In a recent conversation with The Occasionally Mulleted One, I upbraided him for not having brought certain accoutrements to the recent Blown-Eyed Blodgers Tea Party and Ice Cream Social in Austin. His craven response: “I didn’t want to have to explain that stuff to the Airport Security people.”
The “stuff” in question consists of two Fake-Tattoo Sleeves and a Mullet Wig. [If you have to ask, maybe you shouldn’t know.]
Personally, I think Zonker is being overly sensitive. I can guarantee that the average Airport Security Screener has seen far, far worse.
To wit: Several years ago, on a trip I took in the course of my routine duties at the Great Corporate Salt Mine, I found myself in the Cincinnati airport between flights. Given that my layover was somewhat on the order of two hours, I had plenty of time to purchase a newspaper and a pack of gum. And so off to the newsstand I trotted.
As I was making my purchase, the young, attractive cashier felt obliged to share a Cautionary Tale with me. Maybe it was my polite, friendly demeanor; maybe it was my Natty Business Attire - I have no idea why she felt that she should share this little tidbit with me, of all people, but perhaps she sensed a willing listener - or a Perverse Spirit. For a strange and perverse story it was.
Seems that there had been another Nattily Attired Businessman coming through Cincinnati earlier that day, one whose parcels had been hand-inspected by the Airport Security folks after they set off the metal detector. What Security found in the suspect carry-on grabbed everybody’s attention: tucked inside, neatly wrapped in a plastic bag, was a Honkin’ Big Dildo.
As described by my Cashier Friend, we are talking the Harry Reems Special, an extra-humongous model complete with extra Spiky and Knobbly Projections. Like a baby’s arm with an apple in its fist. I’m guessing it was motorized, as well, which would explain why the metal detector had been activated.
But that was not the worst part of this Exercise in TMI.
The damn thing was still Dripping Wet inside its plastic package.
Needless to say, the Nattily Attired Businessman was, er, ahhh...somewhat red-faced as his prize was trotted out for all the world to see.
Next to this, a mullet and a pair of fake tats is Just Plain Boring. Hell, even a pair of fake tits would be boring. Zonker, I think you’re the victim of Misplaced Concern.
No matter. You don’t have to fly to get to Helen...so I’ll expect you to be carrying the Full Regalia at the next Blown-Eyed Blodgefest.