by Agnes N.
In an effort to research this increasingly hilarious world, Agnes N. began working at the ACLU’s National Prison Project. The results were both entertaining and educational, just like anal rape:
As an anxious pre-frosh, I devoured every piece of information about Penn that I could find. Back issues of the DP? Read them every day. The Tridelt facebook group? How else would I impress my future sisters? (Apparently, not that way). http://www.ThePunchBowl.net? Hey, I’m not too proud to admit it.
Still, with all of the hanky panky that went on in my freshman year— murder trials, panty theft, and 69 million gun-related homicides— I couldn’t help but think that in preparation for future Penn life, “College Prowler: University of Pennsylvania OFF THE RECORD” should have included another guide between “Guys and Girls” and “Drug Abuse”. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that going up to my room and talking about it never leads to any good, or that DTD isn’t actually a secret society. Mistakes can be made and the fallout usually isn’t that severe. Don’t get too complacent though. White collar Whartonites and future Kevorkian nurses beware: when you fuck up in prison, prison fucks you.
That said, here are 4 rules to remember:
1. Don’t relate, segregate.
Much like in the Punchbowl world, instigating racial tension does not go unnoticed. Remember how B-Rabbit from 8 Mile spit rhymes until he was finally accepted into the Detroit black rap in-crowd? That doesn’t go down in lockup. Latin Kings stick with Latin Kings, and the Mau Mau take care of their own. Who cares if you’re a Prep to Prep overachiever from Choate? In the eyes of the Aryan Brotherhood, if you’re black, stay back.
2. Miami Ink it
There is no better way to prove your allegiance to your newfound bros than to have Hepatitis C laden copier toner piped into your skin. Take care that they are strategically placed to ensure maximum visibility in communal showers, and minimum visibility under Brooks Brothers spread-collar shirts.
3. Chicks dig convicts
For some reason, women adore men in uniform. This applies tenfold when your uniform is an orange jumpsuit issued by the Department of Corrections. No one, no one, gets more fan mail than death row inmates. Learn to juggle your various girlfriends and flawlessly smuggle your semen out to them and your legacy is set to live on.
4. Think—What would Mike Tyson do?
When all else fails, don’t trust your instincts to negotiate your way out of sticky situations. Getting to Yes doesn’t mean shit to a guy who broke his 8” TV screen just so he could take a stab at you, literally. If you don’t make him your bitch, you will be made his, and Mike Tyson is no one’s boyfriend.