Flying The Slippery Skies

Early tomorrow morning Sal and I are getting on a plane and heading out for parts unknown. Actually now that I think about it, I hope we are heading to parts known. I hope that I know the parts we are heading to, and I really hope the pilot knows the parts we are heading to. I mean, he's the only one on the plane with a freaking forward-facing window, so I kind of expect him to be the guy who's responsible for getting us where we need to go.

As an aside, one of my greatest pet peeves involves air travel. Whenever I am about to fly somewhere, someone always says "have a safe flight!" Like I get any say at all in whether the fight is safe or not. My hands are tied back in coach. They don't give you a steering wheel back there. Tell it to the guys up front who can actually, you know, fly the plane. When I get on, I like to stick my head into the cockpit and say "My mom said have a safe flight, and I know you boys don't want to let my mom down, so whaddaya say we keep it in the air all the way to Chicago, eh?"

At any rate, being fully aware you can apparently bring down a plane with Gatorade now, I figured I'd better check the TSA's website and familiarize myself with what I will and will not be allowed to bring on the plane. I'm thoughtful like that. I'll do just about anything to avoid a cavity search.

So as we all know, you can no longer board the plane with a bottle of water, hand sanitizer, or lotion. They've pretty much put the kibosh on any liquid or gel. Except those gel inserts for your shoes. If you are gellin' like a felon, You are still welcome on board. But if you sit next to me and insist on tellin' me how gellin' you are, I'll make you eat those fucking insoles.

The list of approved and disapproved items does take a few turns into the bizarre, though. I may not be able to bring a bottle of Aquafina, but I am allowed up to 4 ounces of personal lubricant. I'm not sure exactly what situation may arise on an airplane that would require me to be packing KY, (well, I can think of one, actually. Heh.) but it's good to know that on a long flight, one's throat may be parched, but one's vagina will be damper than an acre of rain forest. I guess the mile high club lobbied hard to get that one included.

I know this will come as a shock to most of you, but you are no longer allowed to bring bug repellent on the aircraft. Looks like passengers will now be utterly defenseless against all the chiggers, gnats and mosquitoes that live in the modern 747. Talk about roughing it... At least you can still wear bells around your ankles to ward off the bears.

You can still bring "toy transformer robots" onto the plane. They went out of their way to mention that specifically for some reason. They also allow toy weapons, as long as they are not "realistic." I'd advise parents to err on the side of caution with this one. If your kid has a toy gun that isn't bright pink and looks wonky like something that fell out of Dr. Seuss' ass, leave it at home. A sure sign that your child's toy weapon was too realistic is your child bleeding out from multiple gunshot wounds on the cold tile of an airport floor.

You can apparently bring drills and other power tools, as long as they are used for the attachment and removal of prosthetic devices. My job occasionally requires me to travel with tools, which I usually pack in the checked luggage, but fuck that! From now on I'm just hiring an amputee to come along and act as cover. "No officer, I need that band saw to take off my buddy's false elbows and prosthetic nipples. It's medical."

Sharp items that are specifically prohibited include: knives (okay), box cutters (I can see the sense in that) , ice axes, meat cleavers and sabres. A serious blow to all of the globe-trotting climbers, butchers and Arabian princes who can no longer practice their trade in flight.

Other prohibited items on the "Damn, I was going to bring one of those" list include: spear guns, cattle prods, starter pistols, nunchakus, throwing stars and hand grenades.

Hand grenades.

I did not need the TSA to tell me that hand grenades are not appropriate on a flight. Well, maybe a long flight with crying babies, but otherwise I was assuming I should leave my hand grenades at home.

Who exactly (with the exception of Steven Segal) is getting on a domestic flight armed for unexpected guerilla combat? Did they get a lot of ninjas in the days before 9/11?

I know 2 things:

1) The world is definitely getting crazier.

2) My carry on tomorrow will hold nothing but my iPod, a book, and possibly some trail mix.

And my allotted 4 ounces of lube.

Thirty-Four Years

Fuck all this "five years" bullshit that's going on today. The real day of infamy was thirty four years ago when Lil' Wombat was lifted from the belly of his sainted mother and hurled into the world like an obscenity-spewing cannonball. My own personal conspiracy theory is that the terrorists picked my birthday to throw planes at buildings as some sort of warning to me. Because if there's one thing the terrorists hate more than freedom, It's poop stories and fart jokes. Nothing spoils a jihad like bun-music.

I waited all day for Katie Couric to show up and interview me, or for the President to publicly condemn me, but both of them were complete no-shows. I also scoured the newspaper for "where were you when Wombat was born" stories, but I found nothing. The blogosphere was similarly devoid of stories about me. Everyone's busy going on and on about the other horrible thing that happened on 9/11. Let's get some perspective here, people!

Yes, the terrorist attacks 5 years ago were horrible. Truly, utterly horrible. But I'd like to think that this blog is even more horrible. And if you think reading me makes you want to throw yourself from a bridge, just imagine talking to me. And I've been spreading my unique brand of stink around the country for way longer than 5 years. So I ask you: Who, really, is the greater threat to our way of life? Osama Bin laden, or yours truly, the Sphincter of Mass Distruction?

How long have I been trying to get the government to institute a color-coded warning system (shades of brown, of course) based on the flatulence levels in my pants? I mean, I'm thinking of the public safety here. But no one in the White House would return my calls. Now every Tom Dick and Achmed with a dirty bomb or a thermos full of anthrax gets a color-coded warning. What a world. I was unleashing toxic gas on the masses way before it was cool.

What is astonishing to me as I look back over my life this far, is how similar I am now to the Lil' Wombat that entered the world all those years ago. He was a whining crying shit-machine with no hair, a tiny penis, and a strong desire to put nipples in his mouth. Today? Well... I cry a little less. Otherwise, pretty much the same dude. Amazing how I can take so long to make such little progress.

At any rate, enjoy your day of rememberance. Have a moment of silence for those 2973 poor souls who died 5 years ago. But when you're done doing that, take a moment to recall the original "dirty bomb," introduced to a cringing America on this day in 1972.