The Mind of Spaz

I live in Brantford, a small town in the middle of Ontario’s green belt. In every way, Brantford is the backwards, sloppy idiot town akin to the United State’s deep south, except we don’t have inbreeding and most of us have all our teeth and don’t own stills in the bush.

The other night I was watching CSI New York. These guys are just amazing! Obviously, New York City is going to have one large municipal budget to buy the best of the best of equipment, and hire the best of the best of forensic scientists for cops. Yes, I know it’s a show, but there is probably some truth reflected in what they show on T.V., with it being a huge money making city.

These guys extract finger prints from every conceivable space, DNA from such obscure items as gum and 2 year old dried up invisible spit stains. They derive evidence from a dropped bird feather and a tiny piece of rubber embedded into a victims scrotum. Enough evidence to not only conclusively prove who the killer is, but to make him confess in a blubbery emotional outburst towards the end of the show.

Oh, and before I go on I’d just like to say Anna Belknap is really, really hot. I don’t know why, but that is just my type of chick!

Anyways, this got me to thinking. What would a CSI investigation be like in my small town of Brantford? I’m sure the forensics budget is low and we already know all the best forensic scientists go to CSI NY and Miami.

With that in mind, I betting a Brantford murder investigation might go like this:

Detective 1: What do we have here?
Detective 2: It’s horrible. It looks like he choked to death.
Detective 1: On what?
Detective 2: (pulls out an item from the victim’s throat) Umm, zig zags and a welfare stub
Detective 1: Hang on, let me go put on some stomping Tom while we investigate.
Detective 2: Huh?
Detective 1: I saw it on CSI. Their forensics guys always figure out really tough things while music is playing in a really quick way.
Detective 2: (rolls eyes) Ok, the victim has no I.D., looks to be in his late 30′s, huge beer gut, hasn’t showered in days, has a mullet, and is wearing swim trunks, flip flops and a stained wife beater. I don’t recognize the face because it’s too swelled from a herpes outbreak.
Detective 1: No I.D., he could be ANYBODY in this town!
Detective 2: Wait, I found keys to an 80′s style Pontiac Firebird.
Detective 1: Earl, start narrowing it down already!
Detective 2: Wait, wait, I think I found something
Detective 1: What is it?
Detective 2: Look, its crumbs from a mostly eaten Tim Horton’s french cruller. Only one person in this town eats those!
Detective 1 & 2 together: CHARLENE!
Detective 1: Looks like we got ourselves a crime of passion. Let’s go talk to Charlene.
Detective 2: She could be anywhere!
Detective 1: I’ll go to the casino, you start checking out the McDonalds. We’re bound to find her.

Boy, I hope I don’t die of criminal causes, and if I do, I hope it’s in New York, so the cast of CSI can find the real killer in less than an hour’s time.

Parody Anna Belknap, CSI, Parody, Small Town