Standing Pat

Tomorrow's the unofficial "getaway day" for Thanksgiving weekend, and I'm glad as hell that I don't have to fly anywhere. If I did, I'd probably get arrested for kicking the living crap out of one of the snarky little douchebags taking part in the "don't look at my pathetic little genitals" protest that's supposedly going to happen tomorrow. What's the matter, you crybabies--that the TSA is keeping you too safe? Look, there are two ways to ensure that air travel is safe from demented individuals who think nothing of horrifically killing themselves and others to make a political point. One is to keep dangerous people off the planes, and the other is to keep dangerous items off the planes. We've tried to do the former, but that gets the "You-Can't-Say-That-Even-If-It's-True" Gestapo mobilized, so this is what you're left with. I don't care if the monitors are being watched and the pat-down searches are being conducted by Ricky Martin himself (and let's face it, your screener is far more likely to resemble Bruce Vilanch). I'd rather have my junk fondled a million times over than be on the plane where someone managed to slip a weapon through.