Check Your Ho Before You Go

Have you ever heard of Common Sense? It was written by one of the American founding fathers named Thomas Paine and first published anonymously during the American Revolution in 1776. Not because he was afraid of the USE of Common Sense – as we seem to be today – but because of the political sensitivity of the article’s contents. And what the inside of that man’s grave must look like today. Imagine a turbo-charged weenie roaster trapped inside a bunny hutch – the man is spinning in disgust and disbelief at what has become of his nation and of society at large.

Now for those of you expecting me to launch into a tirade about the recent elections, or who are expecting me to wax poetic about matters of philosophy and intellect, I am sorry to disappoint.

Invariably there are at least 100 different paths down which I could travel in my attempt to prove the complete demise of common sense in our society. But as I have already had a couple of cocktails, I am thusly inclined to take the path of least resistance; to go for the low-hanging fruit. Yes, I’m talking about airports.

For whatever reason, I am considered by the TSA and by extension the wonderfully omnipotent government of the USA to be an SSSS. A quadruple small? Clearly these people no not from whence they speak as I am a 36-D with a booty Beyonce couldn’t touch. Human intelligence my fanny. If they can’t see that then it’s no wonder that the world is in such a state. But I’m told that in fact this is not a reference to my non-existent impossibly petite stature, but to the fact that I am a perpetual “selectee.” Despite the fact that I have flown more than two million miles with one airline alliance without a single incident (unless, of course, you count the way I lob peanuts of people who snore after too many martinis halfway through a 13 hour flight), I am still somehow deemed one of the single greatest threats to national security since Bill and Hillary Clinton consummated their marriage and he thus decided he preferred women instead.

I am the epitome of the flourescent white-skinned red-head. And I’m sorry – and here is where I will probably lose any and all of you who are the least bit sensitive – but I believe fully in racial profiling when it comes to potential terror suspects. When is the last time that you saw on the news or read in the paper that some blonde Georgia peach decided to give it all up in the name of all that is Christian and at her despair over being unable to formulate an intelligent response to the question segment of the Miss Perky Peach Pageant? Never. Not a single incident of hairspray induced airplane range. Because it doesn’t happen. Just as I believe that certain ethnicities have the greatest a**es and the most God-given natural proclivity to defy gravity, I believe it’s 99.99999999% likely that the people who are most likely to end it all with a lighter and some explosive hidden in their carry-on hair gel will NOT be a natural borne red-head from Sumwaresberg.

Yet there I am, every single time, being taken aside and patted down by some strange man or woman who, either way, seem to linger far too long while examining the under-wire in my bra for all the world and everyone in the Atlanta security line to see. All 2,612,413 of them.

I recently saw a little boy in line in front of me who could not have been more than 10 years old who had also been chosen as a selectee. He was the most blonde hair, blue eyed little angel-faced thing ever. They put him through the entire pat down process, etc, and wiped the inside of his carry-on for explosives. In the process they removed from his bag his apparently well-worn and much loved teddy bear. They asked him what the hard spot inside of the bear was and he explained that it was a voice chip that held a recording of his Mother’s voice, as he simultaneously tried to put the bear back inside the bag and hide it from the view of onlookers. But rather than exercising one ounce of common sense or decency, these morons added insult to ignorance by proceeding to make fun of this child for still traveling with a bear at his age. Is that sort of behavior anything of which we should be proud? Is that “freedom?” Give me a break.

And then there is the rule of what you can and cannot carry on-board with you. A rule that is applied with apparently the same brand of strict guidelines and level of consistency that controls food hygiene in China. Today, in an undisclosed country in a part of our world that frankly deserves to be overthrown by herpes infected elves from Theton, my Mother and I got onto a train to the airport for what was meant to be a relaxing weekend trip to the beach. No sooner had we sat down on the train it became apparent to us that there was some sort of disagreement brewing amongst the four people seated across the aisle from us. Two of them were French men. Two of them were prostitutes. It became clear to me and to everyone on the train that these men were in a language barrier induced argument over the settlement of the fee for this weekend’s “festivities.” As a result of this disagreement, the men were insisting that the women hand over their passports as a guarantee of their presence until the end of the weekend. Now before you feel sorry for these women and berate me as anti-feminist, which I most assuredly am not, let me tell you that these fake Louis Vuitton clad “ladies” were brutally ambitious and had, it seems, already “appropriated” 500 Euros from the wallet of one of these men. These women were the disease bearing variety. No doubt about it. And these men will, I’m sure, get what they’ve paid for, but more importantly, they’ll get what they deserve. Probably starting with a rash in about three to six months.

In any case, they all left the train and proceeded to the check in line at the airport where these men had no trouble checking in themselves and, in addition, checking in these two women with only their passports as both women had momentarily disappeared. Presumably to the airport chapel. So they can check in their hos and carry them, their vacuum of morals and their ample germs on board, but I have to toss my toothpaste?

As I went through the customs x-ray I was told that I would have to give up my deodorant. And just as I threw it into the bin, I heard the man behind me being asked if he had any liquids in his carry-on which were not contained in a closed plastic bag, to which he answered, “No, but I have enriched plutonium hidden inside of a melon I bought in China that had been pissed on by a chicken with a wheeze and a cough.” To which the customs official replied “oh, no problem, sir. Have a nice trip.” I’m sure the man’s name was Osama something or other.

But then maybe I’m just a cynic. Perhaps the French men on the train were good samaritans who adopted those women from an orphanage and were trying to teach them right from wrong. At least that’s what I told my Mother.

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