The staff of guards of the state prison at Frackville in Eastcentral Pennsylvania has many wonderful attributes. They may lack culture and proper training, but they possess a colorful if somewhat limited vocabulary. "Asshole!" "Bitch!" "Motherfucker!" "Jerk-Off!" "Shit-Head!" "Fuck!" or "What-The-Fuck!" or "Who-The-Fuck!" Even more than the guards in Pennsylvania's other 25 prisons, the mob lulling around Frackville talk like just what they are, oafs, bullies, uncouth boors. Nobody in the prison's management motivates the guards to behave in any way except as thugs. It's a wonder then when I ran into the "Nude Police." Given the vocabulary that they're accustom to, who would think a Frackville prison guard would even notice a term like "nude" which appears 5 places in the Bible. But, then, what do I know? When you put one of these fellows into a position of authority almost anything can happen. A highly-trained (training zero) and well educated (education almost zero) guard is assigned to be the language police and to eavesdrop on the telephones the prisoners use. Peeping, eavesdropping and spying are about all they do. This guy's job (actually there are several of them, the staff is enormously swollen) censor the language used by prisoners on the phone. It's a vital job. How could the taxpayers get along without it? My God, how could we survive without some state employee to safeguard the language?! On the phone talking to my wife, she mentioned getting a number of antiques. Among other things she mentioned getting prints by Picasso and Degas. She said that the Degas was of a nude. Well, that's all it took! The eavesdropping cop in charge of the word "nude," jumped into action! He may not know what a Degas is, but he knows what nude is. That's like naked, ain't it? It's definitely a dirty word! People ain't supposed to use dirty words! The eavesdropping censor cut off the conversation. I'll bet the taxpayers don't even realize that they employ such essential types as the "Nude Police." The Pennsylvania prison system is neuroticly obsessed by sex. It's a kind of mental illness; sex maniacs! But at the Frackville prison, they also have the "Shit Police." In the morning before I'd had a chance to tend to all my customary calls of nature. I was summoned to appear before the "Piss Police." Just as the prison system is obsessed with sex (real or imagined), it's also obsessed with drugs. Most of the guards are addicts of one kind or another, mostly to alcohol. They are acutely on guard against a prisoner getting intoxicated. At a cost of about $1,500,000.00 a year, the prison system tests for drug use among the prisoners. There are regular state employees who collect piss, the "Piss Police!" That's who summoned me. They wanted some piss. It's not enough to just collect the piss and bottle it up like fine wine. The Piss Police like to watch me make it, too. -- It takes all kinds, I guess. ("What did you do at work today, Daddy?" "I watched men piss.") So, I dutifully tried to piss for my audience, but I'm old and on a lot of medications. It's often not so easy. That morning, I'd been called out to perform before I had a chance to answer the cramping demands on my unruly bowels. Sheepishly, I confessed to the spectators (there were two of them at that point, the staff is extremely bloated) that while I was sorry about it, I had to sit down. I attended to my primal toilet functions and managed to produce a small specimen of my very vintage piss. The Piss Police were just barely placated. While they were deliberating my performance, in rushed the "Shit Police," a bulldog looking man with squinting eyes and a broad nose. "Who shit?!" he demanded. Thinking that there might be an award, I acknowledged that it had been me. Infuriated, the Shit Police started to curse me. I was a motherfucker, a stinking bastard and a long string of other things, but he didn't use the word "nude," so it was okay. It's absolutely acceptable for a guard to curse at a prisoner in the Frackville prison. I'm not sure why I merited such verbal abuse. I got the impression that he was miffed that he hadn't been present to watch my performance. -- It takes all kinds, I guess. A few days later I asked the same guard to countersign a slip so that I could pay for some postage. He refused telling me that he was too busy. Somebody in the command bubble had farted.