Macauley: Incarcerated Alone?



The Culk may have to do some hard time, sorry to say. And a rep as "bunk buddy" of Jacko is not going to help him slough off the "freshest fish in the sea" sobriquet he's sure to have affixed to his Newjack little tushy from the get go. According to Reuters:

"Oklahoma has charged Macaulay Culkin (news) with illegal possession of marijuana and a controlled substance after the former child star was arrested during a traffic stop last week, authorities said on Tuesday."

"Culkin was charged late on Monday with one misdemeanor count of possession of marijuana and one misdemeanor count of possession of the anti-anxiety drug Xanax without a prescription, punishable by up to a year in prison."

" ... Culkin, best known for his role of the ingenious child who fends off burglars in the 'Home Alone' movies, was arrested last Friday on a highway in Oklahoma City."

Although "Oklahoma law enforcement officials said it was unlikely Culkin, 24, would face prison time if convicted," The Corsair would like to give Culkin, who was also found with half an ounce of the sweet leaf, some advice on survival.

See, I've watched every episode of Oz, I've seen Shawshank Redemption, like, 20 times, I've read The Count of Monte Cristo and Dostoievski's House of the Dead as well as Solzenitzyn's Gulag Archipelago, so I am quite knowledgeable on surviving in prison in both America and Siberia. Here's how to survive a moist Oz-like scenario, Macauley, lessons from the master:

First, get yourself a copy of the wildly influential So, You're Going to Prison. In the 80s, when all the white collar cats were doing perp walks out of their brokerage firms thanks to a young aggressive US Attorney named Rudolph Giuliani, this book became an underground classic. Must reading, all the right people said, for the would-be-punk. You see, while the entertainment industry and the prison system have a lot in common -- the class system, the survival-of-the-fittest ethic, the Kraft food services, the striking similarities between the actor-agent dialectic and the punk-daddy relationship -- the two galaxies differ sharply in the fact that the verb "punk'd," takes on a wildly different meaning depending on which side of the bars you are.

Included in this classic are such extra's as a recipe for brewing "prison cell wine," or, as those familiar with Oz might say, "sterno," with sugar and raisins ... and, of course, the all important ingredient: toilet water. Fruit cocktail may be used in lieu of raisins.

Second, you must punch the first person who looks at you fish eyed, no matter how large, no matter how tough -- punch him in his face as if your life depended on it, which, quite frankly it probably does. It doesn't matter if you get your ass kicked in retaliation. It doesn't matter if you get a week in the hat. The short term cuts and scrapes go towards a greater good, namely, your "quality of life." What matters is that you show everyone that you are not a punk, for, as Eli Lehrer writes:

"Accounts of prison life by authors such as Harold S. Long and James Hogshire depict a horrible pattern: Prisoners arriving at correctional facilities typically get challenged to a fight within a few days of arrival; those who fight poorly or run away get labeled as 'punks' or sex slaves. Punks-usually young, nonviolent offenders, and often pretrial detainees-typically fall victim to a series of gang rapes that may continue for anywhere from a few days to several years."

And, you can imagine, these guys don't have the dainty and delicate touch of Michael Jackson. Hell, they don't even have the invisible touch of Phil Collins.

Third, take up a hobby. Reading is fundamental. Take a breather. Kick back and wax intellectual. You have nothing but time, baby (incidentally, you've got to say "baby" a lot in prion; that's what they did in Oz; Apparently, it's very street). The Hollywood rat race left Mac bereft of an education, now you must learn how to learn. Take the time to really drink in Proust. That should take a year. If you get done sooner -- and you really shouldn't -- try some Plato, I suggest Phaedrus, Meno, Euthyphro and Sophocles' Oedipus at Colonus.

Fourth, try isolation. You may just want to go "in the hat." I don't say this lightly. Prisoners read a lot of magazines. A lot. Magazines are informative, they kill the time (without injuring eternity), the ads are sexy, and magazines are not as intellectually taxing as books are. I'd hazard to guess that Rolling Stone is a particular favorite, what, with all the MTV-ish tweenage midriffs being bared and left-wing anti-establishment journalism and all. Bragging in the June 10, 2004 issue about having $17 million in F-U money was not a smooth move, Ex Lax. Making such claims will make you the girl in high school that every boy wanted to ask out as soon as you walk through the gates. Only the suitors in the pen will have none of the same manners as those boys.

As the reports say, Macauley may not even have to go to prison at all, which I hope is the case (although, of course, I could get so much more blog mileage if he was incarcerated). The Corsair wishes Culkin the best of luck.