Locked Up and Loaded
Jail food isn’t as awful as you might imagine, but eating it three times a day year after year is straight-up tortureful. Indigent inmates cannot afford food from the commissary and often do not have people on the outside for support, so they are relegated to nothing but messhall chow. It’s kinda rough livin’ with nothing but heels of white bread, instant rice and potatoes, and TVP anus meat on the plate. Throw in some corn flakes and powdered eggs for breakfast and your life basically sucks—thousands of days eating the same cocksucking slop, week after hog-flogging week. Forget feasting on fresh fruit or vegetables. You get nothing fresh… EVER. The allowed 35-pound monthly package from the outside is the only possible glitter on the bitter bitch’s butthole that I call prison-cuisine.
You know what makes jail-vittles borderline bonerable though? Getting hit with the ill munchies after snorting a certain beta-blocking opiate substitute drug called Suboxone. This strange orange octagonal pill tastes like bitter Tang and makes you feel like you’re dust-busted on dope. Prison heads are getting TURNED OUT on this shit. It’s mega cheap, one pill gets a lotta people plastered, and most important, it doesn’t show up on Department of Correctional Services drug tests. I’ve had close to 100 of those by now, and a single failed test I had to go to the Special Housing Unit (SHU) where I was handled like an incorrigable violent criminal. The moneymakers specially designed “the box,” or SHU, for inmates who were severe security threats, yet 75 percent of the suckers were stuck in there only for pissing dirty, which is hardly a violent crime.
I decided pissin’ dirty was bad for my swaggalaggastagga so I switched to this Suboxone shit and I’ve been a happier cracker ever since! YOU GET HIGH FOR FREE and IT’S LEGAL. At the rehab I currently attend, the only people who willingly let loose in the group are the ones high on Suboxone. They have fun talking about feelings ‘cause they’re wasted, while you sit there dreaming of bein’ finger-fucked by a foxy midget from a far-off region of the Ukraine.
Even if it rots the brain, Suboxone manages to transform eating into a near orgasmic experience. The munchies you’ll experience are monumental. You sniff, scratch, sleep, and eat in about five minute intervals and repeat until the drug wears off. You will clean out your whole locker of grub fuckin’ around with the orange. You’ll eat off the prison floor, travel a quarter mile through the cold to the mess hall, endure hundreds of dickhead inmates in your presence, and then feast with inebriated vigor on some foul shit called TURKEY A LA KING.
Unfortunately, it makes snuggly Suzie, my latex-glove fuckbag, feel like a giant unbonerable vagina. Sometimes you’ll marinate in the spunkatorium for a couple hours strokin’ thorough without producing the daintiest speck of sperm, but still kinda enjoy the furious bone-beating because you’ve sniffed some Suboxone.
I also used to snort this brain-wasting splooge called Seroquel. The County Jail handed it out like candy and a number of inmates sold it after secretly stashing it in their cheeks and evading detection by the nurse doing the mouth check. Just like Suboxone, one pill of Seroquel can mangle a number of dudes without a tolerance for the drug. In the real world, it’s prescribed to schizophrenics and bi-polar types, but all it does, as far as I can tell, is get you apple-pie-high-hungry and then sleepy mega-longtime. It is the perfect drug for County Jail, ‘cause it helps you sleep while you’re dealing with the legal battles, and causes massive hunger even for shitty Eukanuba-tasting jail-chow (which is the same Sysco-manufactured food that public school sheep feed on).
When you’re in prison, you don’t know what Suboxone and Seroquel do to the human brain and oddly enough you don’t care. Personally, I’d be more comfortable sniffin’ a street bag of heroin than takin’ those pills. But when you’re locked in the clink-clink, where everything tastes like stale sperm, those drugs sure make you feel real swell.
Previously – Parole Blows
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Welcome to the Bananapocalypse
The Return of Radioactive Man
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