Updates
Failure to Act: IDOC is Aware of GEO’s Noncompliance
11-24-2019
Re: Jack Fraser’s 8-27-2019 Memo
Dear Mr. Fraser:
Your statement regarding the Contract Monitor operating by Texas Minimum Jail Standards, as opposed to IDOC Policy 318, alludes to the fact that you failed to provide an adequate review of my group complaints.
Additionally, it is suggested that you are still unaware of GEO’s contractual obligations, as outlined by IDOC Agreement Number(s) A18-001, A18-002. This agreement is publicly available, received its final signature 6-18-2018, and clearly states: “The Contractor shall resolve all disciplinary infractions, from minor infractions to serious violations, in accordance with IDOC SOP 318.02.01.001…”
If we are to believe IDOC understands the contract they are managing, the second paragraph of your memo is a clear indicator that IDOC is aware they haven’t been holding GEO Group to said contract’s standards. The extensive documentation I previously presented you with clearly illustrates an event took place five months after the contract was signed, and was neither processed by TMJS 283.1, 283.2 or IDOC SOP 318. IDOC’s combined lack of interest and diligence in reviewing these materials is of concern to everyone.
Unfortunately, additional documentation emphasizing the basic lack of performance abilities between the Contract Monitor and their supervisors will now seek a more deliberative audience. This will end our communication.
Thank you for your understanding.
Regards,
Patrick Irving 82431
IMSI
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707
Messaging via JPay
bookofirving82431.com
Excessive Use of Tort
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11-05-19 Dear Chief Page: Recent tort claims sent to the State were returned “Not Deliverable As Addressed.” I submitted an “Access to Court” request asking to speak with the paralegal in an attempt to understand why. The paralegal refused my request while noting my problem with USPS has been addressed. Because it is my position that my problem using USPS, by way of IMSI’s Legal Resource Center, to access the courts most certainly was NOT addressed, I had to investigate this matter through other channels. It’s with no pleasure I mention this stems from my property that was lost during my retaliatory transfer from Texas. Though an inordinate amount of documentation supporting my request for reimbursement was attached to my grievance, Mrs. Monte Hansen insisted I see Warden Yordy in Small Claims if I wish to collect my $133.77. While I don’t understand it, I’m happy to do it, and rack up the bill on the way. Returning to the matter of the paralegal, I’ve decided to keep you posted during the course of my investigation and have attached some of the documents I’ll be journaling as a courtesy. In friendship and incarceration, |
The receipts…
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Pssst…
Welcome to my uncontrolled science project, bookofirving82431.com!
This platform exists as a means for me to present my creative writing, represent inmate concerns and direct requests for legal assistance to materials supporting my claims. All of which together equal a personal plea for human interaction. For whatever reason you’ve arrived, I hope you enjoy this project and are able to make sense of the materials.
Please encourage others to use this model for presenting discourse from the Incarcerated — and other applicable populations, as well. What I do here can be mimicked freely on other platforms. A minimal amount of my father’s time gifts me a voice, helping make visible my efforts. I’ll continue to post updates that illustrate the benefits of our crude-but-working model.
If my eccentricities are something you’re willing to tolerate at the level of friend or mentor, I would appreciate nothing more than to hear from you. Your insight and feedback are immeasurable in value to my process of personal development.
Your deliberation is appreciated. May you enjoy a unique perspective.
Regards,
Patrick Irving 82431
IMSI
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707
bookofirving82431.com
Messaging available via JPay
11-22-19
The Meaning of Life: The Case for Abolishing Life Sentences
11-05-19
Dear Marc Major and Ashley Nellis,
I have been gifted a copy of your book, The Meaning of Life: The Case for Abolishing Life Sentences, from the Durland Alternatives Library and their Prisoner Express program. This is a response to your request for reactions to the book. I hope my feedback can be of use to The Sentencing Project and the Campaign to End Life Imprisonment.
I will describe how I processed this book and my concerns regarding sentencing campaigns, available correctional programs and the ability to appeal life sentences. I also have recommendations for individual case studies and suggestions on how offenders can become more identifiable to the public.
With a subject that stirs so many charged responses, relaying this discourse in non-political fashion allowed me to view it with minimal bias. The history of policy decisions and statistical trends introduced a level of scrutiny that I appreciated throughout the book. The presentation is easy to understand, and I’ve used it as a reference for recent conversations. Overall, I trust that the authors have prepared me for discussion.
I identified with points made about marketing propositions with catch-phrases instead of science-based proposals. I think it’s easy to understand that one should be more deliberative when exposed to campaign propaganda. As for representatives and appointees responding to lobbyist interests, and not communal needs, that’s easy to dismiss as Politics. But I found it appropriate to question if we feel that elected officials and their appointees are qualified to give life its value based on voter support for issues non-related. I think asking this triggers a sense of civic responsibility and will help to re-evaluate the parole process.
To deprive people serving the lengthiest sentences correctional programming is counterintuitive. Emotional and cognitive developments reduce risky behavior, which reduces disciplinary offenses, which reduces the length of a sentence. Providing betterment opportunities early on is productive on many levels. Reversing patterns spanning decades with a crash course on cognition prior to one’s release is unrealistic. And similar to a spiritual process, personal growth can lead to understanding the need to atone for an impact made on others, helping to recompense their victims.
The ability to appeal life sentences was interesting in contrast with those of short sentences and death. The Death Row inmates set free by new witnesses indicates a population of Lifers facing similar injustice. When faced with the possibility of dying in prison, options to appeal should be proportionate with what’s at stake.
As a juror, my predisposition towards sex crimes and offenses against vulnerable populations leaves me prone to err on the side of caution: The moral ramifications of not convicting someone guilty of a certain crime are worse than sentencing one innocent of the same, and I assume the appeals process will fix whatever I get wrong.
The examples of wrongful convictions being overturned by DNA evidence and advances in neuroscience (the latter used to reopen cases of Shaken Baby Syndrome) inform us other cases stand to be impacted by new technology. Providing candidate cases new hearings should come with priority.
For presenting examples of offenders released, I could use some troublesome cases. The statistics illustrating recidivism rates after long-term incarceration offered insight, but didn’t convey the post-release struggles that result in course-correction or failure. I question the differences, exceptions and commonalities that influence a case. And what other variables are suggested to contribute to recidivism?
It’s easy to be apathetic towards an ability to parole — offenders require minimal deliberation: An entire system exists to ease our relations with tribal outliers. A brief review from the Board of Parole is typically all that considers one’s freedom. To articulate their efforts and years worth of changes, a moment with the Board is just not enough. How can an offender self-evidence their transformations and become more transparent in appealing to others?
Currently serving a 40 year sentence with the test of a limited life, I’m creating opportunities — as none are provided by my current facility — and experience liberty in sharing my time. The model I’ve created with help of my father makes my efforts visible. It’s therapeutically beneficial, available to the public and allows me to present myself authentically. You are welcome to view this project at bookofirving82431.com
For other offenders with free-world assistance, pages or groups can be started using existing platforms at no cost. Use these to post and share links to certificates, journals and other documents helpful in viewing progressions. I use my outlet for the following: 1) Documenting how I serve my sentence. My victims deserve to watch me cycle and understand the way that I program. It’s my only way to atone directly. 2) Displaying identifiable qualities provides a reference for others: I’m currently seeking mentors and intellectual stimulation. By sending letters with invitations to visit my site, I can communicate my interests more thoroughly. I’ve even compiled presentations for requests of legal assistance and raised public awareness for group concerns. 3) I have long-term aspirations for development, and watching myself progress is reassuring — it adds hope. And when my time comes for parole review, I can present my body of work as a journal to the Board and other community prospects.
Before I close, I’ll share my thoughts on abolishing life sentences. It’s my experience that most aged lifers don’t pose criminal threats, and some can reintegrate with their own resources. Many of them genuinely regret how they’ve affected others, and that comes with a wisdom and understanding that fellow offenders learn from. Lifers continue to possess community value. That said, I can’t agree that everyone is redeemable or deserves another chance to live free. But only when considering those guilty of especially heinous acts.
Thank you for The Meaning of Life: The Case for Abolishing Life Sentences. The book was informative and readable, and helped further my understanding of your goals. I hope my feedback on processing sentencing campaigns, viewing correctional programming opportunities, considering appeals and using individual examples has been constructive, and that you’ll benefit from sharing my experimental method of presenting one’s self during the process of correction.
Best regards,
Patrick Irving 82431
IMSI
P.O. Box 51
Boise, ID 83707
bookofirving82431.com
Messaging available via JPay
(Well, sh#t…)
11-02-19
Dear Reader,
It occurred to me while writing an upcoming dispatch that if I want to maintain this site’s authenticity, I have to provide some context for my prison activities that may otherwise be distorted when viewed strictly through public records.
Recently, at the Idaho Maximum Security Institution that I was moved to following the retaliatory transfer previously addressed, 14 people from my 16-person walk were involved in violence over a ten-day period. I was one of them.
I have no incidents of fighting on my record prior to being housed at this facility. In fact, my first four years at lower-security facilities passed without any disciplinary issues at all. My participation in the recent offense has me committed to this facility for the next five years, barring any additional incidents extending my stay. And that’s a long time for shit not to happen here. So, let’s not get our hopes up.
I write this from the hole, on my way to AdSeg. While I pleaded guilty to the offense the way it was seen on video, I am disputing a separate accusation of affiliation that was made on the disciplinary report. This may be discussed more in the future, and with other individuals helping present similar issues regarding unfounded claims of Security Threat Group activity being made by Investigations at this and other IDOC facilities. If you are interested in helping other offenders present documentation or voice concerns about an issue they’ve experienced with Investigations, please contact me for further information.
Here is what my mom had to say about all this: “Thank you for the update from your end. I appreciate you letting the new guys know that your momma prays for them. It’s part of your story and it’s true, so stick with it! The part about how you’ve been labeled as an Aryan member in your file…that didn’t sit well when I saw it in writing. I know you’ve mentioned it in conversation with me, but seeing it in writing provoked a little warrior inside of me. We are a diverse family unit with Hispanic, Native American and Anglo members. And, we’ve hosted Vietnamese, African American, Indian, Rwandan and Congolese people in our home. You have always had such an open heart in regards to people of all ethnicities, not to mention people with special needs. It’s completely absurd if you have, in fact, been labeled as such. I made a lot of mistakes parenting, but I raised you boys to refrain from judging someone by the color of their skin — and it took!”
Sorry to disappoint.
Lovingly Embattled,
Patrick Irving 82431
Messaging available through JPay
Fashionably Undesirable
Worse than having nothing to say is too much to convey with no words.
A leftover cadence goes write down the line of stunting my growth with these spurts.
Their circular angles from platforms and pulpits are free to be purchased with angst,
But my leaving the branch of an empty paper is a riddle that’s rooted in vains.
This amateur prose is a boast I suppose of dichotomous-forming intent:
A rhyme intervention that’s mining a mind sure to be making no cents.
The most I can do is the least I distill while I’m drowning from drought in my fable.
I wish I could teach me to learn on my own when I’m willing all old and disabled.
I won’t accommodate critics who sell their dissuasions or make a heroic retreat.
Cuz my people enjoy these makeshift presentations I somehow have managed to feed.
Casting abstract is a mixture that sprouts multiples playing on words.
Orgasmic in act intermittent with tact and lavishly loved as a first.
This small progression is just an obsession from what I’ve been coming of late:
An article bastard that more or less flatters himself with a limerick make.
Politely obnoxious infecting subconscious I’m something like hoping a dream.
Or wishing a nightmare an unwanted dire of lively unsightly obscenes.
A choice not to choose might but chew on what’s rude and be smirking a bottle of grin,
Which I’m opined to love and in fact not above take a mend and then go it again!
11-7-19
Rando Mand Irving
The Congener Interludes, Op. 1: Sonatina of Intrigue, No.4
Previous: The Congener Interludes, Op.1: Sonatina of Intrigue, No.3
I’ve been here before, many times — in this situation, specifically.
Allowing her pink-painted synthetics to take such liberties reminds my pup-pups of busking for Lincolns.
Truest in form, safari in thong — she’s loving all my gyrations. Zebra print presenting the prey: delicious, in the eyes of a cougar.
Her physical prowess is intimidating. But being stalked in an office full of football memorabilia celebrating her as the League’s most efficient helmet crusher is what necessitates the elevated threat level.
I am aware of her hormonal imbalance, and she of my pheromones in all of their glory. Thus begins a delicate dance — one which allows me to take her down easy.
Her hands are soft for gorilla-large, but I’m against putting bandaids inside me. It’s imperative to play it cool — and I do — by casually suggesting the aggression dial down. “Easy, mama. Easy.”
Her snapping my crevice cape is completely expected, it’s her Shwarznegger impression that catches me off-guard. “Grrrr. Thou doth protest too much.”
Sound the alarms, and maintain their silence: It’s critical not to trigger the adrenaline of predators, especially those who’ve spent decades riddled with concussions. Maintaining my composure these next few moments becomes of critical importance.
If I can straddle-walk her chair backwards towards the bamboo thicket corner, I’ll be able to access a defensive vantage — one that comes from hiding in the bush.
My playbook-nibbling her cauliflower ear fails to neutralize the threat. Her claws continue to dig, and I find myself resorting to expert level negotiations while trying to tame her primitive instinct. “What say you let me get Maze Runner-lost in your beautiful labial labyrinth?”
With eyes twitching deep in her skull, she shakes her head, biting her lip. I’m in danger of losing my chastity.
Because this one is feral — and not afraid to show teeth — her seeing me panic is not an option. There is no time not to look sexy, I’ll need a moment to center my qi.
Concentrically circling my own nipples brings decades of extensive preparation to the forefront. My hips position into a stance less-known: She’s forced the unveiling of Grandfather-Clock.
The recall instantaneous, the skills well-honed, you’re now a witness to my handling a live situation. The dangers of this routine go unspoken between the seven of us left with knowledge of how to procure its perfect execution.
From Full-Metronome, I run my pointed finger down her frantic face, making a flawless line from her hairline to her chin — I once spent an entire summer breaking wild chickens with hypnotherapy.
I hop like a bunny backwards and maneuver a half-twist that lets me snap a look over my shoulder and transition my pointed finger into the universal gesture for “Nuh-Uh”.
Her beady eyes, traversing her beak, stare me down, crossed and succinct — I know the look of a savage bird when I see it. She’s far from cooperating. I’m making the call: She’s forced me to overdose her libido.
I attempt to go low, but my splits say no, so I jump with a kick and know that it’s perfect.
I land for a jiggle and then twerk like a doll — my prize-winning cakes looking tasty.
My Backpack Kid is flawless under pressure. There’s no doubt I’m properly fuckin’ murdering this routine.
A young boy’s innocence casts a glance back: Oops, I’ve bitten too hard on my pinky.
That she can withstand this treatment makes no sense, it’s as if her tolerance is bionic. I may be in danger of bottoming-out digging through my bag of tricks. I take a risk and escalate further.
Ten-and-two the ceiling, ten-and-two the floor. From between my legs and upside-down, her look is Considering, behind me.
Spreading my wings to lock her in, I’m trying to land this plane.
Oh, shit.
There’s no mistaking the venomous contact of an acrylic rattlesnaking your anus. It stings, but so does being caught like an amateur by a strike learned at Yellow Belt.
I’ll have time to heal my psyche later. Right now, it’ll take more than that to decommission the Champ.
Sensing the Feminine Mystique poised to strike again — and while notching another marginalisation derived from the work of Betty Friedan– I quick-release the cheeks and return my seat to a safe and upright position.
Inserting my mouth guard and cracking my knuckles, I hear the intent in her voice from behind me. “Would you like the bad news first, Mr. Zamboni?”
A slow turn into her coalmine eyes — there’s no trying to measure their depths. “You bet, sugar. What’s your game?”
“It seems you have an acute case of Benjamin Buttons.”
What the fuck does that mean?
I better play it safe.
Making myself appear as large as possible, I’m fully prepared to show her some pole. “And suppose I told you things aren’t always as they seem?” Ladies love a Copperfield.
“Oh, please. You’ve got the asshole of a twenty-year-old and we both know it.”
She’s got me there. I’ve had my cover blown by more than one A-list stalker coveting the stunt-hole of DiCaprio and Pitt.
From a three-point stance, in her seated position, her knuckles turn white preparing to charge.
I spin for a juke, but I’m back where I started — a curse of my perfect alignment. If it looks good once, it will look good twice — and there’s a chance that I’m making her dizzy.
It takes less than a minute for her to get caught in my orbit. And lost in my twirls, she’s seizuring frothy.
I fear I’ve led her too deep into the Land of Excessive Seduction, and opened the gates of Hell. I can’t bring her back without confronting her demons.
For the sixth time this week, I catholically cross my sweet pecks and thank the Pope I’m Vatican-trained in exorcism.
Any concern of the spiritual battle ahead is comforted by self-affirmation: Nothing a Grandmaster of Zumba can’t handle.
Step One: Know thy enemy.
Extend jazz hands. Reach for high noon. Sprinkle down the purple rain. Hard slap, right. Hard slap, left. Reverse. Now, finger-cross the forehead and make your demand. “Identify yourself, demon!”
“Virocana!”
It’s not unusual having them speaking in tongues.
Step Two: Hold firm.
Unsheathing my talisman, her mouth begins to foam. I start a four-count where her Third Eye should be and accompany that with, “I rebuke you in the name of the Lord!”
An arm contorts behind her searching for a heathen’s weapon. Having found a tote on the back of her chair, she reaches high, and in a shimmering flash, captures herself mid-deliverance, ducklips and all.
Before she can Insta, I retrieve the device. Six flashes and a short narrative later, I’ve huckleberried her vanity using the power of transference. But how do I Like my own post?
Step Three: Choose the playing field.
We can expect the djinn to make a request right…about…”CHOKE ME!”
The secret to winning a battle with condemnations is making them think you’ll negotiate. A proper haggle with demons or demigods is served with a smidge of flirtation: one that peaks their interest, helping them meet you halfway. It’s also important to make the case that I’m uncomfortable enjoying what comes next.
Coyly alluding to how hot it would be if her own phalanges were wringing her neck, I’m hoping for a sleeper-assist to make my job easier.
The philistine kindly obliges, and a little sweet-talk encourages keeping her hands where I can see them. “Is that all you got, nutsack?” Even while demonically possessed, a lady will appreciate your replacing gender-biased insults attentively.
She is squeezing harder, but dammit if she isn’t still breathing. With her vision blurred from lack of oxygen, a series of spins around her desk covers the discrete procurement of items: one leftover chicken burger, one watered-down cola, one-half a roll of masking tape.
I’m returned to sender, hydrated, ready. Wiping the remnants of crispy chicken off my face, and across hers, an ancient harbinger sings from behind her grotesquely protruding eyeballs, “FISHHOOK ME!”
I call and raise double. Now temporarily extending her sick and twisted smile, and still pretending we’re on the same team, she’s under the impression I’m folding.
“BEEF ME, GLENN!” Like a slumlord landlady desperately trying to contract an unsuspecting tenant into filling her vacant, unwanted cubby.
“Sorry, doll. I’m callin’ fowl.” I quickly mama-bird a large chunk of unchewed chicken sandwich past her finger-stretched lips. This will help keep her air obstructed.
When her hands shoot up, free from her throat, her watch informs on her pulse: Now pushing mass adrenaline! She’s about to come off of this chair powered like a rocket. Her thinking I’m caught off-guard should let me cinch the flying arm-bar, easy.
I seize the moment, locking it in. But the rest of future I modeled seconds ago arrives still under construction.
Her: Now standing.
Me: Hanging on the underside of her of arm.
Her: Performing a one-handed tracheotomy using a mechanical pencil.
Me: I wonder what Monte’s up to?
Step Four: Is there a Step Four?
Maintaining a centrifugal motion paced to that of a high-speed ceiling fan requires the power of positive thinking.
Observing in rapid rotation what I initially thought were awkwardly shifting color patterns, but quickly realized was the real-time evacuation of my bowels, I spot a picture on the desk I hadn’t seen before. Watching it fly past me time-and-time-again, I’m amazed to see Him in such a pretty wedding dress while standing next to this monstrosity.
So much about Waymon makes sense now.
Maybe I’ve been too hard on him? I can’t possibly imagine everything he’s been through. That picture looks fifteen years old. Factor-in I’m travelling at light speed, and I’ll bet he’s been stuck with this princess of a mammoth for at least as many decades as she has teeth. Maybe it’s time to make amends.
Timing it right, I release my grip, and find the hammer toss-cushion I’m seeking. Bamboo broken, some possibly inside me, I ignore the Filipino fighting sticks to freehand this match’s end.
Her sumo stance projects her move: a mistake you can’t make with professionals.
It pains me to do what comes next. I never thought I’d stoop so low.
A kick to the groin escapes my conscience and defuses her charge. Now stooping low, I begin reciting the verses most sacred: “Now I’ve…had…the time of my life…No, I’ve ne-ver felt this way before…” She’s tilting her head. Anticipating. “Yes, I swear..it’s the truth.” Her stupid smile tells me she’s buying this bullshit. “And I owe it all you…”
Abandoning the offensive position, her hands meet and make the platform supporting her chin. Behind her fluttering lashes, dilated pupils constrict, letting me know that she’s in there. Any moment now, she should meet me in the middle.
And she does. “…’Cause I’ve…had the time of my life…And I owe it all to you…”
Goose to Maverick: I’m locking her in!
Next move, the walk: slow and with grace. Meet to touch palms in the middle. Her foot forward, my foot back. She thrusts, I volt. Sweet parry. We pirouette to her right, there is one move left: making the space between us.
Stepping apart as far as we can, my eye contact tells her, “We’re a team. We’re in this together.” I give her the signal, the one that she knows: Come on babe, you and I got this.
Maverick to Goose: Roger that. She’s copying. READY.
Lucifer himself would fall victim to Swayze.
Fluttering across the space between, hitting the mark, a princess is lifted: I find it a shame — from my elevated position — having to transition so quickly from Dirty Dancing to Roadhouse.
The tape makes its second appearance, wrapping tightly around her dome before catching the fan overhead.
he’s sucked right up, eyes wide, smiling, arms fully extended, feet finding a rhythm.
Bless her heart, it’s an encore presentation.
Euphoric: That’s the look of a little-girl-turned-ballerina doing her first neck-suspended spin in front of a live audience, at a job that pays in checks — not singles. I thinking I’m tearing up. Oh, what a feeling — dancing on the ceiling.
Our song will be playing in heavy rotation until maintenance comes and cuts her down. She’s not going die. Not today. But only because I saved her.
That was almost too easy.
Now, if only I could remember what I needed from her office…
Next: The Congener Interludes, Op.1: Sonatina of Intrigue, No. 5
IDOC Now Hiring: Alchemist Wizards Wanted
9-27-19
Dear Chad Page (Chief of Prisons):
Morning reflections, pen in hand: I thought I’d drop you a line.
We are in receipt of your memo at the Idaho Maximum Security Institution — the one about the brewing. All have agreed: the alcohol situation is out of control. We were moved that you would acknowledge this by limiting our sugar purchases. Some have gone so far as to say you’ve provided a beacon of hope.
I am speaking personally now, as an inmate having recently succumbed to his own demons — dirty rotten tricksters, they are. I come forward, stepping beyond accepting responsibility for the possession of alcohol, with a request to use my new qualifications in helping you tackle this problem head-on.
A little about myself: Patrick, Alcoholic. I never struggled with alcoholism before. This is all new to me. It is heavy with burden that I acknowledge a djinn has attached itself to my most intimate vulnerabilities. I’m here today because I’ve heard rumours among us: A treatment does exist!
The whispers describe a system that requires the helping of others to help yourself. True, it sounds of magic. But it comes of grace, not of demons.
Allow me to demonstrate by summonsing an alternate future before your very eyes: Behold! I have arrived, willing and able to actively participate in recovery. Here I am, and here I will be. Know that mine isn’t enough, I must cast the spell on you as well.
That’s it, Chief. That’s all it takes.
I happen to know this because we’ve been squirreling bits and pieces of contraband materials describing some “12 Steps,” in hopes that we can honour both our victims and our families in our making a reasonable attempt to seek rehabilitation.
I have taken the liberty of presenting you with options of costly efficiency (not a typo, we’re talking taxpayer money), issue them at your behest.
It pains me to note that upon receiving my disciplinary notification for alcohol problems, my requests that I be provided information related to alcoholism were not tolerated by my Case Manager or your Medical Provider. The Medical Provider was completely unresponsive to my needing treatment information for this behavioural disorder — the same one that is commonly referred to as a disease. I wasn’t even scheduled an appointment to assess if there was an actual medical need. It was the Case Manager that informed me I don’t qualify by Idaho Department Of Correction standards to receive the benefits of alcohol-related therapeutic treatment at IMSI. Clearly, there is a lot going on here — choose your own adventure!
Not to be discouraged, I performed my own research. I discovered a volunteer-ran group that only requires a meeting room, some free literature and a minimal of two alcoholics. Because they are clandestine in nature, it is likely you are not aware they have already infiltrated all of your facilities. Any member of this Anonymous organization will volunteer to step out of the shadows and go on the record in stating: In addition to restricting the inmates’ sugar intake, providing a meeting of the Anonymous variety may offer a healthy supplement to those actively suffering from substance abuse issues.
I know what you’re thinking: “Mr. Irving, Esq., you have ten years left until Board. Your behaviourals are likely to cure themselves in said amount of time. Should they not, tackling them six months prior your release shall have to suffice.”
To which I offer: Not treating my behaviourals during my incarceration’s entirety does nothing to establish a pattern of resistance against a lifelong history of poor decision-making. It also doesn’t assist in Correctionsing behaviors the Board expects me to discontinue before they’ll even consider me for parole.
I find there are obvious advantages in helping inmates learn about good decisions when they first arrive in prison, not moments before you release them back into the wild.
Let us now break from the radical for a brief discussion of issues Constitutional.
My friend and I watch every week as our unit neighbors are picked up from their cells to be scrubbed free of sin on Sundays. We are left on the sad side of our windows, chosen by your staff to remain in eternal damnation.
My mother talks to God every weekend, she says there is plenty of room in Heaven and Jesus intended to offer the Lord’s grace to everyone, not just the Soft Walks at our facility. You’re right in that they need forgiveness for all their despicabilities much, much more than we do. But you can only polish a turd so much, and we’d really like to chop it up with Yahweh at least once this year.
I’m not asking much, just for you to kindly address these issues. I’d prefer to direct my focus towards items more pressing.
In friendship and incarceration,
Patrick Irving 82431
Edmo’s New Vagina
Edmo is getting a vagina
But Kenny can’t go to church
Edmo is getting a vagina
(S)He’s probably getting it permed
Edmo is getting a vagina
While we can’t run any laps
Edmo is getting a vagina
(S)He’s scheduled for follow-up paps
Edmo is getting a vagina
It’s likely a brand new model
Edmo is getting a vagina
For the cost of a young man fondeled
Edmo is getting a vagina
It’s making all of the news
Edmo is getting a vagina
To put an end to the blues
I wouldn’t mind a vagina
I’d cook it tons of burritos
What wouldn’t I do for a vagina
One that’s never been hit with torpedoes
9-28-19