I was thinking about going out and looking for a hooker, but then I realized it was a bad idea. It’s exploitative. I don’t have the money. Should my wife find out, she would have rusted debris surgically inserted into uncomfortable places around my body. And, what’s more — why pay for a prostitute when the TSA will give you the same very personal attention for free?
That guy who’s calling for a “National Pat Me Down — WooHoo! — Day” has the right idea. He wants to do it the day before Thanksgiving in order to screw up lines at airports and create gridlock and pissed off travelers throughout the country. That does sound fun. But why stop at one day on November 24th? No, I’m dedicated. I’m going back every day, maybe a couple of times a day.
In particular, I’m hoping to get in the line with a TSO named Rita. The bastards at TSA keep shuffling me over to some guy named “Buzz.” It’s like they’re profiling me. Every time, I wave at Rita but get manhandled by Buzz. (In fairness to Buzz, he has soft hands and a gentle demeanor.)
I shan’t give up, though. In the name of national security. In the name of protesting whatever it is that we’re protesting. In defiance of having to walk through those machines because, well, because. Screw machines. In solidarity with “Don’t Touch My Junk” guy and the airline unions. In support of all those congressman who keep calling for more security and then demanding that they stop being touched. In the pursuit of life, liberty and great happiness. With respect for Rita and Buzz.
I shall carry on. For liberty.
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