Ninja Turtles

Prison sucks. Look, I'm really not the type of guy to sit around feeling sorry for myself, but at the moment prison is turning out to be a little more than I signed up for. Earlier today a set of cellmates (two of the white-power guys who are convinced of Obama's Al-Quaida loyalty after his inauguration stumble [yes, I stand by my claim that Obama is accountable - he knew the words of the oath, regardless of what Rickshaw Roberts said. Say them how you know they're supposed to be, Mr. Harvard!]) had a little bit too much to drink and wanted to have a little fun. Which in most cases is only reasonable, except that here in Terre Haute some people's idea of having fun is attempting to break out of their cell and take over the hole. What these two planned on doing once they controlled the building had they been able to overtake all 50 guards working in the prison at the time, is anybody's guess. Even they probably didn't know. After all, they were just drunk and wanting to have a little fun.

The institution's usual response in situations like this is to call in a special response team of highly-trained guards the inmates affectionately refer to as the Ninja Turtles, due to the bulky riot gear they wear. The Ninja Turtles have several tools at their disposal such as electric shields, tasers, guns which fire (usually) non-lethal ammunition, and pepper gas bombs. After the Ninja Turtles arrived several hours ago, their first tactic was to shoot the duo with hockey puck-size projectiles from their kinda non-lethal guns. While the wounds will undoubtedly have the pair whimpering tomorrow, in their current state of drunken half-rage, half-mirth they allowed the pucks to bounce off their bodies like whiffle balls. Sensing that the guns weren't having the intended effect, the Turtle squad fiendishly switched to pepper gas. The bastards. There's better air circulation in the space station than there is in this building, so when the gas goes off, Brad and I are just as exposed as the two drunk knuckleheads who were giggling as the gas-induced tears and snot dripped from their faces.

The past few hours have been hellish. A stinging, clinging, biting cloud of pepper vapor filled our cell like an old man's fart. Wet towels wrapped around our faces, my roomie and I have been choking and gasping for unadulterated oxygen which has only just now become available.

Within 15 minutes after the bomb going off, the pair were in the handcuffs and shackles, which they'll remain in until they sober up and then are returned to their cell containing nothing but a bed to sleep on. For everyone else it's back to business as usual except for trying not to breathe in real deep. Just another day in the life. Oh, here comes dinner.