January 25, 2006


Hi, everybody. I saw this Which Superhero Quiz Are You on somebody's blog today and although I do not usually have time for those sorts of things I thought this one sounded pretty interested especially since a bunch of the time prisoners talk about superheros since they have so much time to sit around in their cells and so on and so forth.

I am going to try to put the results from me when I took the test in this entry in the space underneath this stuff that I have typed above the results, but I do not know whether it will work. I thought it was pretty fun to do. If you like it you should try it sometime.

Your results:
You are Spider-Man
The Flash
Green Lantern
Iron Man
Wonder Woman
You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.
Click here to take the "Which Superhero am I?" quiz...

January 13, 2006

The Brothers Crallspace and My History

Well, I got another comment or two from Dan Crall and Jim Crall. In one of the last comments Jim Crall left, he said that he was not actually Dan's dad as I had thought he was, but that he was Dan's brother. And that he really wasn't that much older than Dan in truth of the matter. Since I just try to be an honest guy myself, telling people my honest feelings and so forth and so on, I am going to try to believe Jim about this. But I have got to tell you it is a little bit tough for me. I mean Jim just looks a lot older than Dan. A lot. Like probably at least the twenty-five years I've been working as a prison guard older. If I was going to guess who Jim Crall's brother really is, I would have guessed it was that crazy guy named Jim Cramer who has that show called "Mad Money" that is on cable television sometimes. But of course that guy has a different last name. Anyway, for what it is worth, I put a picture of both of those guys in this entry so you people reading this can be the judge.

If you ask me, the Jim from the Mad Money show actually looks younger than Jim Crall. It's just hard for me to believe that Jim Crall is not at least 45 years old. But that's not really what I wanted to talk about it in this entry.

What I really wanted to talk about for just a minute was all of the comments that Dan and Jim have made about me and in particular about how maybe I do not seem like I am tough enough to have made it the twenty-five years that I have been working as a prison guard. I think Jim said that he doesn't think I am tough enough to have made it more than a week, I think. Well, that is downright rude. But of course I understand why he might think that. First of all, if he is really only in his twenties, he just does not have enough life experience under his belt to appreciate how important it is to prisoners that the people watching over them with guns and Tasers and keys be sensitive to the tough time the prisoners are facing. As you might guess, it is pretty hard, emotionally especially, to be in prison all day every day for one year after the next year. It's hard for the inmates and it's hard for the guards too. So I have learned through the years that the prisoners will respond pretty well to me if I try to act like I understand the troubles they are having. So that's what I do. I try to get inside their heads and understand why they are acting so tough or why they are breaking things or why they want to hurt other prisoners which happens from time to time. And when it works, it is really special. The truth of the matter is that because there are so many more prisoners than there are guards in these places, we the prison guards have to have the cooperation of the prisoners to get the place to function. I mean we have to feed these prisoners and get their prison clothes cleaned and keep their cells livable and make sure that their plumbing works and all that kind of thing. (Just as an aside, you should see the size of the turds and wads of paper that those commodes that are in the cells of the prisoners in the higher-security sections of the prisons can suck down. Those things make Psychic Dumb-Dumb look like she doesn't have a clue what she is doing although we can tell from her slutty comments and the brazen way she talks to that bastard Flamingo that she is almost for sure very familiar with sucking. A lot. The idea of course is that it just isn't safe for guards to have to go into these prisoners cells but at the same time we need to make sure if they have to take a bowel movement that they can flush it out of their cell. And they do have to take bowel movements because they are eating food.)

So I started doing this thing that I do now where I try to understand the prisoners troubles. First when I started it out I would tell people that I am like an eclair. In other words I have a pretty solid exterior but a squishy, gooey center. Well, that worked OK as a way to explain what I was trying to do, but then some people pointed out that it was pretty easy to tear an eclair apart or to smush it on the floor so that all of the innards came out and got all over the floor. So now I tell people that I am like an eclair that has been cooked a little too long and then left to dry out on the counter for several weeks. That's closer to the truth. I have a gooey, squishy center, but a very sturdy exterior that you wouldn't want to eat. Because it might be poisonous.

I hope this helps.

God bless, everybody.

And by the way Jim Crall, I do too love you. You are one of God's children. Just like me.

January 06, 2006


This blog is now officially an anti-Flamingo zone. That guy has real problems and they are only getting worse. I haven't been over to read his blog for a bit at least since yesterday because he is a very nasty, crude person or at least he was talking that way in his last few comments to some good Christians in blog-land. I don't like that guy and I don't like his attitude. So I started up my BOYCOTT again.

But then now I saw that he posted a comment on my blog that said he was going to start some sort of trouble at my blog. Well, he is not invited. I am not going to share all my stories and ideas with you people on my blog and have him here reading it and saying mean and unpleasant things. I am just not going to do that.

So I just want to let the person that I am BOYCOTTING called that Flamingo jerk that I am going to be deleting each and every one of his comments if he happens to come to my blog and leave comments because I don't like him and hopefully eventually he will get discouraged and just go away.

Very unpleasant.

I am not crying about this. I am actually just offended and upset. And that's OK too.

December 15, 2005

Mean People in Blog-Land

I just wanted to take some time here to say that there are some people out here in blog-land who are very unpleasant. And apparently there are some people who do not have blogs or at least who post as "anonymous" on people's blogs in the comments and who try to track down other people who have blogs and say nasty mean things to them that are so mean and nasty that the people who have the blogs have to shut them down.

Yes, I am talking about the Nowhere Girl blog that used to be very interesting for a lot of people to read until someone who is desperately in need of accepting Christ's love started harassing her in a personal and uncomfortable way. Well, we had a punishment that we would do for people who harassed other inmates in a personal and uncomfortable way. See the picture on the right in this entry on my blog for an example.

No we wouldn't actually let the person who was harassing the person in a personal and uncomfortable way die from being hung in the hangman's noose, but we would have to get pretty close sometimes to make sure they got the message.

What I'm trying to say here is "Live and Let Live" as the expression is said. If you read somebody's blog and you don't like what they have to say, just don't read it. You certainly shouldn't try to ruin that person's life or make that person uncomfortable. That is not the way of Jesus. It isn't decent.

Similarly, if you are from a foreign country, you should try to keep your idiotic views about political matters of a different country to yourself. Especially when you are a bigot with bad opinions. Yes, I am talking about Psychic Dumb Dumb, here.

I am praying for you, Psychic Dumb Dumb. I hope that in your heart of hearts you can learn to love Jesus. Remember that it is OK to cry. Of course if you really are a woman, you already know that. Women cry a lot in my experience. And in my presence, actually. But that's a topic for a different day. And yes, I am talking about inmates and just women that I have known in my regular life as well.

November 23, 2005

License Plates and Vengeance

As a prison guard, I've spent a lot of hours watching the boys on the line stamping out license plate after license plate. You may have read the stories about the funny prisoners down in Texas that used to put two different license plates into the same envelope. And about how at least some of the people that got those envelopes with two different license plates in them didn't even notice for awhile at least that they had one license plate that said one thing (for example, HPG 125) on the front of their car and a totally different license plate that said something totally different (for example, TAS 427) on the back of their car. I love that story. Even though the prisoners were clearly violating the rules. I wish I would've been working in that prison at the time that chicanery was going on. I would've probably been wise to the scheme. I might not have stopped it. Or maybe I would have. By the way, let's just say that aAny crying I would've done about that would have been just because it was so funny. Tears of laughter, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, as I think I mentioned in my last entry, I already know how you can use license plates to find out all sorts of useful information about people. Especially people that you owe one to. Like I was interested to discover that the last name of the guy that I am BOYCOTTING and that I am planning to vengeance sometime maybe depending on my mood is Smith. I bet most of you won't believe it since Smith is such a common last name. But what can I tell you. The Heron spent about 4 months in traction and he still can't lift his right arm above shoulder-height. And I had to be quick with him.

Speaking of the BOYCOTT, that guy should look up the definition of the word BOYCOTT. For sure it means that he shouldn't be over here on my blog trying to get me to come back to his BOYCOTTED website again. For heaven's sake. Get the message. You are BOYCOTTED.

November 17, 2005


I worked at the federal penetentiary in Allenwood, Pennsylvania for a while. I was assigned to a unit with low ("minimum") security prisoners. This was pretty early in my career. I used to have some interesting times working with those guys. You've probably heard the experssion "country club prison"? Well, this was sort of what we had at this place. In fact, some of the work programs those guys would go on were at golf courses. Cleaning up trash and stuff at public golf courses. For a few years it seemed we spent quite a few Mondays at closed golf courses throwing out half-empty beer cans and old plates of nachos people had left on the ground around the trash cans. Well, I didn't actually have to do the cleaning up. That was what the prisoners did, of course. Which brings me to the point of today's story - it's about a betrayal. I'm sure you can guess why I would be telling you about a betrayal at this point. Since I feel like I was totally betrayed by that guy that has a blog but since I'm boycotting him I'm not going to say his name. He knows who he is. And he knows where he is to me.

Anyway, we were on this clean-up mission in Bethesda. I was like I said pretty new at that point. Pretty "green" I guess you could say. Which is fitting since we were at a golf course for the work program. Of course this time, just to make sure to set the table for you proper, it wasn't a public golf course at all that we were at. It was one of those swanky places where they didn't allow colored folks (that's what we called them back then; I don't mean offense) and they didn't allow women except on Thursdays and even then the women had to wear hats and could only eat in this one particular dining area that was very froufrou but was not very big and didn't have the full menu. Or so I imagined. I don't really know. They didn't tell us that and we were there on a Monday so I don't even know.

I'd been talking to this one prisoner everybody called The Heron because he was long and tall and lean and had this funny habit of, when he was talking to you if there was a wall nearby, he would pull one of his feet up real high up towards his butt and stick that foot on the wall and stand there on one leg. So, you know, we called him The Heron.

Well, The Heron and I had been getting pretty close. On the minimum security details sometimes we would just sit on the benches in the facility during exercise and inmates that we were getting to know a little bit would sometimes just sit there with us talking or singing or praying (yes, even crying sometimes) or whatever. The Heron and I spent a lot of time for a lot of days sitting on a bench or walking around the yard. He would tell me all kinds of things about what his life had been like before he made the mistake (that was what he called it - a mistake; that wasn't my word, it was his) that got him put in prison. He told a great story about how sorry he was about how he had done this bad thing or that bad thing or another bad thing.

In fact, at one point when I was gone for a couple of days on a vacation or maybe just a long weekend he wrote out this pretty long list of mistakes he had made that he was sorry about. Or at least that I thought he was sorry about. At the top of the paper, which he gave me to keep the next time we were out walking around the yard during his exercise time, he wrote "Admitting My Mistakes." Which is pretty familiar to people who follow blogs. There have been bloggers I've seen recently that used that same phrase in some of their blogs. Again, since I've got a boycott against the one asshole I'm thinking about when I'm telling you this story I am not going to mention his name or put any kind of link back to his dumb blog where you could see what it is I'm talking about. If you don't know, just thank your lucky stars and hope you never find out.

That's exactly what I wish would have happened with The Heron too. I wish I could have thanked my lucky stars and never found out. Because one of the things he had written on his paper that he called "Admitting My Mistakes" was this bit about how when he had been in high school his parents had this one time made special arrangements with the parents of one of the richer kids in his school (His family wasn't dirt poor, he told me, even though they were from South Carolina, but they weren't rich either. They didn't have a membership to the country club in their town like the parents of this rich kid that I'm telling you about right now.) so that he could go golfing with that richer kid at the country club in their town. But The Heron was too scared - he told me - or too proud - more likely the truth - to show up so he didn't. Instead he went over to that richer kid's house because he figured everybody would be at the golf course waiting for him over there and he stole one of their cars and took it out for a joyride and wrecked it into a ditch. He got hurt a little, but not too bad. And he told me that he went sneaking back home and pretended he had got in a fight.

Then to get to the crux of the story we were in Bethesda, Maryland on this work program at the golf course. And The Heron reminded me of that story. He told me that he had still never played a single hole of golf at a real country club in his life. And there we were, he said, on one of the nicest golf courses in all of Maryland and he had Admitted His Mistake and didn't I think it would be a neat thing if as part of his rehabilitating himself into a model citizen who wouldn't keep stealing cars and cheating on his taxes and being a con man to poor housewives through the telephone and selling them fake sets of encyclopedias (this is some of the other things he told me that he did wrong), he would get to play that one hole of golf that he had never played?

Well, I bought it. I'm a caring person. The Heron and I had shared many a weepy moment on the benches with him filling me full of B.S. about how sorry he was that he had made so many mistakes. So I went over to the maintenance shop and talked to the guy who was mowing the greens and told him a little bit of the story. And he told me that on Mondays they let the caddies from the rest of the week and the weekend use the course and that if I asked this one caddy named Jodie Mudd who was probably the best of the golfers (I think that guy actually ended up being a professional golfer; his name was Mudd which I always thought was funny since that was exactly what MY name was at this particular prison after this story ended.) would probably let The Heron play a hole with his clubs if we went out to the 14th hole which was way out on the north side of the course close to the highway and not very close to the clubhouse and where it was tough for people who would care to see what was going on. So The Heron and I got on this golf cart and the maintenance man drove us out to the 14th and we caught up with Mr. Mudd and he did think it would be fine to let The Heron play. It was a short par 3, which was nice because it seemed like The Heron might be able to get it done fast before we got in trouble.

The Heron set himself up over the ball and first he aimed the wrong way. Completely. But Mr. Mudd went over and helped him get set up. And The Heron picked that leg of his up and tucked it under his ass and went ahead and made this huge swing with only one leg on the ground. He picked the ball clean right off the tee and sent it flying way up in the air. And he kept on spinning around because of the momentum of his swing and him having only one foot on the ground. He spun completely around two times and then managed to get stopped and was looking to see where the ball he had hit had gone. He was looking the wrong way again. Mr. Mudd and I ran over to him and got him turned around and pointed. And the ball landed way out there just a little bit short of the green. It was actually a pretty good shot. Well, we were all very excited. And yes, I let my guard down. This is why I was so upset at those guys that let that death row inmate get away as I wrote about in my last message.

While I was busy giving The Heron a high five and then turning around to give the maintenance man a high five, damned if The Heron didn't take that chance to clobber me over the head and in the back with that golf club that Mr. Mudd had let him use. And then he ran. After I woke up (he actually did knock me out; I wasn't just embarrassed), they told me that he took off, jumped a fence and hustled out across the highway that was right there and disappeared into this shopping center on the other side. Of course he was wearing his prison outfit, so it wasn't a great decision by him to run there. Of course it wasn't as dumb as getting totally drunk and wandering around Shreveport, Louisiana. Those cops there aren't idiots. They'll catch you if you're a death row inmate on the lam.

And so The Heron got to the shopping center and got changed by stealing some clothes but by then we had him tracked down and we caught him and took him back to jail. Medium security this time. No more golf course work programs for The Heron. No sir.

The best part, though, is that I got my revenge. As you've probably noticed, I don't like being betrayed. Apparently I really don't like being betrayed by people named after long-legged birds. So I got switched over to that medium security prison and a few years later I caught The Heron in the laundry room and this time I was the one with the golf club.

Ten minutes later I got out of there and felt just fine about justice being served. I'm a nice guy, I will support you if you are a man with feelings. But don't cross me. And don't pretend to be a nice guy with feelings just because you want me to let my guard down and start to trust you. Don't do that. Because if you do that and then you betray me, I don't forget it. I make a plan to get even and I take as long as it takes and I get even. In a big way.

Which reminds me, does anybody know how I can use the license plate number of a motorcycle in a western state to find out a street address of a guy that betrayed me and who is named after a long-legged bird? Never mind, I already know. I am a prison guard. We learn that kind of trick pretty early. That's just something you should keep in mind. Remember the Betrayal in Bethesda. And the comeuppance.

November 07, 2005


Hi, folks. I just wanted to put an entry in here to tell you how disgusted us hard-working, conscientious prison guards are about those yay-hoos down in Houston that let that death row inmate get out of their jail. How the hell did they let that happen?


That is so basic. I'd like to have a few minutes in a padded room with the guys that accepted this fellow's story that he didn't have proper credentials because he came in from some other part of the building. They just look at his little badge and let him go.

Thank God he got caught.

See this website: http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory?id=1287703

And apparently before he hurt anyone. One funny thing about all that, I guess, is that he was all drunk up when they caught him. So as much as I hate to say it - I do have a sort of a soft spot in my heart for these prisoners; especially the ones that are comfortable enough with themselves as a man to cry - this guy obviously deserves the chair.

He got out. That is an incredible achievement. And he used his freedom to get so drunk they couldn't even interrogate him on the night he got caught. And he was wandering around out in public talking on pay phones.

Instead of riding his bike to Shreveport, he should have ridden his bike to Mexico.

Well, like I said, thank goodness he got caught apparently before he hurt any other people.