quakefiend420
Lifer
- Aug 26, 2004
- 14,685
- 1
- 76
I had a friend who was in jail for roughly a year:
according to friend. Being in jail is about respect. You must hang out with your own race as soon as you get in, and do not step on other's toes. If you do, and that person it outside of your own race, your group has to either punish you out of respect for the others, or decide not to back you up, and send you away.
that was about the summary he gave me. jail seems to have thier own form of government.
according to friend. Being in jail is about respect. You must hang out with your own race as soon as you get in, and do not step on other's toes. If you do, and that person it outside of your own race, your group has to either punish you out of respect for the others, or decide not to back you up, and send you away.
that was about the summary he gave me. jail seems to have thier own form of government.
HardcoreRobot
Lifer
- Nov 7, 2000
- 16,403
- 3
- 81
a friends brother was just in jail for 10 days for violating drug probation
he said it was mostly full of crackheads, but i havent gotten any good stories
he said it was mostly full of crackheads, but i havent gotten any good stories
quakefiend420
Lifer
- Aug 26, 2004
- 14,685
- 1
- 76
IHateMyJob2004
Lifer
- Sep 29, 2004
- 18,656
- 67
- 91
quakefiend420
Lifer
- Aug 26, 2004
- 14,685
- 1
- 76
"What exactly is tossin salad?... When a man is sucking you #$%$ he could pretend it's something else, but when he is eating ass, he knows he's eating ass." Chris Rock on HBO Special
TheLonelyPhoenix
Diamond Member
- Feb 15, 2004
- 5,594
- 1
- 0
My freshman year of college, someone in my dorm was caught by a mob of cops as he was flailing at an unmarked cruiser, completely drunk, screaming "I hate pigs! I hate pigs!"
He went to the drunk tank for the night, and woke up in a puddle of his own urine, still wasted. They ended up having to give him another cell because of how bad the smell was, where he took off his piss-soaked pants, threw them in a corner, and sat huddled on the floor with his sweatshirt pulled down around his legs. The other guys in there were not happy about how badly it reeked... a couple of them threatened to sodomize him the next time they saw him.
He's also the only person I've ever known with a prison name: Piss-Pants.
He went to the drunk tank for the night, and woke up in a puddle of his own urine, still wasted. They ended up having to give him another cell because of how bad the smell was, where he took off his piss-soaked pants, threw them in a corner, and sat huddled on the floor with his sweatshirt pulled down around his legs. The other guys in there were not happy about how badly it reeked... a couple of them threatened to sodomize him the next time they saw him.
He's also the only person I've ever known with a prison name: Piss-Pants.
What do you want, a cookie?
You're not supposed to go to jail you low expectation having mothafvcka.
-Chris Rock
I was headed to Santa Fe to pick up a friend and give him a ride home to Colorado Springs for Thanksgiving. I got pulled over for doing 95 in a 75 in MiddleOfNowhere, Colorado at almost 1am. I didn't even know the cruiser was behind me until I saw the red & blues -- there weren't any other cars for miles and miles and miles. At the time, though, I unfortunately had a red license that permitted work, school and grocery store trips, and only during defined hours. 300 miles from Colorado Springs was not included.
So he cuffed me and off to the slammer I went. On the way there (Over an hour's drive!), though, we stopped and helped a lady with a flat tire. Ended up at the police station. It was very difficult a good-sized man like me (6' ~225) to get out of the back of a cruiser while having my hands cuffed behind my back - eventually the cop just grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the car, where I face planted into the cement with a grunt. I still remember that clearly. I was booked, stripped of all my possessions and given a orange jumper to wear. Nobody else was in the holding cell at all.
Eventually called a bondsman (bail was $500) because it was a Saturday morning and the earliest court was Monday, and no way was I going to stay in a cell over the weekend. Unfortunately, the bondsman didn't like the fact that I was 20 and had nothing to offer - had only been at my job a year or two, no collateral, nothing ... except credit cards. Including his fees I put almost $700 onto my credit cards that night. I was so broke that I had to borrow twenty bucks from the bondsman to pay for my motel room. I called my parents and they got up and drove down and picked my sorry a$$ up at 4:30am. My mother wouldn't talk to me for months, and my father's only comment was "Wow son, you really f*cked this one up."
So I only spent an hour or two in a cell, but the cinderblock walls and the cement floor were hard, cold and extremely harsh. I have a phobia of cells now, and haven't had a ticket since then -- before this time, I'd racked up almost 8 vehicle-related tickets in just under two years.
So he cuffed me and off to the slammer I went. On the way there (Over an hour's drive!), though, we stopped and helped a lady with a flat tire. Ended up at the police station. It was very difficult a good-sized man like me (6' ~225) to get out of the back of a cruiser while having my hands cuffed behind my back - eventually the cop just grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the car, where I face planted into the cement with a grunt. I still remember that clearly. I was booked, stripped of all my possessions and given a orange jumper to wear. Nobody else was in the holding cell at all.
Eventually called a bondsman (bail was $500) because it was a Saturday morning and the earliest court was Monday, and no way was I going to stay in a cell over the weekend. Unfortunately, the bondsman didn't like the fact that I was 20 and had nothing to offer - had only been at my job a year or two, no collateral, nothing ... except credit cards. Including his fees I put almost $700 onto my credit cards that night. I was so broke that I had to borrow twenty bucks from the bondsman to pay for my motel room. I called my parents and they got up and drove down and picked my sorry a$$ up at 4:30am. My mother wouldn't talk to me for months, and my father's only comment was "Wow son, you really f*cked this one up."
So I only spent an hour or two in a cell, but the cinderblock walls and the cement floor were hard, cold and extremely harsh. I have a phobia of cells now, and haven't had a ticket since then -- before this time, I'd racked up almost 8 vehicle-related tickets in just under two years.
My acquaintance, Mike, is going through the court system for being an accomplice to second degree murder. Apparently he and a buddy got into it with a couple guys outside a strip club -- they scuffled and it ended. Mike and his buddy thought it would be cool to chase them down in their car, though. So both cars pull over ~2 miles from the club, and they get out and start duking it out. Mike's buddy whips out a knife and slices one guys belly open, then stabs him in the chest 3 times. The victim and his friend jump in their car and head for the hospital, but the victim is DOA.
Mike and his buddy sped off to Mike's place, where they washed the knife and buried it, then burned their clothes (soaked in blood). Well, the cops found the ashes and the knife and the blood in the sink, and now Mike is fscked.
Unfortunately, Mike's parents have tons of money and own a local cigar shop and homebrew store where all the big muckitymucks in town go to buy their vices. All the lawyers and judges are on a firstname basis with his parents, so Mike will probably get a slap on the wrist and a fine. I'd like to see him in a ditch.
True story. Happening right now.
Mike and his buddy sped off to Mike's place, where they washed the knife and buried it, then burned their clothes (soaked in blood). Well, the cops found the ashes and the knife and the blood in the sink, and now Mike is fscked.
Unfortunately, Mike's parents have tons of money and own a local cigar shop and homebrew store where all the big muckitymucks in town go to buy their vices. All the lawyers and judges are on a firstname basis with his parents, so Mike will probably get a slap on the wrist and a fine. I'd like to see him in a ditch.
True story. Happening right now.
Went to jail two times, each for less than one day. Once for a DUI where I sat in a holding take to get untanked - uneventful. The other time was waiting for release from a wreckless driving charge:
It was early in the morning as I went in for sentencing. I was to wear one of those ankle transmitter jobbers but had to wait until the end of the day for transportation and setup at my house (for 60 days). I was stripped of jewelry and shoes, but kept my clothing and just went through a pat-down. Into the "Bull Pen" I went with four other characters.
First, I met a wirey caucasion guy that was held for domestic violence. Classic stereotype with a splotchy beard of a 14 year old, clothes straight out of 1986 (this was 1996), dumb as hell but was clearly the leader of the crew. He talked of wannabe anarchist philosophy and looked like he could use a cigarette - or twleve.
Next, was a very large African American gentleman. This fellow reminded me much of that guy from The Green Mile. Although rather slow in speech and movement, he was the nicest of the bunch. He was in jail waiting prosecution for getting busted with five pounds of pot in his trunk, divided up in units of saleable units. I inwardly chuckled at the protest of his "intent to sell" charge.
Lastly, was the Native American fellow. He was rather mentally dull and was in the clink for being the getaway driver for a bank robbery. I'd never encountered a bank robber before and knowing the security and surveilance of finance instititions, this dullard did not disappoint my preconceived stereotype of one.
All of these guys had been put in "The Pen" because they had been accused of smokeing pot in prison. Being the nineteen year-old world-n00b I was, I was most curious as to how these guys 1) aquired pot in jail and 2) got equipment to light the hooch in a non-smoking pen. I had not the balls to ask the first question but the answer to the second was offered me: apparently it's common practice to gnaw a #2 Dixon-Ticonderoga to the graphite innards, place these carbon rods of semiconductivity in electrical outlets and bridge the poles with toilet paper until the short circuit created fire. Yay for McGuyver jail activities.
After roughly 9 hours, I was freed but still look at this racial joke in-the-making as a defining moment in my life - mostly because I have decided to never aspire to be a small, wirey white guy selling pot out of my trunk while driving for a band robber. I consider it a lesson learned.
It was early in the morning as I went in for sentencing. I was to wear one of those ankle transmitter jobbers but had to wait until the end of the day for transportation and setup at my house (for 60 days). I was stripped of jewelry and shoes, but kept my clothing and just went through a pat-down. Into the "Bull Pen" I went with four other characters.
First, I met a wirey caucasion guy that was held for domestic violence. Classic stereotype with a splotchy beard of a 14 year old, clothes straight out of 1986 (this was 1996), dumb as hell but was clearly the leader of the crew. He talked of wannabe anarchist philosophy and looked like he could use a cigarette - or twleve.
Next, was a very large African American gentleman. This fellow reminded me much of that guy from The Green Mile. Although rather slow in speech and movement, he was the nicest of the bunch. He was in jail waiting prosecution for getting busted with five pounds of pot in his trunk, divided up in units of saleable units. I inwardly chuckled at the protest of his "intent to sell" charge.
Lastly, was the Native American fellow. He was rather mentally dull and was in the clink for being the getaway driver for a bank robbery. I'd never encountered a bank robber before and knowing the security and surveilance of finance instititions, this dullard did not disappoint my preconceived stereotype of one.
All of these guys had been put in "The Pen" because they had been accused of smokeing pot in prison. Being the nineteen year-old world-n00b I was, I was most curious as to how these guys 1) aquired pot in jail and 2) got equipment to light the hooch in a non-smoking pen. I had not the balls to ask the first question but the answer to the second was offered me: apparently it's common practice to gnaw a #2 Dixon-Ticonderoga to the graphite innards, place these carbon rods of semiconductivity in electrical outlets and bridge the poles with toilet paper until the short circuit created fire. Yay for McGuyver jail activities.
After roughly 9 hours, I was freed but still look at this racial joke in-the-making as a defining moment in my life - mostly because I have decided to never aspire to be a small, wirey white guy selling pot out of my trunk while driving for a band robber. I consider it a lesson learned.
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