The Rocket Scientists Employed By BOP FCI

Written by Katfish

Saturday, 23 May 2009 00:55

Blog Y “The Rocket Scientists Employed By BOP FCI Big Sprung- Part One”

Hell I must still be in the Bucket if you’re reading this. It also means the Big shots at FCI Big Sprung have decided that they have enough of an issue with me, with my writing, and with my ability to make their business public, to try to intimidate me to silence by keeping me in Investigative Segregation.

This simply won’t do. Therefore I feel I have nothing left to lose by opening my big fat mouth and letting you know even more about the assorted idiots doing some of the most non-sensical, obtuse, puerile and simpleminded shit imaginable. I’ll even go that one step further. I WILL name names. Bang.

But first I need to make something perfectly clear; The thing I know and am about to share with you I learned from the “other police”. I call them that because even tho’ they’re a few and far in between, there are a handful here. By “other police” I mean the ones whom are here to simply collect a check, hopefully endure 20 years of bureaucratic boolshit and retire. The “other police” absolutely know about my writing. They’ve also made it perfectly clear they’d just as soon NOT be named because it’s better if the big shots don’t know who they are. Nevertheless, a huge convict fist pump to Correctional Officer (C.O.) Speck, who quit in disgust over the treatment of inmates by power tripping LTs. Same to CO’s Aiello and Franks, they made their 20 years and retired within a month or so of one another, riding their Harleys away, their middle fingers saluting the institution. For the rest of the “other police” still here, thank you for telling me the things I’m about to reveal here and your identities shall remain my secret.

Let’s start with C.O. Barton, whom is no longer with FCI Big Sprung, although I have reason to believe he is still a BOP guard elsewhere. C.O. Batron is very aggressive as well as stupid. My personal experience is thus: I usually arise at five a.m. and begin to write. I do my best writing early, and have been practicing this for 10 (TEN) years. More or less. Yeah yeah, you would think I’d be better at it by now. Good one. So anyway, one morning, as I’m writing, the other 47 inmates snoring, gurgling and farting around me in slumber with the lights down low, C.O. Barton suddenly appears in my bunk space.

“What is it you’re doing there?” he asked. He then held out his hand and said, “Here, let me see that.” I was a little confused, yet handed over my writing board, paper and pen. He examined it so closely I began to suspect he was reading it. He then handed it back and said, “Are you tattooing back here?” Well, Nikita – I looked around and saw everyone was sleeping, it was dark, except for the burning 24-7 night lights, only things on my bunk were myself and my writings. I couldn’t quite figure out how he arrived at that suspicion.

“Umm…what is no?”, I answered Jeopardy fashion. This is when I noticed his ear. I can’t really say for sure, so I just now went down and asked Huard. He says, Quote “It’s his right ear, man, right here (demonstrates by digging in the cup which leads to his ear canal). Has a hole in it you could jam your thumb through.” UNQ. The “other police” confirmed how he did this. Groove on this shit Nikita: C.O. Barton, in 2001, was assigned to drive the Roamer. This is duty usually reserved for the guards even the warden doesn’t want on the compound. A Roamer drives a security vehicle around the prison’s perimeter. This is by no means a secret; they’re out there all day every day for one and all to see.

In any event, C.O. Barton is out there, doing his duty when his stupid ass decided to mess around with the shotgun. This fool ass motherfucker set the gun off INSIDE the vehicle. He damn near blew his own head smooth off! Tore a hole in his ear and blew a huge gap in the roof. Unsurprisingly he’s also permanently hard of hearing now. And he was in charge of a weapon here, within FCI Big Sprung.

As I understand it, even the U.S. Army would discharge you for that act of idiocy. Nevertheless, there he stood, in early 2008, asking me if I was tattooing at 5:00a.m. He gave me my writings back and moved off.