into what we call jolly pops.  Since we add a sucker stick which is made from a Q-tip handle (with the fuzz removed) and inserted through the reshaped candy making a lolly pop.  Because it's made from Jolly Ranchers, they have been named "jolly pops".  Because it is something different from what is available at the chow hall and canteen, we sell a lot of them.  We have $.26 invested and sell each unit for $.60.  It's a small profit, but it is productive.  The time spent shaping these suckers is productive.  And when sold in bulk a nice profit is made. 

Our latest venture has been no-bake cookies.  If dried properly, the mix makes granola.  The ingredients are oatmeal, brown sugar, peanut butter and vanilla.  These items are then mixed in a big bag.  A new trash bag to be exact.  The ingredients are considered contraband since the prison system deems anything in an altered state to be contraband.  Once altered, the police can and many times will confiscate the said items.  I like to mix these ingredients in a large bag so that when the police come and our look out warns us of their approach, I can quickly toss this bag into a hiding spot.  Then I grab a rag and some soapy water and pretend to clean my room until the patrol unit passes.

Prison teaches you two lessons on a daily basis: patience being number one for sure.  In close second would be sneaky smart.  I know, that sounds bad.  But come one...who are we hurting making peanut butter cookies?  For real....

I haven't had my momma's cooking in over four year.  So I came up with a way to bring a small taste of home on this side of the fence.  God...it's not like I'm cooking meth.  But you always have some officer who feels differently.  He comes in and confiscates my cookies and then acts as if he busted five pounds of pure fish-scale cocaine. 

We often wonder how the big "cookie bust story" is embellished before it's told to the officer friends back home.  I doubt he's bragging that he kicked the door in on a full-scale bakery.  That he busted a roomful of prisoners making oatmeal cookies.  I'm just saying....

Police on the street take a vow to protect and to serve.  Here they proudly state "never walk alone".  They are definitely not protecting and serving anyone back here!  They're more like a pimple in the side of your butt cheek.

Anyways, it's the holiday and I won't let a little pimple on my ass get me down.  My dilemma now is how to make peanut brittle.  I think if I can place a small burning wick under a soda can I could boil down syrup.  If I add sugar to that refining process, rock candy should be the result.  Add peanuts and that is basically what peanut brittle is.  See what I'm saying?  I came to prison an addicted drug dealer.  I know...that's a mouth full.  When I leave?  I'll be a baker.

My big plan was to open a tattoo shop.  Lately, I've been thinking of a bakery instead.  Rather than sell crack rock, I'll sell rock candy.

Well, I should go.  My look-out informs me a patrol unit is approaching.  No doubt in hot pursuit of someones no-bake cookies to confinscate.  That's why they make the big bucks.  Bust a bakery and earn sergeant status.

Happy Holidays Hooligan Style!