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From: pHant <[email protected]>
Newsgroups: alt.hackers.malicious
Subject: Sn1ffed Chat Log 34
Followup-To: alt.hackers.malicious,alt.jedi-of-ro0t
Date: Sat, 03 Mar 2001 18:12:06 +1000
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CELL PALS INFIRMARY: Christie! Jason Christie!

G: <startles into consciousness in waiting room chair> Yuh!

CPI: Offender #719898!

G: Wuh!

CPI: Boy, I done told you that SNUH shit ain't permissible here at the
Texas Penal System.

G: Huh?

CPI: Hey. Your skinny ass is here for one reason. Your state-mandated
follow-up physical examination, POST incarceration, but don't even
think 'bout fuckin with me or SNUHing or that'll make it two reasons.
You wanta be back in the joint and biting the pillow again tonight?

G: You can't keep me here. You have no authority to do so.

CPI: Recidivism. Not a pretty name, is it, Jason?

G: No, sir. That's one bonehead name, but that ain't me.

CPI: Re-PEAT offender!

G: Not me. I'm cool. Ain't even jaywalked since I got released on my
own recognizance.

CPI: <flips pages through folder? Your own recognizance? Ho, I done
heard it all now. You was Prison Bitch Priscilla with that girly
physique and purty blue eyes. Always cryin' back then - glad to see
you got your sense of ha ha back. <smiles> Bubba misses you. Said he
ain't got no Priscilla to whore out for smokes since you was um,
LIBERATED from this fine institution.

G: Look, fuckst--- SIR. Did Spooge put you up to this?

CPI: Don't be trying to dazzle me with your technical talk, boy. You
here for a physical examination. See the doc, get your prolapsed anus
shoved back up and then - iffen you keep your smartass mouth shut -
these doors gonna SWING WIDE and you can go back home to your momma.

G: <stands on tiptoe, 5'9" of menace> Give me what I got coming and
let me the fuck outta here.

CPI: My pleasure! Follow me, Priscilla! Oh, Doc Skatt, look who's here
today -- Priscilla's back for her check-up!

Doctor Skatt: Hello, Jason. Take off everything but your push-up bra
and lie down on the examining table.

G: <mutters>Ain't got no fucking bra. <drops trousers> There. Happy
now?

DS: Boy, you look like a meth freak. Skinny, wired, eyes poppin.......
you abusin' any substances besides your right hand?

G: No!

DS: Then you won't mind peeing in the cup here.

G: Fuck.

DS: Good girl. <hands cup to CPI> Run a urine drug screen and
chlamydia on that. We don't know who Priscilla's sugar daddy is
anymore. <Claps hands> Okay, boy. Open wide.

G: Un-fuckin-AHHHHHHH

DS: <applies tongue depressor> Those dentures don't look half-bad. You
young folk tend to have trouble with a full mouth extraction but it do
WONDERS for your sex life, don't it now?

G: <spits> What kind of examination is this? You gonna listen to my
heart or my lungs?

DS: Hell, no, boy. Assume the position.

G: SHIT!

DS: Any problems with that? Changes in color, consistency --

G: NO!

DS: <laughs> Well now, that be the only health problem you might have
from your incarceration. The rest of you just as fit as a fiddle. But
your fartpipe -- hoo boy, that saw some heavy action during your stay
here and we, the concerned judicial system, wanta make sure
everything's just like it ought to be.

G: <lies in prone position, grits teeth> Get it over with.

DS: Wouldn't want you having no trouble walking on no beaches or um
<cough> working out, no sir-ree, Priscilla. . . . . <turns to
instrument tray> Lessee now, your sphincter is pretty relaxed,
according to these here records, so we won't bother with the KY.

G: Let me up, motherfucker!

CPI: Bubba! Guess who's here a-callin' on his old friends today!

G: Would you hurry up, for fuck's sake?

DS: Sure thing. Got a nice 30 foot colonoscope here. Just relax, boy.
Come on, take some nice deep breaths --

G: <crying> I want the poop-stick, not that garden hose!

DS: You want what, boy?

G: <muffled sobs> Give me BuZZ's poop-stick or just kill me now!


--

pH1