Making Pants Stains With Lite-Brite

A couple months back, the city department in charge of Boston’s subways decided that they were going to start randomly searching people’s bags before they got on the train as an anti-terrorism measure. I guess they figured that the city’s getting all this money from the Federal government for anti-terrorism measures, and all the equipment they bought with that money only produced concrete results once, so it was time to get cracking.

So yesterday morning, I was listening to the local new station while I was on my way into work, and I heard the following story:

“Circling back to look at results so far from the first 2 1/2 months of random bag searches of passengers on [Boston’s subway] system,… No weapons were found during any of the 2,449 inspections… officials, ‘Said the searches have been effective at thwarting potential terrorists…'”

Of course the searches were effective! Because God know that when I go looking for something and I can’t find it, it means that I drove it away. After all, I spend every night sitting in my living room swilling bourbon, and during those 2,449 evenings, I haven’t been attacked by a single zombie. And I’m betting neither have you.

Clearly my swollen liver prevents zombie attacks. You’re welcome, you ungrateful bastards.

However, my general disdain for the Boston cops didn’t last long yesterday, when reports started coming in that roads, bridges and subway stations were being closed so the bomb squad could deal with a bunch of “suspicious packages” that were being found all around the city. Now: say what you want about the cops, but it takes balls to walk up to a device that could be a massive bomb. It takes brains to be able look at the thing and figure out how to render it harmless. Particularly when it’s flipping you off.

See? I’m so relieved now. This means that when I was eight, my parents were trying to train me as a terrorist, and not just cheap out on getting me the Millennium Falcon playset. And I was being a patriot when I flushed a couple of handfuls of the little beads down the toilet. My parents owe me for that “You spiteful little, toilet-destroying accidental sperm stain!” slander.

And while I know that the Subway Cops want me to feel safer because didn’t find any bombs in their random searches, now I all can think is: how the fuck do you know you didn’t? You shut down the city over a cartoon Lite-Brite! Has anyone on the Boston Police Force ever seen a real bomb? Hell, I saw dozens by the time I was seventeen, but I went to high school during the halcyon, pre-Columbine days, when schools had smoking areas, and a student who made pipe bombs was seen as a good bet to major in Chemistry.

(I picked Journalism, but that’s neither here nor there.)

This is why I don’t ride the subway anymore. Because I just know I’ll be behind a guy who gets his bag searched, and hear: “Jesus Christ! Is this a pipe bomb!?”

“No! It’s a chromium-steel double-dong dildo! That string sticking out of one side is for easy removal! How dare you insult my lifestyle choices! Give me your badge number!” They’ll let that guy get on the train.

And when I reach for my cell phone, the cop’ll yell, “Look out! Phaser!” and put two in my head.

[tags]Boston, bomb scare, suspicious packages, MBTA, Adult Swim, Cartoon Network, Turner Broadcasting, Mooninites, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, guerrilla marketing, Peter Berdovsky, Lite-Brite, dark humor[/tags]