Tex Commando

Mr. T is traveling. He will be on a plane until Sunday. Don’t be sad for him. The asshole is going to be ‘down under’. I think. Is New Zealand considered ‘down under’? Anyways, I’m a bit jealous of his trip. And equally thankful I won’t be stuck traveling on an airplane for like, a week.

We just got off the phone a ‘lil bit ago. He’s at LAX for another hour or so. I miss him already, BTW. We had a rather heated discussion about the x-ray scan that they do to people going through airport security. Let me just preface this by saying that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about the actual process. I have done ZERO research into what the images look like. I am making TOTAL AND COMPLETE ASSUMPTIONS about what the entire process entails. OK?

So, now that we have that all cleared up, I’ll continue with my story.

He was telling me about the doohicky that he had to go in and how it spun around his body or something like that. I mentioned that it made me kinda sick that  just any ‘ol body can see an image of my naked body. Because look, I know I am the shit. I know that I look pretty good. I’m not bragging. It’s just a fact. But I don’t want some creepy person to be able to see me. I am in control of who sees my body, dammit. And I don’t want you (not you, but the random airport people) to be able to see it. Well, I don’t really want any of you to see it either. Except for Mr. T. He can see it. Whatever.

Anyhoo… His point was that they (who?) have this device in place to protect people from crazy lunatics that want to blow us up. The crazy people might have devices on their person (people?) that isn’t detected by the other less-invasive methods. This x-ray machine is SAVING US FROM THE TERRORISTS!!! -or so he says. He mentioned the shoe bomber, and the crotch bomber. Blah, blah, blah. I mentioned that that’s a mere TWO out of a billion. BFD. He retorted, “That’s two that we KNOW of.” HMM, good point. He IS intelligent, ya know.

But I still don’t want people seeing my body. It’s bad enough that I can’t go anywhere, really people, ANYWHERE without feeling like people are checking me out. It doesn’t matter what the fuck I am wearing. Seriously, lately, I have been Schlump Commando. But it don’t stop ’em. Those assholes still undress me with their eyes. The last thing I need is to give them the satisfaction of getting to see me naked. And Mr. T, you remember him? The great husband, my one and only true love, the guy I have been telling you all about how great he is? Yeah, he says, “Well, Tex, that’s the price you have to pay for being so beautiful.”

EXCUU-UUSE ME?!?!?

Oh, so I should just deal with it. OK. I get it. I’m beautiful, so it should just be OK with me that people want to (and some might get to) see me naked. Uh-Uh. Nope. I’m not going for that.

But then I thought about it. Out loud of course. If they ‘get’ to see me, that also means that they ‘have’ to see the other people too. (giggle giggle) I mean, let’s think about this for a minute. Pretend that 5% of the people who have to go through security are ‘beautiful’. That means the other 95% of people who go through aren’t . I guess I should just consider it my pleasure to reward those hard working men and women for doing their duty to keep our airways safe.

We ended our loud, heated conversation with a good laugh. Too bad he’s not here, he’d probably get to see me naked tonight without some fancy x-ray machine.

Tags: Airport security, ass, beer, Mr. Tex