Editor’s note: Bert sent us this handwritten manuscript (most of his stuff is handwritten, as it happens) for the first chapter of a “hood book” he’s working on. Do you know what he means by “hood book,” aka “urban fiction,” “street lit,” etc.? You mean you've never heard of modern classics like Iceberg Slim's Pimp or Sistah Souljah's The Coldest Winter Ever? Oh. Well, have you ever walked around a busy street in an inner-city neighborhood (say Fulton Mall in Brooklyn) and were surprised to see that they actually make books with black people on the covers? Never? OK, well, just read this anyway.
There once was a hoodlum named HardWhite who sold the most rocket-fuel cracks around, which earned him his handle. In the years to follow, the word “hardwhite” became synonymous with other slang of the times such as “fire” or “crack.” A certain broad by the name of GutterBitch—whose vagina famously claimed HardBody as a tenant—was a phrase-coiner just like her man. She was responsible for the saying, “He hits harder than a dick.”
Now, HardWhite had a bad habit of sniffin’ the dope, spending the crack money he made, and making many-a-bitch fall in love with his relentless dopedick poundings. Gettin' money and gettin’ high was all that seemed to put him at ease with the skin he was in, and that lifestyle meant you could find him locked up in the stinkin’ clink more often than not.
By a stroke of luck, HardWhite met a crackhead commonly called RockBottom while languishing in anguish in the pen. RockBottom supplied the jail population with its opiate fix. Coincidences are a motherfucker, ‘cause RockBottom’s get-high was traveling through his buttpocket via GutterBitch’s snatch express. Turns out that GutterBitch was his number one money-makin’ ho and all-around cock-sucking partner in slime. As chance would be, HardWhite was on the visit room floor fingering his fat girl when he saw GutterBitch suckin’ face and passing a package into RockBottom’s mouth.
After the visit, HardWhite explained to RockBottom, “Yo, bruv, GutterBitch is my bitch. I fuck the shit out of her on the regular, bruv.”
“Oh, werr? She told me about a white boy who beats the pussy up harder than a dick… That’s you?”
“Oh, shit. That’s HardWhite, hommie.”
“Naw, bruv, I am HardWhite… Your name is RockBottom, right?”
“Yeaaaah! You know the name?!”
“Fo’ sho, my bruv, GutterBitch been hookin’ me witcha dog food for awhile. And she been sendin’ you that cooked I got.”
“There’s no shame in my game, I smoke the shit outta that.”
And, thus, another deliciously destructive relationship was created by the lucrative machinery that manifests from the combination of prison, pussy, and drugs. The only thing missing was rap music, but the duo soon to be known as HardWhite and RockBottom (like Simon and Garfunkel) would get to that by the time they reached their end…
But first thing’s first, they needed to get the hump outta jail. With the shady business that they were starting up, they might never make it the fuck out. Those boys were trapped in an addictive lifestyle that usually end up in a vicious cycle of misery at least half the time. But if they’re one of the lucky ones, they might make it out with a bonetastic existence.
In zero seconds flat, RockBottom sent word to GutterBitch that her favorite pussy-pounding, crack-slinging, dope-sniffin’ cracker was locked in the stinkin’ clink ready to play the right-hand man if he could just get to his stash stuck in the outside world. In GutterBitch we trust, for her fun-freaky mocha ass picked up that ghetto glorious hardwhite fuego and stuffed it in her co-whore’s (a thunder-ass packin’ mongrel named Twerk ‘n’ Jerk) poofbox. With some tight balloons stashed in her panties, Twerk ‘n’ Jerk visited HardWhite and brazenly fished the loonies out and stuffed them in HardWhite’s mouth while the porkchops stared at GutterBitch’s can-can chilling in the breeze across the visit room. Meanwhile, GutterBitch had already spit her package into RockBottom’s mouth when she kissed him upon arrival.
HardWhite pulled the loonies out his mouth and jammed them in his pre-lubed buttpocket. Being more experienced and reckless with his comparatively small package of pharmaceutical-grade heroin, RockBottom simply cheeked the balloon of dope in the back of his mouth where it shared space with his rotten wisdom teeth. Even if the CO asked him to open his mouth during the post-visit strip search, a couple grams of dope tightly packaged in a thin balloon would be undetectable. The eight-ball of rock HardWhite received was flurry enough that he couldn’t even swallow it in any hole other than his anus.
When you’re dealing with seasoned pros like these smugglers it’s nearly impossible to stop them. Not only will they both manage to get high for a week, they’ll pocket a couple hundred dollars charging the exorbitant drug prices found in jail. More importantly, they’ll get a level of respect that only the drug-dealing jailhouse royalty receive. It’s a fine line to sniff, but as long as they played their cards right, life would be bonerable, despite them being locked the fuck up. But HardWhite and RockBottom had to beware, because one false move would have them leaking liquid bricks of shitty piss out of their thirsty asses…
Stay tuned for Part 2
Bert Burykill is the pseudonym of our prison correspondent, who has spent time in a number of prisons in New York State. He tweets here.
Previously - Holidays in Jail