The TSA Mensa Meeting Has Been Cancelled Due To Lack Of Members
THE LYRICS IN THE OLD HARRY CHAPIN song, “Taxi,” proclaimed that, “It’s the going not the getting there that’s good.”
Not any more, Harry.
Travel in this country, particularly by air, has become a game of “Hurry up and wait.” At the airport it is line after line, slowly inching your way toward the next line. When you finally get to the “Security Checkpoint” you are forced to deal with the lovable cretins of the TSA – aka as “They’ll Steal Anything.” Over the last decade several hundred TSA thugs have been convicted of blatantly stealing just about anything of value that comes close to their sticky fingers.
Going through any airport has become equivalent of an updated version of a famous scene from the movie “Sierra Madre.” Now, instead of serapes and sombreros it is dorky blue uniforms. The thieves are not Mexican banditos anymore but a dog’s breakfast of humanity scraped from the sidewalks of America.
“We don’t need no stinking badges, but we got ‘em anyway.”
The frequency of the “security patdowns” has changed over time. I get felt up about every third time now. The friendliness of the patdown varies. I’ve had some that were little more than a lecherous copping a feel all the way to making me feel like I was a sixteen year old girl in the backseat at the drive-in movie. On that one, as the moron was considering me for his prom date, I gave him a breathy, “At least you could buy me dinner first.” He pulled away and determined that I was safe.
I’m an old geezer. Oh, well. There is no accounting for taste.
On a flight out of Corpus Christi, Texas a couple years ago the TSA Whiz-bangs discovered a small pocket knife in the bottom of my computer case. It had been there for at least ten years and dozens of TSA checkpoint fiascos, I mean security checks. They dug out the knife and went ballistic. You would think I was trying to smuggle a guillotine on board.
Sgt. Schultz said I could go back and put it into my checked baggage. I told him he could take it home and give it to his kids to play with.
My wife, the lovely and sometimes exasperated with me, Dawn just sat there, shaking her head as Sgt. Lizzie Borden went through my computer bag again, looking for the Sword in the Stone, Excalibur no doubt.
After all that to-do over the knife we boarded and I sat right behind a woman who spent the flight waving around a pair of foot long metal knitting needles. No potential danger there, boys. Let her through.
The TSA Lobotomy Squad recently was given a real test by some folks who knew what they were doing.
95% of the time the testers were able to walk past the TSA Runts of the Litter with guns, knives, explosives and full-sized Abrams Battle Tank.
OK, that last one isn’t true, but the others are. If the scanner booth had been wider I’m sure the tank would have made it.
I’ve heard some people come to the defense of the TSA Drool in a Jar Forces. Usually the best they can come up with is that the TSA helps them get real jobs to list on their résumés.
Well, at least there is a good reason.
Let’s be brutally honest. Most of those TSA Week old Leftovers are not Taco Bell Material. Those that aren’t wouldn’t be able to pass the test to get a job being roadkill. OK, maybe run of the mill roadkill, but not fresh roadkill.
Squirrels and raccoons would score higher on the test.
Down the Hall on Your Left 