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Pussy Whip Cake by Mark Anthony Given

This very first ever eBook created on Facebook, Twitter, and Blogspot simultaneously!, “Real Men, Real Case's, Real Life Heist’s The Dope Feign Shuffle,” the entirely true story Cover to cover, Beginning to end, Word for word, Page to page, Edit to edit, right down to the very last One Wrong Word:  Began April 27, 2013 to Present By Mark Anthony Given.
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I was up late making voodoo dolls for, well, you will know soon enough... 
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         I HAD THIS CELLI WHEN I WAS IN THE FEDERAL JOINT tell me the damnedest story you ever heard. Joseph Francis Davenport, III was doing almost thirty years without possibility of parole having been convicted of owning and operating a fleet of crack houses and “Juke Joints,” they are known as Down South.  Usually, a beat up country bar on a back road in the middle of nowhere, you knew better than to stop at.  Only local Black people and White men with gun's, usually Cops.   I have written about him several times, “Cop on the Compound,” when I got out of the “Hole,” and he asked me to be his celli. And “Crack Riot Chronicles,“ where he gave me the head’s up before the Crack Riot, enabling me to keep all my legal work with me.   The color of Mahogany, maybe five feet five, real quiet and respectful, always neatly dressed and groomed, and always in the background, and there wasn't a Black man on the compound that didn't know who he was.   He offered me a Gold Mercedes Benz he kept a picture of on the cell wall if I could get him back in court. During the next Eighteen days, we spent in that air conditioned federal cell during the “Lock Down,” that he came to me after I got out of the “Hole,” for the “Cop on the Compound,” deal, that his plan was to get me to read his trial transcripts.   This little Dude in the back, with his back to the wall and never saying a word, planned every step he took.



HE HAD ONE OF THE BEST JOBS ON THE COMPOUND working in the Commissary. Any joint’s Commissary is going to be the heartbeat of the institution for both sides of the wall, cops and inmates. I worked there when I was at FCI Texarkana when I was doing ten years for federal bank fraud, that’s how I know. You get to hear all the gossip on the cop’s side you ain't goona hear anywhere else.    You have to hear this story of Mojo Spells and Heartache.
IT WAS AFTER THE CRACK RIOT and after several days in the SHU or Special Housing Unit the Fed's call it,  I made it back to my cell and there was “Little Joe”.   The last time I saw him he was leading the riot on the yard, and here he was stretched out on the bottom bunk in a nearly empty Unit.  They either shipped or locked up anyone they even thought was involved, no “Probable Cause,” here;   just a nod and wink you'll be in the back of a Cargo Van with a Black Hood on your head and "Off the Count."    You think the Fed's don't play out here?  In prison, slang means you left other than voluntarily, as in dead.  This was a Race Riot, but against Racial inequality in the Crack Laws 100:1 ratio, which was eventually rectified releasing thousands of young Black men doing twenty-five years for a handful of crack cocaine.  I still tell everybody I meet:  Don't Fuck with the Feds.
HE SAID HIS BOSS IN THE COMMISSARY, which is a cushy job for the hacks too, so he usually has some stroke, came got him just an hour or two after the incident, not believing for a second “Little Joe,” would be involved in any of that. I asked him why he would jeopardize losing his job and Six months of “Diesel Therapy,” while they transport your-ass from one end of this country to other, seeing every little hillbilly jail from here to McNeil Island, Washington, USP. You will eat so many Baloney sandwiches and boiled eggs and Orange’s, you’ll be confessing to shit you only thought about doing!   Said he didn’t have a choice.  In his world, if he wasn’t front and center, and he was (but he had a brown t-shirt concealing his face), didn’t stand up and fight he would be ostracized by the Brother’s.  Joe didn't just play the part.  Just being his Celli I got a “Ghetto Pass” on the Compound.
          I AM NOT SURE WHAT BROUGHT THIS UP, we were in that two man federal prison cell for right at 17-18 days, I finished examining his three week trial transcripts after a few days.  He didn’t have nothing coming, he was guilty as the day was long, but he did have hope that his sentence would be corrected to conform with powder cocaine penalties. I think I asked him if he had ever been married and he told me about this woman he fell in love with who, his whole family, and everyone he knew told him to stay away from. He told me she put the “Hoodoo on him, ”Huh? I told him that stuff only works if you believe it works… Not this time he told me. He said he found out later that she had baked him a Bright Red Cherry Cake with Chocolate frosting on it, which used to be his favorite, but in the ingredients she stirred in menstrual blood! And from that moment on he said he couldn’t take his mind off of her: brought her Roses, took her shopping, bought her a car and thought she was the greatest thing since Sliced Bread, but like a magnet he could not stay away from this woman. This went on for nearly a year and his entire family had to do a Voodoo Intervention on his ass.   I can’t remember what Counter Hold was for Pussy Whip Cake, but it took some doing as I recall. I wrote this whole story trying to come up with a Name, and there it is; “Pussy Whip Cake.”  By the time they straightened out one of the greatest legal blunders in the history of American Jurisprudence, Joe maxed out his thirty year sentence.    I just looked high and low on the Internet for a picture of him.  Not even Mugshots dot com has a picture of him, where I am not so proudly displayed.  I use it on my eBook cover for Real Life Heist, and this is Chapter Thirteen.   Little Joe's still in the back of the room watching every move we make....

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COPYRIGHT 2015 by Mark Anthony Given
All Rights Reserved 28 USC 1746  Public Law: Pub. L. 94-553 (Oct. 19, 1976)
U.S. Statutes at Large: 90 Stat. 2541
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