7Jul-24
My co*ck is a Bomb
Today I went through security at Charlotte Douglas Airport as I have done hundreds of times before. Shoes off, nothing in my pockets, and cell phone in a separate bin. I put my feet on the little yellow marks on the machine, did the NFL touchdown pose and went through the world’s most expensive X Ray machine. I exit the creepy chamber, and look hopefully in the eyes of the TSA man. He averts my gaze and looks up from his spectacles and says while shaking his head, “I’m going to have to pat you down.”
I make the offsides penalty pose for the TSA man, and take a peek over my left shoulder to see what might be causing TSA’s concerns. To my shock, there is big yellow square over my crotch. Unbelievable! TSA thinks my co*ck is a bomb.
TSA Man wants me to think this is a potentially explosive situation and I was working hard to keep a straight face. Here is the rub. TSA wants us to believe they are highly trained behavioral detectives that can separate innocent travelers from the freedom hating terrorists. Even if you don’t believe this, they need to feel that you do. Because if you don’t, then you, my friend, are a terrorist. So if you wrinkle your forehead, crack a smile, or God forbid, roll you eyes, then they will throw you in Cuba with a stick up your ass with Dick Cheney on a waterboard machine.
So back to the TSA Man and my co*ck. He looks at me, and says, “If you want, we can go to a more private room for the screening.” At this point, a million thoughts are going through my head, the goal is to NOT share any of these wayward thoughts, or he will think I am a terrorist. Here is what I was thinking.
TSA Man, I am a 65 year old heterosexual. With all the government spying and surveillance, you haven’t figured that out yet? And please, you are not skinny. Let’s just say it, you are fat, you are huffing and puffing just to get out of bed. So I have no interest in going into the private room, although I was a little curious about whether it was similar to the champagne room at the strip club.
I delicately respond still in the offsides pose , “Let’s do it here.” To which TSA Man replies, “I will only use the back of my hand during the screening.” So I think, and never said the following. Dude, are you worried that I will want a hand job or something? Because this is not happening. But what I really wanted to say was if you use the back of your hand, then you can only touch the back of my co*ck which, by the way, is not a bomb. But I didn’t say that, instead I said, “Go ahead”.
TSA Man begins his “screening”, and he was aggressive. At one point, he got the back of his hand between the ball sack and my inner thigh. If TSA Man was a dick, he could inflict some serious pain. He did not, but I am really glad that I didn’t tell him he was fat. Like I said, TSA Man did not nothing for me, nada. Plus I am married to a very beautiful Brazilian that is the mother of my children. My co*ck never moved not even a little bit. I do wonder what TSA Man would have done if it did. Would that have been the time to take it to the back room? Or would that make me a terrorist? Do terrorists get boners?
TSA Man says, “You are good to go.”
I leave to collect my things which had backed up the line significantly. One lady gave me the stink eye like it was me that clogged the line. It wasn’t me lady, it was my co*ck. I have to say that I was a little disappointed that TSA did not find that my co*ck was a bomb. How cool would that be? Can you imagine, you are in a bar where Victoria Secret models frequent, and you can legitimately say, “My co*ck is a bomb”. They would be buying me drinks. My co*ck is dangerous, or better yet, a weapon of mass destruction.
One side note: The TSA body scanners, do a front and rear image. On the front was the large yellow box over my co*ck, on the back was much smaller yellow box was over my asshole. I never would have thought that my asshole would be a threat to the country.
