Smuggling Drugs Into Jail And How Not To Do It (Even If It Totally Works.)

(Mom, if you"re reading this, stop now and remember that I'm a good person)

Prologue.

         I live in the vast expanse of suburban Kansas. For what seems like millions of miles in each direction you'll find nothing but strip malls, mid-sized homes with above ground pools and very mild-mannered people milling about close to one of our plentiful churches. The crime rate is infinitesimal to say the least. The worst thing that might happen to your unlocked car is usually bird shit related. I can't remember the last time I stopped and thought, "Fuck! I forgot to lock the front door!" because the only thing I worry about finding in my house when I get home is either my mother or some other dementia addled old lady. 

          Aside from the occasional Silver Alert or accidental spousal abuse, the police around here have little to nothing to make a buck off of outside of parking tickets and traffic violations.  This means anyone that who isn't above sixty or covered in a slew of freshly born children is a suspect. If you get a speeding ticket, you better believe that cop is going to try anything and everything he can short of fingerbanging you to find anything else you might have done wrong. 

          My story begins on a fateful night in my driveway. I had forgotten my cigarettes in my car and walked out to grab them when a man in uniform approached and asked if that was, indeed my car that I was getting into. I kindly told him that it was my vehicle and reached for my wallet in order to show him my identification. He took that as a threat I guess and handcuffed me on the spot. After searching my person he had turned up a tiny bag of weed that I had and that was that. I was no longer an outstanding citizen. I'd call all of this bullshit and get angry about how wronged I was but lets face it, I had weed on me and that shit is illegal as fuck in Kansas. I'm not here to talk about the ills of society. 

          Around here weed can get you up to a couple years in jail with a bunch of community service and other time/money consuming things tacked on to it. Thankfully, since it was my first offense, I was given one year of probation, drug and alcohol treatment classes, forty hours of community service and to top it all off, three full weekends in the slammer... Fuck. After my sentencing I prepared for jail by telling my work that I would be taking three weekends off. They were cool with it because you don't end up managing a restaurant because your life is going swimmingly. Everything was fine and all I had to do was get this over with so I could go back to leading a normal life. A few days later I broke my arm and had to get surgery in order to remain part of the fully-limbed crowd.

          I was riding my bike one night, enjoying my last hours of freedom and re-thinking my life-choices when all of a sudden I woke up in the middle of the street covered in blood. I had been hit by a fucking car while riding down my own god-damn street. It was a bad year. I looked down to realize that my arm was at a right angle and that I should get to the hospital. The Man decided to give me an extra week before turning myself in to jail in order to undergo my surgery. The guy who hit me had driven off and was never found. The week after surgery I was in a cast and under lock-down. 

The First Weekend.

          I was on a regimen of about six Oxycontin (See: Hillbilly-Heroin) a day as well as a muscle relaxer in order stave off the pain of recently having six screws, two bolts and a metal plate placed inside my body. I figured I would just bring the pills and the prescriptions in with me to show that I needed them and would require them to administered to me during my stay. The officer I spoke with about all of this informed me that I wouldn't be getting my medication until they got ahold of my physician who, like most, was not in the office on weekends. I was fucked. So fucked in fact that the officer actually said "Looks like you're kinda fucked." Which is a whole new realm of fucked that I didn't know you could be fucked in. 

          The whole first weekend was one of the most painful and exhausting experiences of my entire life. I was fresh out of highly invasive surgery with no medications. Imagine your whole arm slowly exploding for three days straight, the pain consuming everything else in your mind. Also, you're in jail, so there's that. There was no relief, no sleep and nothing to take my mind off of it. I rocked back and forth holding my arm and choking down violent anger all weekend. I wanted to kill someone. Somebody had to pay. My physician? The Man? Maybe just burn the whole city. That kind of pain. After what seemed like an eternity, I was released Sunday afternoon vowing never to undergo that kind of torture again.

A couple days before my next weekend in, I devised a plan. I was going to somehow sneak prescription drugs into jail. But how? They search your pockets, pat you down and strip you to your underwear! How could I possibly get drugs into jail without sticking it up my a-... Oh god. No... 

The Plan.

         If you've ever found yourself looking at a small baggie of pills that are destined for your ass without re-evaluating your life, you are not suited to live in common society. 

          I'm not proud of my search history around this time of my life, but it is what it is. I snipped the edge off of a sandwich bag, filled it with pills, twisted it up and tied a thread to it. Imagine exactly how long that takes. Now imagine knowing that with each completed step, you are one moment closer to doing something that your mother should never, ever hear about. I stopped and looked at the finished product for a while, thinking about my life-choices. I remembered my totally normal childhood. Playing in the field with the neighborhood kids, my first kiss, my wonderful and caring parents. All of it leading to that exact moment. The moment where I shove a bunch of pills into my ass that I intended to put in my mouth later. I am the biggest shit-head in the world. I knew it then and there. 

          Then it dawned on me. I could use the length of string to tie the baggie around my dick! This way, my magnificent girth would conceal the bag that would be nestled oh so sweetly between it and my wonderfully smooth balls. I found that, even if I was totally naked, it was near impossible to see. I changed my course of action immediately, because eating pills that I had tea-bagged for a while seemed like a step up from ingesting recently corn-holed medication. I considered my sudden stroke of genius infallible and set out on my mission. I would sneak the bag of drugs into jail using my beautiful dong to hide them. What could possibly go wrong? All I had to do was waltz in there, get patted down and get to my bunk without having a mental breakdown due to the fact that I was committing a very serious crime. The price of getting caught was up to four years in jail, but there was no fucking way I was re-living the hell of the last weekend. 

The Execution.

           That Friday morning started off totally normal. I made a huge breakfast, read for a little while, got dressed and tied a little noose around my dick. I had to sit and convince myself everything would go according to plan for a little while before leaving for the big house. By the time I arrived to the county jail I was calm and collected. The felonious dong-garrote I had fashioned for myself didn't even seem to be there. I got so used to it that almost forgot I had the little contraption latched onto my most precious asset. I sat in the parking lot and smoked about fifty cigarettes before I actually walked in.

           Checking into jail on purpose is an odd experience. I walked up to a pleasant enough looking lady behind a counter and said "One jail please." and they let me right on in. They took all of my personal belongings that would be returned at the end of my stay, pat me down, and walked me to a booking area. This is where you sit and wait until the room fills with enough people to actually take you into the cell blocks. They take fingerprints, give you a list of rules and generally treat you like human garbage. I was free to make as many phone calls as I wanted until they lead me to my bunk but couldn't think of a single person I would feel comfortable talking too. 

          After all of that I sat down on a bench across from two guys around my age and one older gentleman that was, to this day, the ugliest man I have ever met. I introduced myself to them. The first guy was my age at the time (24) and looked like the most normal looking guy you have ever seen. If I were to describe his features you would think i was describing the base model for a police sketch. There was nothing that defined him. We will call him Normal Guy. I forget what he was in for. Then there was a portly, bearded black guy, age 26, who used every opportunity to remind us all that we were in here due to God's plan. He had tattoos up and down his arms ranging from flaming skulls, to a cross around the lords prayer. No shit. He was in for marijuana possession as well. We can call him Black Jesus. Then there was the ugly guy.

               This man gets his own paragraph because of how utterly ridiculous he looked. I could go on for days about god shouldn't have ever done a guy so wrong. For starters, he was 40 years old, maybe 350lbs and about 4'11".  A human medicine ball. His hair was thick and curly but he was completely bald in the middle giving the impression that he once aspired to be the world's most underemployed clown. The mans eyes haunt me to this day. Each eye looked in the opposite direction of the other, pointing away from his nose. He had to turn his head to one side to look at you. On top of that he was so bug-eyed that I would say a solid 60% of his actual eyeball was on the outside of his face. I am convinced that if you squeezed him, even just a little, that both of his eyes would pop out and roll in opposite directions.  He had the mouth of someone who was addicted to meth and Skittles and it never seemed to close. You would think this man would be all personality, right? He was. Unfortunately it was just the worst kind of personality imaginable. The man was loud, annoying and ill-educated. Every word he said was like nails on a chalkboard, but only if the nails were made of screaming cats. I wanted to turn to Black Jesus and inform him that, if there was a god, he would never have allowed something that hideous to walk the mortal plane. We can call him Hobgobblin because that is precisely what I called him while I was in jail that weekend. Not too his face, but just in my head. He was in jail for a DUI at approximately 1PM.

          Me, Black Jesus, Hobgobblin and Normal Guy all shared stories of why we were there, chatted about this and that while waiting for others to show up. They served us lunch, a bologna sandwich,  one small bag of off-brand corn chips and a milk carton, all in a brown paper bag like we were on the world's shittiest field trip. All the while a nagging in the back of my brain constantly reminded me that I had four years of jail time in my pants. I really wasn't worried though, not yet. The package package seemed secure enough and I had passed the most in-depth pat down I would endure. I was winning.

Then of course life, as it tends to do on occasion, completely shit the bed.

           The conversation stopped when a couple guards entered the room preceding a man that looked as though he was made entirely of biceps.  There was no neck on this man to speak of. It made his head look pretty much exactly like a thumb with a face sticking out of a XXL t-shirt. The look on his face was that of a man who had grown up beating cats to death for fun. He had all the features of the lead singer from Cannibal Corpse. He was almost an exact replica of that guy. Look it up, that's fucking him. He made eye contact with every single one of us individually as if he was planning his next week's worth of meals. Needless to say, the conversation didn't return to normal. He sat by himself and cast horrible looks around the room, occasionally talking back to officers and loudly proclaiming how much of a shithole this place was. We all avoided anything to do with him. 

          About that time they started taking us in for medical evaluations. They took my temperature, asked if I had any diseases and sent me back out into the booking room. Everything was fine, but I realized that I had to pee, which was out of the question. Going to the restroom meant an officer was going to watch me pee and I couldn't risk him seeing the little white string around the base of my beautiful meat-nunchuk. I was going to have to wait however long it took to finish everyone's evaluation before being able to remove the drugs and pee in the cell-block.

            After about an hour they were about ready to lead us to our block when we heard one of the officers announce that we would have to be placed in a confinement room while they were leading a group of women through the booking area. By this time my urge to piss was all I could think about. The more I thought about how I couldn't relieve myself without getting caught, the more I had to go. This is about the time my anxiety started to creep up on me. I was getting a bit nervous.

Then it happened. 

          As soon as I stood up to be walked to the confinement room, the string around my member tightened. It didn't just get a little snug down there. It hurt. The knot I had tied around my dong somehow turned into something like a noose and proceeded to do what a noose does. I grunted like a man grunts when his dick hangs itself. A sound that, I hoped, nobody around me was very familiar with. Thankfully, nobody really seemed to notice what happened, but I did. I noticed quite a bit actually. We were then led to a tiny room with a toilet, two benches and bare walls to eat the rest of our lunch while the women were processed. 

              Me, Normal Guy, Hobgoblin and Black Jesus sat on one bench across from Meatfuck who, for some reason, refused to stop looking at Normal guy. The room was in total silence aside from the crunching of corn chips. There was a chattering outside so, for lack of anything better to do, I looked out of the tiny window in the door. There I saw two officers corralling a group of six middle-aged asian women. They were all shouting loudly at each other in their native tongue. My first (albeit racist) thought was that there must have been a prostitution sting at a massage parlor. It kind of amused me for a bit before I heard the distinct sound of a large man moving very quickly behind me, which is precisely what had happened. I turned to see that Meatfuck had pinned Normal guy against a wall with one hand and snatched his sack lunch with the other. The rest of us immediately began yelling at Meatfuck in order to get him to stop. He threw Normal Guy back down into his seat, hand still on his shoulder, and smashed the sack lunch against the wall. I forgot what he said but it was something about how he would fucking kill each and every one of us. 

         I was frozen. I was stuck in a tiny room that stank of old shit, about to piss my pants while witnessing my first murder. All the while I had a felony slowly strangling my dick to death. This was my life, I thought. In that moment there was no hope. I was going to die, covered in piss with a bunch of ruined drugs strapped to my bloated, purple cock. Thanks for everything mom. You did your best.

          Outside, an officer had heard the commotion and immediately sprung into action by way of sauntering towards the door, looking in and casually signaling for another officer to let us out. They opened the door and bum-rushed Meatfuck, tackling him into a wall. There were way too many punches being thrown for such a small enclosure so I stepped back out into the room now full of what I had assumed were asian prostitutes. Normal guy, and the rest followed. We were escorted to an identical room next door. We were all shaken but watched as the officers wrestled Meatfuck into a pickle suit. A pickle suit is a sort of green, full body straight jacket that renders you about dangerous as a pickle can be.

             We all sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. Normal Guy was really shaken up and wouldn't let it go. Hobgoblin put a pudgy hand on his shoulder and told him that he wouldn't have let that guy kill him. I wondered what he would have done to stop him. Undress? I imagine seeing that man's naked body could quite possibly incapacitate anyone looking directly at it. I was sweating bullets from everything that had just occurred. Between the stress, need to piss and the fact that I now was convinced I would soon be stricken with life-long flaccidity, I was about ready to loose my mind. I was at least a bit happy that my little cock-snare idea hadn't gotten me thrown in more jail thus far.

           An officer eventually came in to talk to us about what happened. He was a really nice guy and joked with us a bit. he apologized and we all told him that Meatfuck was straight up insane, to which he agreed. He told us that Meatfuck was in jail for filming his friend's "suicide" and posting it to the internet, which seemed to me should have merited some sort of segregation from those of us who had committed the not-so-murdery sounding crimes. He also informed us that the group of asian women were, in fact, being booked on charges of prostitution. They had conducted a sting on a parlor not far from my house. Sometimes your first instinct, no matter how terrible it seems, is right. We all kind of chuckled about it and the officer left. Black jesus decided to hold a prayer circle thanking god for sparring us. I wanted to stop and tell him to please pray for my poor penis, for it seemed to be on it's last dick-leg. 

            After about another awful 15 minutes we were patted down once again and brought to the cell blocks. We were sat at a table, given our paper-thin blankets that must have been designed by the itchiest demon in hell, and assigned to our bunks. I was assigned a bunk next to Black Jesus which I wasn't exactly happy about and directly under Hobgoblin, which I was significantly more unhappy about. At least I wouldn't have to look at him much. His eyes made me dizzy somehow. Normal guy was assigned to the opposite side of the giant room. That kind of irked me because he was the only one I had taken much of a liking too. I wasn't really thinking about any of that though. I had to complete my mission, which at this point was now named "Operation Schlong-Savior."

           I threw my blanket over my body and franticly started trying to untangle the knot around my now sleep numb penis. This seemed to perplex Black Jesus who quietly asked what I was doing. I had to explain myself somehow, but what the fuck do you say in this situation? I briefly contemplated telling him to look away and that this was my private time, but I had to spend two days next to this guy. I gave him a look that he immediately recognized as my "This Is Incredibly Fucking Serious" look. I told him that he couldn't tell a fucking soul no matter what. He agreed, and I told him that I had just successfully snuck drugs into jail and why. Surprisingly enough, he congratulated me and offered me $50 and a ride home from jail on sunday for two of them. From that point on, we were best friends. There is a certain bond between you and a guy who, not only didn't rat you out for a major felony, but who you also sold drugs to while in jail together. That bond can never be broken. Black Jesus will always be cool in my book, even if I watched him eat my dick-pills. Hey, its not like they actually touched my junk or anything. 

(Fun fact: If your dick has been deprived of blood for a long enough time and it suddenly gets a huge rush of it, you get a boner faster than should be humanly possible, which is awkward when surrounded by a large group of men in jail.)

           The piss that I took after removing my groin ferret's garrote will always be remember as the most relieving of all. Not just because I had to go so bad, but also because it confirmed that my manhood could at least function on the most basic level. I walked back to my bunk triumphantly. Me and Black Jesus shared a knowing smile and I proceeded to pop a couple oxycontin under my blanket and fall asleep. 

          That weekend passed by slowly, but since I wasn't in a huge amount of pain it didn't seem so bad. My only complaint was Hobgoblin's snoring. It was ear-shattering. Just another one of the things that made him entirely deplorable. I found a copy of "Dune" on the bookshelf the next morning and finished it with about an hour to spare before leaving on Sunday. BJ and I hopped in his car, he lit a joint which I refused and he drove me home and said Jesus things at me the whole time. I walked into my house and sat on my bed and ordered pizza. Happy to be in my own room with real god-damn food I thought about how crazy my weekend was and reflected on all of the crazy shit that had happened.

"I can not fucking believe I got away with that." I said out loud.

Epilogue.

           Since then things have been normal. My dick works fine and if anything, has gotten bigger. I look back at the whole experience as a reminder of how fucked you can get yourself if you aren't careful. No matter how fond that memory is to me it will never outweigh the fear of ever having to re-live it. I don't smoke weed anymore, not because I have anything against it, but because since I quit, things are looking up. I am a better person now than I ever have been. I have motivation now. Couple that with not drinking and growing up a bit I feel better than I ever have. I have nothing against people who smoke weed. Hell at least half of my friends do and I'm around it on occasion. Most lead normal, successful lives and get along fine. I just don't do it anymore. I can't really say much more on the subject than that.

            I decided to write all this down so that the memory can't ever fade away. It's too Priceless. Also, it's fucking ridiculous. I laugh about it whenever it pops up in my head. No matter how many times I remember it I still feel like it's something from a movie I once watched. So, dear reader, that's my story. I hope it made you laugh a little bit. 

Just let this whole ordeal be a reminder for you to not be an idiot like me.

(You can find me on twitter if you want to hear more about my glorious dick... @amendkevin)


UPDATE!!! You can now find this story on Cracked.com!!!
(http://www.cracked.com/article_21628_5-things-i-learned-smuggling-drugs-into-jail-under-my-junk.html)