A Portrait of the Artist as a TSA Agent

Since the dawn of time there has been speculation regarding hell (Right? Someone fact-check that). Where is it? What’s it like? Who runs the place? The answer?

TSA. TSA security, that’s who.

A volcanic chasm made from liquid hot magma lined with unreliably-weighted stanchions as far as the eye can see. Nobody speaks the same language, its all sorts of Tower of Babel up in there. Nobody got the memo to wear socks and there is no treatment for ringworm, no, not in hell. If you use certain language whilst in line, an evil, Hell-appointed stenographer named Brunhilda (she can beat you in arm-wrestling) records it and enters it into an algorithm to determine whether or not a full pat-down is necessary. And it is. It always is.

One word: cuppage.

You are then required to engage in meaningless small-talk while the TSA dumps the contents of your carryon onto the floor (which is on fire b-t-dubbs) and then shoves it back in and catches your best sweater on the zipper. As an alternative, they may choose to pillage through your personal belongings with a fiery trident. If you’ve attempted to smuggle anything flammable, there will be an explosion. Good news is, you’re already dead. Bad news, back of the line. Upon reaching yet another checkpoint you will then be interrogated in the form of a citizen’s examination. If you pass, nothing happens. If you fail nothing happens either, you’re just an idiot but now everyone knows it.

You then must open every single 3.4oz TSA-approved container even though you kept it in the appropriate translucent carrier, but this is hell, so rules are meaningless (unlike mortality where rules are a necessary evil…no pun intended, but you already knew that, because well, here you are). There will also be bad puns.

Once you reach the end of the line you will enter the terminal. It’s hotter than hell (see what I did there?) and takes close to 678 days to reach the end. The bad news is, you’ll never reach the plane. There is no plane. Time is a flat circle. From here on out its just you, your carry-on and TSA security. Forever.



Share the love...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestShare on Google+Share on StumbleUponEmail this to someone

Never Miss A Post!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

[wpdevart_facebook_comment order_type="social" title_text="Facebook Comments" title_text_color="#0B3861" title_text_font_size="22" title_text_font_famely="lato" title_text_position="left" width="100%" bg_color="#CCCCCC" animation_effect="random" count_of_comments="2" ]