in a prison – Page 2 – Mansploitation

Things fall apart, the center can not hold

Content

A nigga need a screwdriver and a building permit to eat a bitch out
You know bitches get they flaps contoured? They bleach they assholes too. Bleach! Asshole oughta be nasty, Thumper thunk, that’s how you know it’s worth it!
A nigga should fuck a ugly bitch sometimes. That’s what it means to keep it real.
“You done piss me off! And that’s why I is makin’ you go through with it,” Thumper said. That part weren’t true, he was always gonna make Rico do it. A nigga should fuck a ugly bitch sometimes. That’s what it means to keep it real. Niggas don’t explain, you gotsta figger it out.
All five of those years clung to him still like a fragrant armpit
To Rocky, it still felt like he got outta prison last night, like everything since then was a dream. He was unsure he’d ever acclimate to the outside world. He’d spent five years in there, and all five of those years clung to him still like a fragrant armpit
All the neighborhoods they drove through was different
East Middle was fulla young white folk with unpleasant hairstyles.
Back before, ain’t no nigga button up a shirt. Not a proper nigga anyway.
Carson wore a nice shirt he buttoned up like a white man. Or maybe niggas did that now, shit’s bullshit.
Craving the nigga-heavy nights of a crowded cell
Though he ain’t want nobody to know it, Thumper looked forward to work, and the dawn couldn’t come early enough.
Even Asians got retards now! Wouldn’t a-happened before!
Rico need a nigga to hold his hand every step of the way. Young folks is like that now!
He might as well wear a dinosaur
The only stores he could hoof it to was a place just for tee shirts with dirty jokes on ’em, a “antifascist surf and skater joint” and a store that sold nurses’ scrubs to plus-size ladies.
He need a niggaectomy
They can join the list of body parts that don’t work. His heart, his “bladder neck”, his left shoulder, his sinuses, some kinda flap in his throat, his knees and elbows, ankles, fingers, ears.
How did every part of music get worse while he was locked up?
Thumper ain’t yet figure out how to listen to good, old music.
Lazy-ass punks all over
Nowadays, in the free outside present-day here-and-now of the real world, early rising got niggas tripping, looking at Thumper like sad question marks when he said he got up at six.
Netflicks
Thumper saw a netflick, it was so boring he slept for five hours without getting up to piss.
Obama ain’t do nothing!
Thumper microwaved a brick of frozen broccoli and cheese, cuz he was pretending to like broccoli, cuz the world was like that these days, cuz Obama ain’t do nothing!
Plumbers still out there making bank, y’all!
He phoned out to see if he got a app that could build, deliver and install plumbing before his next poop. But there ain’t no such app. Not everything’s a phone yet!
Rico’s frown was exponential
Frowning spread like a bat virus while Thumper was locked up. Young folks be frowning at everything. Dissatisfaction rained like a queen’s pee-pee.
Some squawky whiteboy on the radio pissed Thumper off like squawky whiteboys do
Cars went faster nowadays, or maybe time itself was faster.
Tap-a-tap-tap, he snap-snackin’ on ya cash
Kids was phone-bullying other kids into stabbing they grandmas, lazy-eyed niggas was buying Russian wives on the phone, cauliflowery whiteboys be stealing the treasury on they phone and burning down schools, it happens, shit, look it up!
That nigga was presenting like a tinfoil supervillain
The driver was a reflective-vest redbone with bleached hair, a shiny grill, steel rods in his eyebrows and a center-of-his-nose ring. That nigga was presenting like a tinfoil supervillain.
They got Asian hobos now. Asians! Wouldn’t-a happened before
Thumper smoked weed on the reg, did lines of coke now and then, snorted heroin once when he thought it was coke, and he did something unpleasant called salvia that caused reality to ooze and twist like funnel-cake batter in hot oil.
Whiteboy quality gone way down while Thumper was inside
Whiteboys don’t listen to funk no more, you know that? It got took from the whiteboy curriculum.
You can text a eggplant to a pussy
Paychecks is on the phone too. Tap, zoooooop, boom, there it goes, paycheck gets emailed to the bank, taxes go out, money all gone. You don’t even gotta spend it.
You know they don’t got jungle gyms no more?
You know they don’t got jungle gyms no more? That shit do emboggle a nigga’s brain. They ain’t even a thing. Put ’em in your phone and what comes up? Brazilian niggas lifting weights with sloths. Shit’s bullshit, nigga.

Africa was the Garden of Eden till the white man came

At least that prison cell ain’t got no honkies at that time.
Couple honkies did come later, and naturally they be stirring up all kinda conflict, as a honky do, Lord have mercy!

At least that prison cell ain’t got no honkies at that time.
Couple honkies did come later, and naturally they be stirring up all kinda conflict, as a honky do, Lord have mercy!
Buck do bug his mug about that. Yes, they do, honkies provoke fights, every time. Africa was the Garden of Eden till the white man came. All was perfection, then the Devil invented the white man in a cave in Ukraine. That’s in the Bible. Lem gotta wait for Buck to quit wigging out so Lem can finish his story proper-like.

From Buck on the Oil Rig

On the downlow

“I been to prison, I was the only white guy in my cell-block, Lem. Believe me, I know ’bout the downlow. I seen it, I heared it, I smelled it, I had a bunk nexta it, usedta get splashed by the downlow on the reg’lar.”

From Buck on the Oil Rig

He added a inscrutable hand gesture and sound effect

Then he added a inscrutable hand gesture and sound effect that presumably signified the inevitableness of entropy, the creeping spread of chaos in a post-capitalist society and his stoic acceptance of dhukha, the imperfection and dissatisfaction inherent to existence in Buddhist theology.

Miguel shrugged. “Prison got rats, gringazo,” he said. Then he added a inscrutable hand gesture and sound effect that presumably signified the inevitableness of entropy, the creeping spread of chaos in a post-capitalist society and his stoic acceptance of dhukha, the imperfection and dissatisfaction inherent to existence in Buddhist theology. “Hszhurhppaa.”

From Buck the Dumbass

A man’s gotta have composure

Vietnam was like a stencil in his mind, inscribing itself upon a’ry sensation that sat still long ’nuff.

The jailhouse seemed solitatious and dark, cavernous in its stillness, the air moist and dense. T’was silent, yet Buck heard the jungle crickets and screeching nightbirds of Vietnam. He knewed them sounds wasn’t real, but he ain’t pluss ’bout it. Buck got composure, that was why. A man’s gotta have composure. Anytime the world quieted, his mind ran o’er with memories, rearing they head whenever nothing real could muscle ’em out. Vietnam was like a stencil in his mind, inscribing itself upon a’ry sensation that sat still long ’nuff.

From Buck the Conservative

Like cantaloupes, they was, big ripe juicy cantaloupes

The nurse got a sweet face and big bosoms stretching the fabric of her uniform top.

The nurse got a sweet face and big bosoms stretching the fabric of her uniform top. E’erybody stayed talking heavy with a hotness ’bout the sultry Nurse Hilary. Buck ain’t seed her till now. Now, Buck liketa burst outta the briefs she had him strip to. She smiled up at him.
Buck was feeling oafy and big, so’s his burnished cheeks turnt burgundy. She mighta said sump’in else, but all Buck could think ’bout was her bosoms.
Like cantaloupes, they was, big ripe juicy cantaloupes.

From Buck the Conservative

Assumptin’ she hot as can be, suh.

Puerto Rican bitches ain’t in the Bible.

Thumper clasped Steel on the back. “We gots a debate goin’. Does gettin’ head from yo’ female constipate sin?Assumptin’ she hot as can be, suh. Nice tits.”
Steel nodded. “I say it’s a sin, but Thumper think blowjobs ain’t mentioned in the Bible.”
“Nah, if she got nice tits, it’s okay,” Thumper said.
Officer Drybones nodded. “Oh, no, no, that — oral sex, I mean — it constitutes sin. It’s fornication.” He ain’t notice the niggas carrying in boxes of contraband behind him. “God does command us to maintain our bodily integrity against the forces of spiritual corruption.”
“What if she Puerto Rican, does that count?”
“Nah, Puerto Rican bitches ain’t in the Bible,” Thumper said. He smacked one hand on the palm of the other. “I done read the whole thing.”

From Thumper on Parole

The Cellmate From Hell

Fletcher is secure in prison cuz he’s a Blood in good standing… or is he?! His new cellmate is a massive brute, the legendary pro football linebacker Tanktop Jones. Is Fletcher still secure in the Bloods?

Or does Tanktop have the right to do what he wants to Fletcher’s tender booty?!

Read it now!

Buck the Ex-Con

Buck is out of prison again, and he’s up to his old tricks! He’s got a plan to stay out, but will it work? Buck is a muscle-bound ex-con redneck who doesn’t want to go back to prison and doesn’t want a reputation as a jailhouse booty bandit… but even more than that, he wants to stick his rod in anything that moves! So he’s got to satisfy his needs on the DL, even if that means holding down some hobos, addicts and losers, while doing the dirty in the dirt!

Read it now!

Hassle (Barry) Havens

Hassle is a bucket trustee at the police station, Precinct 17.

Bartholomew “Hassle” Havens, aka Barry Havens

Hassle was tall, broad-shouldered, as strong as an ox. He had thick callused fingers, which gripped Anthony’s cock like it was nothing, looking up at Anthony as if Anthony was supposed to say something.
But all Anthony could think about was his cock in Hassle’s grip. That, plus the swastikas.
His brother had mentioned that Hassle was a Nazi. Anthony thought that was an exaggeration. But Hassle had a shaved head, pale as fresh snow, and his back was adorned with a giant red swastika, which rippled over his taut muscles. German words were printed in Gothic letters on his chest. His square jaw jutted, as he grimaced at Anthony, those club-like fingers still tweezering Anthony’s limp dick.

From Cholos and the Raunchy Hobos of Santa Monica

Officer Goober came back out a few moments later, followed by a stately man with broad, alabaster shoulders contained within a strappy wifebeater. His muscles barely fit beneath the fabric. He had a tight six-pack, barely visible because that wifebeater was too small for him and had a giant hole in it, and he wore a pair of sweatpants that you could tell were his pajamas. His eyes were dim and clouded, like Goober had just woken him up.
It took Simon a minute to realize that was Hassle. The swastikas tattooed over his heart, belly and shoulder were the giveaway. He also had the name HASSLE tattooed across his neck, but it was harder to make those letters out because they were shadowed by his square, jutting jaw. The big dark blob of a tattoo on his chest was Hitler’s flinty face.
Hassle was as strong as Buck, maybe, Simon thought, or at least close to it. He was shorter than Buck by a little. And he was basically hairless, very much unlike Buck. Hassle had a shaved head like an albino cue ball, and his chest was just as smooth — either naturally hairless or maybe he shaved that too. Simon hadn’t got a look at his legs because he was wearing those sweatpants. Now those sweatpants were crumpled up on the floor by the bunk.
His back was tattooed with the number 88 and some arcane Gothic lettering. Simon moved closer to read it, only for Hassle to let go of his cock because the angle was awkward. Simon pressed his dick on the meaty muscle between Hassle’s shoulder blades, right on an unidentifiable shape (which Simon gathered was a crude map of the Nazi empire at its height).

From Simon and the Bouncers

Hassle was a big-ass skinhead — he got swastikas and Hitler quotes tattooed all over his back under that denim workshirt, including a giant red swastika that stretched from his shoulderblades to the top of his buttcheeks. His shaved cueball head and square jaw made him look fierce, and his well-muscled body towered over Cody.

From Bunkmates in the Dark

He was tall, and as bald as a cue ball cuz he shaved it on the regular at the sink in the hall. He was broad in the shoulders and chest, his muscles working and jerking as he got the vomit up. He done sprinkled sawdust on it to make it easy to sweep up into a dustpan, and he wrinkled his nose when he whiffed of it.
In his long-sleeve prison shirt and denim trousers, the only visible tattoo was a red swastika on his neck, but he got dozens of ’em lining his muscles and running up and down his buttcheeks. Hassle used to be a member of the Aryan Way. He ain’t never been a committed Nazi, he often said, but he joined in prison, and he joined for life.

From Malcolm the Burly Black Daddy

“Thumper,” Hassle said with a frown upon his squareness — he got a big square face, all the parts of which seemed too big for each other, like he was made of inflated rectangles. He be stone-facing. He do that, Hassle is like that. He looked down on Bill, who got even paler than usual.
That’s cuz Hassle got a swastika on his right bicep, and his shirt-sleeves was rolled up, so Bill clocked it. Hassle was covered in iron crosses, swastikas, quotes in German, all that hoohah. He done told Thumper he weren’t never a real nazi, he just played at one cuz in prison.
Could be true. Thumper don’t know. It happens. Thumper and the Aryan Way was stab-mad with each other, but lucky for Hassle, Hassle was on the outs with the Aryans too. So Thumper ain’t feel no urge to gut him.

From Thumper on Parole

Hassle was a chowder-white Nazi, straight-up Nazi like a shot of vodka! He claimed he only joined the Aryan Way in prison and he don’t believe in the swastikas and German quotations tattooed on his body, and he was on the deep-out from the Aryan Way regardless.

From Thumper the Bodyguard

Hassle was a chowder-white Aryan — complete with swastikas visible on his back around the moth-nibble holes and raggedy edges of his wifebeater. He got a cueball head and a bald chin, a big noble jaw and a fist-shape nose.

From Thumper the Booty Bandit

Hassle was a bull-headed neo-Nazi, his boxer’s body covered in swastikas and German words. His head was as smooth as a cue ball. He had been a trustee, living at the jail and doing odd jobs for the cops, for a long time. His skin was porcelain, untanned and unblemished, aside from the tattoos.

From Johnny Redcob the Bouncer

A large man walked around the police station in a denim outfit — grass-stained jeans and a thick workshirt, his arms stretching the fabric. He got a shaved head and colorful tattoos barely visible on the edges of the fabric. He carried a painfully block-shaped face with a beat-up fist of a nose.
His name was Barry Havens.
Hassle. They be calling him Hassle. Bull-headed. Chowder-white. Some six-three, maybe six-four. Heavyset. Late thirties. Aryan Way tats.

From Wayne the Ex-Cop

Hassle was a “bucket trustee”. That meant he was a long-time prison inmate, possibly a lifer. Rather than do his sentence in the state pen, he worked at the police station, mopping floors and keeping the lawn trim.
That meant he gotta get the cops off when they needa blow a nut, as well as sometimes whoeversoelse was walking around town with a uncontrollable stiffy. Better to let Hassle get ’em off than have ’em groping waitresses and nice girls.

From Wayne the Ex-Cop

Now Wayne remembered him well. Those colorful tattoos was German quotes in gothic letters, iron crosses and swastikas. He claimed before that he weren’t a Nazi. He done join the Aryan Way in prison, before he got this trustee job. Wayne weren’t sure he believed Hassle wasn’t a real Nazi.
It was believable enough though. Wayne ain’t much care. He wouldn’t leave Hassle alone with a little Jewish girl, let’s leave it at that.
From Wayne the Ex-Cop

In the back cell, the biggest, there was a well-furnished cell. Inside sat a cuehead Hassle. He was tall and stacked with corded muscles, and he glowered at the assembled wrestlers. Something about him was offputting to them — he had a big square face, no neck and a broad body covered with scars and swastika tattoos. His flat mien made the wrestlers all fall silent and awkward.
They were quieter than ever. Not even Coach Marshall could get them that quiet. It was those white-power tattoos that did it.
Some of them was bigger than Hassle, but they all sensed he could and would kick their asses if he wasn’t a trustee. Being a trustee meant he was a prison lifer, he just worked off his sentence here at the local precinct. He mopped floors and mowed lawns.

From Marshall the Coach

It was Hassle — an Aryan skinhead who was the trustee here at the jail and who Buck knew. They’d met a year or two back. Hassle was big and broad, but his head and chest were hairless and his skin was as pale as a piglet.

From Buck the Ex-Con

There, mopping the floor, was a tall, burly and broad-shouldered white man with a shaved head and a thick square jaw like Buck’s. He wore workpants and a denim shirt that read TRUSTEE in big block letters above his heart.

From Aroused by Ex-Cons

He was a bull-headed man with portentous tattoos, including a bright red swastika upon his back. He was muscular and broad-shouldered, and he put out ignore even when t’was clear Buck was staring at him.

From Buck the Conservative

A muscular man with a shaved head came to the cell bars in that other cell at the back of the jailhouse. He was solid as bricks, arms like steel girders, shoulders broader than a doorway. He wasn’t as tall as Jimmy, but he was cut, while Jimmy was more meaty. Anyway, his size wasn’t what Jimmy focused on, once his eyes focused on the man.
It was his tattoos.
Specifically, the iron cross on his neck and the swastika on his bicep.

From The Alpha Jock & the Trustee

You could tell Hassle been in prison a long time cuz his skin was pale as plaster — he was chowder white fer real, in ‘tween the colorful swastikas and German words. His asscheeks in particular ain’t seed the sun in decades. Buck do skimp to starkers off and on, so’s his own booty got a tan to it.

From Buck the Workin’ Man

Barry’s cell

Hassle’s cell was the last one on the left. It was bigger than the others, and it had a small teevee, a chair and personal photos, clothes and shelves all over. The other cells were unfurnished except for a toilet and sink.

From Marshall the Coach

The only cell with a’rythang in it was Hassle’s, the last one on the left. T’was outfitted with a bunk covered in nice blankets and pillows, a bean-bag chair, a writing desk with pictures of his daughter upon it and a mirror aside the sink and toilet.

From Buck the Workin’ Man

Books

The Alpha Jock & the Trustee: Jimmy is a college football jock whose throbbing stiffy distracts him and gets him into trouble… Lucky for him, the local cops keep a trustee ready for just this sort of need. His name is Hassle, a muscle-bound Aryan who will do as he is told, even if that means getting Jimmy off time and time again! Can Jimmy handle the man-on-man action he’s in for?

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