Sunday, September 08, 2013

Saturday, September 07, 2013

Remember "Kilted To Kick Cancer"

If you like these little posts, go hit Ad's blog, or the Kilted To Kick Cancer website, and donate a little something towards the research of male-specific cancers.

'Allo, 'allo.

Where to start ...

Inmate J from the Swing Shift summation is still trying to get his books that the Chief Deputy denied him; I imagine he’ll keep trying.

River shook down West/8 and had all sorts of fun. We found a pair of sneakers in Inmate X's bunk, with no note in either his Misc Notes screen or his Medical screen; and we found a zip-lock bag of band-aids, triple antibiotic ointment, gauze and all sorts of medical goodness where Inmate Q is bunking, but (again) nothing in the Misc Notes or Medical screens, and no “May Keep In Tank” sticker on the zip-lock baggie. So, of course, we glommed onto them. After Inmate X threw a wall-eyed hissy-fit, I called the nurse to check – I’ll be a sonovagun, both of them have medical clearance for their goodies, although it’s not in their computer records.

Sigh. I must remind Ms. Cleo to start taking my calls again.

In addition to the stuff above, we also found a water-bag cover hand-sewn from a sheet, a woven plastic handle for the water-bag-cover, half of a Diet Coke can, a complete Gatorade bottle, half of a Dr Pepper can, a tattoo pick, umpteen squillion loose staples, a large garbage bag, about twenty feet of fishing cord, a fishing pole, a spare uniform, several extra linens (One of which Inmate T was sneaking in a very personal location, anatomically speaking. Yes, a whole sheet. I was impressed) and the usual flotsam and jetsam.

After the shake-down was through as we were returning the inmates to West/8 Inmate N tried pushing Officer Oldskool’s buttons. Didn’t work so well with the lad, although he’s got enough smarts to not go far enough to earn a Use of Force. We might keep an eye on the mouthy little squab, though.

River did water-checks at 0319.

When we checked the temps, Special Housing Unit was showing between 85 and 86, so I bumped the thermostats down a wee bit and had the purge run. Hour later the temperatures were around the 80-degree mark.

Over at Central, the kitchen lost power about 0045-ish, and got it back somewhere around 0245. Then, it went out again at 0436, came back, went out again at 0447 and came back about 0500. We’re feeding bag-meals to the inmates for breakfast.

Central/North did water-checks at 0458 and shook-down Central/North/1, finding a candle and a tattoo pick.

Central/Female checked their water at 0453.

In other news, Eduardo is proving to be a slippier character than I had thought – he does remain un-flushed at this time. SGT Krunch has gently requested that he be evicted from the control room before her next tour, which I believe to be this Sunday.

Personally, I’m giving hard thought to handing the little bugger a radio and assigning him to the West Tier.

That should be about it.

Nothing but (appropriate) love,

Bugscuffle SO

That's going on the blog.

My lady loves spiky foods. She eats Indian cuisine with aplomb, ploughs her way through your standard Southwestern chilies with her usual verve, and wasabi was conquered a long time ago.

This past week, Sgt Krunch and I met her in Big City at the upscale Mexican eatery where she was being her usual adorable, exuberantly sparkly self.

Our food came, and she spread a little of the pico de gallo side onto her chimichanga ...

... "Aren't dachsie bellies just the cutest thing ever? They just beg for nuzzling, oh, and don't you just hate: 'There is no I in team'? Maybe not, but there are several I's in 'Platitude-spouting idiot'. I mean, seriously?"

And took a dainty bite, followed immediately by, "Holy [deleted]! [Deleted]! [Deleted]! [Deleted]!" -- Pttooey! -- "Holy crap, I think I just bit into Satan's scrotum!"

The following silence in a relatively busy lunch-hour restaurant was ... beautiful.

There was a great deal of water consumed, a lemon wedge rubbed hastily along her tongue, a little more water, and then she blinked and blurted, "Did I yell that?"

Poor Sgt Krunch was laughing so hard, she couldn't take a bite of her own food; and I have to admit that I was trying awfully hard to keep the gigglesnorting under control.

Heh.  Right off the cuff.

I think someone may have planted their jalapenos a little bit too close to their ghost peppers.


Tuesday, September 03, 2013

This seems to be going well.

Today's summation was the introduction of Eduardo, a character who caused me no end of grief -- from all sides -- during his short tenure at Bugscuffle County.


Good morning ladles and germs,

To start out our night at River properly, Inmate B decided to play possum after headcounts. He refused to stir for officer shouts and banging on the door, and when we went into SHU/23, he didn’t respond to shaking, tapping or sweet nothings bellowed into his ear. I was trying to decide if I could creatively articulate getting a response with a drive-stun when apparently his telepathy decided to kick in and he said Bad Things to us. Which is good enough evidence of being alive in my book.

River did water-checks at 0256; and shook-down East/3. We came up empty-handed, which considering that our inmates are not that well-behaved, makes me wonder what new hiding place they’re hiding their stuff in these days.

Central/North did their water-checks at 0106; and Central/Female at 0103. Central/Female also shook-down Female/9 and came up with several extra blankets. However, they also report that while the trusties were in the visitation area during the shake-down, two of them got into each other’s faces. Seems like all is not happy in Trustieland.

Tonight’s medal-winner in the D’oh! Contest is Inmate G in Intake. By all accounts the wee lass got nicked by PD for DWI, was delivered into our tender custody and wound up in Detox/2 for Grand Mopery and Contempt of Cop (misdemeanor). Once there, she proceeded to throw one bee-yoo-ti-ful wall-eyed, ring-tail temper tantrum. As uncle to several sprogs betwixt the ages of two and nine, I can recognize true artistry in fit throwing, and this was One Of A Kind.

She screamed, hollered, beat on the bench, spun in circles on the floor, kicked the door, all the usual, but what elevated this performance to High Art was when she took off her jeans and used them to beat the unoffending cell camera until the picture fuzzed.

The Intake crew, being the unappreciative Philistines that they are, took a dim view of this display and chained her drunk butt to the bench. One would have thought that this would have been the curtain call, but our Intrepid Damsel proceeded to take off her shirt and strangle her-own-self with it. Which got her stripped nekkid and placed on Suicide Watch as well as being chained to the bench. Goodness, I hope that was all worth it.

As I write this, we have some kind of kerfuffle in West/8.

I’m back.

Inmate M has decided to remove himself from West/8. According to Inmate M, Inmate J sent another inmate to Inmate M to inform Inmate M that Inmate J did not want him in “his” tank. Goodness. ‘T’Were I a betting man, I’d lay money that the inmate delivering the message is going to be Inmate T. I may have made a strategic error in moving those two from Central/North/6 a while back. Anyhoo, Inmate M has been moved to West/1, and when I get back to River tonight, I’m going to separate Inmates J and T; with a Separation Notation in both their records. And depending on my mood, I’m liable to see how far I can spread the inhabitants of West/8 around.

In other news, I have discovered that a field mouse has taken up residence in River Control Room. The kids have named it “Eduardo”. While intriguing, I have scotched the suggestion that Eduardo be sponsored through the Basic County Corrections Course; and as soon as I can snag his little butt, Eduardo will probably be taking a “vacation” by way of the Porcelain Express.

Hmm. That’s about it, I think.

In closing,

Bugscuffle SO

Monday, September 02, 2013

First question!

Gentle Reader ExGeeEye asks: "What does it mean 'working out with a water bag'?"

Excellent question.

Bugscuffle County does not supply our inmates with weight equipment.

Matter-of-fact, we don't supply much more than a basketball and a couple of racquet balls.

Inmates, however, are nothing if not adaptable. Given half a chance they steal garbage bags, fill them full of water from the showers, and use those in improvised weight routines.

Given that one gallon of water weights eight pounds, a 33-gallon garbage bag can be a fairly significant amount of weight.

Voila! "Water bag".


Well, maybe one a day.

Since I am posting as many of these as I can on 01 SEP and then using the delayed post function, I'm not sure how my Gentle Readers are taking these little summations. I hope they're being received well. Anyhoo. Remember, if you like what you read here, go hit up AD or the Kilted to Kick Cancer page.



It’s been one fun evening out here at River. Right off the bat Inmate S in West/3 came up with a jolly huge rash, and stated he was starting to have problems breathing. Nurse came out, did some nursing-type stuff and watched him for a bit. He seems to have gotten better.

Right after that, Inmate M and Inmate Y got into a fight in West/4. Review of the video shows that while it may have been mutual combat, Inmate Y instigated it. Both got disciplinary cases, and moved to other tanks. Then Inmate R in West/4 started yelping about having something in his eye. We told the nurse, he said to tell Inmate R to flush the eye with water and try to go to sleep.

Officer Slowyerroll has the sort of radio voice that would accompany a gentle pat on the shoulder and the words, “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” so when he laconically asked if a supervisor could come back to SHU/19, I started grabbing every party favour I could find and hitting the Control Room door at a high lope. Sure enough, Inmate Q had taken both covers off of the power outlet in that cell, and was into the wiring up to his knuckles. I’m here to tell you, that kind of made pointing the Taser at him seem a bit … superfluous. We settled for snatching his butt off the table and scooting him down to SHU/5, which has no interior power outlets for him to muck about with.

Of course, Inmate K was the occupant of SHU/5, and of course he had to be difficult about giving up his cell. Diplomacy wins the day, as Inmates K and Q swapped cells with only minor grumbling.

I was feeling my oats a bit at that time, so I had officers tell East/3 – on the down-low – that they were catching a shakedown, but if they threw out their contraband, the officers would try to talk me into leaving their coloured boxers in the tank. Last I checked the hallway in front of East/3 was ankle-deep and folks in East/3 were offering to trade commissary to East/4 in return for more stuff they could throw out.

While East/3 was unloading their contraband, we hit the kitchen and the laundry. Came up with five chicken quarters, two sandwiches, and two Styrofoam cups of sugar hidden in various places. Then we started on the SHU cells, beginning with Inmate C in SHU/16, since he has a fresh tattoo. When we woke him up, he was wearing a set of white boxers on over a set of coloured ones, and he got kittenish about giving up the coloured ones. I said not to mind, put him in the hall and started searching his cell. Good lord. We got string, a magnet, string, four sparkers, string and I’m pretty sure we accidentally dropped his tat pick into the light fixture trying to get it out. Then we brought him back in, explained that the white underwear made his coloured underwear contraband, and might we please have them?

Inmate C is a bit of an oik. He got a case of the arse, and told us we weren’t getting the underwear. Then he offered to give us a proper thumping if we tried. I demurred, said that I wasn’t leaving the cell without the contraband and Inmate C told me to go get rank. I checked my sleeves to see if I had remembered to put on my stripes, and Inmate C sneered for me to go get “real rank”. Further declared that we would have to go get the Sheriff and that if the Sheriff came out right then and right there told him to give up the underoos, then – and only then – would he give them up.

We got the boxers. Since he had more fishing line, a bit of paper folded into a weight and two notes to and from Inmate F who’s currently two doors down from Inmate C’s solitary cell tucked into the front of his boxers, I’m guessing that’s why he was such a numpty about giving them up. I went ahead and photocopied the page of the Inmate Handbook regarding coloured and white underwear and attached it to the grievance he’s demanding.

River did water and intercom checks at 0339; Central/North did theirs at 0005; and Central/Female at 0158. Central/North also did the needful and shook North/7. Officers advise that they found the burnt stubs of jailhouse cigarettes, but that was about all.

Spreading peace and joy, I remain:

Bugscuffle SO

Sunday, September 01, 2013

Summation: the First

Here is the first of my promised summations. Remember, if you like it, go tap AD or the KTKC page and show your appreciation.


Dear ladles and germs,

To start off the night on a high note, we had water falling from the skies. I have heard the Old Ones speak of such a thing from days past, but I never thought to see it with my own eyes.

There were no leaks reported either at River or Central.

Officers spotted Inmate C. passing something from East/5 to Inmates R. and F. in East/4. Suspecting tobacco, we hit the tank but Inmates F. and R. got to the khazi before we did. We shook East/4 anyway, and came up aces when we found a bee-yoo-ti-ful tattoo pick in R’s property; and a baggie of ink in the general area. To show my appreciation, we moved Inmate R. to West/2 pending a disciplinary case for Possession of Tattoo Paraphernalia; shifted Inmate C. one tank further along to East/6 and left Inmate F. in East/4.

Tier scuttlebutt has it that Inmates R, C and F were getting tobacco from Inmate F2 in East/1.

While we were shaking down East/4, officers spotted West/1 working out with a water-bag, but they had an attack of the dumbs and denied having the contraband. Since I had a surfeit of knuckle-draggers handy, we over-rode the doors in West/1 and retrieved the water-bag. The startled faces in that tank are a memory that I will treasure always.

Inmate H. in SHU/6 got kittenish about chaining up for cell cleaning, I went down and he decided to comply, but when it came time to remove the restraints, he decided to grab an officer's hand and squeeze as hard as possible. That went about as well as might be expected. Then he took out his frustration on the door to SHU/6 – and I am told that the door to SHU/6 oft comes agley when beaten upon. Sigh. So we went back and took him to SHU/10. Surprisingly enough, he went meek as a lamb.

Of course, a scant breath after getting Inmate H relocated, Inmate R (from the tobacco and My First Tattoo Kit incident in East/4) told officers that if we didn’t move him to a solitary cell that he would hurt himself. Despite multiple inmates advising that this was not the course of action he really wanted, Inmate R decided to insist that he would do himself an injury if we didn’t oblige him with a solitary cell. Okay. From the look on his face, I’m thinking that the suicide smock is a wee touch drafty.

The low West tanks started getting annoying about the recent trend of seizing their coloured knickers and accused us of making rules up. I gave them the page number in the Inmate Handbook so they could read it for themselves, but it turns out that none of the low West tanks had any Inmate Handbooks. I printed up one for each of the low West tanks, and – rather kindly, I think – pointed out the page that stated that destroying the Inmate Handbook would result in the tank T.V. being turned off for “an indeterminate time”. They’ve been quiet ever since.

Officer H. managed to reopen a cut on her lip from earlier that bled like God’s Own Water Faucet. We tried to get her to blame an inmate, but she wouldn’t follow-through. Sigh. The nurse came out and got the bleeding stopped.

Once that was done, Officer R. sprinted through the River Control Room with his face a most un-becoming shade of green. Seems the lad ate something that didn’t agree with him, because he spent about ten minutes praying to the porcelain throne. After happily advising him to check for toe-nails, and suggesting that he swallow hard if he felt something round and furry coming up, I told him he could go home. I am here to report that Officer R. is a trouper, and has stayed on.

Intake reports that “Inmate M. came back from the hospital at 0500”.

River did water and intercom checks at 0311; Central/North did theirs at 0151; and Central/Female at 0112. Center/North also reports shaking down North/8 and North/4, but not finding anything of interest.

Bugscuffle SO

In honour of Kilted To Kick Cancer ...

It is that time of year again! Ambulance Driver has announced that Kilted To Kick Cancer has kicked off for its' third year? Fourth?


A fellow officer (here-in after referred to as "Sgt Krunch") has recently unearthed some treasure and has informed me of this find.

Way Back When, a certain newly-minted supervisor reassigned to the Detention Centre decided that shift pass-along should be sent out as e-mails to make sure that every supervisor would have a hard-copy of the events that had transpired on his shift.

Since I am -- well, me -- these e-mails were not the usual dry, bureaucratic stuff one would expect from a government agency.

Oh, no.

My Sheriff now knows that I write this blog, I have gone to the Chief Deputy and asked if it would cause any heartburn if I were to re-post these shift summations for your edification.

He has replied that as long as I anonymise them, there won't be a problem.


I will load up at least one shift summation every other day for the month of September. Maybe more, we'll see.

If my Gentle Readers find these summations amusing, all I ask is that you pop over to ADs site and donate to Kilted To Kick Cancer. (If I can figure out how to post the links here, I'll pin a KTKC button on my sidebar. No promises.)

For those who don't know, Kilted To Kick Cancer was founded to raise awareness of male-specific cancers -- and funds for research of same.

People keep telling me how amusing my writing is, and begging me to write a book.

Here's your chance to put your money where your mouth is: read the summations, and if you like them, donate what you'd spend on a book to do a good deed.

(And you might send good thoughts towards the general direction of my Sheriff and my Chief Deputy for basically telling me that my blog is perfectly okay, and to start writing again.)