Down in the hole

I've always thought that prison would not be that bad were it not for the potential for consistent ass rape. "Were it not for that," I'd ponder, "I could finally get into shape and get caught up on my reading. Don Quioxte alone would take me a year. Throw in Ulysses and The Brothers Karamazov and I could do five in Chino easy." For me, and I'm guessing most law abiders, the destruction of one's butthole is a deal-breaker. Yet when you think about it, there is no greater fear in any prison than Solitary Confinement. Who have you ever seen tickled to be going in the hole? Why is this? Solitary, by definition, offers the 'safest from sodomy' living space in any prison. By my logic, one should be angling immediately, even before the inital de-lousing, to get chucked into Solitary. Crawl into a damp corner with a moldy stack of Mad Magazines, high five your ass, and count your blessings. Yet guys come out of a long weekend in Solitary looking worse than if they'd spent summer vacation in the drunk-tank with a biker gang called The Sea Elephants. We are social creatures to our very fiber. We'll always take the high likelihood of a painful shower experience if it means we can avoid a little loneliness.