The Feds are giving CitiCorp a $200-billion bailout, and I was wondering where all of that bailout money was coming from -- when suddenly the obvious struck me: "aftershave!"
Please understand, I don't begrudge the TSA for confiscating my over-four-ounce containers that weren't in quart-sized baggies. Heck, I know that the contents of my shaving kit are dangerous, especially those shaving-cream aerosols. Shux, Mike Boneto and I figured that out on our own, after school one afternoon way back in the fifth grade. We'd tossed a can of spray paint into the incinerator at Rusk Elementary and had just given up on standing at the mouth of the furnace watching it not explode. We were half-way across the playground, when all of a sudden the loudest explosion I'd ever heard spun us both around just in time to see all those sawdust floor-sweepings and Big-Chief-tablet remnants erupt -- spewing sparks and smoke half-way across the courtyard as far as the drinking fountain. Long before the janitor similarly exploded from his lair, we were a block away, (though leaving a conspicuous road-runner-esque cloud of dust that Wiley Coyote would have no problem following).
So sure, I understand why it was necessary to make sure my carry-on was purged of terror weapons, but still I always wondered what became of my half-used treasures that the TSA (an acronym for "Takes Stuff Away") absconded with. Now it all makes sense. They've held a big garage sale and raked in hundreds of billions from all he goodies that I and my similarly hapless travelers have donated. So whenever the world manages to pull out of this financial tailspin, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing -- I've done my part.
Don't thank me -- I'm a giver.
Please understand, I don't begrudge the TSA for confiscating my over-four-ounce containers that weren't in quart-sized baggies. Heck, I know that the contents of my shaving kit are dangerous, especially those shaving-cream aerosols. Shux, Mike Boneto and I figured that out on our own, after school one afternoon way back in the fifth grade. We'd tossed a can of spray paint into the incinerator at Rusk Elementary and had just given up on standing at the mouth of the furnace watching it not explode. We were half-way across the playground, when all of a sudden the loudest explosion I'd ever heard spun us both around just in time to see all those sawdust floor-sweepings and Big-Chief-tablet remnants erupt -- spewing sparks and smoke half-way across the courtyard as far as the drinking fountain. Long before the janitor similarly exploded from his lair, we were a block away, (though leaving a conspicuous road-runner-esque cloud of dust that Wiley Coyote would have no problem following).
So sure, I understand why it was necessary to make sure my carry-on was purged of terror weapons, but still I always wondered what became of my half-used treasures that the TSA (an acronym for "Takes Stuff Away") absconded with. Now it all makes sense. They've held a big garage sale and raked in hundreds of billions from all he goodies that I and my similarly hapless travelers have donated. So whenever the world manages to pull out of this financial tailspin, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing -- I've done my part.
Don't thank me -- I'm a giver.
3 comments:
If anyone doesn't believe your veracity, all they need to do is look at the numerous pocket knife and nail clipper lots being sold by "Takes Stuff Away" on Ebay.
*snort Takes Stuff Away...I'm still laughing.
I think I made a donation myself here recently of a very lovely hair spray. It was a squiggle over the limit. I knew better. GAH.
That is very funny. I remember sitting by the burning trash can in the alley behind our house waiting on a can of hairspray to blow up. I think I was late to school that day and the dang thang never blew.
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