In a recent interview, a puppet discloses and deals with a humiliating encounter with TSA agents at Dulles International Airport. Read this shocking interview and have your revolutionary consciousness lifted up forever.
Warning: Some of this personal testimony is shocking and graphic, and should read with discretion. The puppet consented to this interview on the condition its anonymity would be protected. While as a blogger, I do not have the right to protect my sources, in the view of The State, I would implore any offended parties at Dulles, The TSA, or Homeland Security to respect this puppet’s desire for anonymity. For the purpose of this interview, we will refer to him simply as “P.J. The Puppet”.
I first heard of P.J. The Puppet through some friends, and I sent him and email offering to do what I could to spread his story. He agreed to be interviewed, but only in an old diner at 2 am in the morning, and I had to come alone.
He was sitting facing the door, on what he later said was his 16th cup of coffee. He kept forgetting smoking was forbidden, and his response to the listless old woman behind the counter’s complaints about his incessant chain-smoking was either anger or meek subservience. Rarely have I encountered such a broken puppet, crippled by his shattered relationship with authority. I will Let P.J. The Puppet tell his own story. I tried to film the interview, but the puppet became hysterical, so here is the transcript based on a recording.
Me: “Thank you for agreeing to this. I promise I have no hidden cameras, and only this small cassette recorder. This interview is so you can talk about your recent experience with the TSA. Would you please describe the circumstances of this event?”
P.J. The Puppet:
“Certainly. I mean, I’ll describe it. It was several weeks ago, but it’s all so fresh in my mind…let me see…I don’t want to tell to many details, somebody might figure out who I am…It’s just…I feel I should do something, or say something. I’ve been really upset since it happened. Maybe this will help, like, you know, be therapeutic.
Okay , here’s the story. I’ve flown several times. I’m not a frequent flier or anything, but I have flown my share. I never minded, but it had been a while since I’ve flown, pre-911, maybe, or not long after, and it changed a lot after a few years.”
Me: “So you went to an airport to fly on a plane?”
P.J. The Puppet: “Uh-Huh. I had to go somewhere. Kind of like a business trip. So, I get on a flight at Allentown. No biggie. I caught the connector to Dulles Airport in D.C. Nothing unusual. When I got to Dulles, though, it was incredible. They were checking baby formula, taking apart strollers, just like everybody says they do. Plus, there were all these really moronic looking paramilitary types eyeballing me, you know? It’s like that expression, you can tell a narc because they are so excessively confident, but these rent-a-cops were unbelievable. Like, they made regular cops seem like humble geniuses in comparison.
Me: “You were searched?”
P.J. The Puppet: “I knew I was going to get searched way before I got to the checkpoint. When people are staring at me, it makes me uncomfortable, and I either stare back confrontationally or feel embarrassed. They were asking me questions like “How you doing?” I didn’t really answer. Why the should I have to talk to some rent-a-cop at an airport. That was the worst thing maybe, their insistence upon being acknowledged as authority figures when all they seemed like were a bunch of obnoxious idiots.”
Me: “Don’t you think they have to check people? I mean, what about terrorists?”
P.J. The Puppet: “If terrorists try to take the plane, I’m fully ready to fight back. I’m a fairly small puppet, granted, but I got mad scraps. I’m not letting anybody hijack a plane. Want to know what I think though? Most plane have autopilot, and are networked on computers. Real terrorists would just be computer hackers. They could probably seize the plane from a McDonald’s with free Wi-Fi.”
Me:” So what happened? You got searched?”
P.J. The Puppet: “I went through the metal detectors, but then they wanted me to go through the full body scanner too. I refused. Why should I get cancer? Plus, why should some illiterate thug get to see me naked? I’m just a puppet, but I have dignity. This goes back to Adam and Eve. Wearing clothes is important to me. So I opted out, and they gave me the body search. I got searched all over. This weird looking dude was shoving his hand down the front of my puppet suit. While he might not have been enjoying frisking me, I think he was definitely enjoying humiliating me. They segregate you from the other people in the line, and make you stand on this kind of little platform. I felt worse for this woman going through this than for my case. I was trying not to get upset, but these people had egos, and were so easily offended. They have a little bit of power. Plus, they have all these little rules. I took my laptop out of its case, and put it in a basket, but this really ugly woman, ugly both inside and out, got mad because I put the case in the same basket.”
Me: ” Still, it must have been a nice feeling to know you were safe on the plane.”
P.J. The Puppet (shrugs): “I will speak to that point. I go shooting, sometimes. It’s legal. I go to the range and take some potshots at targets once in a while. The bag I carry my guns with is the same one I use for carry on. You know what? Something from the day I was at the range got stuck in the fold of this bag. They searched it, the bag I mean. They never found it. I didn’t even know it was there. I found it two weeks after I got home. They spent all their time fondling my crotch, meanwhile I inadvertently smuggled a small shotgun shell onto the plane. I could have made a zip gun if I was a terrorist. I broke the law, didn’t even know it, and the people busy molesting me didn’t know it. Now I ask you, if I could do that, what could a terrorist do? I’m not saying we don’t need security, I’m saying the point of the TSA is to reinforce the notional power of the military industrial complex. It’s about controlling people. Have you ever seen a video of the 9-11 hijackers getting on the plane? The one where it shows them all walking through the building, etc. I haven’t either, but they were filming them. They had to have been. So where’s the video?”
Me: “I’m sure it was on television at some point.”
P.J. The Puppet (looks at me and sighs), shaking his head: “I agreed to this interview because I was told you have an open mind. I’m taking a big risk here, man. I’d appreciate a modicum of respect.” (He gets up to exit the interview).
Me: “Who, who, sorry don’t go. It’s just like I, like most people, just assume that anything so eminently valuable as proof of who did 911 would have been replayed ad nauseum by now.
P.J. The Puppet: “I never saw it. You find it and we’ll try this again. Until then, I’m out of here. You can tell your friends at The Company, from one puppet to another, to go fuck themselves.”
Stunned, I watched the puppet stalk off. Did he seriously just suggest I was C.I.A.? Staring at the wreckage of spilled coffee and cigarette butts the puppet had bequeathed me, I tried to sort through my feelings. Seldom had I seen a puppet more agitated. Imagine how paranoid a puppet must have become to suggest there was no video proof of the 9-11 hijackers. I was sure I had seen it someplace. I would not rest until I had found it and reconvened the interview. This puppet had to brought back into the fold.
To be continued.