Team Beat The P*ssy Up: Prison Rec Yard Champs!

In federal prison it’s a different way of life compared to state prisons and county jails. 


Like, MUCH different.


A lot of people in federal prison are going to be there for a looooong time. So, they try to have as many different recreation options as possible. (I heard some locations even have ponds for fishing)


Like many of the prisons, the one I was at had a lot of different options for recreation. Seriously, we genuinely had a lot of different things to do.


We also had horseshoes and shuffleboard. 


Jeff was another white collar guy who was in there for promising “infinite returns” on some real estate investments. It turns out the FBI and SEC don’t like when you promise someone “infinite returns”


Jeff and I got along pretty well at the prison, he was a bit older than me, but we had that white collar bond. We would play horseshoes or shuffleboard and would talk and laugh about making so much money, only to have the feds take it all away from us. We would talk about future hypothetical business ventures. It was fun.


On holidays at the prison we would have different events and tournaments. Guess what kinds of tournaments they had for the 4th of July? 


Motherfucking horseshoes and shuffleboard.


Both of those require a team mate. Obviously Jeff and I were going to be on the same team for both games. But we ran into a slight problem when we were filling out the signup paperwork. We needed a team name.


Now, let me make a little side note here. Jeff was a white guy from Texas in his early 40’s. Prison life opened up a new world for him. He was able to live amongst people he would never have otherwise interacted with outside of the prison. 


He really started liking rap music. In our federal prison, we were able to buy MP3 players off of the commissary and hook them up to these computers and pay $1 per song that we download. Jeff really started getting into rap music.


He would be fascinated by some of the lyrics and would often repeat the phrases that he had heard in the rap songs. Okay, now, back to the signup sheet.


Jeff’s eyes light up and he gets excited about choosing the team name


“TEAM BEAT THE PUSSY UP!  You know, like from the music where they tell the girls they’re going to beat that pussy up. They don’t mean punch her, they mean just have sex with her really good and hard. Team beat the pussy up!”


So, there we go. Jeff and Brad: Team Beat The Pussy Up.


The holiday rolls around and, needless to say, Jeff and I dominated both shuffleboard and horseshoes. I’m not trying to be racist here, but black guys and Mexican drug cartel guys don’t know anything about either of those two games. They honestly didn’t stand a chance.


Now, prisons on a federal level are pretty good at rehabilitation, especially the lower security compounds. They try and give you certificates for every single god damn thing that you complete.


They wanted to give us certificates for winning these two tournaments. These certificates were to have our names and our team name on them, they were to be laminated, and we could use them when we got out to show people how well we worked together. Teamwork.


The next day, we both get called into the prison administrator’s office. A tiny female who is climbing her way to the top in a man’s world and always has a chip on her shoulder. 


I think her name was Crystal Zerr. 


Anyways, so she was in charge of documenting our teamwork and printing out our certificates. She apparently had a problem with our team name. Team Beat The Pussy Up.


At first she thought that the team name was insinuating violence. Obviously they can’t have that in a federal prison where people regularly got stabbed/beat up/killed. Whenever she saw Jeff and I walk in, she realized that maybe there was more to it.


She asked for an explanation. She was threatening to have our visits, phones, and commissary taken away.


Jeff, a once-powerful millionaire, is now cowering in his chair because some girl 1/3rd his size is asking him “What does beat the pussy up mean?!”


I’m not saying anything because I’m laughing so hard. I feel bad for throwing flames on the fire, but I couldn’t help but chime in with “yeah, Jeff, what does it mean!?!”


He sort of musters out “’’s a sexual reference”


We then compose ourselves enough to explain how the term was being used (mostly) ironically because Jeff thought the phrase was funny. She calmed down when she realized that we weren’t talking about anything violent.


We had to compromise.


In the end, our certificates said TEAM BEAT THE P* UP


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