“The Craziest Piss Test Ever”

In prison, there are a lot of list you really don’t want to be on. A few of these include “known gang members” and “tattoo artists”, and guys who run gambling operations…but one list even worse than these I have mentioned is “the hot list.”

The hot list is a special little place solely reserved for individuals who fit one of two criteria, or both. 1.) This person has previously pissed “dirty” or 2.) They have a “drug conviction history.”

Being as I have a drug conviction history I am on the hot list.

All this really means is that once or twice a month I am called to various locations around the facility at various times of inconvenience to piss in a cup. Tests are usually administered by the most “colorful” of correctional officers this compound employs. And by colorful, I mean complete assholes. These are the most hard-ass officers who are completely by the book and play no games. So, as if you weren’t already uncomfortable enough pissing in front of someone, you’re now pissing in front of an officer whose sole purpose on this planet is finding any reason at all to send your sorry ass to “the hole.”

It’s a hell of a lot of pressure, and some guys can’t handle it. It gets quite psychological, too.

You are asked to step into a single stall restroom with another grown man, most likely he wants you to drop your pants to your knees, life your shirt to your chin, and then hang your dick in a cup. Then he is going to watch as piss exits your urethra. I’m not just talking about a passing glance neither, this guy’s sole focus is “the wood.”

I could tell you a hundred stories about the crazy shit I have seen dealing with life on the hot list. But that’s not what this story is about. I only mention all this to give you a better understanding of just how crazy it was the day my entire housing unit was locked down and piss tested…82 people being piss tested in chaotic fashion….

All of this begins with a “domino effect.”

First, one guy in another building, drops a note saying some other guy might have drugs. Then, in the middle of the night, officers shake down that guy and do in fact find drugs. That guy then goes to the hole. Next thing that happens is the entire housing unit gets locked down and piss tested.

Did the guy who got caught with the drugs have a vendetta? Or did he try to cop a deal? Was the reason for this because of the guy who had originally dropped the note? No one really knows. There are only a lot of rumors and assumptions. And for those of you who don’t know, rumors and assumptions are the heart beat of prison.

Some kind of way, all of this shit rolled down hill. Eventually, it made its way all the way to my housing unit, which is an entirely different building!

The first sign that there was trouble brewing was when we weren’t allowed to leave the building. The rest of the compound was under normal operations and the guys in my housing unit were being sent back from work and school.

“Oh shit”, I thought, “this isn’t good.”

The housing unit in the other building where all of this had stemmed from had just been locked down and piss tested less than 3 days ago. So, most everyone already had an idea about what was coming. Yet, as with anything else in life, there were still a few silly motherfuckers who refused to accept the inevitable. These guys tried justifying why we were being locked down.

“Maybe it’s a surprise pizza party” one guy said.

Another said “I’m too young to die! They’re gonna pump chlorine gas through the ventilation system and KILL US!!”.

The tension and anxiety was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Then it happened.

A team of correctional officers that rivaled the “A Team” burst through the front door with coolers in tow full of test kits. The housing unit erupted, and pandemonium ensued.

Guys began drinking tons of water; some did this just hoping it would help them pass the test. Some just to make sure they could go when needed to take the test.

Long lines began forming in front of the restroom, CO’s were barking out orders and commands, tons of chaos everywhere.

Some of the guys who had been drinking water ended up having to piss long before they even made it to the test. They had to piss so bad they were pissing in bags in the back corner of the housing unit.

One guy had to shit so bad, he was shaking uncontrollably and crying while begging the officer to either let him go shit next door in the other housing unit, or kill him before his intestines ruptured.

As I watched this tumultuous disarray play out all around me, it began to have a mild psychological effect on me.

Finally I lined up in an attempt to get this over with, the line was long but even being so, I noticed everyone at the front of the line was crowded round the entrance to the restroom transfixed on the action taking place on the inside. At first I thought maybe something had happen on the inside. I mean, why else would all these guys be standing around staring in there like that? But then, reality struck me, nothing was happening other than the piss test that were being administered. These guys were just a bunch of nosey bitches who might be entertained by the sight of penis’s and hairy ass cheeks.

I waited for all eternity and then finally it was my turn to enter the “slaughterhouse”.

If I thought what I had seen thus far was crazy, then upon entering the restroom area, that craziness instantly multiplied ten-fold!

The first thing I noticed was behind the wall in the shower area. There, stood the pitiful fucks who couldn’t perform and were there sentenced to endless embarrassment that was pelted upon them anytime someone new entered the arena.

Like “hey look at you bunch of sorry assholes! What’s the matter? Did your dick shrivel up inside your stomachs! You guys suck!!”

Then I noticed our wheelchair guy parked in the corner by the urinals like he was on “time-out.” His head was in his hands and I could tell he was having no easy time of this.

“OK, I’ve got this”, I thought to myself.

I pulled up to the urinal, took the cup, then proceeded to drop my pants to my knees and lift my shirt to my chin like I was instructed to do.

Standing in front of the urinal with this “super trooper” locked in on my inadequate man parts, the psychological onslaught took a major turn for the worse.

“Oh my God!” I thought. “I’m standing here with my entire ass out for the world to see in front of a bunch of guys staring at me!”

I had to pull it together.

On one side of me was wheelchair guy, and on the other was “Robo cop.” I attempted a little small talk to lighten the load.

“Pretty nice weather we’re having wouldn’t you say?” I said as I looked him straight in the face.

His eyes never left my penis as he responded, “sir, do not say ANYTHING to me, just fill the cup.”

Holy shit, I am about to lose it.

With no dignity left, and no piss in the cup, I handed it back to the officer. I tell him that I cannot perform at the moment and will now join the other losers behind the wall.

Behind the wall, shit got real, too. No really, like at that moment I realized just how bad I had to take a shit. With that thought festering in my mind, I listened as the other guys who suffered the same performance anxiety as I did, justify why they couldn’t hit the shot when it counted and the game was on the line.

“Dicks too big”, one guy said. I didn’t really understand that line of rational. But another guy seemed to sum it up just fine when he said “I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS MAN!! THEY’RE WATCHING US PISS!! EVERYONE IS WATCHING US PISS!!”

I understood his rational a lot better.

The moment that really stole the show and will forever be burned in my memory bank, stored in a file titled “Things in life that have totally fucked me forever” was what happen with wheelchair guy.

I peeked around the corner (yes, I know, I’m no better than the barrage of onlookers myself, I guess) and saw wheelchair guy standing up, or more so, leaning against a wall in front of the urinal. His back to me and on it seemed to be written “utter defeat” as he tried for what must have been his 4th or 5th attempt to “make water”.

At that moment, he just lost it. He threw the plastic cup at the urinal which “clink-tink-tinked” as it ricocheted off multiple surfaces, then hit the ground.


“What?” the terminator officer said.

“MAYBE IF I SIT DOWN I CAN TAKE THE TEST!” Wheelchair guy said.


“Did you just say you need to… sit down to…pee?” Nazi cop said.

“Sir, you are going to STAND and take THIS TEST!”

At this point, I once again lost it. This was fucking crazy.

I came from behind the wall and said “hey look, I gotta shit.”

The officers must have forgotten I had been in there, because they acted like I hadn’t been.

“What the hell are you doing in here!?!” One officer said.

The other officer said “you are in violation of the rules!! This is a restricted area!!”

“Whatever” I said, “I’m going to take a shit.”

I walked out, went next door to the other housing unit, yeah at that point they were letting guys do that who really had to go now.

I went, I shit, and I came right back. I walked in the restroom like I owned the place. I cut in front of like 20 people including wheelchair and said “hey officer, give me that fucking cup, let’s do this thing.”

I took my shirt completely off and threw it on the ground. Then I leaned into that cup and squeezed out like 10 drops.

I did it.

There never was a worry about whether or not I would pass the test. I knew I was clean. I’ve never had a “dirty” urine. So that played on my psyche none.

I guess it was the whole seal team 6 approach, accompanied by everyone else’s difficulties that made the moment a little overwhelming.

But even with all that, I accomplished the objective. Tango six. I put the fucking ring around Rosie.

As for everyone else, they eventually produced as well. Some passed. Some failed. For some it was easier. For some it was harder. For a few it was life altering. They might never be the same again.

Wheelchair did just fine. The guy who had to shit so bad he was in tears failed and went to the hole. Another guy took like 4 hours to piss. He passed though. He’s just really gun shy I guess. And now anytime he’s in the restroom pissing, he might scream out “STOP STARING AT ME!!”

After all that, it was over. The day went back to normal operations. Or at least as normal as it could get after going through something like that.

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Welcome To The Madness…

The stories and posts you will read chronicle my journey, mostly in an over the top, vulgar and hilarious way. They depict what life is really like for a guy who is trying to rise above the negativity he is surrounded by daily.

This is real life behind the barbwire fence.

You will laugh…

You will be intrigued….

You will want to follow my blog so you can read the madness that is my life…A cartoonist/writer/artist incarcerated just trying to better himself…


A New Job…And A Crazy Day

I’m going to try to kill two birds with one stone. I’m going to tell you all about my new job here in prison and I’m going to tell you about this super screwed up day I had recently,  a day that was like a rollercoaster ride, plummeting straight down, right out of the gate. Then thankfully, miraculously, it balanced out by the end of it.

First, I recently got a new job where I’m a painter on this mural crew. This is a crew of only (5) guys. I make the 5th guy, and we get to go all over the prison compound painting cool shit on walls. Each mural painter is a pretty great artist, too. Except for me, that is.

I am a fraud.

I consider all of the guys I work with “friends” so I couldn’t have landed a better gig. I get to work with guys I enjoy the company of, while doing something that I love to do: create art.

Each painter brings his own unique style to the table, too. Some are more realistic while others are abstract.

I’m the only cartoonist of the bunch…my style is more “cartoonistic.” Hey, this is “my” blog, I can make up words if I want too.

Like I said before, I couldn’t have landed a better gig. But even so, I can’t lie…this shit has been hectic and stressful.

The 1st mural I did was super laid back. A leisurely piece depicting a cartoon I had created when I first got to “this” prison.

(I’ve been to a few other prisons on this ride.)

A cool thing about this piece…I had always said I was going to leave my mark on this place before it was all said and done. Well, now I was actually doing that.

That leisurely shit, well that was the 1st piece, now I am on the 2nd mural.

The one that ties into the crazy messed up day I had mentioned earlier.

I knew this 2nd mural was going to be a little more problematic. It was to be done in the visitation room, which is “front street” on “grand display” for the entire prison.

Everyone would see this piece, including the public.

Without a doubt, the powers that be would be “hey, were just seeing how it’s going,” every step of the way.

Also, it was a piece that originally, I had created a few months back for a “resource fair” that took place here.

A piece that I hated!

It was a picture of a cartoon guy stepping out of the letter “O” on the word “out”. The cartoon guy was wearing a “half prison jumpsuit-half business suit,” nothing wrong with that right? Well, the words that accompanied the picture are what really “sank in” for me.

The words said “I’m Coming Out” I mean this thing might as well have said “I Am Gay.” No offense to anyone who is neither.

But c’mon! That’s just not me, Jack!

So, real quick, a little back story on why I first created a piece saying, “I’m Coming Out.”

Well, they made me!

Said it couldn’t me changed neither. “I’m Coming Out” represented some “theme song” for the resource fair.

I begged the “higher ups” to let me change this. “Don’t you understand what this sounds like!?!” I pleaded. “People might think I’m some closet meat lover coming out to the world through this shit!!”


No offense to any meat lovers out there.

In the end, did I do what any man with respect for himself and dignity would do? Did I stand my ground and say “I’m not doing this shit!”

Fuck No!

I folded like a lawn chair.

I created gayness.

Well, that was then, now they wanted me to paint this piece in the visitation room.

I had to change it.

I vaguely mentioned painting this piece “better” than the original to the higher ups. They must’ve seen right through my ploy, too.

They “nonchalant” didn’t budge.

“Yeah, we kind of like the original.” They said.

With no help there, I threw all the chips on the table and went all in on a pair of aces.

I changed the damn words.

Instead of it saying “I’m Coming Out,” I changed it to say “Eventually…We’re Getting Out.” To me and a few others who commented this was a lot less mis-interpretable. But oh now naive I can be. Little did I know that I would “Eventually” pay hell for taking it upon myself to change the words on this piece for the greater good of humanity.

But, that would come later.

From the beginning, I had said multiple times that I could finish this 2nd mural within a week. This would prove to be a major lesson learned, though. Guestimating a projects completion is best left “vague” in prison to account for any snags along the way.

Like a dumbass, I ran around shooting my mouth off saying “oh, I’ll have this completed within a week. No biggie.” In all actuality, this could have happened had I not chose the worst possible week to attempt this,  a week where I’d only have (3) days to actually work on the piece and 2 “MAJOR” snags along the way.

The 2 snags…they couldn’t have come at a worse time or on a worse day, neither.

On the 3rd and final day of the work week, the day where I realized I wasn’t going to complete the piece and I was just hoping to get as close to complete as I could; both of the snags occurred.

The screwed up day I had mentioned at the beginning of this post that was the 3rd and final day. It started out with me having a weird feeling. I felt like something was wrong. I mean, I knew I wasn’t going to complete the mural and I had tried so hard to have it done by this day. So maybe that was the reason I felt funny because knowing I wouldn’t finish the piece on the day I said I would have it done was bugging me.

I went to work and got right to work. I hadn’t even been painting for an hour when I heard it through the radio of the correction officer who was just passing by. I heard my name over the airwaves and realized someone was looking for me back at the housing unit.

“Jesus, what the hell was this about?” I thought to myself as I packed up all my paint shit, this couldn’t be good. I just had that feeling.

I got back to my building and as I walk through the door, I realized my gut was right. I saw a sergeant and a regular “C.O.” standing by my bunk, waiting for me.

I got to my bunk and the sergeant told me “today is your lucky day, you’re getting searched.” I complied knowing there wasn’t much I had to worry about.

Some porn pics I had stashed.

A couple of overdue library books.

I complied, but I’m irritated because this is a big waste of time, a waste of my PRECIOUS time that could have been better spent with me painting.

The search began and I instantly realized this wasn’t as “random” of a search as they had initially told me it was. They’re being super meticulous, looking through everything. I began to think they’re looking for something “specific”. But whatever it is they thought I had, they didn’t find it because I never had it. I don’t have anything but 5+ years of writing and art that I’ve amassed, and other trivial shit that I am allowed to have.

My belongings here don’t amount to much and they seemed to amount to even less to the officers who trashed my shit in search of GOD KNOWS WHAT.

When it was all said and done, my bunk area looked like a disaster area.

My shit was everywhere.

After what little privacy I had had been raped and pillaged, the feelings of just being violated quickly faded. I took all my stuff and threw it like the trash it had just been treated as, back into my locker.

I had spent countless free time organizing and reorganizing all my stuff trying to make the most of what little space I had. All of that was non vanquished as I had to “literally” force my locker shut just to lock it.

That was the first snag.

I went back to work and trying to put the search out of my mind, I quickly got back to painting.

Now, before I continue, I have to mention this.

On the day before this hellacious day, one of the higher ups had come to me “just to see how it was going”. Doing so, they had also mentioned that the mural was “looking good.”

So…back to me painting after the search.

I might have been painting for an hour when the two powers that be, both of the higher ups, there’s two of them ya’ll, came to me and said “you know, we really don’t like the word ‘Eventually’, it sounds like we don’t care, like we’re just trying to get passed this and ‘this’ doesn’t matter. We need to change it.”


On the inside, I’m losing it, I’m like “did you NOT just come and look at this thing yesterday and tell me it was LOOKING GOOD.” Why the hell couldn’t you have told me ‘THEN’ you didn’t like it!?!

But on the outside, I play it cool, “no biggie”, I said. “How about I change it to say “I’m Getting Out”?

Higher up #1 said “that’s fine.”

Higher up #2 said “well, if you had just kept it with the original saying…I’m just saying…hey, how are you?”


I caught that little shot you just tried to jab at me. I thought to myself as my blood began to boil, but I ignored it and quickly began damage control.

“OK”, I thought to myself, “how in the hell can I fix this”?

“The words are already done.”

“The background color, I don’t even have any more of that!!”

This is ‘definitely’ the 2nd snag!!

OK…so what do I do!?!

What the hell would McGuiver do in this situation?

Thinking quickly, I dug out some white paint and just started bombing the words that need to be change with it. I’ve got to cover “Eventually….We’re” as much as I can before lunch. And I do.

I slather on two butchering coats of paint that almost completely “white out” what needs to be changed.

While at lunch, I come very close to calling in “Air Support”, the regular wall painters. These guys work in tandem with us and if ever there is a mural that ends up super fucked up or beyond repair…those guys are our erasers.

But instead, I come up with a plan. I’d put a little bit of a darker blue across the top and blend it out. The word change would be a part of the darker blue addition.

Lunch ended and we went back to work. With a plan in motion the transformation began. Somehow this end of being a relatively smooth operation and it actually worked! Even one of the other mural painters came to help me a little. He talked me off the ledge and together we got the piece to a decent stopping point by the end of the day.

All that could be done was done this day.

After a morning that was completely fucked up, this afternoon proved to be a little better.

The higher ups were impressed with the fix.

The search and desecration of my shit brought me no additional trouble…just the time it would take me to put my bunk area back together. Hell, I even got to keep my outdated porn collection. Somehow those D-BAG cops missed them during the search. So, at least I still have something to jack off too.

Maybe it wasn’t such a BAD day after all…

Just a little hectic.


“Eat it or Starve”

Wed. Jan 22, 2014

Do you know what one of my favorite things to wake up to has always been? Well, a good blow job is one of those things, of course. But that is not what I am talking about, here. I’m talking about snow y’all! Ain’t snow fucking awesome to wake up too!?! You wake up, pull back the curtains, and BOOM! There it is…snow.

No school. No work. Just white awesomeness…and maybe a blow job.

Do you know what one of my ‘least’ favorite things to wake up to is?

Snow…while in prison.

A blowjob plays ‘absolutely’ no part in this!

I woke up this morning and BOOM. There it was…snow.

I don’t go to breakfast a lot because it is usually enough to make me hate my fucking life. They feed us horribly here, and lately it seems to be getting a lot worse. Most mornings, I’d rather go without then having to deal with the bullshit of a sorry-ass prison breakfast. But this morning was different.

I got up at 5:30am like I do most mornings and turned the news on. (I’ve secretly been carrying on a secret relationship with WTKR’S Kristin Crowley.) The traffic chick. This has been going on for about 8 months, maybe 9, now. It’s a secret because she doesn’t know about it. I also kinda wonder how many other guys wake up looking forward to seeing this chick on t.v. Oh, c’mon! I can’t be the only one!

For at least the last year now I have woke up just to turn on the news, not caring about anything news related-only simply what this chick is wearing and to watch her “rip the runway” as she walks on camera during her segment.

But this morning I was struck by something other than “traffic chick” and that was the weather. According to the t.v. it was like 20 degrees outside, with a wind chill of (-1). Everything out in the “free world” was closed due to freezing conditions, snow drifts and accumulation. That sounded interesting enough to me to decide I was going to chow this morning.

I wanted to see what the conditions were like, first hand. I mean, I’ve been in prison for 5 years now. I have missed out on so much of everything. Weather conditions are a small part of that, but a part, none the less. So anytime there is a chance I’ll get to experience “unique conditions”, I like to try to take advantage of those opportunities.

During hurricane ‘Sandy’, I walked to chow, through horizontal rain and 60mph wind gust just so I could say I got to experience a little of that storm.

I’m weird, I guess. (Prison can make you that way. I mean, Jesus Christ! I’m stalking a traffic chick for God’s sake!!)

So…this morning I headed out into the cold for a pitiful breakfast and the chance to experience some snow.

The first crazy thing that happened had happened as soon as we piled out of our housing unit. We have a wheelchair guy here and he is pushed to and fro by a guy I like to refer to as the “douchebag jackass”. I call him this because I think he is such an awesome guy. Laugh. Seriously though, I fucking hate this guy.

The walkways were impassable for the wheelchair tag team. Snow drifts had left “snow-mounds” everywhere. So through wind gust and the mild chaos that came from everyone’s excitement for the snow, the wheelchair team quickly experienced turbulence and became stuck. The wheelchair had to then be abandoned, making the trek for wheelchair guy and the douchebag jackass impossibly difficult. For whatever reason, probably because I am a horrible person, I found this to be hilarious.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Probably something like I’m an asshole for finding humor in the hardships suffered by the handicap. But that’s really not the case at all. Actually, I kind of like wheelchair guy. In my defense, it was probably what douchebag jackass said the moment the wheelchair became stuck.

In the most country-backwoods-out-yonder-on the holler-yesteryear fucking voice, he said “GOTDAMMIT! This here wheelchair ain’t gon no far-DER. I RECKEN if we had us a tow winch and some mud bog tiyers we’d be cookin with bacon fat DEN.”

Country folk…bless their hearts.

I quickly beeline passed their difficulties. I mean, if they were in need of assistance, it damn sure wasn’t coming from me.

It was cold, Jack! And I was trying to get this show on the road.

Hiking through ‘Everest” type conditions, I made it to the chow hall.

The warden was standing in front of the building taking pictures of the snow with his IPhone.

“It’s so beautiful”, he said. “This camera phone doesn’t do its beauty justice”.

Ok…did he REALLY just say that a snow covered “PRISON” is beautiful!?! I thought to myself, but no time for that.

It was cold.



Inside the chow hall, little warmth was present. What was most certainly present: a horrendously pitiful excuse for breakfast, this that is supposed to be our sustenance, our nourishment, what we survive on.


For breakfast this morning they served (2) grayish-brown colored pancakes, half a handful of potato slices that might as well have been potato chips, and some watered down grits. Something like grit soup.

Some say these strange pancakes were “wheat pancakes”. I mean, is there even such a thing? Others say that the flour used to make the pancakes is so cheap not even “enriched-bleached flour”. I don’t know for sure. What I do know they tasted like shit… But I ate them anyways, because like the old head at the table with me said, “gotta eat it…eat it or starve”.