Locked Up During Lockdown

In my previous blog post: 

Me Jailed?! I Didn’t Know! Did You Know?

I got thrown in jail for taking a holiday in August.

(There are no legal holidays in August!)

While incarcerated, ... 

well, just read my previous blog post for that info.

’Cause now I’m ...
Locked Up During Lockdown

Although unable to speak and barely able to carry a tune, I started to make alarm sounds. 

Both sides thought reinforcements had arrived. Presumably SWAT! 

The guards let go and fled, not wanting to get blasted by stray bullets. 

And the prisoners fled, because after the guards let go, all of us went flying to the ground, where something in my larynx dislodged, allowing me to say: “Hey, isn’t it time to watch the latest fun-filled, action-packed episode of ‘Cops’?” 

So the prisoners fled too, leaving me lying on the floor in a battered and shattered body cast. 

Couldn’t tell what condition I was in. Was I paralyzed or just numb? Was I even alive? 

If I wasn’t alive, the P.R. guy for the afterlife did an excellent job of overselling it. 

As the dust cleared, I noticed that Sidney “The Birdwatcher” MacGuffin still stood among the rubble. Everyone else had left. 

So I said, “Hey Sid, you know what would be fun?” 

“Naw, I’ve seen every episode of ‘Cops’.” 

“Not that, silly. Drag me to the Experimentation Room; and I can show you something really, really fun.” 

“I - I - I don’t like that place. I - I - I’ve heard horror stories. N-n-no way.” 

“Fine, don’t have a backbone. But from now on, your nickname will be The Chicken Birdwatcher. You don’t want that; do you?” 

“I’ll drag you there, but I ain’t tryin’ nothin’.” 

“That’s why this will be so much fun. You don’t have to try a thing.” 

After another forty-five minutes of uttering every persuasion technique I know, Sid finally dragged me to the Experimentation Room. 

This is the room where convicts can volunteer to be part of experiments to get their sentences reduced by helping scientists help humanity. 

As I lay on the floor, feeling my liquefied bones gushing out of my busted body cast, I told Sid which ingredients to mix together for a super fun experiment. 

Using a funnel, he poured the mixture down my throat at my request. 

I do not condone unsupervised experiments upon one’s self or anyone else, but I had no choice. I would have been paralyzed or worse, if I hadn’t taken action. 

After swallowing the crazy concoction, I passed out. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, I don’t know. Probably a combination of all those. 

When I awoke, I no longer felt myself oozing away. I clenched and unclenched my fists to warm up my arm muscles and curled and uncurled my toes to warm up my leg muscles. 

I then used my will power, determination, and a piece of lead pipe to stand. 

I laughed with glee at my triumph. Laughter must heal all wounds, because my guffawing caused the rest of my battered and shattered body cast to fall away, leaving me still standing. 

I took a few tentative steps. I jumped. I tried to perform a cartwheel, but landed on my back. 

As I stared at the stained ceiling with the peeling paint, I knew: 

I’m completely healed. I could never do a cartwheel! 

The serum healed all my broken bones, so I fled. I was only supposed to spend the night in jail, but the guards blamed me for Chuck’s fall, so I knew they’d never let me go. 

And besides, it was such a silly law anyway. No legal holidays in August? So no one can have any fun all month long? I don’t think so. Not in the summer. February maybe, but not August. 

I snuck into the laundry room and put on a guard’s outfit. Okay, five guard’s outfits. Seemed like no one was my size. I finally went with the fifth guard’s uniform regardless and rolled up the sleeves and pants. 

I hid in a hamper until the next shift change to avoid getting attacked by any convicts or caught by any guards. 

As the five o’clock whistle blew, I jumped out of the hamper and scampered to the exit. 

Once outside the prison, I looked back to make sure I had really escaped. Only the prison didn’t say anything about being a jail or a prison, it just said: Dream Factory. 

I wondered what that meant. 

But then a semi-truck blared its horn at me. I froze with fear. Or the bone-solidifying solution suddenly over-solidified my bones. The driver slammed on the brakes. The brake pads squealed. The tires smoked as the truck charged at me. Just then, at the very last second, right before impact, I awoke to find myself still in jail. 

My cellmate Tony “The Tainted Taxman” Turner asked me for a breath mint; and even though his breath smelled like stale tortilla chips covered with lemon salsa left in the rain, I said, “No!” 

So now all the other cellmates think I’m stingy, but at least I’m alive and not frozen with fear in front of a charging semi. 

And I have tons of breath mints all for myself. 

Blessings & Joy,

Dean

Me Jailed?! I Didn’t Know! Did You Know?

Me Jailed?! 

I Didn’t Know! 

Did You Know?

Photo Source: 

http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=11796&picture=prison-tower-1

Photo Taken by: Vince Mig

Never thought I’d wind up in jail. 

An asylum? Sure. It’s a such crazy world, you’d be nuts not to go insane. 

But not jail. Not prison. Not the Big House! 

So I found out the hard way that August doesn’t have any legal holidays. None! 

Ergo, therefore, thusly, by default, any holiday in August is illegal. 

So yeah, I had fun. You know me. I always do. 

A friend needed me to ride with him to Fort Lauderdale yesterday, so I did. I took off the entire day. I’m a pal like that. 

Had I only taken off half a day, I might’ve just gotten a warning. Or a small, hefty fine. 

But instead, I got thrown in the slammer … for taking a day off in August! 

My huge, tattooed, muscle-bound cellmate Hank “The Slash” Henderson picked me up by my shirt collar and said in a gravelly voice greatly in need of breath mints: “I Karate-chopped twelve people in half. Whatcha in for?” 

As polite as can be, I plopped a breath mint into his mouth. 

Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe though, ‘cause he started to cough. Oops!  

As he collapsed to the cell floor, I stepped safely aside and said, “I’m a maniac! I had fun in August.”

Slash performed the Heimlich Maneuver on himself and rose to his feet, towering over me. He adopted the armed and ready Karate pose known as: Dragon Scratches an Itch. 

He sneered at me and said, “I’m a repeat offender. And I hope to kill again. Real soon.” 

I think he meant something sinister by that. But when he gave himself the Heimlich, that Wintergreen breath mint dislodged and spewed out of the cell before it could do him any good. 

I kept my cool, looked into his lifeless eyes, which were like a doll’s eyes, and said, “I’m a repeat offender too. I had fun this August. I hope to have fun next August. And the August after that!”

Meanwhile the head guard for our cellblock Chuck Stephens slipped on the breath mint Slash spewed into the hallway. 

The guard fell to the floor and conked his head on the concrete. The prisoners who didn’t show consideration for others laughed. 

Come to think of it, not one person in jail felt consideration for others, which was how they wound up incarcerated in the first place. 

So everyone laughed. Except me. Because that was my breath mint. 

And because I’m considerate. Even if it’s only to supermodels and movie producers. And to people giving away free chocolate. 

Especially supermodel movie producers giving away free chocolate. But that’s just common sense. 

After the head guard went down, three other guards barged into my cell. Slash pointed to me. I shrugged. The guards grabbed at my pockets; and wouldn’t you know it? 

More of the exact kind of breath mint that made the head guard slip flew out of my pockets and across the cell. So I got clubbed by two angry guards. 

The third guard clubbed me too, but he wasn’t angry. He just liked clubbing. 

Now I know how seals feel when Eskimos go clubbing. 

I did my best to protect my internal organs by using my face and head to catch the clubs. 

Not the best move. Obviously. But after the first two blows, I couldn’t think straight anyway. 

I was so delirious, I thought “2-Headed Shark Attack” should win an Academy Award for Best Oceanic Documentary. 

The first guard held his club the wrong way and got a blister, so he beat me for that too. 

Although wrapped in plaster like a cardboard mummy, following the brutal beating that made that famous cop beating incident that made the national news look like a massage, I became a hero to the other inmates. 

I didn’t mean to. But somehow, wherever I go, I become a hero. 

But I’m no hero. I was just trying to avoid having to smell Slash’ halitosis. So I did what anyone else with Wintergreen breath mints would do. I offered one to Captain Stinky Breath. 

The inmates loved me, the guards hated me; and all I could do while mummified in a full body cast was hum. Somehow that led to my starting a full-fledged prison riot. 

With a bruised and battered larynx, I could barely carry a tune. But for some reason, that silly, annoying, highly repetitive Twisted Sister song got stuck in my head, so I hummed “We’re Not Going to Take It!” 

That made Cheeky Barone, the inmate orderly who made sure my cast was covered in off-color graffiti, lead a rebellion. “For the sake of Mister Mummy Man who made the head guard fall!” 

Obviously the guards were bettered armed, but the prisoners outnumbered them and had at least two chivs apiece. 

You’d think a man in a full-sized plaster cast would be safe in such a situation. But no! 

I got to play the role of a piece of rope in a brutal game of Tug of War between the guards and the cons. 

The plaster started to crack, which meant that with just a little more pressure, I’d be pulled in half. 

Or pulled so far I’d be left paralyzed from the eyebrows down. 

One side was yanking; the other side was yanking. Both sides were yelling. 

It looked like this could be the end. 

TO BE CONTINUED … (I hope.)

Blessings & Joy,

Dean