Here's a nice simple thing you should print out and hand to the TSA goons at the airport next time you're taking off your shoes and belt and bra and neck brace and throwing your infant through the Metal Detector and filling 17 plastic bins with your laptop and camera and coat and little ziploc baggie of lip balm and 3-ounce terror-free shampoo. It explains, again, why all that passenger screening and toothpaste seizure is utterly pointless.
Of course, the TSA goons will detain you for seven hours and beat your children with hand scanners should you have the nerve to mention the inanity of the security process. And that's why giving out copies of "The Airport Security Follies" to your friendly TSA imbecile will make you feel better -- TSA employees can't read, so they'll never know you're questioning their dumb routine.
We flew out of Portland the other day, and had the usual out-of-breath marathon of getting a toddler and an infant and their elaborate accoutrements -- massive double stroller, toys, DVD player, diaper bags, feed bags, etc. -- through the X-Ray and Metal Detector machinery without losing either child in the process. (I especially love having to remove the puppy-face soft little "shoes" from the 4-month-old's terrorist feet.)
The zippered lunch pouch thing is opened for the goons' approval. We lost the blue-ice thing to the TSA goons back in Los Angeles. The Portland TSA goon stares into the little lunch pack, and then his eyes zero in on a small container of "La Creme" yogurt.
"You can't take that," he said dully.
"It's baby food," I said.
He frowned. Baby food is now allowed through security. But this food product did not have a picture of a baby on it, which would be a sign to illiterate TSA goons that it was, in fact, baby food.
"It's yogurt," I said. "My son eats yogurt."
And then, my two-year-old kid was interrogated. Did he eat yogurt?
"Yes!"
We were allowed through security with the small container of vanilla-flavored yogurt.
And then we blew up the fucking plane, the end.