Voulez vous coucher avec moi, TSA?

Really, you can't make this merde up. Pardon my French -- sometimes English doesn't capture the essence well enough.

"Forget John Tyner’s “don’t touch my junk” experience at the hands of TSA goons in San Diego recently, another victim of Big Sis was told by TSA officials that it was now policy to go even further when dealing with people wearing loose pants or shorts.

"Going through airport security this past weekend, radio host Owen JJ Stone, known as “OhDoctah,” related how he was told that the rules had been changed and was offered a private screening. When he asked what the procedure entailed, the TSA agent responded, “I have to go in your waistband, I have to put my hand down your pants,” after which he did precisely that."

When I was 5 years old, I was in the backseat of the car as my parents were driving somewhere. As little kids are wont to do, I was looking for attention from Mom and Dad, and because I was playing with some bugs in the back, I made a little rhyme:

Uncles and Ants,
     Ants and Uncles,
            The Ants go down your Uncle's pants.

My parents thought that was hilarious for some reason. But now it's the scrofulous hemiptera -- or perhaps, arachnids -- of the TSA that are going down our pants.