It was like this, except instead of a dog it was a butt.
The guy on my side of the hall started putting his naked ass in the door and pushing it open, so his lover could see it. Because in prison, social stigmas against public masturbation are much more lax than they are at, say, your local Sbarro. The guards found out about this and, since this was way back in the '90s and they'd just been issued pepper spray, it was decided that a butthole was a fine place to test it out.
Test results? Screaming. Lots of it.
That sort of "testing" was a pattern that repeated whenever the guards got some sort of new toy. Another such toy was ... well, imagine a leaf blower hooked up to a container that sprays tear gas. It puts that shit out like a fog. Once they got those in, the CS gas "fog machine" became their duct tape, used in any situation they could tenuously justify employing it. A few of us fighting in the gym? Time to turn all the air into poison.
The day they got the cannon was a bad day.
The guards didn't get off easy, though. One of them pissed off an inmate named Pinkie Mitchell. Pinkie had been in for 25 years and was never getting out. That means there's only so much the law could do to Pinkie, short of killing him. One day Pinkie catches the guard off ... uh, guard ... so he stabbed him, dropped his own trousers, and proceeded to shoot a load onto the guard's bleeding body. The guard lived, but they had to transfer him. Everyone knew he'd been not only stabbed but ejaculated on by a prisoner. That's how you earn some very hurtful nicknames.
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