Year of the Voodoo Bomb (by Polish Avenger)
Polish Avenger – A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were committing. In Arizona, if a burglar gets killed, the accomplices get 25-year sentences.
Obvious question number 1: What the hell is a voodoo bomb?
Glad you asked! It’s an individually wrapped single dose of instant coffee. To prepare one of these little gems, take one square of single-ply toilet paper (used here in prison) and place a generous scoop of freeze-dried java (bought from the commissary) in the center. Wrap like an egg roll, moisten with tongue to seal, and stash in a little baggie. Four of these generally suffice for one day. When the time for a voodoo break rolls around, quietly slip one out, pop it in, and chase with a swig of water. The bomb bursts in the stomach and the caffeine express rolls on!
Obvious question number 2: Why the hell go through all of that?
Why not just drink a normal cup o’ bean like everyone else? That part is a bit more complicated. The bombs arose out of unfortunate necessity. Here in our beloved prison, we have a particular tribe of lowlife affectionately referred to as the mooch. I’m sure you know one also! The person who, despite being at work alongside you and earning the same paycheck – in my case, 36 cents an hour as a hazards materials clerk – or earning even higher – yes, some prisoners have been known to make up to 50 cents an hour – never has his own coffee, and he just has to have some of yours. It’s even worse here in close quarters as fellows make an entire lifestyle out of mooching. Of course you can just say no, but that puts you on the blacklist, which means the next time the mooch gets in trouble, he’ll be quick to throw an accusation your way to get off the hook.
And so, having become thoroughly fed up with those who spend all they have on drugs, and yet rely on everyone else for coffee among other things, there came the year when I made a public declaration that I was committing the unspeakable sin of quitting. You could hear several mooch hearts shattering at the news that Polish Starbucks was closed. Yes, I had gone underground, and my coffee fix was now a matter of voodoo stealth and subterfuge.
Sadly, it really had come to that.
I stayed under nearly one year. Never once was I caught doing the ritualistic bomb swallow. The only concern was the amount of bizarre chemicals I was ingesting via the institutional toilet paper. Doing the math at four squares per day. That’s 120 a month, or about one giant industrial roll in a year. That just can’t be good for a person! Were the blinding headaches and spastic colon somehow related? Am I supposed to taste blood when urinating? Is that a toe-nail fungus shaped like the Virgin? Nagging issues, to be sure!
Happily, in a drug-user dragnet 90% of our mooches got shipped out. A joyous day it was when I came out of the java closet and could openly express my coffee sexuality. No more bombing, no more sneaking. I’m here, I’m wired, get used to it!
My question to you is: would you have done the same? Which is better, to systematically poison yourself and live a lie, or continue to shove you hard-earned prison paycheck down the bottomless mooch hole?
There are no easy answers…
Click here for Polish Avenger’s previous blog.
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Shaun P. Attwood