Prison and Ghost Stories

There was a riot over the weekend at a CA prison that left over 100 prisoners injured of which several remain in hospital. The riot, which was believed to be a race war between the Mexican and African American prison communities, left several wings of the prison damaged by physical destruction and in one case a fire. Even after the prison, along with others around the state, was put on a modified lockdown, the prisoners were still able to start the riot. Lasting just over four hours, the riot was said to involve over 1000 inmates with only 80 guards to help contain it. At one point, police and firemen were called in to assist with squashing the uprising. CA officials are now saying the damage could run the state an estimated $5-8M to bring the facility back to normal operating conditions.

Wait. What? The tax payers in CA, an already budget depleted state, are going to have to fork out $5-8M to repair a facility that probably had and has better facilities than most of the citizens of the state? I don’t think the officials in CA are looking into all of their options very well. First off, there are a little over 5000 inmates living in said prison, 2000 more than it’s supposed to have. Let’s take out roughly 1000 for inmates who for physical or mental reason cannot work. Take out the other 3000 inmates who weren’t involved in the riot and move them to the nicer parts of the prison that weren’t touched during the riot. Now we’re down to the remaining 1000 or so inmates who were involved. That’s a lot of free labor to the state to rebuild what they tore down. We all know that there’s no way they’ll make them work for free. Ok, pay them the minimum prison wage for a day’s work. Offer jobs to the inmates not involved in the riot double that amount and the state still comes out ahead. The money earned can then be used to replace the amenities that were destroyed by the riots. New gym? Ok, the inmates cut will be X dollars. New television sets? Ok, here’s the bill for those. See how it all works out…
Also…Ever heard of tents? CA typically has good weather. Put up several rows of 1-2 person tents and let the rioters sleep on the thin sleeping bags. Make them dig their own latrines. If it was and is good enough for some out troops then its damn sure good enough for prisoners who can’t act like humans.

What about food? You ask. Easy. Release chickens, wild boar, and goats out into a wooded area close to the prison. Enclose the area with large fences and put guards all around. Give the prisoners survival knifes and set them loose 10-20 at a time. Those who come back with food get to eat for awhile, those who come back injured get to train harder and get stronger (which makes them better builders). Those who don’t come back at all, well, survival of the fittest is a bitch sometimes. Get over it.
Of course, none of this would ever work. There’d be a prisoner’s rights group somewhere that would cry and complain that this is inhumane treatment and we can’t treat people, even prisoners like that. Let’s not worry about any of the victims of said prisoners’ crimes. Refer to my earlier post, prisoners have no rights. That’s why they’re in prison. So eff you and what you think may or may not be inhumane. As wards of the state, the state should be allowed to force prisoners to do almost anything, short of being tortured. If you don’t agree, why don’t you take in 5 or so of the prisoners, pay for their housing, food, clothing, and all other life needs? If you’re so worried about the prisoners and the way they are treated, then you take the burden off the state and you take care of them. You make sure they don’t rob, steal, rape, murder, and molest any more. But wait…when you fail at doing so, and the prisoner(s) in your care commit another crime, you go to prison with them. That sounds fair.

In other fun time news. My girlfriend decided last night that it would be fun to introduce her two oldest boys to ghost stories. To her credit, she didn’t go out and find the most horrific ghost stories ever told. She searched for kid friendly ghost stories, probably meaning to find something a little scary but a little silly as well. Both stories were pretty simple in storyline and structure, but not as kid friendly as maybe we thought they would be. The first story was about the ghost of a lady dressed in grey that would enter a grocery store every few nights. The night crew would witness the ghostly lady walk into the store, go back to the dairy section and take a container of milk. After the third night two of the crew members decided to chase her to what was going on. The chase ended in a cemetery where the two men found empty containers of milk beside a fresh grave. This is when they heard the cries of an infant. The grave was dug up and inside they found the body of a little old lady dressed in grey with an infant in her arms. The infant was thought to have died with the mother and buried with her. The ghost of the mother had come into the store to get milk in order to keep her child alive. That’s how the story ended. Or is it? The actual story goes on to follow the child; a little girl who was in standard cliché fashion was named Miracle. (Vomit) Miracle was shuffled around in the foster care system for most of her life, in and out of schools, never really able to make friends. All the other kids would make fun of her and call her things like ‘Dead Titty Baby’ and ‘Mommy Killer.’ She had a learning disorder which made her read slower than the other kids and kids being kids would tease her. “Wow! You’re dead mother reads better than you” They’d say. Miracle began to withdraw from society. She sat alone during lunch and recess. As she entered into her middle school years she would always pick the desk in the far back corner in each class. She found acceptance amongst the ‘Goth’ kids. She began wearing all black and using white make up to cover her acne riddled cheeks and chin. She began smoking in the 7th grade which matured into pot smoking by the 8th. The summer before her freshman year in high school she was introduced to X, heroin, and blow. All of which she continued to do through her freshman and into her sophomore year. When she was 15, Miracle was placed in the home of a well respected couple whom were pillars of the community and known for their work with foster children. Little did the public know that very couple had a dark-dark secret that only their foster children knew about. Miracle was no exception.

It was only a few days after being placed in the home that Miracle was abruptly thrown in to the couple’s horrid dungeon. A basement with chains hooked to deep rooted bolts all over the floor. Sewing machines, industrial ironing boards, washers and dryers lined the walls. Long sinks and ringers paralleled each other down the center of the dank moist basement. Every day, as soon as the children arrived home from school, they were forced to change into ragged clothing and head down to the basement where they were given their leg shackles and assigned to a station. For the next 12 hours, in the dark, moist, sweltering basement, they were forced to do the laundry of the townspeople. Hundreds and hundreds of pounds a day. Washing, ringing, drying, and pressing…Over and over and over again. Yes, the foster family was none other than Joseph and Carolyn Comet. (Not of the gritty toilet cleaner fame, but of the chain dry cleaning chain. They had to get started somewhere.)

It only took a few months for miracle to get flustered with the way the Comets’ treated her. In a very convenient coincidence, Miracle could have been The Comets’ oldest daughter’s twin sister. Every night around 11pm, the oldest daughter, Sabrina, would bring down water and animal crackers, (ya know, the cheap ones you can buy in the 50 gallon drums at Sam’s for $8). Miracle began to study Sabrina’s movements every night. Being cursed with OCD, Sabrina did the exact same thing every single night at exactly the same time. This routine included one and only one opportunity for Miracle to make her escape. Right before Sabrina would make her ascent back up the stairs she would bend over and wipe down her faux leather shoes off with a damp rag. Nineteen times on the right shoe and seventeen times on the left, no more, no less…Ever!

The night finally came. Sabrina came down, made her away around the basement exactly as she did every night. She finally reached the stairs, stopped, grabbed her rag and bent over. Miracle hurled herself away from the steaming ironing board and ran in slow motion, like in the movies, towards the stairs. (No, she really ran in slow motion. If she made too much noise Sabrina would hear her and get away…Plus, Miracle was a bit of a drama queen and kind of liked the theatrics of it all.) When she was only a few feet away from Sabrina she leapt into the air, head first, arms stretched in front of her, mouth and eyes wide open, screaming as she prepared for the impact of her cat like pounce. The chain stretched tight, then tighter. The sound of the clink could be heard just under Miracle’s high pitched karate yell. THUMP! A cloud of brown dust flew up around Miracle’s body as she fell flat on her face. (Which was odd seeing how the basement was always so damp.) She forgot to measure her chain and came up just a wee bit short of her target. Sabrina turned around quickly, startled by the sound and gust of air that just hit her in the buttocks. “Miracle!” She yelled. “What on Earth are you doing?” Miracle looked up, defeated, out of breath, “I was going to trade places with you and run away from this place. I thought that we looked so much alike I could get away with it.” Sabrina helped Miracle to her feet, dusted off her clothes and face, (Again, why so much dust in a wet basement?) and then grabbed her close and hugged her. After a few seconds Sabrina began to whisper something in Miracle’s ear. “There’s a reason you and I look so much alike…It’s because…we’re…you and me…well…we’re…”

To be continued…