Tehachapi State Prison. Thanks so much for the subscription the last eight months. It's really helped keep me in touch with the outside world and my mind off my daily struggles behind bars. If you can find it in your hearts to renew my subscription it would be greatly appreciated. You will never know how much it meant to me to see my past letters in print and for that I must thank you again.
I would like to wish my oldest daughter Veronica happy birthday. She turned nine on September 18. I hope she had a big party and got everything she wanted. She's always been daddy's angel and I believe in spoiling her rotten. As my first child she can pretty much do no wrong. And she's had me wrapped around her little finger now for a minute and knows it.
As for myself and my current situation, my surroundings have again changed as well as my release date. While everyone else is talking about early kicks and county parole, I'm one of the few it just doesn't apply to and my release date seems to keep getting farther and farther away. I've been written up twice now in the last six months. First for self-mutilation when I sliced my tongue like a snake with a string. Take it from me, don't do this at home! Second, for a fresh tattoo of my San Francisco Giants on my right arm. Got to love the misfits. Better luck next year boys!
Anyway, as of now I'm on my third day of C-status which consists basically of nothing coming, for 90 days. I've lost all privileges and personal property. No store, no packages, no dayroom, TV, games, etc. Only one hour yard a day and I was moved to the gym. I'm so totally grounded it's not even funny.
As I enter my new domain, a partner of mine shakes my hand and says, “Welcome to Hell.” I laugh it off and continue making my way to the back towards the office with a smile on my face because it's all fun and games until — well, you get the treatment which I was about to receive for having a smile on my face of course.
Immediately this 6-foot, 300 pound black Correctional Officer, looking a lot like Shrek I might add, snatches me out of the crowd. “You over there with a smile on your face. Get over here! Are you laughing? Do you think this shit is funny?”
Now, two feet in front of him in the office, I reply, “No sir,” for which I earned stage two of the treatment which consists of stepping into the adjoining room as directed — a mop supply room in the corner with no windows full of gawking inmates like we had in the office.
He has me strip down to my boxers as his partner steps in and shuts the door. This officer is maybe 5-5, and a buck-fifty soaking wet. He's got a Dr. Evil scowl and a mad-at-the-world complex. All kidding aside, this guy has some issues.
So now that we have some privacy and I'm in my boxers. Shrek breaks out the handcuffs and hooks them around behind my back. Now he proceeds to make his stand and solely with his breath, screaming 2 inches from my face that I'm not running shit and this is his house. I'm nothing. I'm not a man. I'm just some punk inmate. Etc. This goes on for about a minute as he goes into how they do things here at at CCI.
At this point stage three of the treatment is upon me when Dr. Evil uncuffs me from behind. I leave my hands behind my back and Shrek tells me to put my hands at my side. I don't move. He repeats it. I comply. Now he tells me, “Do something. I will use my toys. Come on, be a man! Do it!”
I state, “I'm trying to go home.” To which he laughs at me and backs off stating, “That's what I thought. I'll whoop your ass right here in front of this camera,” looking up at the all-seeing bubble in the corner of the room.
For the final act, Dr. Evil and Shrek switch positions now with Shrek cracking his baton out repeatedly while Dr. Evil evaluates my face. All of two inches separate us as he looks at each side of my face like he's checking my ears.
“Look at you with your green eyes and your slick hair. I bet the boys love you. What are you? Some Cho-Mo?” I crack a smile and shake my head. It's all too funny. “I ain't no Cho-Mo,” is all I say as I shake my head and looked down at my children's faces blasted on my stomach.
“Well, then what are you here for?” he says. “What brings you to Cho-Mo-ville?” I flinch. What do I say? “Physical elder abuse to cause great bodily injury or death. I'm in here for beating up old men like you"? This is not going well.
I finally say, “Home invasion.”
“Oh, so you like to rob people, huh?” he asks.
“No sir,” I respond.
“Do you got parents? What do you think should happen to somebody if they robbed them at gunpoint, then duct taped them up and started taking things from their house?”
Now somewhere behind me Shrek turns off the lights. It's dark, real dark, and Dr. Evil continues, “You're going to pay for what you did. I might just crack your skull with my baton or I may end up taking you outside and have the gunner shoot you. Your ass is mine! Step out of line again and see what happens. And you're gonna cut that hair too, because I don't like it. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” I reply.
“Did you think you would just get away with it?” he asks.
“No sir,” I state. “It wasn't like that.”
I'm waiting for my eyes to adjust. I'm wondering if I'm going to see the first shot coming or just feel it.
“It wasn't like what?” he asks.
I say, “That whole scenario. It didn't go down like that.”
This whole time from behind me I hear Shrek's baton opening and closing like a toy light-saber sword from Star Wars I used to play with. I'm waiting for the first contact. Will it be to the back of the head or the ribs? Is it coming at all?
“Well, how did it go down?” Dr. Evil asks.
“It was just some old man,” I tell him. “I hit him once and took his wallet. He was a weirdo.”
Game over. Dr. Evil tells me to get on my knees and cross my legs. I try to comply and get on my knees. As I cross my legs I ask, “I don't know if I'm doing it right.” From behind Shrek tells me to just sit down on my ass. “Are you really ready for your whoopping?” Shrek asked.
My heart is beating a million miles a minute. Are they bluffing? “It is what it is, if that's what you want to do,” I say.
As the lights come back on, Dr. Evil tells me to stand up, keep my hands behind my back and head to my rack. He follows me all the way and states I'm on bunk status — if anyone talks to me or I talk to anyone then everyone's locker is going to get hit!
I'm famous and I've only been in the gym for 15 minutes. Welcome To Hell is right and I'm just getting started. Needless to say, I'm on their radar now and every minute around this camp has been an adventure.
Cheddar Bob, signing out