FLASH: PrisonIntroducing The Blue-Eyed Monster. Based on actual events. Dixie once argued with another prisoner who was seated by standing up, turning the other way, and opening his ass cheeks as he talked, like a tranquiloquist using his own rear as a puppet. Dixie also loved to make fun of the petty thieves who, in his own words, do the ‘cheese run in Kwik Save’ followed by the ‘bacon run in Asda’. “One pulled me up in the street one time and asked if I wanted to buy any chocolate,” he says. “Not an iPod, not a PS3 game, but chocolate.”
He shuffled into my cell like it was his and plonked himself down on my bed. He asked me for a sip of my brew.
Of all the many requests, can I have a sip of your brew was the hardest to cope with. The first time it happened, my face must have told its own story, until dreamily I passed him my tea and dreamily I received it back. In between this transaction, and also very dreamily, I watched him slurp from a plastic mug that up until that moment throughout my 2 moon sentence had seen no other lips touch it apart from my own. Not one slurp, not two slurps, but three slurps. Instead of simply tilting the cup back to take a drink like any normal person, he sucked the liquid up into his mouth, as if he had an invisible straw.
Next, he asked if I had any dimps. For those who may not know, dimps, or dockers, are leftover fag ends, or ciggy butts. I’d seen my fair share of tramps ‘ducking for dockers’ outside the local Bingo entrance or ‘stockpiling stumps’ in the bus depo, but to have a grown trash-ass wasteman in prison regularly invading my private space to clear out my ashtray was all new to me.
It was have you got this and give us that and can I have this and lend me that. On you, after you, twos on, saves....on anything that could be eaten, drank or smoked. Not to mention toiletries. I was beginning to feel like a walking dispenser. Snickers, milk, sugar....the lot
We called him The Blue-Eyed Monster, although never to his face, because apart from his big wet childish blue eyes, he looked like a cross between Uncle Fester from The Adams Family and Dr Frankenstein’s monster from Frankenstein. His eyes were actually like a puppy dog’s eyes and he had a cute, lovable grin. What worked against him was the creasy forehead high enough to strike matches on and a shaved head so close to the bone that it looked like a surgeon with a bloodlust had run riot all over it. I mean I had aclose buzz cut, but his was ridiculous.
He had one of those rumpled, rippled scalps that looked like his brain-sac was halfway done bustin' out through his skull, with enough neck and back hair to make even the most experienced barber wonder where to draw the line.
Unlike me, he was due out in a few weeks, after freeloading himself silly on my grub. His plan was to set up tent in the woods until a tugboat on the canal ‘became available for salvage’. He had circled the tent he wanted in the Argos catalogue with a red pen and run me through the whole plan of action last night when I’d been busy trying to watch Are You Fitter Than A Pensioner? Camp out, salvage a tugboat, and grow his own spuds in a vegetable patch. Easy as abc, except for the fact that he couldn’t grow a beard without assistance. Besides, one probe into them manky ears of his with a cotton bud would yield all the spuds he would likely ever need.
Despite hogging the end shower as if he’d fallen asleep in it, facing the wall with his XXL forehead pressed against the water release button, he never scrubbed them waxy lobes out. Thinking of it, he never even cleansed himself unless he’d bummed some shower gel from me. He just stood there rooted to the spot like a naughty kid ordered to stand under a water fountain. Nobody ever bullied him for hygiene because all he had to do was stumble in the wrong direction and someone would be getting squashed.
Watching him suddenly shift into motion for the dinner line was alarming, and the height of the mountain of croquette potatoes on his plate the other day was nothing short of daft. Other cons were pulling faces and calling him a horrible greedy guts with disdain usually reserved for molesters and rapists. I wished I had a camera. The size of it!
This has been me talking about The Blue-Eyed Monster, and he was the man who asked for a sip of my brew.
© Dixie MMX
Blob of Glob™
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