I’m put in mind of the first time I was taken to a zoo as a little boy. There were lions and tigers and bears — oh my! The animals were just magical, is all I can say; they were enchanting and beguiling. The world was a perfect place that day… almost.
We got to the monkey cages and I was so amazed. I was convinced that it was the best display in the whole park! The monkeys were darting this way, swinging that way — it looked kind of like popcorn popper in there. Kids were laughing and yelling, clapping and screaming, stuffing peanuts though the cage bars.
Then my childhood fell out from under me, as sure as if a trapdoor had suddenly opened up below. One of the monkeys came close to the bars, reach around behind itself, and drew back a non-opposing thumb-having palm-full of its own feces which it immediately flung against the front line kids. I was on that front line. I was hit — “MEDIC!” I cried out.
Children began to cry and adults to curse. I looked at my hand and arm spattered with the fresh warm Primate — Anthropoidae — Cararrhini — Hominoidae — Homininae — Gorillinea — Pan Troglodyte SHIT! I became a man that day at just nine years old; everything I had ever known had been a lie.
(Staring in horror at the shit) “This, this is real… this is the real world — THE REAL WORLD IS SHIT!”
Never before had I ever seen such a primeval display of disgust; I never would again until I went to prison. There, disgruntled inmates saved their body’s foul products in their jail cells, combined the two varieties in a slurry, and attempted to douse their Correctional Officers (CO) in the caustic cocktail.
(CO) “You, inmate Hand… aren’t you going to try and sling shit on me too??”
I’m put in mind of the first time I was taken to a zoo as a little boy. There were lions and tigers and bears — oh my! The animals were just magical, is all I can say; they were enchanting and beguiling. The world was a perfect place that day… almost.
We got to the monkey cages and I was so amazed. I was convinced that it was the best display in the whole park! The monkeys were darting this way, swinging that way — it looked kind of like popcorn popper in there. Kids were laughing and yelling, clapping and screaming, stuffing peanuts though the cage bars.
Then my childhood fell out from under me, as sure as if a trapdoor had suddenly opened up below. One of the monkeys came close to the bars, reach around behind itself, and drew back a non-opposing thumb-having palm-full of its own feces which it immediately flung against the front line kids. I was on that front line. I was hit — “MEDIC!” I cried out.
Children began to cry and adults to curse. I looked at my hand and arm spattered with the fresh warm Primate — Anthropoidae — Cararrhini — Hominoidae — Homininae — Gorillinea — Pan Troglodyte SHIT! I became a man that day at just nine years old; everything I had ever known had been a lie.
(Staring in horror at the shit) “This, this is real… this is the real world — THE REAL WORLD IS SHIT!”
Never before had I ever seen such a primeval display of disgust; I never would again until I went to prison. There, disgruntled inmates saved their body’s foul products in their jail cells, combined the two varieties in a slurry, and attempted to douse their Correctional Officers (CO) in the caustic cocktail.
(CO) “You, inmate Hand… aren’t you going to try and sling shit on me too??”
“No Sir, I mean yes Sir… I mean I’m sorry Sir; I’m just not that familiar with the house policy!”
When I was finally paroled after three years of appeals, I dropped to my knees outside the prison and thanked the Creator that those feces-flinging days were behind me forever. I was free at last and the world was once again a perfect place — I loved flowers and summer rain showers again. I could come and go as I pleased, say what I felt, eat what I wanted… and then and there I wanted my favorite food again after the long years in Super Max.
As I stood at the counter of Taco Bell waiting for my 10 chicken quesadillas, the customer service window slammed open. In there flew a binary slurry of human shit and piss which made its way to me and splattered on my arm and hand.
I looked up to the heavens and I uttered these words:
“Sire, is this truly your will?”
By the God we both adore I swear to you these things all are true.
geo sends
Sudsing up in front of the President of the entire country of Brazil.
Have you ever sent a text to the wrong person? I know I have — boy, can that ever be embarrassing. Have you ever been in on an Internet voice/video conference and… say… forgot to set it on mute as you fussed at your kid? Not me!
“Hey! You’re such a little shit — who the hell let you in here anyway??
(The Boss) “Um… I’m sorry — who’s speaking?”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Sorry, boss — I wasn’t talking to you! How do you put this cock-a-doody thing on mute??”
“Hey, put that down you little bastard!”
(Boss) “Excuse me??”
“GODDAMNIT!!”
Something else I’ve never done is forgot to blank my camera before, say, I pick my nose. I’m pretty sure I have never done that. Something that I have absolutely positively beyond a quark of a doubt NEVER done was forget to blank my video camera during a meeting, then strip bare naked and step into a shower to start soaping my Howard Johnson.
This Brazilian brother, on the other hand, did do all of those things — soap and all. We would all be embarrassed if we did that during a Zoom meeting with our boss presiding, eh? What if we did that and like, the Regional Boss was presiding, or a mayor, governor, senator, or congressman were at that same Zoom meeting and we were on video squeezing our rubber duck?
This brother went big in Brazil though; he went as big as you can go in Brazil — he soaped up naked on a Zoom conference in front of the President of Brazil Jair Bolsonaro. Could you imagine my man D.J. Trump:
(Trump’s voice) “And furthermore… Oh, do my eyes deceive me? I think my eyes deceive me because I don’t believe what I’m seeing here. I think what I’m seeing is the distinguished gentleman from Albuquerque, Mr. George E. Hand the fourth, singing in the rain there. Mr. Hand, I have to tell you — do you mind if I tell you something? I have to tell you that THAT… is not a good look at all for you; that is a most unflattering look for you, Sir. Don’t ever shower during one of my meetings ever again. And by the way — YOH FI-AHD!”
It is a fact that when Trump was given the news that 150 Brazilian citizens had passed away from CV-19 that week, Donald was heard to have said:
“My God, that is horrifying… how many is a Brazilian?”
“It’s all fun and games until you post it on social media.” (geo sends)
“Social media: nothing I say or do all day long is for everyone of my friends to see and hear” (geo sends)
“Most people wouldn’t engage in most of the crooked behavior they do if they couldn’t brag about it.” (geo sends)
I work Counter Human Traffic. This is a genuine scenario that I worked through hunting a pimp trafficking female minors in Albuquerque:
I found a sex advertisement on SkipTheGames.com in which a young female met six of the 18 indicators of a trafficked person; one, in particular being the detail “in-calls only.” I arranged a phony “in-call jilt” date, set up surveillance in the parking lot of her hotel with overwatch to her room, and tricked her to come to the door whereby I snapped a facial ID photo. I waited… a caddy showed up driven by a man who carried fast food up to the girl’s room; I got his facial ID photo and his Caddy’s plate. I ran his plate to get his name, (phony) address, VIN, SSN, DOB, phone number… etc. With his name I found his Facebook, IG, and Twitter accounts. On Facebook I found a photo of the girl from the motel room, a photo of him holding a spread of several thousand dollars worth of Benjis, and a remark (worlds to effect): “Pimped dis bitch ass, dawg.”
The police to Ice-G: “This is all great stuff… but what we really need is a photo with the two of them together — think you can handle that?”
Ice-G to police: “Is this ‘together’ enough for you?”
Albuquerque Big carrying trafficked Tabitha who was suffering from a broken foot at the time; he kept her hooking even with the broken limb.
Moral: Social Media continues to be much smarter than many criminal thugs and truculent adolescents. I stand by my third quote above in the case of these dry-humps that stole beer while wearing watermelons. How much of any of that would those punks have done if they couldn’t have posted about it on Facebook?
Finally, one of the melon-headed lads actually did score a date with a lass as a result of his melon antics. Prior to the two departing on their date, the lad was overheard by a friend telling his date:
“Look, it’s okay for the two of us to go out on dates, but we cantaloupe.”
By the Gods, I swear to you that these things are all true!
Karen bitching about a world gone mad, and the ruffian boys cruising.
Old MacDonald had a park, ladies and gentlemen — e-i-e-i-ooo… and in his park, he had a Karen — e-i-e-i-ooo… with a bitch-bitch here, ana bitch-bitch there, here a bitch, there a bitch, everywhere a BITCH-BITCH… Old MacDonald had a park — e-i-e-i-ooooooooooo!
What Karen fails to realize — along with what year it is — is that if we make these four-year-olds get driver’s licenses they are going to start buying BEER! Soon after that, you will start seeing two and three-year-olds hanging out by convenience stores waiting for the four-year-olds to stop by in their tiny plastic battery cars and:
“Psssst… hey, Mac… cud yuz do us a fa-vah o-vah hee-yah?”
No good to lower the drinking and driving age by 14 years, to an age where children just don’t fully understand the ramifications of consequences. Are we going to let someone who still shits their pants drive a Standard or a Lincoln Town car to birthday parties and daycare? And what about when these kids start getting their licenses revoked for DUI, what are they going to drive then — tricycles?
Clearly, crazy crappy crabby Karen has not thought through this thing well. All she knows is that back in her day you didn’t have all these Goddamned kids at parks with all their Goddamned laughing and their playing, and she loooved it!!!
Don’t even call her crazy though, folks — if John Wayne Gacy and Ted Kaczynski didn’t think they were crazy then why should cra-cra Karen? What’s good for the gander is good for the goose.
As someone who’s seen what happens when the truth is distorted, I know how unfair it feels when those who’ve sacrificed the most lose their voice. At SOFREP, our veteran journalists, who once fought for freedom, now fight to bring you unfiltered, real-world intel. But without your support, we risk losing this vital source of truth. By subscribing, you’re not just leveling the playing field—you’re standing with those who’ve already given so much, ensuring they continue to serve by delivering stories that matter. Every subscription means we can hire more veterans and keep their hard-earned knowledge in the fight. Don’t let their voices be silenced. Please consider subscribing now.
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