A Limerick at the Airport

There is a series of things that are ticking me off. I don't have pet peeves. I have major psychotic freaking hatred. And sometimes it helps to just let it out.

For lack of space, I am allowed to talk about only what's on the top of my list.
I am tired of this b**s. There is just too much of it. There's just too much security at the airport. I don't like someone with a double digit IQ and a triple digit income rooting around inside of my bag for no reason and never finding anything. Haven't found anything yet! Haven't found one bomb in one bag! Don't tell me the terrorists know their bags are going to be searched so they leave their bombs at home.

There are no bombs. The whole thing is insane. There's a whole list of lethal objects they will allow you to take on board. Theoretically, you could take an ice pick, a hatchet, a straight razor, a chainsaw, 6 knitting needles, and a broken whiskey bottle, and the only thing they are going to say to you is “that bag has to fit all the way in the overhead bin.”

And if you didn't take a weapon on board, relax; after you have been flying for about an hour, they are going to bring you a knife and fork. They actually give you a knife! It's only a table knife but you could kill a pilot with a table knife. It might take you a couple of minutes you know... especially if he's hefty. But you could get the job done, if you really wanted to kill the dude. There are a lot of things you could use to kill a guy with; you could probably beat a guy to death with the magazine they give you. You know the ones with all the pretty pictures? Or suppose you just have really big hands. Couldn't you strangle a flight attendant? You could probably strangle two of them; one with each hand... you know, if you are lucky enough to catch them in that little kitchen area... before they give out the peanuts you know?

So why is it that they allow a man with big powerful hands to get onboard an airplane? I will tell you why. He has already answered the three big questions.
Question number one: “Did you pack your bags yourself?”
No. Martha Stewart came over to the house last night, fixed me a lovely lobster dinner, gave me a full body massage with sacred oils from India, and then she packed my bags.
Next question! “Have your bags been in your possession the whole time?”
No. Usually, the night before I travel, just as the moon is rising, I place my suitcases out on the street corner and leave them there unattended for several hours... just for good luck.
Next question! “Has any unknown person asked you to take anything on board?”
Well, what exactly is an “unknown person”? Surely, everyone is known to someone.

That's another thing they don't like at the airport... jokes. You know? You can't joke about a bomb. But why is it just jokes? What about a riddle? How about a limerick? How about a bomb anecdote? You know... no punch line, just a really cute story. Or how about an ironic musing, are they prepared to make that distinction?
Airport security is a waste of money, and it's only there for one reason, to make white people feel safe. That's all. The authorities know they can't make an airplane completely safe; too many people have access. So they have invented airport security to give them a an illusion of safety.

As far as I'm concerned, all the searches, the screenings, the cameras, the questions, it's just one more way of reducing your liberty, and reminding you that they can mess with you anytime they want... as long as you put up with it; which of course means anytime they want. 

Disclaimer:  All news, views, characters, persons and institutions in this article are purely fictitious. Any resemblance to anyone/anything real is purely coincidental.