Dear TSA, thank you for the bleeding anus.
I hope you feel you have done the nation a great service by protecting the national transportation infrastructure from my two-to-three ounces of generic Ky jelly. I understand the need for caution, the transparent and clearly almost empty, flattened tube threatened us all with its ability to hold up to six ounces of unholy thicksatropic unguent was a clear and present danger to our entire way of life.
Clearly I could have taken the offensive tube to the gelignite dispenser found inside the security perimeter of Washington Dulles International Airport and filled the unused volume with deadly chemical fury!
The physical and chemical damage to my nether regions is just sacrifice in the name of the global serenity.
And yes, I know I must surely be lying about my medical need for such a substance, as I needed to say something to cover the embarrassment of having something labeled a "personal lubricant", because such a product so clearly had pure sexual devilment in mind in its genesis. I clearly deserve stern treatment merely for possessing such filth. In this country it is so much more proper to claim inflammatory bowel disease as a cover rather than admit the existence of sexuality, so any such claim is prima-facia cause to look on me with disapproval.
So TSA... Every time I think if my asshole, I will think of you... Carry on the stellar work!
P.S. When you told me that I had the option to go back and _check_ the tube of lubricant through to my destination, I think you totally missed the point where a rectal poultice has its usefulness measured in no small part by features of proximity. Though the moment I took to picture the tiny tube making its way through the baggage handling system, outstripped by the size of the bar-code sticker, only to languish making slow lonely circles at the SeaTac baggage claim left me sorely tempted to do that very thing. But they would have made me put it in some sort of box, and there was no way I could attach your identity to the absurd idea, so I said "just throw it away". I hope you caught the scorn, but I doubt it made any impact. Surely you know how ridiculous it is to strip people of their toiletries in the name of Security Theater. If you don't, no level of scorn or reason can possibly pierce the carapace of your stupidity.
Clearly I could have taken the offensive tube to the gelignite dispenser found inside the security perimeter of Washington Dulles International Airport and filled the unused volume with deadly chemical fury!
The physical and chemical damage to my nether regions is just sacrifice in the name of the global serenity.
And yes, I know I must surely be lying about my medical need for such a substance, as I needed to say something to cover the embarrassment of having something labeled a "personal lubricant", because such a product so clearly had pure sexual devilment in mind in its genesis. I clearly deserve stern treatment merely for possessing such filth. In this country it is so much more proper to claim inflammatory bowel disease as a cover rather than admit the existence of sexuality, so any such claim is prima-facia cause to look on me with disapproval.
So TSA... Every time I think if my asshole, I will think of you... Carry on the stellar work!
P.S. When you told me that I had the option to go back and _check_ the tube of lubricant through to my destination, I think you totally missed the point where a rectal poultice has its usefulness measured in no small part by features of proximity. Though the moment I took to picture the tiny tube making its way through the baggage handling system, outstripped by the size of the bar-code sticker, only to languish making slow lonely circles at the SeaTac baggage claim left me sorely tempted to do that very thing. But they would have made me put it in some sort of box, and there was no way I could attach your identity to the absurd idea, so I said "just throw it away". I hope you caught the scorn, but I doubt it made any impact. Surely you know how ridiculous it is to strip people of their toiletries in the name of Security Theater. If you don't, no level of scorn or reason can possibly pierce the carapace of your stupidity.