For those of you have been, or will be, reading my blogs here on Tripper’s “Tales From The Cells” ……

Continued from Convict Definitions 101 Part 1…

Please find listed below a few definitions of prison terms and phrases you’ll need to know in order to better understand convict lingo and be penitentiary literate. Be advised some of these definitions apply only to United States Federal Prisons whereas others are universal in state institutions as well. This blog is meant to be both education­al and amusing, but does have graphic content. I hope you’ll enjoy and let me know if you want to continue Convict Defintions 101.

-Tripper

UP TOP: To be ran “up top” means an inmate or group of inmates were forced to seek protective custody in the SHU (the hole) by another group of inmates. In December of ‘07, at this federal institution, all child molesters were severely beaten and ran “up top” by the majority of the inmate population.

CENSUS COUNT: In federal prison, by policy, institution staff is required to do 2 census counts every month and report the results to Central Office Staff in Washingto D.C. This is to ensure that all inmates are where they’re supposed to be and no one has escaped. Census count is in addition to regular hourly and daily counts.

HOOCH: Hooch is simply homemade prison alcohol. It can vary from homemade beer, to wine, to actual distilled liquor. Personally, I’ve never drank any hooch. Nor have I smoked marijuana in prison, had sex with a female prison guard or broken any rules of the institution for that matter. Yeah, right!

THE WALLS: Some prisons that have high walls are called “the walls.” United States Leavenworth Prison is a walls joint. So is Jefferson City in Missouri.

BOOTY BANDIT: A booty bandit is a homosexual inmate predator that rapes young boys by force. “Dude’s a booty bandit! Better tell your weak ass homeboy to watch himself. He may come for him!”

CHECK-IN: A check-in is an inmate who turns himself in for protective custody. Usually a baby raper, snitch, or someone who owes a debt for tobacco, gambling, or store.

PUNK: This is a prison homosexual. Not a punk as in free world lingo. A punk sucks dick, takes it up the ass, and is property of his daddy. Personally, I don’t like punks and don’t condone the actions of them or their daddies.

BUSH PASS: I first heard this term from a female convict from Tennessee. This means to escape from a work crew or trustee assignment. “Hey man, where did Smitty go? Did the mf’er take a bush pass or what?” Convicts looking all around as a friend runs for the bushes or nearby trees.

R&D: This is the area of the institution where inmates are received and dis­charged.

Come-Fuck-Me’s: In the state system, inmates always wear boxer shorts. Briefs are known to all as “Come-Fuck-Me’s”. Just ask any weak individual who has been forcibly raped in the Arkansas, Mississippi or Louisiana Departments of Corruption.

Cadillac: In most systems, a Cadillac is a name brand cigarette such as a Lucky Strike, Marlboro or Pall Mall. Not a generic cigarette or roll-up. In the fed system, a Cadillac can also mean a dustpan. The kind with a handle on it. Inmates walk the compound with their brooms and Cadillacs picking up small pieces of paper and trash.

Catch a Hat: This phrase simply means to “leave.” “Catch a hat mf’er. I’m tired of looking at your sorry ass!”

A Line: A line is basically a fishing line used in the SHU or hole. An inmate will tear the string from a sheet, elastic from boxer shorts, or whatever material he can find and make a long string. Then, an object such as a pocket comb or a dead battery (AAA) is tied to the end of the string making it easier to toss under the cell door to and from other cells across and down the hall. You’d be amazed at the skill level of some of these convicts shooting lines.

G.F.T.: In the Arkansas state system, if an inmate has G.F.I, stamped on their file, it means he is “good for information.” Again, snitch, rat or stool pigeon….

And the REQUESTED term for this Convict Definitions is…

Fe-Fe Bag: Someone asked about this. This is something a convict rigs up to “fuck”. Usually a rubber glove finger wrapped tightly inside a towel held together by rubber bands or strings. Something “tight” an inmate can squeeze a little lotion in and fuck as if it were a woman’s vagina. Personally, I’ve never used a fe-fe bag although I have seen one taken by an officer during an institution shakedown. Beats fucking a punk I guess. Although I prefer Rosy Palmer and her four sisters myself.

Tripper’s Rep speaking here…

I spoke with Tripper on the phone this evening. He was in much better spirits, ready to get the stint taken out and proceed back to normal with life. They have to take him back out to an outside hospital one more time, sometime within the next week. They never disclose the appointment time or date. He is in less pain everyday and I think is just more annoyed now with the discomfort. He wanted to thank you all for your well wishes, thoughts, and prayers, and to let you know he has personal messages in the mail, and a blog about this entire ordeal. He ended with a Happy Thanksgiving to all and of course Tripper’s catch phrase, BETTER DAYS!!

Also, please be watching, I am going to post a blog about a holiday card/gift bash for Tripper. I will post that the day after Thanksgiving in order to give everyone enough time to participate should you want to. (And I sure hope you do, if we pull together, it makes such a big difference!!) There will also be information in that blog about a calendar that is in the making, and a couple of sexy ladies have some great ideas, but again, we need input from you. So stay tuned!!

TR

My last drink of hooch. Sitting here in federal prison, I just finished my last goddamn cup of prison wine. Thinking to myself … what will I do now? I’ll write a blog. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll write whatever comes to mind and try to make people laugh. And at the same time, I’ll try to make myself chuckle a little bit too. Because just like they say in Reader’s Digest, “laughter is the best medicine.” And everyone likes to laugh. Right? I don’t normally get drunk in prison. Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever done so. Couldn’t resist. I’d been having a bad day and decided to tie one on. Looking around, all I see are a bunch of men who are afraid of their own shadow. Guys who’d literally pull down their pants and let a person fuck just by hearing the word “boo!” What pussies there are here doing time. Makes me wonder how some of these wimpy dudes ever got put in prison in the first place. Just a bunch of weak individuals who let the system run over them day-in, day-out. They literally aggravate me to death.

Me? I’m a bit different. I’m outspoken. If a guard mouths off to me, I talk back. If I get screwed over by the prison laundry, food service or medical? I file formal complaints. I won’t eat bread and water and work like a Hebrew slave in the prison war factory known as UNICOR. I could give a damn less about their 23 cents an hour job. Newbies come in and say, “Tripper, why don’t you go to work in the UNICOR factory?” And I say, “Hell boy, if I wanted to work in a factory, I wouldn’t be in prison!” Fuck working in prison, fuck UNICOR and fuck the bullshit hard labor that senile bastard of a federal judge supposedly sentenced me to. I’m not here to work nor kiss the prison administration’s ass. They’re not going to work me to death. Some say I’m incorrigible. I say I’m a convict. And convicts don’t always do what prison officials tell them to do. Yeah, if I would have wanted to work at a factory, I’d be working at one of those old furniture factories in Fort Smith making minimum wage and I wouldn’t be doing time. Sorry everyone, but that’s not my idea of a life. Just keeping it real.

Had a couple of cups of wine with my friends tonight. And with the headache I have right now, one thing’s for sure, I won’t be doing it again for a while. Back to my writing … yeah sure. I’ve spent a few days in the hole. But when I left I still had my pride and dignity. I never rat and each and every morning I wake up and look at the man in the stainless steel mirror, and I know I’m not one. I don’t like abusive prison guards, jailhouse rats and penitentiary queers. One day I’ll once again be free to roam the earth as the warped, deranged idiot I am. And to those out there who might thing they’ll want to take a shot at me and run me down? Rest assured, you’ll have a bad day coming. Because again, I ain’t the one. With all this pent up anger, hatred and racism driving me day after day, if you decide to fuck with me, expect to get your head knocked off. Believe it or not, I ain’t no joke. No brag, just fact. If you want to be an idiot, I can be an idiot too. Don’t like being that way but sometimes shit just happens. Know what I’m saying?

Some of these so-called inmates in here are simply wasting good air. Their oxygen supply should be cut off. Especially the child molesters and homosexuals who take advantage of little kids. Take this sex offender that sleeps in the rack next to me for example. He comes in from the factory every day bragging to his bunky about just having sucked a wee-wee. And how his relationship with his big black daddy from Cincinnati is going so well. A guy that got a couple of years for possessing hundreds upon hundreds of images of child porn while I sit here doing a 17 year bit for a small amount of methamphetamine. A 45 year old white male who is still a predator just waiting for the day he is released from prison so he can go right back out there and rape more little boys.

Real Life Sex Offenders, Not All of Them The Nasty Picture You See In You Mind. One Smiling, and Quite Proud. Sick. Sick and WRONG!

Sorry everyone, but tonight I feel like speaking my mind. And one thing’s for sure, a drunk always speaks the truth about what’s on his mind. Yeah, this guy is one sick, perverted, twisted little boy goober gobbler who I detest and abhor. He needs to be run off the yard. He needs to be forced to check into protective custody. Yet he is allowed to live here. Why? Because the punishment for making him check in is too severe.

Then occasionally, I run into a real mother fucker. Someone who’s been there/ done that and doesn’t give a fuck about society’s law in that smoking pot is illegal but former politicians who rape little babies is okay. Like my friend Big Sam for instance. The guy who shared a couple of cups of wine with me tonight. Now here’s a guy that lives in a world of reality. At 62 years old and having just spent almost 16 calendar years in the pen, he knows life is almost over for him. And when he gets out? Fuck some supervised release. He’ll jump that first day I predict. I imagine plans of cooking up a batch of speed and hittin’ one last good lick. No need in being scared! Eat, drink and be merry. Enjoy life to the absolute fullest. No living in the gray twilight, never having had any fun in life for Sam. Be all you can be! Kick ass, take names and tell the Judge and Prosecuting Attorney that put you in here … kiss my fucking ass! Again, I’m sorry everyone. Just my drunken rant. But I admire guys like Sam. Fuck ‘em and feed ‘em fish heads. He’s the real deal all the way!

Men without a program. Men without ambition or a plan in life. That’s all who live and sleep around me. Everyone but Wild Bill Archer. Now here’s a guy who has literally done it all. The former Las Vegas Chapter President of the Hessians Motorcycle Club. The feds never caught him doing anything. Yet they lied on him in open court, set him up from the git-go and sentenced him to 295 months in the pen. Bill doesn’t work at UNICOR. He doesn’t conform and kiss the warden’s ass. He hasn’t raped any little boys or girls and got a minimal prison sentence. Just like me, he can’t stand the child molesters who are allowed to do their time on this yard. Bill is a man’s man. He does his time the way he wants to do it. If someone says something stupid to him, whether it be a prison guard or one of these cho’mo’s (prison slang for child molester), he tells them where to get off—how the cow chews the cabbage. I respect guys like Wild Bill and Big Sam. They’re convicts who mind their own business and do their own time. And I want to be just like them when I grow up. I already am. I’m Tripper. I’m drunk. And I hate all who live in my world wasting fresh air.

Just thought I’d rant a little bit tonight and let you know what’s going through a drunk convict’s mind. I write this blog sitting in a prison barracks full of noisy, disrespectful, asshole inmates who have no respect for anyone. Not even themselves. The mental and physical torure a man puts up with in prison will drive him to drink. And it’s unfathomable to the normal every day Joe. It’ll be amazing if I leave here with my sanity and not hate every law enforcement official, faggot and gangbanger I run into out there in the world. Nights like tonight wear on me. I sometimes feel like a ticking time bomb waiting for my time to explode. Again, thank God for what little sanity I still possess and thank the prison psych for Prozac. Wish I had a big fat joint of marijuana to smoke right now. From the mind of a temporarily drunken, unusually disgruntled inmate locked away in federal prison for a little bit of speed. I’m Tripper. And really everyone … I’m okay. Better Days!