We Are Not A Mental Hospital!

Or Are we? It sure seems so today.

One of our wobbleheads tried to walk out of the gate this morning behind a truck being processed out. Supposedly when the officer stopped him he said God had told him he could go home.

Well, that didn't work. After they locked him up and locked down and recounted the rest of the camp just to make sure nobody else had the bright idea, things went slightly back to normal.

As normal as they ever are here, anyway.

Then this evening we get another lockup from the wobblehead house. The yard dog escorting him is giggling and he pulls me out into the sallyport and says "I was talking to him about the old days when Sergeant Duck was down in the wobblehead house and you know what he told me?" I shook my head and he continued "He said 'I've known Sergeant Duck for years. I was his porcelain bathtub!' "

That took a minute to process.

Gather all of my wits I said "What?"

"I've known Sergeant Duck for years. I was his porcelain bathtub!"

Okey frickin' dokey!

I go back in the office and Sgt LB is asking the dude "Do you take controlled meds?"

I'm thinking "Yup! By the basketful!"

He shakes his head and says "No. They tried to force them on me, but I don't take them." He looks at LB and says "I know you. You take meds. I never see them forcing them on you!"

I wanted to lean over to LB and whisper "Psst! Your secret is out!"

But I didn't.

I should have.

But just the wobblehead dude looks at Sgt LB again and says "I know you! You and Sgt Duck kidnapped me from Illinois! That was just wrong."

I was almost overcome with an urge to whisper again.

Okay..... time to put this baby to bed. So off he went to his cell.

And all I am left with is this odd picture in my head of Sergeant Duck and a porcelain bathtub.

And it is just not a pretty picture. If you know what I mean.