Pen Pals – Medium Security Insomnia

My dorm has 60 dudes in it. There are ten cubes with bunk beds, and the rest are singles. The cubes are like office cubicles, with no individual roofs, and they blow. There’s no privacy, and as I write this while standing at my locker, a pair of fuckfaces have their lamps shining in my face. It’s 2:30 AM and I’m listening to Diana Ross’s “Upside Down” on the radio because the only radio stations I get are Canadian and they suck. My bunkie is doing sit-ups on the bed and it’s shaking the whole frame. The guy across from me who has the light in my eyes is lying down, farting, reading Batman, and eating a bowl of Cheetos. I’m sick and tired of this.

I’ve got a lot of problems I can’t do anything about. For instance, I can’t do anything right now about this fucking retard sitting on a top bunk cutting his toenails in the dark. His nails are flying all over the place and I can hear him through my headphones. Some people enjoy shooting nails all over the dorm. I once found a huge fungus-crusted big toenail on my blanket.

I haven’t cut my hair in two years and it has the texture of dry straw. It’s irritating my neck and back right now, but I won’t get haircuts in prison ever again. Normally I put my hair in a ponytail but it’s still wet from a shower four hours ago. My asshole itches, too. If it’s not pinworms it’s probably because some nights I’ll systematically and compulsively yank all my asshole hairs out and then they grow back like little hedgehog quills pricking my anus and buttcheeks.

I’ve been picking my nose like a madman, too. No boogers—it just itches. I guess that’s another new bad habit. My eyes are about to close but I know I won’t get to sleep because I slept until two this afternoon. Also, my mattress is only four inches thick and stuffed with—if I had to guess—dead birds.

A few months ago I hurt my right knee doing squats and now it always hurts. I got eczema on my cock and it won’t go away. I’ve had crippling pain in my right testicle for four years. They ultrasounded it and said I was cancer-free. It’s either a hernia or a varicocele, but they won’t give me treatment. Maybe when I get out some broad might suck my balls—that’d make everything better.

I want to jerk off but won’t because there’s already a line forming for the spunkatorium, so I’ll just go to bed and flex my cock in frustration until I nod off listening to Coast to Coast. But I don’t want to listen to Coast to Coast tonight because some stupid lady is babbling about talking to dead people. I’m still confused about the show from last night where this health food broad claimed that gluten kills more people than heroin, which is shitty, because I really enjoy wheat bread. Now some dickbag is talking about Mothman sightings in West Virginia. He has a British accent and is dead serious about this. Sometimes I’m up so late I listen to the Bob and Tom Show, which comes on at 5 AM and is funny enough that I stay up until I have to go to work at 8:00. I’m a stinking garbageman. Literally stinking. I eat raw garlic all the time because I think it’ll keep me healthy. I stink so bad people stay away from me.

I need to put some hydrocortisone on my cock before I crawl into bed. I know as soon as I get up on the top bunk I’ll have to piss and I’ll probably hurt my knee when I jump down. I’ll go to the bathroom and listen to the rhythmic sounds of beating off coming from the spunkatorium. Then I’ll dream about cheesecake and caressing girls’ butts.

BERT BURYKILL

Previously – Nobody’s Taking My Peanut Butter

Bert Burykill is the pseudonym of a guy serving time in a medium-security prison in upstate New York for drug possession. We don’t want to get more specific than that, because apparently the prison doesn’t look kindly on its inmates publishing anything negative about incarceration.