Scrappy New Queer, Visitors!

     I was having an hellacious time getting motivated the last day plus change, thrusting through this heap-big doozy of an essay when I ran outta steam and joi de vivre all around. Flattened by a wave of ennui, feeling unappreciated in numerous corners which also causes me to wonder if I'm a whiny bitch but we experience what we do sometimes. It passed thankfully, then a million dollar topical gift plopped onto my doorstep here at No-Point Training Center. Pure writing magic, like in storybooks flying in on a broomstick. This particular broomstick, by the way, was up the ass of a 300+ pound felon called "Michael Myers".

     Yesterday word in the Pill Call line was that a kitchen inmate got caught with a broom inside their keister. If you refer to last week's letter, you'll see we have a high density of sex offenders, bringing a perpetual crop of fuck-ness in it's wake.

 

 

 

 

 

Too, there's inmate.com, our notorious Fake News grapevine. My instinct at nine years in this looney-bin daycare center landed on the latter, so I wadded up this mental note and disposed of it before hitting the dorm.

     Inside a day, moss gathered on the stone of that cleaning tool/rectum spectacle, juicy tidbits like the arresting officer, locale, attending Aramark employee, and other minutia breathing reality into the property. At last a name - " Timmy", a rotund Dorm 6 attendee sporting a long beard was the culprit. The name eluded me, and the storyteller dealt it with the conviction that this broom-banger was a fixture. Then, the yard name - "Michael Myers", him with the long, stringy hair, crap face-tat, and a massive figure acquired from Pepsis not pull ups.

     I realize this could paint a sympathetic angle, but backing that lens a few yards to take in the full beauty of Myers close-up with the broom handle he was kind enough to prophylaxis-ize with plastic wrap, yet not

 

 

 

 

 

smart enough to put a trash bag under the door marking it "occupied" which if your aim is obviously premeditated selfish love with a substantial object, speaking for myself I'd want to enjoy the moment worry-free (I'm lacking empathy here - I can't get a pinky in without wanting to scream - I suck at being queer sometimes), I'd make sure security was job #1. Oh, for a pic of that mug when the officer and accompanist employee opened that door, and if only the guard wouldv'e had a Sharpee handy to put a gauge mark on the handle. My dorm-mates say I'm sick, but I think they're being coy not wanting to know depth. Here it is: anal fetish, cool. You aim to tell me there was no bottled product available from commissary this individual couldn't simply tote privately into the confines of the shower and bugger himself silly without raping the mop's husband at work risking his job and freedom? If only an object of those dimensions can handle the job with the risks involved, color me by-God

 

 

 

 

 

 

impressed first-off. Maybe a family member started him with cleaning supplies when he was a kid. You never know here. Thing is, this "victim" was a bully, too. He gave hell to an ex of mine about what we did in private that was none of his business. There was another thing though that was much worse...

     There's this kid (22, I'll call that "kid and stand by it) here that myself and several others stand by. He goes to GED classes every day and tries his ass off even gets visibly upset when he doesn't have a good day there. Kind of a slob, but he gets better by and by, like anybody's goofy kid brother total sports junkie, yelling at the TV and getting on numerous people's nerves though instantly forgivable. His pop and girlfriend send him cash and supplies that for a while he was generous with, falling for the hard luck stories of every Tom, Dick, and Horny in the sex offenders unit (his case is shenanigans, I've delved as many have) until he was starting to do without and the shit-birds

 

 

 

 

 

surrounding him were living off him, so he cut them off. Resentment bred hatred and a gaggle of haters hatched a plot, slipping a knife under his rack and ratting him to the cops. The poor youth got dragged from the shower to the hole. " Luckily" with the intense surveillance we're chronically under the plan was uncovered immediately with the victim liberated. Broomancer Michael Myers was one of the conspirators sent to solitary for the conspiracy. Therefore I don't feel terribly shameful spilling the tea, making fun of his fat ass getting shoved out of the broom closet.

     STOP THE PRESSES! Okay, real-time adjunct to this exciting tale of commercial kitchen clean up lust: TWO stories have hit the wing via one inmate, and at publication time I'm unsure of the integrity of which. 1) Michael Myers was voraciously masturbating while riding his broomstick (he IS a practicing Wiccan, I'll point out) 2) there was a bag of boneless wings already halfway in the perp's anal cavity and the

 

 

 

 

 

broomstick was jamming the nuggets up in there. His plans for the X-Treme Buffalo/BBQ sauce(s) celery, Blue Cheese, and Ranch weren't addressed. I'll follow up next week with responses from the hole (double entendre goldmine, this).

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    My New Years Resolution is to double down on all the things I failed miserably at last year.

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Peace out! Batilla Da Hun'