Maria Bizzarra-Rama #2

Kristy Nome and the Retirement Rebellion of Alcatraz"

The deafening whir of rotor blades echoed across the gray waters of San Francisco Bay. Alcatraz, once the symbol of America’s most notorious prison, was now operational again—thanks to a hastily signed executive order by President Donold Grump, who believed the country needed a “tough-on-bingo” policy to show strength against rising complaints about oatmeal consistency and “too many commercials on the Weather Channel.”

As the black helicopter descended onto the parade ground of the infamous prison, a storm of wind sent checkerboards flying, bingo cards spiraling into the air like confetti, and a few startled seniors clutching their walkers for dear life.

Kristy Nome—bundled in leather, fur-lined boots, and a wolf-hide cape she claimed to have stitched from her “childhood pack”—stepped out onto the tarmac. Her mirrored sunglasses reflected the chaos as she scowled.

“Where’s the threat?” she barked. “I was told these were hardened criminals!”

An officer of the Bureau of Elderly Correctional Logistics (BECL), clipboard in hand, approached sheepishly. “Yes ma’am, about that—there was a bit of a... clerical hiccup.”

Kristy squinted. “Explain.”

“The original list for transfer included high-risk white-collar offenders, cartel leaders, and corrupt lobbyists. Unfortunately, the database was filtered by ‘recent Medicare activity’ instead of ‘threat level,’ and, uh... well... we ended up with mostly seniors who defaulted on co-pays.”

“Let me get this straight,” Kristy growled. “I’m here to tame a bunch of... bingo bandits?”

A nearby shuffleboard puck ricocheted off the concrete and skidded to her feet. She looked up to see two octogenarians in matching tracksuits arguing about the rules.

“It’s not a foul if the puck bounces,” one snapped. “I did the math in my head! I was an accountant!”

Kristy picked up the puck, sighed, and turned to the officer. “Alright. I want infrared spotlights, a nightly lockdown at 4 p.m., and no pudding until someone confesses to the Great AARP Subscription Fraud of ‘22.”

Inside the main prison building, complaints echoed through the halls.

“My neck’s sore from sleeping on this mattress!”

“There’s no shuffleboard court!”

“I haven’t had Metamucil in four days!”

One elderly man waved his cane in protest. “This is a violation of the Geneva Grandparent Conventions!”

Kristy stomped through the corridor, her boots cracking against the tile.

“No more excuses!” she bellowed. “You’re in my prison now. I was raised by wolves, I chew raw elk for breakfast, and I once lassoed a grizzly during a snowstorm in a skirt made of ice! You think your sciatica scares me?!”

Suddenly, a gentle voice from a cell on D-block cut through the noise. “Well then, darling, maybe you need a time-out. You seem tense.”

It was Myrtle, 78 years old, former librarian, and the unofficial queenpin of the retired resistance. She held a cup of herbal tea like it was a weapon.

Kristy paused. For the first time, her wild eyes narrowed—not in dominance, but wariness.

Kristy turned toward the cell with the calm, sharp voice. It belonged to a steely-eyed woman sitting on her bunk in standard-issue gray sweats. Her silver hair was pulled tight into a no-nonsense braid. Her posture was perfect — military perfect.

Myrtle Baines slowly stood and walked to the bars. Her body bore the mileage of war, but her presence was all power.

“Who the hell are you?” Kristy asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Gunnery Sergeant Myrtle Baines. USMC. Retired. Call me ‘Gunny’ like everyone else does... if you want your teeth to stay where they are.”

The guards stiffened. Kristy hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Gunny continued, voice calm but loaded. “I fought in jungles while your daddy was still learning to walk. I’ve faced napalm, politicians, and four different government shutdowns. You don’t scare me, Nome.”

Kristy’s lips curled into a snarl. “You’re a prisoner. I’m the warden.”

“You’re a politician’s mascot in a wolf-skin poncho,” Gunny said, sipping her tea. “I’ve seen your type before. You wrap yourself in flags and freeze people’s pensions. You didn’t earn loyalty — you inherited a platform.”

Kristy took a step closer to the cell.

Gunny smiled. “Try me.”

From the other cells, soft claps and murmurs rose — the inmates knew who led them now. Not by appointment. By backbone.

As they walked away, Kristie looked at her “rap sheet.”

Prisoner Myrtle "Gunny" Baines

Age: 78Service: U.S. Marine Corps, retired Gunnery SergeantTour: Vietnam, '67–'71Specialty: Field radio operations, survival tactics, and hand-to-hand combatDecorations: Bronze Star, Purple Heart, two Meritorious Service MedalsCivilian Life: Public librarian, veterans’ advocate, founding member of Operation Truth, a whistle-blower coalition for aging vetsCriminal Conviction: Arrested for organizing a sit-in protest that blocked access to a federal building after Congress cut veteran prescription reimbursements. Charged with "impeding federal operations," though most just call it standing up for the forgotten.