Jessica Watkins: A Tale of an American Political Prisoner – Part 4.1

Gulag This! (02/18/2024)
‘A Tale of an American Political Prisoner”
Part 4: Grady County Jail (a.k.a. “Shady Grady”); Grady County, Oklahoma

Con-Air is the worst flight in America. On Yelp!, I’d rate it with 0 stars. For me, I was placed into what’s known as a “Black Box” also known as a terrorist restraint device. It’s a box that stretches the chain between the handcuffs out, so your hands cannot move at all. This forces the tight handcuffs dig into your flesh. Sometimes I bleed, and it always bruises my skin for weeks after my flight. The Biden Regime has mandated that all J6ers be placed into these Black Boxes. With my broken arm in this device, it was excruciating; but at least I was finally going to DC. Or was I? We flew from an airport somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and flew to Atlanta, Georgia. After onloading more prisoners, we continued. Now, during my time in the Army, I got pretty good at Land Navigation. I can check landmarks, recognize where we were in relation to the sun and which we were headed. The other inmates all speculated on our destination. But I could tell based on the direction of the sun, and landmarks like the Mississippi River (it’s kinda distinct). One thing was sure. We were heading North and then West. We landed in a flat brown hellhole, dotted with oil derricks. We would find out quickly; this as Oklahoma City. It was sundown and the Air Marshals were done for the day. We offloaded the entire plane and were loaded into prison busses.

After an hour or so drive, we were taken to Shady Grady, the County Jail in Grady County, OK. Being a trans person, during the booking process I was isolated once again. The small cell I was placed in didn’t even have a toilet – just a drainage grate in the center of the floor. It was tight, confining, about the size of a closet. There was no window and the walls were covered in filth and graffiti. I was given a sack lunch with a bologna sandwich and I sat on a stainless steel bench for hours in boredom awaiting placement into a unit. After the experience in Butler County, I was nervous. That cell was pretty gross, and the staff were pretty… well… unpleasant. After I was fingerprinted, had my photo taken, and was issued a prison jumpsuit. I was loaded into the elevator and brought up to the unit. It WAS a unit this time though, not AdSeg. But, as I would soon find out, it’s the cell block for crazy people. A Mental Health Unit. It was covered in filth, was poorly lit with dim flickering lights, and had peeling paint featuring massive images of hand-drawn porn. The men here were all weird junkie looking dudes covered with tattoos and they looked out their windows as the new girl as I was brought in. I was very surprised when I was booked into a cell with a person living in it. My heart stopped in my chest, I was terrified.

Fortunately for me. My new cellmate was another trans person, and she was really nice. She’d had a rough time with her previous cellmate. Her last… occupant… well, that was quite an interesting individual. That person “claimed” to be a trans person, was basically a dude with a chick name. He/She/They/It was a thickly muscled meth addict, a biker, very violent and twice as crazy. He/She/They/It had carved “Gittin’ Sissy Rich” and “Sissy B****es Win First” all over the cell. I mean like ALL OVER. Like, on every available surface. That and a bunch of other crazy person stuff. The trans girl living in the cell was nice however. Not your typical frothy Lib trans person with a beard and a miniskirt, but… you know, basically a normal girl. The room was dimly lit, had a puddle leaking from the stainless steel sink/toilet combo. I dubbed the leakage “The Yuck Puddle” (a reference from my favorite show: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia). Bugs hovered about it, and no matter how many ways we tried to deal with it (mopping it up, soaking it up with Toilet Paper, etc), the Yuck Puddle always came back. It was gross. But my cellmate was nice, and she was overjoyed to have someone to talk to that wasn’t a complete moon-bat meth addict. Turns out, we were both massive Star Trek fans, so we made pretty good cellmates and we talked Star Trek for hours. It was my first real human contact since I was first booked. As disgusting as Shady Grady was, I was very grateful for her. Her name was Em K. Ultra. She had her parents send her Star Trek books to read, so I devoured them like a plant soaking up water in a drought. For jail, It was awesome.

After a week with a nice cellmate, daily showers, daily phone calls to Montana, a TV mounted on the wall outside my cell (complete with Bob’s Burgers, another show I like)… well Shady Grady was honestly not that bad. Despite the disgusting mess that was Shady Grady… I’d rather have Yuck Puddles with bugs in it, Crazy people screaming in the vents, rats running around behind the walls, and bad food over complete isolation and torture in a clean facility any day. I was only there for a week, maybe 7-8 days tops, before I was given a mandatory COVID test and taken out to a room full of people awaiting transport once more on Con-Air. It was here that I met my first J6er. By the end of the day, I would know a dozen of them. The snow came down so thickly it became a veil. The wind blew so quickly, the snow went sideways as we awaited to board Con-Air. I was in civilian clothes again, but my boots had now been confiscated. My arm throbbed in the Black Box, and my toes turned purple in the cold as we waited for hours to board the plane. Finally after we were loaded, and I found myself next to another J6er named Black, a nice man from Mobile, Alabama. We would have a LOT to discuss. His face was badly mangled where a Capitol Police rubber bullet had tore through his cheek and smashed out his teeth. But, the entire flight we chatted about the lie that was being told about J6. We talked about the mistreatment during our incarceration. We talked about our Patriotism, what brought us to the Capitol, and how we’ve been treated since. Despite it all, he still loved God and his country more than anything. He’d become my first J6 friend; my first in a burgeoning fraternity that would become the first Political Prisoners of the DC Gulag. My new brothers.