Top 10 Things I'd Say If I Had The Opportunity To Get X-Rayed & Groped By TSA

So, there’s a significant hub-ub going on around the Interweb Machine Thingy about the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) taking full body scans of people as part of the ever-changing airport screening process.

And supposedly if you refuse to go into said scanning machine, a TSA “pat-down” ensues.

What does that entail?

A TSA agent coming literally within millimeters of your “feel good” spots.

I KNOW!!!! Free feel-me-ups! That’s what I immediately thought of too!

So, I jumped in my car, threw the kid seats on the front lawn, sped towards O’Hare and lived in the moment that I was about to get a free government-aided groping.

Thirty-minutes later I was back in the car dejected, depressed, and disturbed by the fact that you have to pay the fee of an airline ticket to get nude pictures of yourself and a slight brushing against your man-area.

Seems like everything these days is over-priced.

So instead, I went home and day-dreamed about how wonderful it would be to experience the joyous TSA screening and all the wonderful things we would say to each other.

So, I give you:

The Top 10 Things I’d Say If I Had The Opportunity To Get X-Rayed & Groped By TSA

1) “Should I look into the camera while you do it and give you my pinky in the mouth bashful look?”

2) “If someone were to have a sock stuffed in their pants would it show up on this thing? Hypothetically of course!”

3) TSA Agent: “Sir...SIR!! Please, place your pants back on your person!!”

Me: “Easy tiger, I was just trying to reveal that I harbor no terrorist weapons…other than this one!!! AAahhhh got you sucka!”

4) “Dude!! I’m sporting a pair of my wife’s panties. Can you be a pal and not grope me in a way that reveals them? She’s watching me like a hawk!!”

5) “Holy shit I look good under these clothes. Seriously, can you text me that x-ray so I can toss it up on Facebook?! Thanks chief.”

6) “Hey bub…try taking a chapter out of your mom’s ethics diary and warm your damn hands up first you masochist!”

7) “Just a heads up, there may possibly be a ‘dangerous package’ in my pants you’ll want to explore. I’m just sayin.”

8) “Heeeyyy…I know those hands. Fred? Is that you?”

9) “What the hell are you laughing at? It’s freakin’ cold in here OK! Jackasses.”

10) “I trimmed things up down there this morning for you and you didn’t even mention it. Not even a thank you. Selfish bastards.”

Oh the good times I’ll have with those frisky TSA cats.

Leave a comment and tell me what you'd say!!

The Wife & I Discuss Testicles

This past Saturday we took our puppy Marty to have his manhood removed. Despite the wife trying everything in her power to have the doctors neuter me as well, I managed to escape with my bits and pieces.

But, the whole situation did instigate a conversation between the wife and I about testicles.

Me: “That poor little bastard is gonna have a twig with no berries. You think he’ll need doggie therapy to deal with it?”

Wife: “You’re not taking this too well are you?”

Me: “It’s a guy thing. When another member of the male gender loses his man-bits we’re required to take a collective sigh and moment of silence.”

Wife: “You have serious issues.”

Me: “Those things are important. They’re magical and scientifically speaking, I wouldn’t be shocked if they have some sort of roll in the Earth’s orbit around the moon.”

Wife: “They have a scientific affect all right. They cloud your thinking with images of boobies and panties so you say really stupid things. Case-in-point…the Earth revolves around the sun sweetie.”

Me: “If you ever say ‘case-in-point’ to me again you’ll be orbiting the sun.”

Wife: “I don’t know, I just think those things possibly do more harm than good. I mean, look at child molesters and rapists.”

Me: “Yeah, they should definitely have their balls removed immediately after being found guilty. But come on, they do a lot of good. They produced your children!”

Wife: “They did help with that process. Although, now that that’s done with maybe we should consider removing them?”

Me: “Why, so that I turn into a Snuggie-wearing, Oxygen-watching, girlfriend of yours who doesn’t hump your leg, do naked dances for you after my showers, or complain about going shopping?”

Wife: “Oh my God that sounds blissful. I think I had a small orgasm at the thought of that.”

Me: “That hurts….that hurts deep. My balls are staying with me till the bitter end my dear!”

Wife: “Speaking of that, there’s another testicular fact. Old-man-balls are an absolute horror show. Your balls are never gonna hit your knees are they?”

Me: “When the hell have you seen old-man-balls? Do you have some sort of old person fetish? Is this why you watch Golden Girls all the time?”

Wife: “I just think you should consider wearing like a man testicle bra so when you’re 80 your nuts aren’t dragging the ground.”

Me: “So can I take a second to recap what you seem to believe about my balls? They make me think of nothing but boobies and panties, clouding my thoughts to the point that I even dismiss Galileo’s hard work. You would like to have them removed so I turn into your dream-girl BFF. But, if they do remain part of me it scares you to the point that you spend sleepless nights inventing man-testicle bras?”

Wife: “Honey. You know you were staring at my breasts the whole time you were ranting just then?”

Me: “What color panties are you wearing right now?”

My Wife is the Antichrist in the A.M.

Holy shit what a dangerous dangerous time of day the morning is in this house. You’d think it would be because of the kids…but it’s not….it’s the wifey—the angriest, most volatile human being on the planet in the morning. There are so many things that astound me about her mornings that I just don’t even know where to start.

She never sets an alarm clock. That in-and-of-itself would keep me from ever falling asleep for a second. I’d pick my massively oversized head up off my slumber cushion every two seconds to cast my eyes on those evil red digits on the clock checking…making sure my deadline hasn’t yet hit.

I go to sleep with two alarms set for shit-stake. That’s how mental I am about schedules.

Now, before unemployment grabbed me by the balls and dropped me to my knees, I used to get up at 4:30 a.m. to run every morning. Now…. I’ve got all day to run, so I sleep in!

By 6:18 a.m. it’s time to begin the lovely adventure of waking the wifey up.

We’ve been married for over a damn decade…you’d think I’d have thick-skin over this issue by now. You’d think I’d have some kick-ass routine down by now. No…I don’t….and it hurts. It hurts my heart….

Wifey in college sleeping...look how calm & delightful she looks, but evil lurks below.

I start by nudging her gently, “wifey (I actually use her real name) …it’s time to get up. Come on, it’s 6:18. Come on, wake up…”

“OK!! I hear you….Jesus I hear you, stop touching me and talking!!” are the words that come out of this delicate little flower as she flips over in bed.

“Did you just call me Jesus? Wow..that’s the kindest thing you’ve said in….”

“Ha-fucking-ha funny man…SHUT UP!!!”

I then get up, go in the boy’s room, lay in bed with him and slowly, lightly tickle him till he wakes up laughing his ass off. Then lay out his clothes, then head back into the lair.

Grabbing the wifey’s shoulder lightly and applying pressure, “hey – it’s 6:35. You need to get up honey.”

“I know!! You told me once, now, you’re telling me again. I liked it a hell of a lot better when you were running right now….I know how to WAKE UP!!”

Actually, this is where I need to leave myself a note every morning that reads:

Dear Idiot-Boy:

Well hey there sunshine!! Good morning to ya! Hey, I know you’re just crawling outta bed, eager to crawl into the basement and begin another day of hopeless job searching, but guess what slugger? Yeah!! You gotta wake up the wifey!!

Oh, she’s a finicky one…so taker easy. Poke her with a stick and run like hell man!! She’ll eventually wake up, and when she does…all she’ll want is more pillows and her blanky so she can sleep sitting up! Once that’s arranged, don’t say shit. Just keep on keeping on. Eventually….she’ll slide outta bed, turn around, and lean over so she’s still be supported by the bed, blanky, and pillow, but here’s where the bonus comes in…her buttocks clad with skin-colored panties will be poked in the air…BUT DON’T TOUCH!!! Just look. If you touch…she’ll cut you!

Now…here’s where you engage her in conversation to help her wake further. It seems like you’re not “telling” her to wake up, you’re “assuming” she’s “awake.”

You know how to take it from here. Good luck slugger….you’ll need it. And hey, make sure you put that cup on…..believe me…you’ll thank me!

Love,

WhyIsDaddyCrying

The Wife & I Discuss Pointy Bras

Wifey: “So, did you know pointy bras are coming back in style.”

Me: “Does that mean you’re gonna finally buy some new bras?”

Wifey: “You’re an asshole…just because my bras don’t have flowers and aren’t lacy and my panties don't have ‘sexy’ across the ass doesn’t mean they’re not hot.”

Me: “I never said your skin-toned skibbies weren’t hot. I was just asking because you starting talking about pointy booby holders.”

Wifey: “Seriously honey…do you have a problem with my undergarments?”

Me: “Isn’t an ‘undergarment’ like a slip or something a Sunday school teacher wears? It makes me think of my grandmother walking around the house before bed in like 18 layers of silky nastiness filled with hooks and wires and shit. I’d much prefer you to say ‘panties.’”

Wifey: “Why can’t we ever have a normal conversation anymore? Can’t you save your Mr. Funny-Man routine for the internet?”

Me: “You mean the interweb machine thingy?”

Wifey “SEE?!!!!”

Me: “All right…sorry…damn. So who in the hell would wear those pointy bra things, anyway?”

Wifey: “I don’t know…I wouldn’t.”

Me: “What about tassels? Would you wear them if they had tassels hanging off them? And you could shake your chest and make them twirl and go in opposite directions….that would be money if you did that.”

Wifey: “You really need to lay off the porn.”

Me: “I haven’t watched porn in hours.”

Wifey: “You know the kids can find that stuff on the computer, because you have it so easy to find.”

Me: *loud throat clear “interweb machine thingy” *loud throat clear

Wifey: “Did you go to school to learn how to be such a difficult person to talk to?”

Me: “No, I took bowling because asshole was full. So seriously, I haven’t even seen one pointy boob walking around in the city. I don’t think they’ve made a come-back quite yet.”

Wifey: “I’m just sayin’, I read an article that said they’re coming back.”

Me: “Since when do you read the newspaper?”

Wife: “I read the paper…you’re not around me all day, you have no idea what I read and don’t read.”

Me: “You saw it on Oprah didn’t you?”

Wifey: “I hate you.”

Me: “I seriously don’t think you like me anymore.”

Wifey: “Oh for the love of God here we go again.”

Me: “No…I’m serious. I wake up most mornings sore as hell, and I know it’s because you’re giving me badly practiced acupuncture at night. The other day, Grayson called me a meanie and I swear I saw you high-five him. And today…just today when I opened my lunch bag, there was a note in with my sandwich that said ‘die fucker’ and I’ve had a stomach ache ever since.”

Wifey: “I DID NOT high five Grayson. I would never teach him that name calling was OK.”

Me: “If I bought you a pointy bra would you wear it?”

Wifey: “Keep kicking back those beers and you might need a pointy bra, drunk-o.”

Me: “That would be awesome! It would be like a boob-flask for dudes. I could fill one with beer and the other with Jager with straws coming out of both. I wonder if that’s been patented?”

Wifey: “Idiot….”

Me: “We really should talk more often. This was nice.”

Wifey: “Sssshhh…CSI’s coming on.”

Wanna See My Underwear?!

Work, walk a half mile, catch the train, 22-min. ride, walk .7 miles and I'm home. In the fridge there's a beer. Above the fridge there's wine. In-between both of those is a wife and two kids, one of which shouts:

"wanna see my underwear?"

Yeah....marinate on that for a minute world. Every man's dream is to walk in his front door to hear those words from his beautiful wife? Of course in that dream the words are also followed by a variety of other terrific adjectives, verbs, action words, etc....

But on this particular day....it was my 6-year-old son saying that lovely phrase.

My mind kicks into overdrive as I think:

• should I say no to teach him not to ask grown-ups if they want to see his skibbies?
• should I say "wha?" and keep walking quickly towards the mecca of alcohol?
• should I say "sure dude" and uncomfortably hope he's not about to show me some type of unbelievable stain, growth, or whatever...

I chose the latter. And he immediately dropped trow as I clenched and waited. And what did he show - boxer briefs.

"Just like you wear daddy!!!"

The little bastard was so happy to show me that he was wearing the same underwear as me. My heart shattered, I truly felt touched, and I gave the kid a hug.

It's the obscure, subtle things in life that pop out when you least expect it and make you feel like shit for yelling at the kid for not eating his breakfast, or potentially breaking his sister's arm. I felt like a role model for a split second. I imagined my fat-ass on the cover of GQ being oogled by dudes thinking "I'd get so much ass if I looked like that." But alas...it was because I wear the unique and privileged hat of father and in the mornings, put on undies that don't ride up, hold my boys just right, and to my son......look like rock star underwear.