The TSA and Our T-'n-A

After an amazing deer hunt with four Purple Heart recipients in Texas last weekend, I was cruising through San Antonio International Airport on my way back to Miami and got to see the TSA pat-down a whole bunch of T-’n-A firsthand. 

It was mostly old granny T-’n-A that got fondled, however—I’m talking about white-haired, white-skinned, sweet little old Daisy Mae Moses type of stock … you know, the demographic primarily responsible for hijacking 747s, sticking them into skyscrapers, cutting off reporters’ heads and trying to ignite their Depends as they descend into Detroit’s Metro Airport? Damn those crazy little old ladies. We’ve got to stop these aged, spindly, murderous chicks before they bring about more carnage. 

What’s that, you say? It’s not blue-haired old ladies we need to be on the lookout for, or our little kids, or honest Americans with prosthetic legs, but Muslim men between the ages of 18 and 35? You mean the slugs that Juan Williams said caused him concern when he flies the unfriendly skies? That’s weird. Then why would BHO’s TSA boys be feeling up grandma instead of Ahmed?

One tiny grandmother I was unfortunate enough to watch get the shakedown had to be at least 90 years old and weigh 90 pounds soaking wet. Her perturbed daughter rolled her up in a wheelchair to the TSA “agent.” Mama slowly rose from her chair and was then groped more than one of Eliot Spitzer’s hookers. I was humiliated for her. It was unbelievable and insulting—and I became livid.

Yep, as I watched one little old lady after another going through TSA’s PC pat-down of good people, I started to get hot … as in, really ticked … as in, about to open my mouth, say something incendiary, and then probably get thrown in jail because of it. I felt liked saying, “Hey, government stooge, I know terrorists are pieces of crap, but you’re not going to find them up Betty White’s backside, okay TSA?” 

Why was I waxing hot? Well, it’s principally because this is a prime example of pure, uncut PC CAIR-driven drivel, which is a product of ignoring the 400-pound Muslim gorilla in the room. That’s why. This is an illusion of safety, and that’s how BHO rolls; he makes it look like he’s doing something when in fact he and his DHS dipsticks allow for porous borders, providing protection for stealth jihadists while inconveniencing the crap out of folks who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Yep, thanks to the nineteen 9/11 Muslim hijackers we can’t bring fingernail clippers onboard a plane. Thanks to Muslim Richard Reid we have to take off our Chuck Taylors to make sure we don’t have triacetone triperoxide in our tube socks. Thanks to the Christmas day crotch bomber Muslim Abdumbassmutulab we now have either a full body scan of our naughty bits or have Sling Blade fumble our junk in search of weapons and explosives that the preponderance of international evidence and common frickin’ sense states do not reside with us but solely with Muslims. 

And you just wait: One of these Islamic wizards is going to jam a C4-packed tampon up his tailpipe—which means that we’re going to be on the receiving end of an anal probe at Midland International Airport. It’s time for me to fly private jets only, or just drive. 

Oh, and you want to hear something rich? It looks as if Muslim chicks sporting the hijab are going to get a pass on the grope-fest because Islamic law forbids groping their girls or taking snapshots of their hooters. How convenient. I predict it’ll be a female Muslim who downs the next airliner. What do you think?

I say what’s good for the American goose is good for the Muslim gander. Yep, if we have to go through pledge week I say they have to as well. The Islamic ladies have to get frisked or photographed by either Charlie Sheen or Dennis Rodman, and the Muslim men must get the boink boink by Joy Behar or Perez Hilton.