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Jail was probably the most exciting thing ever happened to me. #TOMMYCHONG
              STEWARDESS HAD JUMP BOOTS on and tactical pants bloused in her menacing black boots handing out granola bars and bottles of water never took her eyes off the black box and my hands manacled.  You ever try to peel an eat an Orange with handcuffs and belly-chains?  I was trying to take in the smell of her and get a glimpse at her big tits, which I suddenly was transfixed by like a child's traverse over a crib.  I had to chose between the water and the granola bar because I only had two hands.  I around at dozens of others in bright orange jumpsuits and Barker shower shoes.  Five or six black-boxed like me with personal guards who never left our sides.  Another dozen in street clothes going to court somewhere.  Everyone looked like they got woke up a four in the morning after going to sleep at midnight and hustled into bull pens and manacled hand and foot and ushered into the night on a huge commercial airline stripped of its niceties and at least twenty years old.  Surrounded by silent figures in military fatigues with automatic weapons surrounding the plane.  It felt like a movie the first few times and then just became fascinating to watch.  All the people involved looked at you like you were a UPS Parcel package on escort to Memphis coming in hot...
           THEY WERE DOING THE THORAZINE SHUFFLE in the back, four or five guys with spit masks on and personal guards like me except they had this far away look on their face like they were on their way somewhere or already there, I couldn't really tell...
            YOU NEVER, EVER ask a guy what you are in for, besides being bad form, it's just never done.  I did it anyway.  I wanted to know.  The guy next me had this excitable nervous energy rubbing the neck like he wanted to be somewhere else.  I noticed he watched the one or two women like they were lab experiment's but never said anything to them.  About my age, early thirties back on my third parole violation for smoking pot.  I had an "Old Law," sentence before 1986 and every time I violated they took my street time so it took me twelve years to do a ten-year sentence....  Inmate Look Up for the BOP Reg. No. 01863-055.  Wait till you here wait this idiot done...
To be continued.
11:20 AM 6/3/2015
Register Number: 01863-055
Age:  58
Race:  White
Sex:  Male

Released On: 05/07/1998

 The Real Con Air I wrote about CONAIR

          I HAD THE SENSE that more than one of the eight or ten person crew would love for something to happen they could quickly exercise some of their extensive training taking decisive control of any incident and launching their careers and bar talk for the rest of their otherwise mundane life...  I knew I was surrounded by people who would never see the light of day again, many on their way to some last ditch court appeal with everything on one roll of the dice.  Others were like me out soon at the end of their sentence, many even then entangled in immigration enforcement matters.  About the third time they catch you in this country illegally they body slam your ass.... Ten or fifteen years;  many would rather do that here in prison than in their own countries.  They all had a distinctive worried look on their face.
             NO FEDERAL PRISON TRANSPORT plane, known as "ConAir," filled to near capacity would be complete without a couple real life mobsters.  I felt like reporter at large for Rolling Stone, The Atlantic  or Vanity Fair trying to memorize everything I seen and formulating sentences in my head day and night with bits of conversation I heard, i.e., "You slap me you better slap your flavor because your going to drink every drop of it!" I heard a black girl tell a dude onetime....
               I had to hear this guy's story after he already ask me. 
              THIS SQUIRLY LITTLE bastard's head on a constant swivel was causing attention like in a Casino they look for people rubber necking because they are usually up to something.  After forty five minutes or so in the air to who knows where I finally just blurted out the elephant in the room, "Dude, what did you do?  Where you going?"  Instead of offended he was proud to tell you what he did;  he thought it was a stroke of genius.  He leaned in because he didn't exactly want start a public debate and looked me square in the eyes with a slight country boy shit eating grin, "I told them I wanted to shoot the president...."  He looked at me longingly relishing the shock of it.  I stared straight ahead a moment wondering if I needed to hear all this right now;  I'm trying to go home and this idiot's trying to go to federal prison...
I couldn't resist myself and finally said, "Why would you want to do that?," incredulous.  He looked around enjoying the chit chat eating granola bars like it was the first time he ever seen one.
"Why did I tell them that or why did I want to shoot the president?"  He paused earnestly looking at for me for an answer.... My tongue was tied but I manged, "Either."
 "Well, first of all I never said I was going to shoot the president, I said I wanted to."  It's two different things.  I want to fuck Pam Anderson, it doesn't mean I'm going too....."  "That's fucked up", I said.  "When I got booked on my last state parole violation I whispered into the fingerprinting man, "I want to shoot the president."  That's all it took.  A couple weeks later they came and grabbed my ass and took my ass to federal court."  He paused along time and I was trying to think what all that meant and finally said, "So what happened?"
                "THEY SENT MY COUNTRY ASS to Springfield for evaluation.  Almost a couple of months, they feed you like a champ, call you "Mr." put you on the "Thorazine Shuffle," run every test known to man on me."  He paused again waiting like he should save his story for the movies, he thought they would make a movie of his life and ask him all kinds of important questions....  Fucker made wait again too long;  "So, then what happened?"  I asked again.
                 THEY  SAID I WASN'T CRAZY.  Sent a big report to the judge said I was exactly what I told them I was.  State raised in foster homes to juvenile homes to the county jail strait to state prison and a dab of federal time for stealing mail and now going to the same place your going.  The judge asked me if I had anything to say before sentencing me to three years in federal prison.  I told him I was sorry, I just wanted to get out of state custody, I like the president.  I guess growing up my only role model was Donald Duck, and just like him I don't give a fuck!"
11:22 AM 6/4/2015

Copyright 2015 by Mark Anthony Given All Rights Reserved 28 USC 1746, Invoking 90 Stat. 2541 and Article 2(4) of the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works

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