Well, it’s over for me. Probably time for me to say sayonara to all my loyal readers. Well, my one loyal reader. Well, nobody. I expect the FBI, CIA or black helicopters to come for me any day now. Why? Because I’m an idiot.
Last week, I made the trek out to sunny California for my older brother’s wedding. Against my wife’s best wishes, we decided to fly. Because of that decision, we had to go through a security checkpoint on the way there and on the way back. So there I am, way past my bedtime, piling my computer, GPS, cell phone, keys and anything else remotely metal (Question: If I had a battery powered shiny metallic vibrator in my carry-on for mile highing, would I have to whip that out and place it in a plastic tray? Rustygopher, did they take yours?) into the plastic bin. My wife does the same.
So we get through the security checkpoint and the security officer flags us down. “You have a knife on your keychain.” Which was somewhat true – my wife has a pocket knife with maybe a two-inch blade. Unfortunately, you couldn’t cut a piece of single-ply toilet paper with the thing. It’d be easier to hurt someone by pulling a Jerry Springer guest-esque pull-off-the-shoe-and-beat-them-over-the-head-with-it.
But that’s beside the point. The security officer tells us we can check in the knife or have it mailed back to us. We say “You can have it.” Just don’t get caught in a knife fight with it because, at best, you can hope to maybe tickle your opponent. Next thing you know, they’ll find you with your balls cut off and stuck down your throat.
After a couple days of wedding festivities, it’s time to fly home. Again, it’s way past my bedtime. But I’m piling all my electronic and metal gadgets into the bins and putting my carry-on luggage through the ringer. So I get to the other side and the TSA (Note to government agencies: Make your acronyms more exciting. T-DA or T&A would be fun acronyms) agent pulls out my bag and says “Is this yours? We need to rummage through your stuff.”
So they take it over the rummaging area. First, they test it with a white piece of paper. Then, the rummaging begins. He gets to my brother’s wedding party gift, part of which is a small cooler, and starts to tear it apart. He reaches into a carefully concealed pocket and pulls out a much bigger knife than before (“You call that a knife? This is a knife.”), which also has a corkscrew perfectly made to take an eye out.
And now we start shitting. Not only did we try to smuggle a knife on board, but we carefully concealed it in a sheath hidden in the side pocket. We’re fucked. I’m thinking “Waterboarding isn’t so bad, is it? Might be kind of refreshing after a long night of beatings.” I’m thinking they’re immediately going to take us into a side room and the last thing I hear before they take my butthole virginity is the snap of the rubber plastic glove.
But my wife, always quick on her feet, says “We didn’t know that was in there. It was a gift and we just threw the whole cooler in without checking the pockets.” We wait with bated breath for what seems like an eternity. “Yeah, I believe you, it looks like it. We’ll just keep this. Have a safe trip.”
They bought it! However, I’m sure my wife and I are now flagged as the knife-wielding Bonnie and Clyde in some government watch list. In fact, they’ve probably already searched my house while I was flying back (I hope they didn’t find my carefully hidden Backstreet Boys collection. That’d be embarrassing.) and are just now rounding up the necessary signatures to get my knife-wielding ass on a plane to Guantanamo. So this is it – farewell!
PS – If I do end up in Guantanamo, anyone want to start a religion modeled after me? Turn the knife into a holy relic, say I got waterboarded and anally probed for your sins. Put up statues of me. Like some of the weeping and or bleeding Mary statues, I’ll try to get some of them to bleed from the anus just to prove my greatness to the non-believers.
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