This Is Not A Mensa Clubhouse

And I'm not just talking about the inmates. There are nights that I am surprised more of us don't get lost on our way to work.

I suspect that it is the general miasma to the place. An overwhelming stench of stupidity in the prison itself that occasionally drags our IQ down a few points after a long and arduous day.

Some nights we can sit around and argue philosophy and the teachings of Sun Tzu and how they relate to working in a prison. Working here is very much like fighting a war and some of that stuff actually applies in a real sense more than in a metaphysical one.

And then some nights we wonder how many packets of cereal we can pack into the nurses coat before she will notice. In our house, you always have to check your lunch box and coat pockets before you leave. Trust me.

Tonight, towards the end of the night, we were standing out front smoking and KP was telling us horror stories about the cattle business and what happens to meat before it gets to the dinner table. That was icky. Right in the middle of that, The Cowboy sticks his head out of the bubble and says "Hey! My girlfriend just realized that chinese people eat nothing but chinese food! Don't you think they'd get sick of it after awhile? I know I do!"

And my brain began trying to viciously claw itself out of my ear in an attempt to escape.

The conversation went downhill from there, amazingly enough.

On they way out, I ran into Sgt Puddle, who was telling me about the new Robert Jordan book. That made me feel a little better until I got up to the Comm room to turn in my radio and cuff keys.

Vinnie was up there and said "Hey! If you're interested, there's midget wrestling at the strip club this weekend! It just doesn't get any better than that! You wanna go?"

My brain made good it's escape at that point. I do hope it comes back soon.