DOC

Mushrooms: The Cash Crop

By Pete

Stafford Creek Corrections Center is located in the Great North West. I lived in this area my entire life.

I am good at two things. Running around in the woods naked. And cultivating sychadellic mushrooms.

Lucky for me, prison has only robbed me of one of these things.

Cultivating a spore comes very naturally to me. Maybe because of my extreme laziness. Or maybe because I love to grow stuff that gets me high. Either, or…growing spores is very easy. So easy, I was able to do it in prison.

Thus begins the Great Mushroom Caper at SCCC. Quite by accident and not absolutely on purpose, I found myself in quite the little situation.

After spending two years in this shit hole in the woods, I began to notice a few things.

First, I was getting very fed up. Somehow I landed in this prison that somehow landed smack dab in the middle of the woods I used to roam. Naked. I live about 10 minutes from this place. I know every dear trail and loggin road in this area.

Second, I realized I was working 240 hours a month out in the garden green house for $55 a month! Not to mention the prison takes 60% of that!

Combine those two revelations with the fact that I don’t give a fuck, and well…you’re about to see what happens.

After two years of working in the green house, I developed a good working relationship with the guard in charge of that area. I would do all the work. He would sit on his ass and get fat. I didn’t bother him. He didn’t bother me.

One day after work I was out in the yard roaming around. My heart skipped a beat when I looked down and saw three Stunzie Mushrooms growing in the grass. I stood at a crossroad as I looked around. I could eat these fully sychadellic fully enjoyable mushrooms, or I could pick them, smuggle them to work, and watch them expand like a motherfucker! Yeah…I’ll do that!

The next day at work, I smashed bits and pieces of the mushrooms into the dirt between the cucumber and squash plants.

Within two days I had a nice patch of shrooms. I picked ‘em. Dried ‘em. And made powder. I spread the powder up and down three rows of cucumber and squash. Thirty feet long, sixteen inched wide. That was on a Friday. Without completely understanding what I had just done, I returned to my unit for the weekend.

Monday morning rolls around and for the first time ever, I’m excited to go back to work. I go back to my area and I can’t believe my eyes. Mushrooms were everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE!!! All I could see was dollar signs.

I immediately devised a multi person process. Always a scary thing because you never know who might tell. But I had to. I needed help with my new-found cash crop. I had to get these things out of the green house and back to my cell.

My buddy Jason works on the trash crew. All trash cans are marked by a unit. That means all trash cans return to the unit they came from. Pretty stupid really! All this does is allow inmates, like me and Jason, to smuggle things from the Correctional Industries area back to the living units.

Back at the unit, my celly was already waiting for the trash cans to roll in. So far, so good. When the time was right, he quickly retrieved a large trash bag that was 1/3 full of sychadellic shrooms!

By the time I came home from work, he was high as a kite laying on his bed. TRIPPIN!

I was high too. I kept a little stash out in the green house just for me. We spent a good 5 minutes just laughing for no reason other than we just pulled off one of the biggest moves in DOC history!

I asked him, “Where they at?”

He gets up. He pulls his blanket back. There they are! All smashed into his sheets and the blanket. We start busting up again! This fool dumped all the shrooms on his bed and then covered them with a blanket. Genius!!

For the next several hours we dried the shrooms with more sheets and two fans. Meanwhile, we went around and collected as many Shiitake Dried Mushroom packs as we could. DOC sells those. They’re legal. We only managed to scrounge up 6 empty bags. It’s a start.

The next day at work, I had Jason comb through the facility trash. He was high as a kite and on a mission: TO GET ALL EMPLY MUSHROOM BAGS.

That day when the trash cans came back to the unit, my celly was waiting. This time he retrieved 87 empty mushroom bags.

By the time I came home from work, he had them all bagged up. We had 76 3oz. bags of highly hallusigenic mushrooms! A street value of $36,480.

A prison value of over$250,000! Incredible!

Before I could sell one single bag I had two guards kicking in my cell.

Somebody ratted me out!

Because of the amount they found, they charged me with a felony.

Now here I sit in the hole facing another 6 years.

Damn it! I should’ve just ate those three little Stunzies growing in the grass.

6 Ways To Get Your Ass Kicked In Prison

 

#1) SNITCH ON SOMEONE

Snitches get stitches…bitches!

If you tell, prison is hell.

 

#2) SIT IN THE WRONG SEAT

Convicts want to control as much as they can. In the chow hall everyone sits in the same seat every day. If you’re new, this could be a problem. Sit in the wrong seat and that could be reason enough to get your ass kicked.

(After decades of seat related issues, DOC finally implemented assigned seating. DOC is much safer because of it. Thank you DOC.)

 

#3) DON’T PAY YOUR DEBTS

Gambling is huge in prison. So are drug debts. If you wanna shoot heroin, snort meth, pop pills, and smoke a joint before you bet on professional sports, dominoes, cards, and dice, well then you better have a fat bank roll. Pay up or get beat down.

 

#4) LOOK AT SOMEONE’S VISITOR

Keep your eyes on your own. If you get caught looking at someone’s visitor, whether it’s their mom, sister, grandma, whoever, and you could end up looking at someone’s boots up side your face back at the cell block.

 

#5) CO-SIGN A PIECE OF SHIT

If you say he’s an alright dude and he turns out to be a rat or a sex offender, guess who gets beat up along the way? YOU!

 

#6) SHAKE OUT YOUR BLANKETS FROM THE TOP TIER

All that dead skin, hair, and lint has to land somewhere. And it’s usually in front of someone’s cell. Mad Dog Killer ain’t going for it. Mop that shit up, or get mopped up. The choice is yours!