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Pen Pals - The Stinky Buttpocket Part 1

I remember a time not too long ago when I learned that humans come equipped with our own pocket, a marsupial-esque pouch I've dubbed the buttpocket.

I remember a time not too long ago when I learned that humans come equipped with our own pocket, a marsupial-esque pouch I’ve dubbed the buttpocket.  You’d never know how serious boofing—sticking drugs up your stinkhole—is ‘til you come to jail and learn that even real world people are stuffing drugs in their buttpockets or cheekin—nuzzling things between their buttcheeks. The idea is that if the cops roll up on you, you can ram contraband in up your pre-lubricated hole before the porkchop patrol perpetrates a strip search.  I have felt very slick-cheeked walking around with lube in my ass, but it’s a small price to pay for not getting caught.


I will not discuss the assplay involved here in the upstate prisons, since the Investigator General, a Gestapo guy from Albany who reads my mail, visited me and threatened to extend my prison stay a few years ‘cause I am a security-breaching bastard teaching kids how to smuggle drugs in their butts.  Instead, I’ll take it back to Saratoga County Jail in 2006, when I first busted my ass cherry and got busy with a balloon filled with illicit substances.

What could possibly assuage the stress of sitting in jail facing five years in prison for playing with drugs?  Doing and selling more drugs, that’s what. My buttpocket was destined to be a moneymaker. I built a reputation in Saratoga County for being a pleasant drug-dealin’ cracker hookin’ people, so that pretty bitch Karma came back to me in droves.  When someone came to me with a deal I could get high and make money, what was I supposed to do?  I’m the save-money-man with a jellyfish-spine.

Technically, there is no tobacco allowed in any county lockup. If I am going to snort, swallow or inhale anything that came out of someone’s ass, it better make me get-gone long-time.  Yet, a lotta dummies are still smoking cigarettes straight out of someone’s ass.  I call it “buttbacco."  Nothing makes me more furious than a desperate nicotine-addicted cracker wasting all their buttpocket space with poison.  I have seen dudes poop it out, roll it and smoke it without even washing their hands. That’s fucking sick.  Now, if you get some real drugs out of there, you might kill a whole day feeling lovely. So even though I am repulsed by the shit smell, it’s kinda worth it.

You could smell the stank-ass of dudes shoving little and big balloons up their stinkholes after visits at the county jail. I was scared of boofing bulbous balloons and my stripper bitch only delivered me small packages before she left me for a new coke dealing sleazebag.  Most females put the balloons in their panties, but some of them do their own boof technique called the “poof.” The smuggling process needs to be planned and focused or the mule-broad might go down because the COs are detecting drugs on some next level shit with UV lights and screening apparatuses. The balloons should look like a roll of pennies or a very tiny penis.  You can fit about an ounce of weed or 40 pills in a balloon that size easily.  Just think how big some shits are or how females can take a champagne bottle in the pooper.  The asscave is a modern marvel if you ask me.

After our visits, the piece of shit CO usually tells us to get naked, lift our nuts, and spreads our asses.  This is a bizarre ritual.  I remember when mooning a CO, someone was like, “Haha, fuck you!  You looked at my stretched out stinky browneye, you faggot fucker!” The wider we spread it, the better the mooning was. It was best if it was hot and humid and our smelly balls were hanging to our knees. I’ve probably spread my ass for 100 pork-chops. Is that weird? And none of them have ever done anything shady as far as I know.  Sometimes I spread my ass, squat, and I look between my legs to see them and they’re already walking away. That makes me happy.

In reality, there’s no way in hell any of us are retarded enough to leave something hangin’ out of our anus.  Getting stripped is a waste of time.  Even if we don’t boof, we’ll swallow. They won’t find contraband. But if they didn’t look, we’d be cheekin’ guns or very tiny females.  After visits, some jails make you sit in a metal-detector chair that looks like an electric chair. Inmates try to be slick and boof scalpels because those are made of titanium or some other fake metal that can’t be detected by the machine.  My advice is stick to drugs.  No one ever gets caught smuggling drugs if they utilize their buttpocket properly. I can honestly say that if we all get in touch with our buttpockets, the world would be a better place.

Previously - Tales from the Jailhouse JizzWizard