Tales From The Cells is the reality inside United States Prisons, both Federal and State. We are involved in advocacy and reform! Redemption and confession with our My Story section and lost, lonely souls with our Pen Pal section. We give prisoners a voice, a platform to tell their story, to offer up their lifestyle inside, and to air problems within the prison walls. This is as close to the inside as you will ever get without actually walking inside the world within a world. Reality at it's finest, Can you handle the Truth?

The Joke's On Me PDF Print E-mail
User Rating: / 0
Written by Katfish   
Monday, 11 January 2010 02:57

My first week in the Low Security Prison at Yazoo City, Mississippi was an enlightening experience. Keep in mind where I'm at and where I'm from.

On evening as I was preparing to go outside and trudge the half-mile track, a couple of the fellas warned me about the mosquitoes. As that that would be my second time in the Rec yard, I scoffed about the “skeeters”. The time before, when I'd been out there, I'd not been bothered. I had noted that the yard was lush and thick with grass, the ground wet. Hell, it rains nearly everyday here. This is the Mississippi Delta. Fucker is always wet. I even saw some toadstools that were 8 inches across out there.

Anyways, the fellas explained to me that the reason the skeeters hadn't bothered me was because the wind had been blowing.

“But iz not blowin' t'day. Yew best watch out fer 'em. Biggest damned skeeters ever. Fuckers iz three inch long if'n theys an inch,” one Black guy explained.

“Boolshit,” I said.

“Yewl see,” they laughed.


By myself, walking the track. It's about 10 feet wide. Asphalt. It goes all the way around the yard. I'm being careful to stay on the track because even tho' the yard is grass, it's mud underneath. There's standing water everywhere. Don't want to fuck up my brand new crisp white Reebok Classics, you see. Anyway, as I'm walking I suddenly spot one of those “skeeters.” It is. It is big. Way fucking big. Hell yeah it's 3 inches long. And I'm like, “Oh fuck. There he is. Here he comes too.” So I begin my world renown evasive maneuvers. These basically consist of bobbing and weaving, ducking and juking, zigging and zagging, tripping over my own feet, going down on my hands and knees in the muck. Up again and running while I wave my t-shirt over my head to get Skeeterzilla to let me be. I look behind me, almost go down again but keep my balance. Barely. But I saw it up close. Weren't a skeeter. Was a dragonfly.






I quit running, shoo the fucker away, then look around to see if anybody had seen my ridiculous antics. Apparently no one had. I was glad for that. I also mentally marked the occasion because I would most certainly get my evens with them guys.





By the way: There are skeeters here. Fuck yeah. But they're no bigger than the ones back home in Denver. Only difference is here they number in the trillions.



Add New Search
Write comment
[b] [i] [u] [url] [quote] [code] [img] 
Please input the anti-spam code that you can read in the image.

!joomlacomment 4.0 Copyright (C) 2009 Compojoom.com . All rights reserved."

Last Updated on Sunday, 17 January 2010 02:39