As loyal THF readers may already know, your host spends an inordinate amount of time at airports both in and out of the U.S. For the most part, I reluctantly admit that, despite the best efforts of shrill reactionaries, my forays into the security process are generally smooth. With a number of notable exceptions involving the removal of pants.

Yet I am loathe to gracefully acquiesce to the sheer arbitrariness these attacks on my freedom of movement simply because we are learning to live with them. I mean, you seriously expect to stop terrorists by making me take off my shoes? Give me a damn break. If I want to smuggle explosives onto the plane, I’ll just go ahead and shove ‘em up the ol’ urthwalker rectum.

Such procedures do nothing except give comfort to the simple-minded in creating the illusion of security in an insecure world. Moreover, these procedures are inherently racist in assuming that folks of the brown-skinned persuasion are fundamentally lacking in cognitive higher neocortical function sufficient to avoid repeating the same modus operandi of a previous failed attempt. When it comes down to it, I would rather come to terms with the fact that everything carries inherent risks, and I would rather roll the dice on the radically unlikely event that lightening will strike twice than deal with the delays and indignations of removing clothing in an unsanitary public arena.

The newest atrocity, of course, is the ban on liquids in U.S. and U.K. airports. In fact, upon leaving taco-land a few weeks ago, I discovered I was not even permitted to carry on a sealed bottle of water purchased from the airport vending machine inside the secure area. Of course, since we all know that terrorists are planning to attack our food chain, including Mars Bars, Vittel, and Lorna Dune by posing as the vending-machine-dude, I really shouldn’t be surprised. But I am damn well annoyed at the whole shebang.

I’ve recently had the pleasure of several stationary weeks languishing in the luxurious urthwalker manor, completely devoid of impending travel plans. But my partner and I decided last night to celebrate the fifth year of our patriarchal-construct with a weekend of debauchery in Copenhagen, so I am once again faced with the increasingly delicate task of packing without liquids. What a pain. Sounds like I’m not alone in my annoyance, either.

So, it seemed like a good time to link to this little doo-dad, an online game where you play the airport security guard charged with the task of confiscating completely arbitrary items from a benign airport populace. Seems just about right to me. Enjoy!