PART ONE
Ace Carver sits alone in his cell, cross-legged, in a slender rectangle of indirect sunlight. The window above him is shaped like a coin-slot, tall and thin, cut through the wall eight feet from the concrete floor. Near Ace’s right knee is a drain through which hosed-down material can sluice.
"Coming at you from Varner Supermax penitentiary in lovely Lincoln County, Arkansas, solitary cell #27…You may think all science is the same, but all science is not the same…some science is CONVICT SCIENCE!
BUDDA da BUDDA da BUDDA da BUM! BIDDLEY BIDDLEY BUM!
Thank you! Thank you.
Please.
Please. You're too kind.
Best fans in the world. Right here.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Please.
Welcome to the show, I’m Ace Carver, Inmate #76359. Wonderful to be here. Great show for you today. Bitey the Rat's going to stop by, give us some anti-rabies tips for swimsuit season. But first, I got to tell you…my wife came for a visit this week.
I know. Women.
Put the Missus behind a Plexiglas partition under the gaze of armed guards for twenty minutes twice a month and HERE COME THE WATERWORKS…and the divorce papers! Am I right? The fellas know what I’m talking about.
But it got me thinking. Marriage is like a plant. Neglect it, say, by working too much, or serving seven consecutive life sentences, it gets stunted and weak. And eventually, it’ll die.
So, because death is a gift that nourishes the Faithful, today’s Convict Science is about…PHOTOSYNTHESIS!
Don’t touch that dial or I’ll turn your face into a lampshade!”
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PART TWO
As The Announcer, Ace Carver affects a deeper voice.
“Today’s show is brought to you by Ace-Carv-Co: a local, family-owned maker of Day-Counting Wall Notches. Can’t see a clock? Girls Gone Tea Party calendar confiscated? Lean on the precision of Ace-Carv-Co Day-Counting Wall Notches.”
“Welcome back to Convict Science, friends, I’m Ace Carver. Today’s topic is particularly dear to me.
Powerful beings are nourished by light...specifically, the light that leaves the eyes of the weak as they die by your hand, igniting the spree of narcotic euphoria that lights The Correct Path.
Plants are also nourished by light through a process called PHOTOSYNTHESIS.
To execute today’s experiment at home, you’ll need 0.5 ft.3 dirt from your exercise yard (thirty-two pockets full), one apple seed squirreled away from lunch, and twenty minutes of indirect sunlight a day. Finally, you must be willing to allocate half your daily water allowance to the study of PHOTOSYNTHESIS, a cornerstone of all the pitiful life on Earth.
Need a few minutes to round up some supplies? Sounds good. We’ll be right back.”
Inmate #76359 motors through a stack of handwritten pages. Finding the correct sheet, he holds it up to his imaginary camera:
PRO-TIP: Anal Storage v. Intestinal - Extracting an item from the stomach usually requires a special tool, like a very thin hook or binder clip descending from a very thin wire or rod. But you can get most things out of your butt with just your hands!
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PART THREE
“Welcome back. Today we’re studying PHOTOSYNTHESIS by growing an apple tree, just like the ones lining the sidewalks in my favorite pornographic movies.
We have our materials here. First, scoop the dirt into your cupped hands…spit the seed into the dirt…(ptew)…bury it with your nose…there we go.
Now give it sun, water and sixty uninterrupted years to grow.”
“Singing to your tree helps. Try something pretty, like an excerpt from The Turner Diaries:
‘If the White nations of the world
had not allowed themselves to become
subject to Jews,
this war…
would…
not…
be…
necessary!’”
Three sharp knocks on the cell door: “Shaddup, 76359, before I knock yer racist teeth out yer intolerant jaw!”
Three sharp knocks on the cell door: “Shaddup, 76359, before I knock yer racist teeth out yer intolerant jaw!”
“Viewers, it’s friend of the show, Guard Percy “Dicktits” O’Connell! I bet he can help us! Hey Dicktits, can I interpret your threat as an admission you would give anything to touch a submissive, prison-buff male body?”
“Oooo, #76359! Open the door, Smitty, I’m gonna learn this Ruffle-Feathers a lesson!”
Percy is barely inside before Ace claps his dirt-filled hands over the guard’s mouth and nose.
“You see, Science Friends, every time Dicktits here exhales into the soil, he’s feeding our tree vital CO2. And now he’s sweating - which is a nice drink for a thirsty tree – and getting chills at intervals, which is fun to watch. Go to sleep, Dicktits…stretch out on the couch of eternity. That’s right. Goodnight. Goodnight, Dicktits.”
As Ace lowers Percy to the floor, guards stream into the cell like tenants of an upset hive. Ace raises his dirt-filled hands to the sky: “Sorry to Bitey the Rat, who got bumped today. Friends, I’ll see you tomorrow, same Convict time, same Science channel!”
The beating is severe, obviously.
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PART FOUR
The day Percy O’Connell is killed, the Warden of Varner Supermax, a perpetually exhausted-looking man named Michael Donahue, fast-tracks Ace Carver’s execution. The Warden justifies his subversion of the penal system’s standard bureaucratic machinations on grounds of: “Come on. The guy’s kind of an asshole.”
That night, a priest, a coroner, a convict and a Warden walk into a lethal injection theater. The priest says to the convict, “Have you any final words?” The convict says, “Convict Science is filmed before a live studio audience.”
“What? What is he talking about?” asks the Warden.
“He does a show…of sorts.” says the Priest, “About science?”
“Directed by: Ace ‘Kubrick-Dwarfer’ Carver. Executive Producer: Ace ‘Forger of History’ Carver.”
“This is ridiculous. Ace, your wife is here.” Donahue gestures to the viewing area beyond the glass to a crying woman clutching a handbag.
“Executive Titty-Pincher: Michael ‘When I’m Finally Able to Think, I Have the Wrong Thought’ Donahue.”
“Fine. Who cares. Do the thing.” The coroner flicks the syringe’s tip.
“Sound Design: Ace “Round Mound of Sound” Carver.” In goes the needle.
“Catering by the U.S. Food and ‘What Should We Do With Baloney Containing Unacceptable Levels of Feces?’ Drug Administration.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Xerox Technician: Ace ‘Emulator’ Carver. Wardrobe provided by the Day-Glo Prison Jumpsuit Emporium… a subsidiary…of…Smith…and…Wesson.”
As his voice fails, Ace’s eyes widen at something above and beyond the room. He summons the Priest, who bends low to hear Ace’s final whispers. Then, the EKG sings a steady note.
“Inmate #76359, T.O.D., 8:24 pm.” The coroner writes this down.
“What’d he say, Father?” Donahue asks.
The stricken Priest dabs his brow. “He said, ‘Sit, Ubu, sit. Good dog.’”
