I read a recent report that swearing might be a powerful painkiller:
Lead researcher and Keele University psychologist Dr. Richard Stephens said the results of the analysis show that swearing can release pain-killing endorphins. He explained that “Swearing provokes an emotional response in the face of stress akin to the flight and fight response” in an individual, which is how the body reacts to a perceived threat or danger.
I have just begun traveling for work and the security lines at airports always trigger the flight or fight response in me. Since I can neither flee nor fight without being beaten or killed, consider this post one giant muthaphuckin' aspirin to deal with the pain of being ruled by idiots, fools, punk muthaphuckas, and fascist bitches.
My first trip was to Atlanta from Baltimore. When I approached the security gate in Baltimore, I could see three lines. From where I stood it appeared that all three lines led to scanners. It appeared that people were being randomly chosen for scanners, so I accepted that this would probably be my first pornoscan. I mentally envisioned a few scenarios to fluff myself for my debut. I chose the middle lane since it appeared that all of them led to nakedness. After I had taken off my shoes and placed my bag on the belt, I could finally see the end of all the lines. The scanner in the line to my far right was not activated; everyone in that line was going through the metal detectors.
I was then ordered asked to go through the scanner. After being scanned, I was ordered asked to wait in the holding pen for approval. I was held there a couple of minutes longer than the two gentlemen before me, so I believe that the TSA voyeur agent noticed my pre-scan ritual and enjoyed my scan more so than others.
Nevertheless, after I got my bags and put my shoes back on, I sent a text to Trevor voicing my displeasure in my choice of line:
Goddammit! I picked the wrong muthaphuckin' line! The line at the far right was only metal detectors, but I couldn't tell until I was next for the scanner.
I then went to the bar and had a drink. Supposedly red wine lowers one's risk of cancer (at least that's the excuse I used). I had another drink on the plane. And a few more that night at dinner while toasting the TSA: "Fuck you, you perverted, child-molesting, punk muthaphuckas!" My risk of cancer should have been really low after that night.
On the way back from Atlanta, all the visible scanners were roped off. This made my choice easy. I chose a line with a scanner that was roped off and went through the metal detectors. However, I felt bad for some of my fellow travelers who took the lane at the far left. At the Atlanta airport, there are security lines on the far left and far right. One cannot see what is at the end of these lines from the main security entrance. One does not know if the scanners are in use or not for those lanes. Given that all the visible scanners were off, some people probably thought that all of the scanners were off. This was not the case as many travelers were surprised to find that the scanner at the far left was active. The message here is that you should always take the line were the scanner is roped off. However, I later learned that there is a caveat to this as I will describe shortly. Although I did not get scanned, one can never be sure that the scanner in operation was calibrated correctly. Better find a bar for some cancer protection.
My most recent trip was to Chicago. In Baltimore I was at the exact same gate I flew to Atlanta from. This time the choice was easy. There were three lines, but there was only a metal detector at the end of one line; the other had a scanner. Why anyone chose the scanner line is beyond me, but hey, maybe some folks like being molested or seen naked. The TSA had not installed scanners at the end of this line. (Although that will probably change along with 3,800 additional perverted, child molesting muthaphuckas to operate the new scanners). I did have to walk by the scanner on the way to my gate. Better get some cancer protection at the closest bar.
On the way home, I flew out of O'Hare. There were three lines for me to choose from. All the scanners were roped off; everyone was going through the metal detectors. So I chose a line, took off my shoes, belt, and put my bags on the belt. Suddenly, a TSA agent took the ropes off the scanner at the end of my line. The other scanners in the other lines remained off. Only the scanner in my line had been activated. Then a badged brunette bitch in blue stood in front of the metal detector and sent everyone to the scanner. (Except children. They still went through the metal detector.) Punk bitch-ass muthafuckas! I couldn't believe this shit! I didn't even have time to fluff. After dealing with that feeling of pride fuckin' with me, I went through the scanner as ordered asked. I had to wait in the holding pen longer than the gentlemen before me, so perhaps the TSA voyuer agent upstairs still enjoyed my scan.
Once again, I sent a text to Trevor expressing my dismay at the surprise scanning:
Goddammit! I picked the wrong muthaphuckin' line again! Here's the worst part. All the scanners were roped off. Then when I had my shoes off and my stuff on the belt, they opened the scanner. But ONLY the scanner in my line. The others were still roped off. Fuck the TSA!!!!
Well, now I need some cancer protection. And, once again, I toasted the TSA: "Fuck you, you sneaky, perverted, child-molesting punk muthaphuckas!"
Hell, this swearing as pain relief might work. I feel much better already. I have several more trips to make this summer, so I might have to take a few more doses of "aspirin" while traveling.
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