Who knew the hullabaloo that would arise from the new TSA screening measures now being instituted in airports all across the land? Didn't homeland security perform a "worst case scenario" before plunging forward with such a radical system? Really. If the government is so omnipotent and smart, it would have realized that the so-called unwashed masses (and those who have bathed) would balk at such an intrusive procedure.
It's not just the body scanners, able to see through your clothes to the point of being able to make out not only genitalia, but scars, beads of sweat, camel toes, muffin top,s and junk in the front and the trunk. It's not just the concerns about excessive radiation. More and more, reports are surfacing regarding highly aggressive "pat downs" of those who opt out of the body screening machine. These searches are much like the ones given to criminals headed for the slammer and include the intimate investigation of private parts that border on fourth degree criminal sexual conduct.
What a great job the casual TSA employee making enhanced minimum wage now has! Not only can they get their jollies from seeing a parade of naked bodies (and cancel those expensive subscriptions to Playboy, Hustler, and Maxim), they can actually touch the sexual body parts of anyone they want, and get away with it! (Can you say "Squee!"?) This leaves the weary traveler — who already is having the same good time as a truckload of cattle headed to the stockyard — to make a choice: Give up your personal freedom or drive to your final destination.
But wait! The people are in minor revolt. A new rallying cry can be heard from those under assault and it's as plain as this: Don't touch my junk!
I am assuming all of this new technology is to combat any attempts to bring down airplanes with hidden box cutters or bombs. For this, I am thankful. I would gladly give up a few rights to make certain my airplane won't explode due to a hidden incendiary device. I recently went through a body scanner at Detroit Metro Airport (north terminal), AND was patted down on the behind because the screener thought I had something in my back pocket. I was wearing a new pair of pants, I might add, that I didn't have time to open the pockets with my seam ripper, so no, there was nothing in my back pocket. I just lurved getting my considerably tiny and flat, old-aged bootie patted down by a manly woman. Never mind that I had gotten through metal detectors with my cell phone in my pocket on other occasions.