Back when I was in college, my roommate Nathan had the somewhat common problem of figuring out whether one girl really liked him or was just being nice to him. Liz, new to his Navy ROTC, had told him that on a datability scale, he ranked a 9. Nathan wanted my opinion of what that meant, and, being a good and honest friend, I told him, “She probably just said that because she pities you.”
Anyway, they just got married over this weekend, and it was a lovely wedding and reception. Hell, the reception had an open bar, and that, plus the facts that I was the only groomsmen who wasn’t already attached and that – if I do say so my self – I was devilishly handsome in my tux (almost made me wish I brought my PPK to complete the “James Bond” look), meant I spent most the night dancing and hitting on the maid of honor, brides maids, and various other single women. So, in short, I had tons of fun while you all were deprived of my witty and hilarious posts.
Now what was my point… oh yeah: if you’re a terrorist, don’t try getting through the Melbourne, Florida airport. I went there at about 1700 on a Friday when you’d think they’d be busy if they ever were, but the airport is so small there was practically no one there. But, at the security checkpoint, they still had like twenty people standing around even though they only had like two people a minute walking through. So you have like five people watching the x-ray monitor anytime they finally get a chance to scan something, and they don’t mine being thorough. While my briefcase went through just fine (which only contained small pieces of plywood and a couple empty cans of shaving… don’t ask, I don’t have an explanation), they spent a while examining my old sneakers. Eventually they decided to test them to make sure they weren’t bombs. That was fine with me as I wasn’t in a hurry, and neither were they. I was pretty sure my old, worn sneakers weren’t explosive, but it was remotely possible a terrorist had switched my normal sneakers with explosives ones, matching the wear pattern on the original sneakers so I wouldn’t notice. Also, I don’t always watch what I’m walking through, and maybe they could have become explosive by accident. They turned up clean, though (I mean not explosive), which not only makes the other passengers feel safe, but let’s me sleep soundly at night as well. I still don’t keep my sneakers near my bedroom, though, when I retire for the evening; you can never be too cautious.
As always, thanks for being a reader. I’ll return with normal programming tomorrow morning. I haven’t thought of what the post will be yet, but, God-willing, it will be funny.
Your airport screeners are lucky they didn’t get hold of my old sneakers, Frank. They’re not explosive, but they probably count as chemical weapons in several countries.
Screw the funny, Frank! We all want to know if you scored with any of those bridesmaids! If so, leave a detailed post, outlining every unsavory act and indiscretion. Come on, you owe it to us for not posting for all this time. Think of all us old married guys that can only live vicariously through your adventures. And if you didn’t score, for God’s sake, man, make something up!
Sorry, If I am anything, it’s a gentleman 🙂
Okay, Frank, I’ll buy that…yeah, rrrrright. Anyway, I pull up my web browser and I’m reading this crazy article about prairie dogs carrying a “monkey pox” virus and I’m going “Ha! That Frank at IMAO just kills me! HA! HA! That’s crazy! He’s done it again! MONKEY POX!” Then I realized it’s a real news article and not IMAO. Anyway, where were you this weekend, Frank? Sure it was D.C. and not–THE MIDWEST?!!
Uh-oh! Monkeys are attacking us vicariously through prairie dogs?!
Cry HAVOC!!!!!…and let slip the prairie dogs of wwwaaaarrrrr….!!!
James Bond look, eh? The quotes that could be applied…
“The name is J. Frank J.”
“No, Mister J, I expect you to die.”
Only problem is, I can’t think of a good Agent number for ya.
Well he can’t have my number… 0013, at your service.
Hey Frank L., I could have asked Frank J. what’s a cows’artificial insiminator’s hobbies, but you seem more able to answer on your experience !
Hey Dave, you are sarcastic !
Truly Frank J., your shoes’ story is just like a european senteur, deep travelling into the cheese market like a fish out of water. You are an exotic man !
Yeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy!
You don’t keep a careful eye on your sneakers at night? That’s how they get to you, man. They put the bombs in your sneakers when you aren’t looking.
The key to a secure America is vigilence!
Hope you enjoyed the deluge.
Its been 20 something days.
I’m starting on an ark, but how big is a cubit?
Yeah, it was lucky they didn’t plan on having the wedding outside. The church ended up laxing their rule on no weapons inside so they could still have their sword arch.
It’s actually a pretty neat Coincidence, Frank…
I seem to have noticed a couple of Mosques in Iraq, and Afghanistan laxed their stance on weapons as well, (particularly when U.S. Forces arrived) to the enjoyment of all.
See? I guess these religions do share a common thread.
Ski
A cubit is the distance from the point of a man’s elbow to the tip of his middle finger. These days, it’s about 18in./45cm. Thousands of years ago, it was likely rather smaller.
Morpheus, Dispenser of Useless Trivia.
Good thing you didn’t bring your PPK…I think that firearms are illegal in DC. Unless you’re the mayor.
Also, the Melbourne AP: I bought a stuffed Alligator there for my daughter back in Sept 2001 (two weeks after Sep 11). It’s her favorite. I wrote “Frank J” on its ass when I found you were from Melbourne.
P.S. BareAssets rocks!