Tuesday, May 17, 2011


Well, Sgt Uncle T is back at work. Doing fine and better than ever. Feeling pretty good, anyway.

Doing good for a guy who had his heart stopped for three and a half minutes. That just blows me away that they can do that.

They only kept him for a day at the hospital then sent him home. When I got his cell phone number I apparently got the wrong one, for a phone that doesn't work anymore. Dang Sausage had both that one and the good number, but never called the good number and never let me know he had it.

And dang St Francis and Capt Fluffy both went by and saw him the day after and never said anything. I'm half tempted to smack their heads together and see if it makes that coconut sound like it always does on teevee. Don't they know how I worry?

Oh no.... Don't mind me... I'll just sit here in the dark and worry.... I'm fine. Jerks.

And I still haven't heard from BG to find out how he's doing or when he's coming back. I can't seem to catch him at home and it's driving me nuts not knowing.

I was out on A-yard today and there was a fight out there right before shift change. Day shift got it stopped pretty quick and got the guys locked up before shift, which was good. I always hate it when stuff spills over from one shift to another. But they handled it.

Sgt Archer, the Fireman and I stepped out on the yard and all three of us could sense the tension. All the inmates were in weird little clusters. Segregated clusters. All the black guys were in groups and all the white guys were in groups and nobody was moving near each other and there was no mixing going on at all. Only a very few of the more oblivious inmates were walking around by themselves or in pairs.

It felt like I could have walked into the middle of they yard and yelled "Hey!" and they would have either run away or started fighting each other. Or a mixture of both.

Luckily the yard closed without any further incident and when it reopened after chow things were much calmer and all the little knuckleheads behaved themselves. I didn't want to do any paperwork.

They had an impromptu movement team on some idiot down in the Hive this evening. I don't know all of the particulars of who and why. Almost all of the members of the team were young guys, except for St Francis. He was the oldest. By probably close to twenty years on some of them. He's still in pretty good shape for a guy of his advanced years. :-p

All of those years down in the Hive they would never put me on a team because I was assigned to the Hive and they said it would be a conflict of interests or something like that. I would have to deal with the idiot later so they didn't want me involved. Now that I'm not down there any more they still won't pick me. I'm the guy that gets left to watch the yard.

I don't get hurt and I don't have to do the paperwork (which I am amazing at, if i must say so myself), so why am I complaining? Hell, I don't know. Just because I am missing out on the excitement, I guess.

I should be thankful. After all, the paperwork for a team sucks. It takes hours to do it right. And I am very nearly half a century old. Which isn't really all that old, but sure does sound like it when you say that I am almost half a freaking century old.

Five decades. That doesn't sound much better, does it?

I am almost one twentieth of a millennium in age.

Let's just say I'm bloody near fifty and leave it at that, shall we? Anyway, I'm not a spring chicken anymore and don't need to be getting all banged up if I can avoid it.

And how the heck did I get on this subject anyway? I haven't a clue.

Let's just go check the calendar, which is set in stone, much like my birth certificate.

Tuesday will be Pack Rat Day. That's all about me. Hence all the books. It's also World Hypertension Day, World Information Society Day and World Telecommunications Day.

Whee! And where would all this be without information and telecommunications? Not here, that's for sure! I'd be scribbling all of this down on old scraps of paper and xeroxing them to send out via snail mail.... Let's not go there.....


  1. They might have pissed themselves if you yelled, "Hey" It's been know to happen.

    Also, almost 50 isn't too old. That is, unless the fact that I'm not too far behind you has got me in some kind of denial and has got me moving the marker for old age father down the line. When I was 9 or 10, I'm sure I would have thought "almost fifty" was ancient. Now it seems like the prime of life.

  2. I totally get why prisoners fight sometimes. I'd get crabby, too, if I was locked up in a cage all day and then let out into a small cage with grass and some sun.

    But they did it to themselves. I don't feel sorry for them.

    My grandfather is turning 61 years old tomorrow. You're MUCH younger than him so almost fifty isn't that old.

  3. Bryan- I was thinking of the monkey story in the middle of all that and it made me grin a little. The inmates all thought I was crazy.

    I think I was just feeling surrounded by young pups there for a minute. It got to me a little bit.

    Chanel- I understand some of their aggression and frustration. But they should be mad at themselves. And when they fight it's usually over the dumbest stuff...