Comrade:   Ratel

   Some of the prisoners ate it, after the other prisoners sevened it and then jumped over it, the clever bastards. Retalliation was swift and cruel, and came by way of stinkbomb suppositories, purchased at the jailhouse novelty shop, and snuck into the infirmary while the guard was off flossing his nipples. Sometimes we would squirt EZ-Cheez on his nipples while he slept , but this was kept secret, as it was feared that we would not be permitted to watch the mice lick his nipples clean all night with their little flitting tongues while the guard giggled and farted in his sleep, if he discovered their cheese-food applications. And speaking of secrets, Poor Henry would have NEVER let us take those pictures of Carl "The Bitchmaker" Houston gettin' all over his skinny little ass if it were known they were used as blackmail to get some EZ-Cheez out of his relatives. He thought we was sendin those things to Dateline NBC and the prison board or some shit, heh. Rats that lived in the latrines were probably not the best thing in the world to eat, I dunno, but what exactly the hell IS salisbury steak, anyway? I heard one time there was this cop joke that was real popular among the officers confined at that Dunkin' Donuts where everybody got locked inside for two days after the automatic door timer went on the fritz. It goes something like: "Man, this is just like being in prison, except you can't get rats with sprinkles, and Carl Houston ain't rapin nobody!". They thought that was pretty funny. When you're in prison you've got lots of time to think about stuff, like if you were stuck there, in what order you'd have sex with the cast of Gilligan's Island. Some prisoners were so hungry that when their two days' hunger strike over the cancellation of Gilligan's Island (more than a few guys had developed a powerful crush on the professor) was over, they actually took several bites of salisbury steak before they remembered there was a big, fat, lazy rat sleeping behind the toilet on Cell Block D. When their heavily-censored late editions of the Sunday New York Times was delivered to them on Saturday, they would pour over the comics page, eager for any more information Marmaduke might have on jailbreak proceedures. You see, these mugs loved that Escape from Alcatraz movie with Dirty Harry in it, but they had the attention span of, like, two crackheads playin' ping pong on an endtable. They were an endearing bunch though, especially on Sunday mornings when they would crowd around a bowl of cereal, pour in the milk, and not have a mouthful to eat until the Rice Krispies started yakkety yakkin'.

   Lt. Charles Pierce, of course was nothing but a made-up identity Fast Eddie used to use to get pizzas delivered to the warden with crazy toppings like used condoms and elbow grease. Liberace, who was one of the Sweathogs, I think, came up on Trivial Pursuit one time and Eddie started bawlin about what a beautiful man he was. Eddie was one of the last guys that attempted to display any kind of sincere emotion inside the joint, 'cause boy did his ass get raped like a pink bunny slipper after that! Whoo boy! They just got done about ten minutes ago. Now Lenny Fitz, he's a pop-culture retard who can't get anything right, he says shit like leggo my ago, has made several attempts since, to get out by impressing the guards with his bullshit knowledge of 70's cop shows. The Yanks is what they call it when you been raped so much that your colon sticks on out of your asshole like a jumprope, and them guys play tug 'o war with it when you're trying to walk down the hall, that's some sick shit now you don't see in no Green Mile, damn straight. Rollover Ted had a problem like that which came up the other night and caught him, at the head of a limbo line, when one of the other limbo-ers stepped on his colon and Ted just about set a high-jump record for picking yourself up by your own ass. Funny thing is he's in jail in the first place for dropping a load in a public place, in a tunnel. The Federal Officer told him it was his karma coming back to bite him in the ass, literally, and that it would be useless to attempt to get out by that means as they knew of his trailing colon and within half an hour after he began his ass-flying escape attempt they'd have some sausage-lovin' wiener dogs on his kiester faster than you could say "AkK! Daschu-". He satisfied himself from then on, before he was charged with the first ever counts of self-rape on the books. Then there was Kenny "Two Dogs" Spitz, and nobody knew of the truth of his nickname's origin, but the general rumor was that it had something to do with a skiing accident. Kenny added to the mystery, too, by telling the time he had walked the circumferance of Long Island naked, while hitting himself in the head with Norman Mailer's left testicle. Nobody knew how he could prove it was actually Mailer's nut, not even them crazy bad-ass serial killer nuts over in Block G who we usually go to about this kind of stuff. They are kept perfectly posted on all dubious claims of mutilation or other fucked-up shit and it seems impossible for us to catch their attention at all when they're arguing about who was the bigger bad-ass, John Wayne Gacy or the Loch Ness Monster. Though for my bottom dollar man, that Nessie's gonna have to paint some scary-ass self portraits to even be in contention.

   Some of the prisoners ate crow for being caught by the retarded cop "Benny" and were forced to buy silence with ironless tobacco, purchased at the expense of one sore anus, but this was kept secret, as it was feared that we would not be permitted to engage in brown-market dealing if it were known they were used as much as possible for low, low prices. Rats that lived in the latrines were heard to ask "rain smell funny to you?" causing raucous laughter among the officers confined at the prisoner cells due to their own stupidity in falling for the"Bet You Can't Fit in Here" gag pulled by the prisoners at Gilligan's Penitentiary Island. Some prisoners were so hungry that when their two days' confinement was up, they ate a guard and were promptly jailed again. A big fat conjugal visit was delivered to them on Saturday, they would ...you know... till the cows came home, and not have a mouthful to eat until the penicillin kicked in again.

   Lt. Charles Pierce, of body piercing fame, who was one of the DiFranco Family, I think, or so said some guy from VH-1 that attempted to cover him for "Where Are They Now?" for a show about a half-hour longer than anyone wanted to hear about the DiFranco Family, I mean, they were, like, popular a million years ago, has made several attempts since, to get out by sundown, pardner. The Yanks were one of the best parts about riding the subway. Back to the story, this Pierce guy, we saw him the other night and caught him, at the head of a toilet, pissing like there's no tomorrow, in a tunnel. The Federal Officer told him it was a healthy golden color, but to attempt to get out by that means as they knew of his excessive drinking of water within half an hour after he began his trip outside. He satisfied himself in the police station, leaving the smell of ammonia, and the hint of the truth of his soiling the couch, the squad car, and Officer Ferguson, too, by telling the time he had released six gallons of water in two hours. They are kept perfectly posted on all Star Trek BBSes and it seems impossible for us to catch their illegal scripts of Kirk-Spock copulation.

   Some of the prisoners ate up, boy, you crazy, purchased at the Cherokee Nation reservation for a candy necklace and issue of "Hot Dog" Magazine, but this was kept secret, as it was feared that we would not be permitted to have the sleepover at Junebug's house if it were known they were used as Kool Moe Dee lookalikes. Rats that lived in the latrines were uppity French rats who used words like "latrine" instead of "shitter" among the officers confined at the balls on Rock Hard Island. Some prisoners were so hungry that when their two days' old White Castle burgers arrived they actually ate them, and each of their stomachs was pumped by mail and was delivered to them on Saturday, they would still not remember and would order White Castle again a mere three weeks later, and not have a mouthful to eat until the White Castles came up again five minutes after digestion started.

   Lt. Charles Pierce, of M*A*S*H, who was one of the forgettable guest players on an episode titled "Hawkeye's Twin Brother" that attempted to ramrod its way into a truly cheesy spinoff about a wisecracking doctor who loses his license and is forced to practice in a Chinese disguise, all about thirty years ago, has made several attempts since, to get out by pretending to be MacLean Stevenson, even though he died in the '90s. The Yanks feel good when you do them right. Oh, dude, we saw Chipper the other night and caught him, at the head of a john, in a tunnel. The Federal Officer told him it was a very naughty act indeed to attempt to get out by that means as they knew of his "just trying to get the taste of Juicy Fruit to go away" excuse within half an hour after he began his endless babbling about why he shouldn't go to prison, including "I'm delicate". He satisfied every motherfucker on 9th Street, or so the limmerick goes, but not a shit of the truth of his ball-licking came to light in public, too, by telling the time he had "entertained" the commissioner with sticky paste and a bag of Legos. They are kept perfectly posted on all bulletin boards and bathroom walls, by some Joker named "Julio," and it seems impossible for us to catch their smarmy little asses before they besmirch the good name of Chief Woodrow Kingston again.

   Some of the prisoners ate an entire pecan log, purchased at the your better Stuckey's, but this was kept secret, as it was feared that we would not be permitted to staple burlap cut-outs of Abraham Lincoln to their backs if it were known they were used as floatation devices in the event of a water landing. Rats that lived in the latrines were later elected as public officials and became dedicated lawmakers. Meanwhile, a vicious rumor about a come-back album by boy band sensation, Menudo, spread among the officers confined at Three Mile Island. Some prisoners were so hungry that when their two days' supply of instructional Orgami Brochures was delivered to them on Saturday, they would dress like characters from "The Bernstein Bears" and sing delightful showtunes about the miracles of Duct Tape, and not have a mouthful to eat until they had swapped saliva with all of the Allman Brothers.

   Lt. Charles Pierce, of the United States Piercing Militia (head of the Prince Albert Divison), who was one of the leading causes of gingivitis, declared every March 8th to be National Soap Fondling Day! This brought on public outrage and a remorseful media that attempted to portray Adolph Hitler as a confused Panamanian car salesman who got lost on his way to Paris and captured Poland simply by spreading lies about mysterious "cigar-shaped" objects that flew about the night sky so many years ago, has made several attempts since, to get out by forcing religious tracts upon Pat Roberson. The Yanks all got together and had some beers and a few laughs the other night and caught him, at the head of a revolution to overthrow Canada's dictatorship and establish a Canadian sex slave kingdom. Elsewhere, people cower, in a tunnel. The Federal Officer told him it was "A Thyroid condition" but he didn't fool anybody. Rush Limbaugh was a fool to attempt to get out by that means as they knew of his within half an hour after he began his disertation on the proof of God through interperative body contortion and uncontrolled urination. He satisfied several innocent bystanders orally. Recent diary scrawlings of Stephen Hawkings refute any rumors of his alledged ability to be faking his illness and yet, people still have doubt of the truth of his uncanny knack for running the mile under five minutes, too, by telling the time he had single-handedly wrestled an Albanian Gorrilla in a vat of chocolate pudding, and won. They are kept perfectly posted on all nearby K-Mart bulletin boards and it seems impossible for us to catch their own intestinal secretions which painted the ground in a grotesque outpouring of filth.

   Some of the prisoners ate microwaveable eggrolls and other such temptables, purchased at the Stop'n'Grab on Road Street, right by where that video store that stocks the uncut version of "Ilsa, Busty Bitch of Bosnia" is, but this was kept secret, as it was feared that we would not be permitted to be let out anymore for "video runs" if it were known they were used as weapons. Crazy Johnny Fu took an eggroll this one time and just fuckin' shoved it so far down Lenny's throat, shit, he was coughing up soy sauce for weeks. Rats that lived in the latrines were used to their fullest advantage among the officers confined at Richard Gere Island. Some prisoners were so hungry that when their two days' supply of ropes, knives, and other escape materials was delivered to them on Saturday, they would eat it all, and not have a mouthful to eat until Tuesday, when the food was delivered.

   Lt. Charles Pierce, of the KISS Army, who was one of the submorons that attempted to escape from the prison by asking the guards to, in the spirit of sport, unlock his cell, close their eyes and count to 30 before coming after him about one-hundred and thirty-two years ago, has made several attempts since, to get out by any method possible that doesn't involve hard work or a lot of planning. The Yanks won a game the other night and caught him, at the head of a group of prisoners in baseball uniforms, in a tunnel. The Federal Officer told him it was a novel idea, tunneling their way to Yankee Stadium and pretending to be the opposing team. "Didn't make any sense, but it's interesting," he said. "But for Charles' gang to attempt to get out by that means as they knew of his crippled left leg, lousy pitching arm and untelegenic features was sheer stupidity." Later that day, within half an hour after he began his tunnel-diggin', Pierce had been recaptured. He didn't really mind, though. He satisfied his lifelong dream of seeing the Yankees play, and while in prison, he learned that God's word of the truth of his blessing and goodness with the Bible and the Holy Spirit and such was intended for him. He knew he was fershure heavenbound, too, by telling the time he had a threeway with a clergyman and his Boy Scout leader way back in the day. "I knew if I gave 'em favors, I'd get into heaven," Pierce said. And what of the other guys who followed his plan?. They are kept perfectly posted on all potential future escapes via their Internet Hotmail accounts (one of the prison's perks), and it seems impossible for us to catch their fever.

   Some of the prisoners ate dill pickles, purchased at the local Ginsberg & Wong Deli, but this was kept secret, as it was feared that we would not be permitted to bugger if it were known they were used as contraceptive devices. Rats that lived in the latrines were continually playing there slide trombones among the officers confined at 3 mile Island. Some prisoners were so hungry that when their two days' stool sample was delivered to them on Saturday, they would knead it, and not have a mouthful to eat until it resembled a bust of Peter Lorrie in drag.

   Lt. Charles Pierce, of undetermined decent, who was one of the original Flock of SeaGulls that attempted to record an entire double album using only kazoos and a glockenshpiel about 3 nights ago, has made several attempts since, to get out by renegging on his contract with Dick Clark for an appearance on American Bandstand. The Yanks blanked the Mets the other night and caught him, at the head of a highly inflamed boil, in a tunnel. The Federal Officer told him it was really neat to attempt to get out by that means as they knew of his dick would fall off within half an hour after he began his belly crawl. He satisfied most of the sheep before retiring for the night, self assured of the truth of his penis still being attached and properly functioning, too, by telling the time he had at Grandma's house some 50 years before. They are kept perfectly posted on all refrigerator magnet movements and it seems impossible for us to catch their infield flyballs.

   Some of the prisoners ate duck patte, smothered in a heavenly creame brisque sauce, lightly steamed over a pan of the finest chablis, purchased at the finest restaurants in Paris, but this was kept secret, as it was feared that we would not be permitted to take part in the joyus buggering of the entire prison populace if it were known they were used as pawns in our little "Play Jail" game. Rats that lived in the latrines were really sick and tired of guys peeing in the sinks, and were considered to be some of the brightest chaps among the officers confined at the painfully drab Westerford Bed & Breakfast, located on the Southern beaches of Truffle Island. Some prisoners were so hungry that when their two days' ration of pornography was delivered to them on Saturday, they would copulate with fully-cooked turkeys, and not have a mouthful to eat until the meal had been checked for sexually trasmitted ailments.

   Lt. Charles Pierce, of Lawn Dart fame, who was one of the clumbsy bastards that attempted to put on a ballet interpretation of "The Shawshank Redemption" about the magesty of geese and how much more people appreciated the magesty of these geese long ago, has made several attempts since, to get out by becoming involved in a weekly bingo tournament, you know, just anything at all to get out more. The Yanks pounded the White Sox nine to nothing last tuesday, which was really something Pierce didn't care for because it had so little to do with the magesty of geese. The head Zookeeper at the Westerford private zoo went out for a stroll in the large bird gardens the other night and caught him, at the head of a bizarre goose conga-line, in a tunnel. The Federal Officer told him it was definitely a violation of Pierce's parole terms, and promply beat him into the dust with his rapier wit. Pierce's therapists thought it was particularly courageous to attempt to get out by that means as they knew of his crippling fear of tunnels, pipes and paper-towel rolls. Pierce later broke down within half an hour after he began his breakfast when he unexpectedly used the last paper towel on a roll to clean up spilled egg whites. He satisfied all of the necessary conditions (and more, really) for acceptance into the country's finest Booby Hatch. There he spent the rest of his life convincing drooling idiots of the truth of his really being a magestic goose. He provided quite compelling factual evidence, too, by telling the time he had once flown from Sudsbury to New Brighton just to eat a saltine cracker. They are kept perfectly posted on all respectable tavern walls in New Brighton, known to locals as the Saltine Cracker capital of all of England. The locals are admittedly a bit nutty and it seems impossible for us to catch their drift, angle, pitch or meaning.