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Flying to Portland next Friday.
11 years ago
I've decided to stuff my bad dragons into my extra carry on for uhm... safety - but mainly because it will be scanned, and if a TSA agent were to ever pull one out, I want to see the sudden realization and the growing fear as he grips that soft, firm, behemoth. The arm of god.
Unable to let go, he will simply stare in horror as his mind involuntarily fabricates scenarios from the darkest pockets of his imagination. Visualizing. Touching, //Feeling.// As his mind is fully engaged, conscious functions quiet as his right brain hemisphere travels among its impeccable contours. Movements propagate soft oscillations throughout its body. Light penetrates to create a pleasing subsurface scattering, a brilliant display of colors and hues.
Where have you been? Who are you? What are you doing here? The questions are endless, questioning the reality of the situation. The reason almost instantly becomes irrelevant; it is the very 'instant' that matters, and it keeps flowing, and flowing...
His agents ask him what's wrong as he remains transfixed. He snaps back into this plane of existence.
"What is this?"
"This was inside my ass."
"What?"
Unable to let go, he will simply stare in horror as his mind involuntarily fabricates scenarios from the darkest pockets of his imagination. Visualizing. Touching, //Feeling.// As his mind is fully engaged, conscious functions quiet as his right brain hemisphere travels among its impeccable contours. Movements propagate soft oscillations throughout its body. Light penetrates to create a pleasing subsurface scattering, a brilliant display of colors and hues.
Where have you been? Who are you? What are you doing here? The questions are endless, questioning the reality of the situation. The reason almost instantly becomes irrelevant; it is the very 'instant' that matters, and it keeps flowing, and flowing...
His agents ask him what's wrong as he remains transfixed. He snaps back into this plane of existence.
"What is this?"
"This was inside my ass."
"What?"
So when this officious prick asked the Single-Woman-on-Earth-Least-Likely-to-Be-a-Terrorist to remove her shoes, despite her clearly limited mobility, I said (very loudly), “Sir! That woman is a Star Fleet Communications Officer! She is WAY above your pay-grade! How DARE you ask her to remove her shoes?!”