my friend, oscar was in charge of the brig. he is dead. he was murdered by a prisoner in the brig. i don't know which one, but it was definitely not suicide, because oscar was not a prisoner in the brig and that's who killed him. i'll have to investigate.
the brig on this ship is enormous. we have about 800 prisoners. that's way more than most ships, because when they (other, less capable ships) get to land, the brig is emptied. we hang on to our prisoners. it's about the ethical nature of me. i wouldn't want these disgusting lunatics working their way back into society. most of them are mentally challenged or violently retarded. some are just evil sociopaths, but let's just say all crazy people. they would be in west wing at the house if they were allowed off my ship (which will
never happen).
they don't seem to have a problem with it though. the facility is state of the art. they would be in a much worse place if i did let them out because they would likely immediately be arrested for some horrible thing and put in the real Land Jail, which is very, very much worse. the brig has a soda machine and couches and television sets and dinette sets and model train sets and a library with books. they don't have cells. it's like a dorm for the criminally insane. for some reason they don't ever really hurt each other. that's another thing to investigate. maybe they have crazy pheromones. after oscar's murder, i began thinking about this
in depth. they really have an extremely cushy lifestyle. they have way more cushions than we do on the rest of the ship and the brig is modern and beautiful with neon lights that you can't tell where they are and waterfalls on walls that exist only as such - they stand straight up in the middle of the hallways and common rooms and food courts, but they don't touch anything and the water goes nowhere but keeps falling. they have chandeliers and those booths that you can take little pictures of yourself and friends in and a gym also. me and the men have no such amenities. we have extra broken glass sprinkled everywhere and rusty barbed wire on all the nicest things, like pillows and cushions. they have a skating rink. our rink is walking. our juke box is the old one with cd's. they have digital and can listen to whatever they want. usually it's their favorite recording artist, steve. he is the WORST singer ever. it's a whole lot of screaming and whaling and chortling and weeping old popular fairy tales with disjointed, out of tune, deafeningly loud calliope music. that's the reason we don't hang out there i suppose. that and our fear of being murdered and eaten. and we are real men. real-ass whaling men. not some hoity toity mental patients with their own personal crazy butlers and x-ray generators. our x-ray machine is small and meant for pets.
the point is, they have it really good down there, and i am paying for it. the costs of repairs and maintenance and satellite tv and juke box...air conditioning, unexplainable hovering waterfall upkeep, drug and soda vending machine re-stocking (the drug vending machines are quite large. they empty in a day.) i've decided i will make it worse for them. that's why the ship's tailor, evelyn famous texture and i designed some new special, humiliating straight jackets. they are made with a light weight combination of materials of atoms and it's way too advanced to even imagine...but they can be put into specific shapes and force the wearer into ridiculous postures and gestures by remote control, and the prisoners have no ability to resist even though to the touch the material feels like the stuff they make sports pads for forearms and shins and hands out of. getting the jackets onto the freaks is probably going to be rough, but since we became pirates that one time, we are a lot tougher. let's get to it! i mean i'm about to do it...this is a journal. i'm not talking to anyone but me.
