The absolute worst thing an inmate can say to prison staff is, “Do your job.” Because, as everyone knows, government employees, especially those employed by the Bureau of Prisons, are the laziest, sorriest, most worthless people in the world.(Now I must but a disclaimer in here, in my history of doing time, there were/are a handful of cool Cos, but they seem to be few and far between) And, on top of being all those things, many are incompetent too. One of my favorite phrases used in requests for administrative remedies (formal grievances) is, “The government sets the standard for incompetence. The Federal Bureau of Prisons is the epitome of government incompetence.” Everyone who works for the Bureau comes to work with the attitude, “I’m going to do as little as possible today— inmates got nothing coming.” Wherefore, my job as an inmate writ writer and con­vict is to make these worthless, lazy, incompetent, inmate-hating pieces of shit do their job. It’s what I do. It’s my duty and mission to make things in prison better for me and for all other federal inmates alike.

One of the most poorly run and mismanaged entities of this particular insti­tution is Food Service. The assholes that run the kitchen are so incompetent they couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were clearly written on the heel. Many of the Food Service Supervisors can’t even boil water. Much less pre­pare a meal fit for human consumption. Last Wednesday, approximately 105 inmates reported to sick call with food poisoning. Apparently the tuna casserole made everyone ill. Even four or five guards got sick and threw their guts up! Yeah, they serve some really good food at this shithole. Fortunately for me, I ate a butt naked ramen noodle soup that night. Never was too much for hot fish. I wondered why all the shitter stalls were full Thursday morning. I’d never seen it like that before that early in the day. And too, the sick call line at Health Services was completely off the chain.

<———Nutra-Loaf, Google It!

Yesterday the national menu read, “Submarine sandwich”. Knowing the so-called sub sandwich was going to be nothing more than, substandard, I prepared a written complaint to hand to the Food Service Administrator as soon as I walked through the chow line. The B.O.P. Production Recipe Card reads: “2 one-ounce slices of lunch meat, 1 slice of American cheese, 2 slices of tomato, and 3 onion rings.” Having been screwed over on the substandard submarine sandwich numerous times before, I already knew what to expect. And true to what I knew was going to happen, all we got was 2 paper thin slices of meat and a stale bun. Nothing else. No cheese. No tomatoes. And no onions. That’s the way it always is and that’s the way it will always be. Unless … I file an administrative remedy and make them do their job. See what I mean? That’s just the way it works around here. However, when you file, you piss them off. Staff that is. Then comes retaliation.

One minute after I hand-delivered the complaint to the Food Service Admin­istrator, I watched as the AM Cook Supervisor approached the compound officer whispering something in his ear. I knew what was happening. Not my first rodeo. I knew he was telling the prison guard to “get me.” And sure enough, five minutes after that, another guard was searching my locker for contraband. When all was said and done, Officer Dickweed took all my extra t-shirt, pair of socks, underwear and several personal items which he had no business confiscating. And to top things off, he wrote me a shot (disciplinary report) for prohibited act code 305, poss­ession of anything not authorized, when in fact, the items possessed were not contraband at all. The stuff I had, everyone has. I was simply targeted for exercising my right as an inmate to file an administrative remedy complaint. Sometimes a man just can’t win for losing.