Totally Stupid Analyzations

The story of How the TSA hides cocaine snakes in your pants when you least expect it.  

The hum of fluorescent lights filled the sterile corridors of the airport. Passengers bustled through security, arms raised as they stepped into the body scanners. Everything seemed normal—that was the brilliance of it. No one ever suspected that the Transportation Security Administration was not what it appeared to be.

Underneath the guise of protecting travelers, a secret division of the TSA had developed a lucrative side hustle: they were running one of the most bizarre and illegal smuggling operations in history. Their product? Pure, uncut Colombian cocaine. Their method? Snakes. But not just any snakes—these were engineered serpents bred for a singular purpose: to be sneaky carriers, fitting snugly into the most unfortunate of hiding spots.

And they had perfected their art.

Agent McCoy, a tall, steely-eyed figure with an unnerving calm, was the mastermind. By day, he appeared to be a loyal TSA agent, waving passengers through the metal detectors and X-ray machines. But behind closed doors, he ran the entire operation with military precision. His crew had recruited top biologists to breed tiny, flexible snakes that could carry liquid cocaine in small sacs hidden within their bodies. The serpents were docile—trained to slip undetected into their targets’ clothes.

On this particular day, the target was a nondescript accountant named Jerry Mulligan, an innocent man who had no idea he was about to be part of a criminal enterprise. Jerry was the perfect victim: timid, well-dressed, and predictably anxious. As he approached the security checkpoint, he absentmindedly fumbled for his boarding pass, oblivious to the fact that Agent McCoy had already marked him.

McCoy gave a subtle nod to one of the agents standing near the full-body scanner. "Pull him for an extra check," he whispered into his radio.

Jerry stepped into the scanner, the whirring machine rotating around him. All clear. But before he could step away, a smiling TSA officer approached him. "Sir, would you mind stepping aside for a random inspection?" the officer said, ushering Jerry toward a more secluded corner of the checkpoint.

"Uh, sure. Is everything okay?" Jerry asked nervously, adjusting his glasses.

"Just a quick check, nothing to worry about," the officer reassured him.

As Jerry lifted his arms for a pat-down, two agents moved with precision and speed, using sleight of hand to insert the tiny cocaine-filled snake into the waistband of his pants. Jerry, oblivious to the bizarre infiltration, winced slightly, assuming the discomfort came from the tightening of his belt.

"You're all set, sir. Have a safe flight!" The officer smiled warmly as Jerry shuffled away, feeling strangely violated but unable to pinpoint why.

Unbeknownst to him, the snake, now comfortably nestled in his pants, was on a timer. After exactly six hours—coinciding with the arrival at his destination—the serpent would begin to move. It would wriggle free and slip away, leaving the cocaine behind, ready to be collected by McCoy's associates on the other end.

Jerry boarded his flight to Miami, blissfully unaware that he was now a crucial link in an international drug smuggling chain. He took his seat, buckled his belt, and closed his eyes, hoping for a peaceful flight. But as the plane soared over the clouds, something shifted. He felt an odd sensation near his waistline—a slight slither.

His eyes shot open. Had something just moved inside his pants? Panic surged through his body as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to draw attention. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

Meanwhile, back at the airport, Agent McCoy watched the flight take off with a smirk. Everything was going according to plan. Jerry Mulligan would unknowingly deliver his package, and the cartel would have their hands on the goods without a single trace. It was the perfect crime.

Or so McCoy thought.

As the hours passed, Jerry's discomfort grew. Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, he rushed to the airplane bathroom. Inside the cramped space, he nervously unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. His breath caught in his throat.

There, coiled around his waist like some sort of nightmarish belt, was a small, white snake. Jerry's scream echoed through the tiny lavatory.

The flight attendants rushed to the scene, confused and alarmed. One attendant, a quick thinker, radioed the pilot, who in turn contacted ground control. Within minutes, a full-blown emergency situation unfolded as passengers whispered and speculated about the strange happenings on board.

When the plane finally landed in Miami, law enforcement was waiting. Jerry Mulligan, still pale and shaken, was escorted off the plane by officers who couldn’t decide whether to treat him as a victim or a suspect. The snake had slithered off somewhere during the commotion, leaving behind only traces of the illegal cargo. Investigators were baffled, unsure how to explain the bizarre discovery.

Back at the airport, McCoy received word that the operation had gone awry. He cursed under his breath but remained calm. "No matter," he thought. "There are always more flights. And more passengers."

With a cold smile, he returned to his station, ready to target the next unsuspecting traveler.