Talk Is Cheap

I’ve spent most of my life actively trying to avoid violence. For the most part, I find violence quite deplorable. Usually, I feel, when people engage in violence, it’s because they’ve run outta good ideas at resolving a problem. But sometimes, violence is the only language a person will understand. The only way to get a message through to them. 

In jail, violence is practically the only language used to solve issues. Doing time in Los Angles County Jail is never any fun. It’s a delicate ecosystem made up of not so delicate men, and when you step outta line in that ecosystem you get dealt with real quick. Fights happen constantly in jail. For whatever reason. If it’s not for something you do then it’s something you say. I learned pretty early on in one of my first long stints in jail about pretty obvious fighting words. Unless you wanna get down with someone then don’t use words like “punk” or “bitch” or you’re gonna find yourself in a scrap real fast. Goes without saying.

But sometimes, fights, or ass beatings, happen without any declaration of it commencing. Cumulatively, I’ve spent almost 2 years in the county jail. And trust me, that’s plenty long enough to know it fucking sucks. In that time, I took a couple ass kickings. 

One time, I got my ass beat by 3 black guys. I got into it with a younger black guy and when him and I got into it, 3 other black guys jumped in. So more like 4 black guys lol. You see, there was supposed to be “no politics” in that particular dorm. When I go to jail, I have to take meds for my bipolar condition, so I go to yellows and blues. Service area. That’s where people take meds. I’ve been to the mainline before but the main difference is “no politics.” The races aren’t segregated. That, and you’re in there with all the crazies. The J Cats. Crazy people. And there’s plenty of those. Believe that. But the good news about yellow and blues is you can usually fight whoever you want regardless of race and it’s just between the two of you. No politics involved. That wasn’t the case in this particular dorm. But I didn’t know that.

This was the 5900 dorm in Men’s Central Jail. Although there were no official politics, the dorm itself was run by the blacks. Like a gang. So “no politics” was kind of a joke.

For obvious reasons when you get into a new dorm or pod in jail you kinda have to figure out who runs what and who is who at first. It was my second day in the dorm. So when I got into it with one of the blacks you could bet I got more than I bargained for. After I got beat up enough that I was bleeding out my nose and my mouth. They told me to get my ass in the shower so they could mop up the blood on the floor before the deputies patrolled through the dorm on one of their walks. I went in the shower and snot rocketed bloody snot and blood clotted boogers out of my nose. After I got out of the shower, I actually spoke with the younger black guy who I initially got into it with. We exchanged words that basically alluded to the idea that what happened was essentially business. I knew what he meant. It was my own fault too. It was my second month in jail. I still really didn’t fully understand the get down right away and it took some hard trial and error figuring out how to properly conduct myself.

After all, I’m a white kid from the middle class suburbs. Jail really isn’t the place for a guy like me usually. But I had to learn fast and stay on my toes if I was gonna survive the heinous bullshit I was being subjected to for a crime I didn’t even commit. 

I wish I could say that was the only ass kicking I took in that particular 7 month long jail stint, but it wasn’t. I also happened to get knocked out cold in the day room in the 5800 dorm of MCJ. It was a dorm that they kept the lights off 24 hours a day and I swear to God it was as cold as a God damn meat freezer. I used to wake up in the middle of the night and go hop in the shower just to keep from shivering because the one thin jail blanket they gave me wasn’t doing shit. 

So I got into it with a huge black guy named Shadow in 5800 and he laid me out in the middle of the dayroom over some petty bullshit. When I came to, I was standing in the bathroom and time seemed to be going backwards. It was very bizarre. Getting knocked out is a very weird sensation.

In jail, violence finds you whether you go looking for it or not. If you’re in there long enough, your chances of getting into it with someone increase by the day. It’s bound to happen eventually. 

So those were two instances of me taking an ass kicking in jail. But now I understand how people can get institutionalized. I barely did any time in the county. I can only imagine what it’s like doing years in a state penitentiary. All I know is the longer I stayed in jail the more the violence and the jail mentality started to rub off on me. I learned how to program. I learned how to talk inside. I learned how to act. After I did the 7 months, I did another 8 month stint a year later and then over a year after that I did 2 three month stints back to back. And by my last stay in jail, even I started acting in such a way that was completely out of character for me. It seemed as though the prey had become the predator. Let me explain.

I once stayed in the same pod two years after I did another time. Even the graffiti that I scribbled on the wall of my old cell was still in there. A giant silhouette of a Mickey Mouse head I made from cracking open pencils with water and using my spit and the pencil lead to cover the wall. That and a few giant swastikas I put up for fun.  And no, I’m not racist or antisemitic. Despite my past altercations with other races. Swastikas are just fun to draw in my opinion. But it was weird being in the same pod again. And get this. One of my buddies from the first time I was in that pod was in there for a second time with me again too. When we saw each other we tripped out about how we were literally both doing time together again with separate cases in the same exact pod. There’s quite a few in Twin Towers Correctional Facility. The odds of ending up in the same one are slim especially with the same people as two years before.

But anyway, one day in the pod we got this new guy. He was a white guy and probably 10 years older than me. I was on one from all the jail coffee I had been drinking that particular day. This new guy was bitching about how he was hungry. Normally, I’d ignore some whiney bullshit like that in jail, but because I was in a good mood I gifted the dude an entire pack of pork grinds which is basically the equivalent of giving a complete stranger a $50 bill in jail. So you think this mother fucker would be grateful. No. So then what happened pissed me off to no end.

I was doing business with someone that I owed money to in the pod and handed him a soup, a common form of currency in jail. This new guy had the audacity to ask me for a soup even though I just gave him an entire bag of pork rinds. So when I told him he couldn’t have one, what does this mother fucker do? He gives me a bunch of attitude and gets all butthurt I wouldn’t give him a soup. This ungrateful piece of shit was acting like I fucking owed him something. I couldn’t believe it. The dude continued to aggressively panhandle around the pod and pissed everyone off fast. This piece of shit continued to give me attitude and had clearly mistaken my kindness for weakness. So what did I do?

Initially, I tried to do the Christian thing. I tried to let it go and allow the better angels of my nature to persevere. But when I was stewing in my cell during lockdown I finally concluded, “Fuck that ungrateful mother fucker! Ima fuck his ass up!” 

When my cell popped for dinner time, I went out into the day room of the pod and waited for the ungrateful little shit to come downstairs for dinner. Right before I took flight on this fool, I stood in front of him with my arms crossed and stared him down as I sized up my prey. He still had no idea what was about to happen.

I waited for dinner to be passed out and I waited for the dude to sit down with his dinner and for all the deputies to go on the other side of the floor where the other pods were serving dinner. After all, if I got caught for what I was about to do I would pick up an add charge for assault and I was already in jail that particular time for an assault and battery with a GBI case and just got a program. I would undoubtedly go to prison and probably for a long time. So at this point, the stakes were high just to fuck this fool up. I had nothing to say to this mother fucker. After the attitude he gave me I wasn’t having it. Talk is cheap. So I was ready to strike.

Right before I dope-fiend’d his ass I took off my shirt and held a deodorant stick in each hand as a fist pack to make my punches hit even harder. Once he sat down, I moved to his back and positioned myself, reeled back, and unleashed the most well-placed haymaker square to his temple accompanied by a loud “CRACK!” as my fist slammed a slobber knocker into the side of his retarded fucking skull that encased his worthless excuse for a brain inside of it. Everyone had now stopped eating their dinner and was now watching the sight of me single handedly packing this dude out. Packing someone out in jail is when someone gets their ass beat and then gets rolled up outta the dorm or pod. It’s usually a group effort. I had taken it upon myself in this particular case to see that I got this dude outta there ASAP. 

Clearly dazed and only partially conscious, my victim slowly came to with me standing over him as a kicked him repeatedly in his side and exclaimed, “What?! Did you think I wasn’t going to do anything?!” After seeing the sufficient amount of fear and disbelief in his eyes as I kicked the crap outta him, I took a step back allowing him to try and stand up and said, “Get your fucking shit and roll your ass up out of here! You’re going suicidal!” Once again, he gave me some stupid look like he didn’t understand what was happening so I yelled, “Get your fucking shit and roll your ass up! Tell the cops you’re going suicidal!” Not wasting any time, the ungrateful shit obeyed his assailant and hastily went right to the pod door and started rapping on it with his fist almost in a panic. At this point, I noticed I had a strip of blood on my wrist and ran and washed it off. I screamed at my new bitch, “Don’t take a single step away from that door unless you want some fucking more!” Eventually, the cops came to take his ass to H.O.H. (High Observation Housing), where you go if you’re suicidal in jail. The deed had been done and I got away with it Scot-free. 

I’m not gonna lie, after it was all said and done I felt a little sick to my stomach. But that’s not nearly as bad as I’d feel if I let him get away with the way he was disrespecting me. I’ve let people slide and walk all over me my whole life. And then the second I start standing up for myself I go to jail for it. Such bullshit. So even tho it made me sick, it also felt really really fucking good. 

I never engaged in violence for years. For the majority of my life. But I must admit, once I got a taste of it, I liked it. A lot. There’s really nothing in the world quite like slamming your fist into some stupid mother fuckers face who thought he could get away with disrespecting you. Only to find the horribly rude awakening of your fist that lets them know that you’re not taking their fucking shit. Fucking orgasmic. I can see how people become violent people. I’m sure murdering someone would be beyond exhilarating.

The guy that I punched in the face when I picked up my assault case screamed like a little fucking girl when I hit him in the face. He literally screamed like a little bitch. It was an amazing feeling. I still hear it in my head. How I socked him as hard as I could and busted his shit wide open. He had a gash on his face that was as big as a gaping vagina as he clutched his face with the biggest look of a distraught retard that had clearly underestimated me. It was beautiful.

So it’s pretty obvious how people turn to violence. You push someone again and again and again and then the next thing you know you have someone that you didn’t anticipate dealing with when really you should have all along. Everyone has their breaking points. Including me. 

But one thing is for sure. Violence feels good. I can see how it’d be addictive. But I reserve using it for a very select few.