Another Chapter for the History Books

For details on my latest escapades, check here and check often. God put me on this planet for a reason and I think that this is it.

I'll catch up on my trip to Boston sometime tomorrow or later this evening.

Beantown, Part 1

I've been meaning to post about my travels the other week for some time now. I really have no excuse because I've really had nothing to do for most of the day everyday being temporarily out of work. That's really the only justification I can make for staying in my current job as a high school science teacher. Well, nothing to do lately besides look for a short term summer job which totally hasn't been working out. You'd think that a temp agency would call back after you send them everything they need to put you in a few days job you found on the internet. Apparently the 12 calls I've made since last Wednesday aren't enough to warrant a return call to at least say 'no'. I guess my other excuse is that I was finishing reading a book.

So a little more to the point, what better way is there to start a vacation other than a visit to your local TSA security force? It's not really an option if you can't afford a private jet. Unless you drive. And with gas prices, it's cheaper to subject yourself to the rectal exam. I guess you might keep a pair of tweezers up there. Okay, so I exaggerate, but I finally had my first brush with the man (that is the TSA agents). First it's embarrasing enough to make you practically undress in front of hundreds of strangers. There we all are, shoeless, beltless, accessory-less, phoneless (not necessarily a bad one) brothers patiently waiting our turn to be tested to find out just exactly who has metallic penis impants. Guilty! And don't you dare enter the metal detector until you get the signal from the TSA agent who gets to watch you walk through the machine. You probably need a college degree to get that promotion! Oh, and he/she is going to check your boarding pass and ID again, which you had to do in order to get into line in the first place. If you tried to circumvent the first ID check and go straight to the detectors, you'd probably be boarding a plane alright. A plane to Guantanamo Bay.

With all of that said, I make it through the detector no problem. It's kind of hard not to with no clothes on and your platinum penis implant safely tucked away in its non-capacitive ceramic casing. I know it's kind of bulky but I count it as one of my carry-ons. But the x-ray dude is looking at my bag for just a little bit too long for comfort. Hmmm...

"Oh shit. I ran out of room in the suitcase (we were going for 8 days!) so I put my toiletry bag in my carry-on without really considering its contents. An easy enough mistake at 4:45 am. Crap, I guess it's probably the tiny pair of scissors I use to trim my facial hair. Oh well, there goes my scissors."

So after a TSA agent rummages through my bag for a minute, she produces my metallic butt plug! Not really, you think I'm dumb enough to pack that for a plane ride? No, it's really my swiss-army knife that I've had for about 7 years. It's not too formidable. I think the blade is about 2 inches long (about the length of your penis/boyfriend's penis). I've used it to cut so many boxes open that it's coated with a protective layer of 3M's finest adhesive rendering it completely useless for anything requiring a sharp edge. To be honest, I found myself using the scissors on it more frequently than the blade. You know, for trimming those stray threads (and your mother's hairy jungle). But obviously someone somewhere thinks that it's dangerous if a white dude that flies maybe twice a year to the same places everytime has a pair of tweezers and that dangerous plastic toothpick that's likely made of C4 explosive. So faced with 15 minutes to get to my plane vs. going back to mail my knife to myself and then have to wait in the 45 minute line again that caused the lack of time to get to the gate in the first place, I ended up losing my knife. That my wife gave me. From when she went to Switzerland and bought me a Swiss Army knife.

If you ask me, the problem of 9/11 occurred solely because of ridiculousness like this. Hell, they had us American's scared as hell to take anything that might be construed as a weapon on a flight. Imagine if someone on those flights had a swiss army knife. Not only could they help their seat neighbor with that pesky stray thread but they could have easily shown up the terroritst's puny box cutters. Whip open that 2" blade while reciting everyone's favorite line, "That's not a knife. THIS, is a knife." Favorite line because it's the only one they remember from that movie, if they even remember the movie. Then the dude with the Swiss Army knife could go all Ron Popeil on some terrorist ass. Those flights could have been well on their way to their respective destinations complete with the blow jobs for passengers in first class and all anyone would have to worry about is what to do with all of those julienned jihadists. And let's not even talk about the passengers that might have been lucky enough to fly with the guy who's watched every episode of MacGuyver on DVD! Box cutters are no match for a gun made out of SkyMall magazines, biscoff cookies, and the blue stuff from the toilets.

Stay tuned for more wacky adventures and hijinks from my trip to the state that was ironically the site of the birth and the death of American freedom. And sorry, about the mom comment earlier. That wasn't fair. She keeps it nice and tidy down there. Wow, you are too easy! Like your mom. Got you again! Okay, I give up.