D4 The Mighty Ducks: Stick It to Me!
A frightened Goldberg sat on his metal bunk with his eyes squarely fixed on the cement wall six feet away. Huge beads of sweat fell from his forehead while uncontrollable nervous twitching got the best of his hands. He could feel his knees knock to where he almost answered them. The inside of his head was moving as fast as the Daytona 500. Here he was – in a jail cell too small to handle his disturbingly obese frame – stewing away. Innocence now forever lost.
It had not been a day into his five-year sentence at the Minnesota Correctional Facility – Stillwater for an involuntary manslaughter conviction (he nonchalantly farted on a Northwest Airlines flight from Minneapolis to Philadelphia with the unbearable odor subsequently killing virtually all of the passengers and crew), and Goldberg already felt like he spent an eternity in Hell. Everything went terribly wrong for him upon entering the notorious prison. Countless inmates hurled sexually-explicit taunts in his direction non-stop while the toughest prisoner threatened him with death when he overheard Goldberg openly criticize the cafeteria's food selection. During his delousing and shower, the guards each took turns slapping his love handles in an effort to see how long the excessive fat could jiggle. Lastly, his orange jumpsuit ripped apart at the seams right in front of the clique of queens and gimps assembled in the prison commons area, drawing chorus of ewws and yucks.
I don't fucking belong here, he thought.
It occurred to the former Mighty Ducks goalie/defenseman, now 18, that the only way to survive incarceration was not to wallow alone in self-pity, but to stick with another convict. But who can he gravitate toward? The entire joint was seemingly against him. Even the fresh meat can't stand his presence. Having watched numerous jail flicks and all six seasons of Oz prior to his own imprisonment, Goldberg noticed a lot of thug jug newbies would relinquish their manhood in exchange for companionship and protection. In order to be saved from a surprise gang rape or a potential fatal stabbing, he would have to be someone's concubine. Goldberg shuddered at the thought of another inmate giving him a human booster shot, or even worse, administering a rusty shank to his chrome. Still, he valued whatever life he had left. There was no other option other than to open his anus for business.
The next day, a sympathetic prisoner named Gunnar Cole told Goldberg about a pair of ex-NHL players serving time for mass murder who acted as bodyguards. Great. I'm saved, he thought. A big smile appeared on his face at the knowledge his time in lockup wouldn't have to be so bad. Goldberg immediately asked how he can obtain the services of the two men. Gunnar bluntly replied that Goldberg need not do anything except be their personal blow up doll. The elation suddenly turned to dismay in the blink of an eye. Goldberg wondered if he can circumvent the deal. He offered his commissary inventory in place of his ass. He even proposed killing one of Gunnar's enemies. They want sex and nothing else, said Gunnar in an authoritative tone. In fact, Gunnar himself had to give each of them head when the two scared off a pack of Latino gangsters looking to disembowel and dismember him three years ago. After a short argument, Goldberg reluctantly agreed to raunchily reciprocate his would-be saviors. A satisfied Gunnar promised to take him to the duo's cell in the maximum-security wing first thing in the morning.
Goldberg spent the entire night preparing for the inevitable. He repeatedly drove his index and middle fingers into his butt, simulating the "payment" he may have to submit for the price of salvaged life and limb. It doesn't hurt. I can handle a man's member up the rear, Goldberg thought. During the twentieth thrust, he felt something sticky and moist. He made himself come! But when he withdrew his fingers, they appeared gooey and dark brown. There was also a putrid smell. Goldberg shit himself! Luckily, he didn't have to go far to let out the rest of the gross contents, which was the rubber-hard ham-steak, moldy biscuit, and bland vegetables he had for dinner. In a matter of minutes, Goldberg's cell block was subjected to the horror that brought him there in the first place.
Another chapter in the works! Goldberg's in for the surprise to end all surprises!