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This Is What Started It All PDF Print E-mail
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Written by Katfish   
Saturday, 15 August 2009 00:37


I have a friend, Mister Ronald Foley, aka “Animal”.

Ron Foley #08805-086
He’s an ex-member of the Deadmen motorcycle club. He even claims he was the president at one point.


When I met Animal here, in FCI Big Spring, the first thing I noticed was his general appearance. He had been blown up, at some point. The big bang. Boom.

His left eye is glass. His right hand is a 3 fingered claw, with the little finger there, which opposes his thumb. This is how he grips. The remaining finger is only half there. When he makes a fist, that third finger knuckle is the only knuckle he has- and what a knuckle! He’s clobbered me with it a couple of times, which I admit I deserved. I’m always fucking with someone; Can’t seem to help it.

Animal is, or at least was, pretty goddamn fuzzy. I can tell there is some damage to his skin under that hair, and beard, but I’ll never know the extent of it.
Animal’s hearing is also bad, as a result of the explosion, and his vocal cords are screwed up as well. When he speaks, it is in a high falsetto which cracks. He has to speak loudly just to be able to hear what he is saying. He spends a lot of time saying, “What?”, and “Huh?

 He’s a little bitty fella, which I guess could be misleading since I’m 6’ 3”, and 250 lbs, everyone is pretty much little.

 Katfish far left
Animal was convicted of mailing ingredients for narcotics manufacturing. He was offered a 5 year “take it or leave it” plea agreement. Like so many convicts, Animal consulted with an attorney whom took all his money, then practically guaranteed an acquital. Sounded real good to Animal. We call it having sunshine blown up yer ass.

After a hasty trial, Animal was found guilty (Naturally- How many people do you know who have won a federal trial? None that I’ve ever heard of.). The judge found it appropriate to sentence him to 30 years! Yeppers! 30 years for shipping Pseudoephed through the mail seems fucking harsh to me, man.

Animal lived in Sunset; I lived in Sunrise (ridiculous names for prison dormitories). Because of that, I never got to know him until he started to work at UNICOR.

He didn’t know how to take me at first. Later he would tell me that it was because I could say some of the most outrageous bullshit, deliver it with perfect timing, and with such a straight face that it had to be true.

In my defense, I never let him go back to his bunk without letting him know I was fucking with him.

For example: I once had the inner circle I kicked it with, including Animal, totally convinced that the BOP had implemented a new rule in regards to the mail. I told them that the stamps had to be perfectly aligned in the corner, and right side up, or the mailroom would reject it. Everyone bought that lock, stock, and barrel. I was just messing with their pointy heads.

Another thing about me that bothered Animal about me was my memory. I admit I have an extraordinary one which even I don’t understand.

I can remember being in diapers, and having to crawl. I can remember being dead, and the visions I saw (“Visions” for lack of a better term), yet I simply can’t remember dumb shit, like what SIS stands for. Animal said my memory freaked him out because he’d tell me something, then 2 or 3 months later, I’d bring it up. He said he’d forget he told me, and that it would often appear to him as if I knew things about him that I shouldn’t.

There’s a few mad bombers in Big Spring. Being who I am, I of course go seek them out, and ask questions. You wouldn’t believe some of the ridiculous bombs I’ve had described to me.

One time, with Animal sitting there, Robert Burke (go ahead- Google him) says to me, “Well, ask Animal. Look at him. He must know about bombs.”.

 Katfish and Robert Burke #13522-081
“Hell no”, I said. “You’re right. Look at him. He’d be the last person you’d want to know about bombs from.”.

Animal said, “I could tell you all the things not to do.”. Shit, I thought that was funny.

Animal finally told me how he blew himself up. I have a copy of a letter here from Animal to Nikita, in which he says, “Ask Katfish. He knows my story.”. Indeed, I do.

Apparently, one of Animal’s club brothers came over to Animals house with a teeny tiny pipe bomb; Not one designed to do more than bang.

Animal’s brother was kind of drunk, and in the middle of the living room, and he kept lighting the fuse, letting it burn for a ¼ inch, then snuff it out. He was trying to get a rise out of Animal.

After 3 or 4 failed attempts, the brother say Animal was not amused, so he put the bomb on Animal’s mantle, and left.

There it sat, for 3 weeks. That’s when Animal, and another drunk friend decided to set it off.

Out on the front porch, they simply could not get it to light, so they went back in, and knocked back a couple more shots of whiskey.

Animal, in a fit of disgust over the malfunctioning bomb, snatched it up, and went back outside, alone, to try again.

This time, when he put flame to fuse, it caught, and the core of the fuse raced down, and ignited the bomb.
“Fucker blew me clean off the front porch, and out into the yard. I don’t remember much after that. My bro and our two old ladies ran out, got me into the back seat of the car, and drove for over 30 minutes, to the hospital (Animal lived in the woods.).”

Then, as an afterthought, he held up his hand to me, and said, “Goddamn dog got my finger, and ran off with it, or they could have had it sewed back on.”.

Beginning in February of 2008, Animal began to develop a sour throat. He went to medical, and saw the one PA there who is as skilled at diagnosing ailments as Barney the Purple Dinosaur.

This fucking PA is a genuine menace. He diagnosed Animal with a virus, an infection, and a viral infection. According to Animal, this PA spent 10 months prescribing him 800 mg ibuprofen.

This, of course, did not work. Animal lost count of how many times he went up there, and this PA would tell Animal, “I do not care what you think. I’m the PA. It’s an infection. It will eventually clear up. Here have some more ibuprofen.”.

Eventually, Animal filed the series of Administrative remedy forms, which resulted in him being taken to a real hospital, where a real doctor used some kind of scope/camera thing and looked down his throat. Diagnoses: throat cancer. The kind that was, for some reason, 10 months along. The real world doctor said he needed immediate treatment, because it was life threatening in the extreme, and this place let him sit here for 2 or 3 more weeks before they sent him to Carolina for treatment! Weeks, man!
Somebody has to do something about Big Spring FCI, people. This is my first rodeo in the Fed system, so I had no real parameters to compare it to yet. After 4 years of illogical reasoning, intentional lies, and deliberate indifference practiced by the majority of the staff here, I was becoming alarmed. The crap with Animal pushed me over the edge, and that’s what started it all. So, I collected some of the more alarming aspects of staff misconduct (Believe me, my mind has much more remembered.), wrote it down, and got it into Nikita’s hands. (Which became increasingly difficult as this charade went on with them for 90 plus days ~N)
Seems as though they are all the same no matter WHERE you are!
I’m in the bucket now, and have been since May 12th. SIS say’s it’s because I chased a Chester off the yard. I chased nobody off the yard. They know it: I know it.

I’m not gonna receive a shot. There is to much character evidence as well as historical evidence reflected in my file in my favor. But, they are going to transfer me they say. They don’t want me here no more. I can’t imagine why.


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Last Updated on Saturday, 09 January 2010 01:22