Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Open Letter to the Transportation Security Administration

Dear Ballgrabbers,

Look, I get it: the world is a scary, scary place full of people that want to kill us, blow us up, and generally make us stay at home in pants wetting terror. I know this because I've sat through several Michael Bay movies, and I can say without fear of contradiction: that man wants to hurt America.

But seriously, are you really protecting the country, or are you just overreacting in the hopes that doing something, anything will look better than doing nothing? The bad guys are always going to be trying to find new and exciting ways of causing mayhem. It's what they do; it's in the job description. That doesn't mean, however, that wildly flailing at "security steps to take" is going to solve anything.

As much as I love the choice between getting groped by a balding, middle aged agent or getting a cancer inducing picture of my junk, it's really a false choice. You can have security without having to be molested in public. It's in the Constitution... not the "junk" bit, they took that out... but the searching and seizing, yes. And, even though it doesn't say it, I would think that the "in public" bit has got to be implied.

I mean, even Michael Jackson and the Catholic Clergy had the good sense to keep that kind of molesting crap secret.

I'd like to believe that you don't want to do this. I know the deal with bureaucracies: some guy up in middle management has decided that everyone's doing Policy X now, and he's managed to convince his superiors of the same. Now you have to fondle the sweaty balls of some overweight tourist from Des Moines, and he's back in the nice, non-ball grabbing office trying to figure out if the TSA can get passengers to willingly stow themselves in 3 by 3 foot cubes... you know... for safety. I'd also like to believe that you hate this guy and would easily give him a *cough* more thorough examination if you ever had the chance.

But, of course, when you find that single 4 oz of Listerine that some housewife has kiestered in the hopes of having good, fresh breath when she lands, we'll know that all the violations of our persons were well worth it.

Until the bad people think of something even more clever.

Me, I'm taking the train.


The Angry Drunk Bureaucrat

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