Once Upon A Time In The West there was these child sex traffickers. Criminology is so simple. You look at the end result, work yourself backwards, and whomever is at the top of the food chain is the criminal! I think I’ll open an FBI training facility. Take the following hypothetical situation. Little girls from a sleepy little hamlet in Utah kept consistently winding up in Saint George under the direction of the Child and Family Services. Now, work with me on this. Please understand that this is all hypothetical, because God knows these fine public servants would never kidnap a child, and feed them to a multi-state child sex trafficking operation. <Wink Wink>
Let’s work through this floor plan. Two little girls trading lies in a school yard. “My mommy gave me a whipping!” “My daddy gave me a BIGGER whipping!” “My mommy whipped me with a switch!” “My daddy whipped me with a belt!” “Did I say ‘switch?’ STICK!” “Well, my daddy really used a buggy whip on me.” “If I don’t come to school tomorrow it’s because my mommy clubbed me to death with a bed post, and dumped my body in the closet!” (That makes her the winner, by the way.)
The loser goes and relates the conversation to her teacher, the very revered Miss Song, fetching young Asian import, hired in order to prove that CrackerVille is politically correct, who reports it to the principal, who is ever vigilant, protecting any child from their family. He in turn does “the right thing,” and calls Miss “MeToo” over at the Child Procurement Services, who places a call to Detective “Purty Serious” down at the PoPo, and they all make a bee line to the scene of the crime, infrared light in hand, plus a petition penned by “Susie Sweetcheeks, honor graduate of a local junior high, enhanced by two weeks of training in child psychology, and absolutely NO knowledge of nouns, verbs or syntax.
Please note this is not the Principal’s first rodeo. Not even the first rodeo this YEAR! If fact this is little girl number three, including the little snitch who started this ball rolling in the beginning. The script is so simple. Sit the girl on your lap, put words in her mouth, and have the case worker make notes of whatever comes out. Said principal has previously removed the girl from special ed, and placed her in general population, ignoring volumes of medical data identifying her multiple mental issues, including seeing angels and demons flying ALL around her bedroom. She believes everything she’s told and wants everyone to like her. That’s why she was so popular when the snitch previously led her to a local park, depriving her of her iPhone, iPad, and three hundred dollars in order to meet men in the park restroom. The case worker forgot to write that down, I guess. These are ten year old little girls, folks.
Upon descending on the residence, of course no body is found, either dead or alive. No club, no blood, no cocaine, and El Chappo has gone back to Mexico. The Detective, and the two caseworkers stood there with their respective faces hanging out. About the only thing officer “Blue Light” can offer the caseworkers is to take the broom he found in the broom closet down to the PD for DNA testing. I crappith thee NOT! The three stooges leave. Before they can approach the court, the little girl in question is on a first class plane ride to Austin, Texas to recoup in a sixty-eight thousand dollar a month center for poor little rich kids whose daddy left them dump trucks full of money. (That’s why she could shell out hundred dollar bills to the snitch.)
But, and this is a big but, almost as big as the butts on those two caseworkers, the case goes on. Even though it vapor locked in court. Weekly visits by caseworkers, grilling the little girl’s brothers just in case the mother should suddenly decide to run over them with a tractor, and bury them out in the apple orchard at the rear of the house. Oh, said orchard is in full view of the Child Protective office. Jus’ sayin’.
The plan was to go to court, and remove the little girl. From there she’d go down around Saint George to the loving arms of Brother Jeremiah Johnson, brother of the afore mentioned principal, and his other fifteen foster daughters. And they’d all live happily ever after. Isn’t life wonderful?
Of course this is all fantasy. Of course public school officials would never collude with state officials who’d conspire with police who’d kidnap little ten year old girls in order to pimp them off to some polygamous cult out in the desert. Why, that would be crazy! It would . . . wouldn’t it? The end.The Butcher Shop