Controlled substance.
I've ranted endlessly about the TSA and security theater. I'm sure this ludicrous war on desserts is really going to protect us from terrorists. Don't touch my junk? DON'T TOUCH MY GORRAM CUPCAKES. Where's my Fourth Amendment?!
Oh, wait! Maybe this is the unholy marriage of TSA overreach with Michelle Obama's annoying preaching that we should all eat healthier things. It's now the Food Police. GEORGE ORWELL, CALL YOUR OFFICE.
Full disclosure: I just fled Nerdworld and had to mess with the TSA, so I'm in a nasty mood about it. Watching these people make darling little blonde babies take off their shoes -- adorable tiny shoes -- offends my sense of proportion. Getting pulled out of line AGAIN (why do I always get pulled out of line? It's as if the TSA is like cats -- you know, cats know who the person is in the room who most hates cats, so of course the felines make a beeline for that one person out of pure malignant cussedness) for a patdown makes me roll my eyes.
The reason given? "We can't see the shape of your legs." Seriously, that's what they told me. What the hell does that even mean? I was wearing a skirt. ARE YOU GOING TO PAT DOWN EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO WEARS A SKIRT? Besides, the reason didn't even make sense. It was a long narrow skirt with a slit up the side so I could walk. Whaddya mean you couldn't "see the shape of my legs"? ARE YOU BLIND? I finally got on the plane and proceeded to read 1984 in a rage on my Kindle. The TSA is ludicrous and getting more ludicrous all the time. Ugh.
Oh, as for the nonsense about skirts, let me repost this:
Oh, and you may recall me ranting about this stuff at Christmas 2009 too.
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