The latest backlash against the TSA’s new groping procedures is finally reaching a level of furor that is in proportion to the atrocious crimes we have been subjected to since the government’s favorite excuse for totalitarianism: 9/11.

I haven’t flown much at all in the last few years because I figured if I did, sooner or later I would end up in jail. You see, people who know me well understand that I have no tolerance for any of this crappola being dished out by the sick bastards running their abusive and criminal pipelines at US airports. I have a mouth, and unfortunately for me, I use it every bit as well as my keyboard. In the past, in response to rude treatment from the TSA’s arrogant pricks, I have taunted the crew-cutted, militaristic-looking weenie boy TSA agents and their hoggish female counterparts, and accordingly, they have threatened me (“we will not let you get on this plane”). I have done this in front of traveling partners who were moderately frightened at my lack of ability to go along, get along, and say “yes sir” and “thank you sir.”

I raged back in 2004 at the Detroit airport, when, while preparing to get on an international flight, one of my best girlfriends had her luggage searched and some grotesque-looking male with a deformed waistline and a minimum of five chins started pulling tampons out of her Kotex box, one by one. Our group (or at least I) almost didn’t make it on the flight. In 2004 I wrote about my eventful airport moment spent evading the TSA after one of the cattle from the herd went all fruitcake on me for leaving my bag unattended.

Some people have t-shirts that read, “doesn’t play well with others.” I need one that says, “I’m a really nice person until you try to control me.”

I really don’t mean to be gross here, but rather, I like to think of the following technique as being creative. Way back in time (1980s), when I was attending rock concerts as a teenager or twenty-something, I latched on to the unnecessary nature of the pointless searches being conducted at the doors of government-owned concert venues, and I came to understand why this was taking place. And at that time it was always guys searching girls. The big thing for these guys was to search our purses. They’d ask us to open them up (wide), and they’d stick their hands down into the purse and rifle through all the items. These guys took great pleasure in this activity, and they especially enjoyed the appalled reactions from cute chicks.

Admittedly, it was my soon-to-be sister-in-law who taught me the trick to put an immediate stop to that nonsense: lay a dirty Kotex feminine pad (even if the “used” look was faked) at the top of one’s purse, and when the searcher opened up the purse … surprise! Would you like to guess how quickly the guy got his slimy hands out of my purse? I used that technique successfully for some time.

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So here we are, with the new TSA scheme for getting into the pants of people who, for some odd reason, prefer privacy and a hands-off mentality when it comes to their personal genitalia. Thus I want to comment on all of the talk about hot chicks being subjected to greater scrutiny from the preying eyes of the warped TSA mobsters. I can comment on this because I am considered to be one of those chicks with a “hot body.” I have experienced these rude and vomitous pigs licking their ugly chops at me.

In the recent past, when the TSA gangsters would see my buff, little body wearing size zero pants coming up to the front of the line where you break for an individual security line, they’d wave me toward the shortest line (the porno scanner). I’d decline and head to a non-porno scanner line, and at that time, the repercussion was minor, or none at all. I layer my shirts often, and so I usually wear these really tight (and very thin), colorful tank tops underneath my shirt that take the place of a brassiere. They are not exterior shirts — they are too thin and tight for my taste, and so I wear them as a bottom layer, for color and style, and I wear some type of blouse or other shirt over the top. Twice I have been asked to remove my blouse — yes, my exterior clothes — because some scumbag who would otherwise be unemployable in any job other than a minimum wage gig got a look at my tight cover-up beneath my blouse and wanted to see me strip down to give him a cheap thrill and humiliate me in front of dozens of onlookers. Both times it was a man who told me to remove my shirt. Both times I said “hell no, I’m not stripping and walking through this line half-naked for you.” And each time the piggish thug backed off.

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Fortunately for me, should I really want or need to fly, I live 19 miles from one of the two Detroit-Windsor, Canada border crossings, and I work four blocks from that spot. I’ll take my chances on a few quick questions from a lame border guard and drive a couple of miles past the border crossing to the Windsor airport. From there I can take a 40-minute connecting flight to Toronto and go anywhere in the world. The New Windsor Airport brands itself as the “hassle-free alternative airport.”

Another alternative is (yes, the government’s) train system. In spite of the incompetence and the government’s lack of ability to run the trains on time, I found the experience of riding overnight on a long trip in a private car to be very pleasant and comfortable, as well as an interesting adventure. The last time I took Amtrak they were in the process of going “wired,” so I suspect that the trains have full Internet by now. I know that security procedures on Amtrak have become more rigid, but it is nothing like I have experienced in the airports.

In recent years I have flown very little because of the buildup of the US totalitarian terror state. But now, with the government's endorsement and deployment of the humiliation-molester state, I know for certain that I will be singled out, for my shapely body, at TSA checkpoints. Male misfits will ogle me, or, as an alternative, I will be groped by overweight, overpaid, revolting bulldykes. I came back from a California trip right before the new TSA decrees, and I had already declared that I would stop flying because I have had it with airports, airlines, and flying. This new scheme will target me, and as such, I will decline to offer myself up as a juicy tidbit for all of the grotesque losers wearing cheap patches and a plastic badge.

November 24, 2010

The Best of Karen De Coster