On Tue, 16 Nov 2004 07:01:35 -0500, "snakefiddler"
wrote:

anyone try to fly out of the country lately with their fishin gear? any
major hassles?

snake

Me? Nope. But in the spirit of mending fences, I agreed to order the
pilot of my DC-to-Palm Beach flight to stop in Boston to pick up the
Tadster, who was also headed thataway. American was NOT pleased, but
**** 'em - they need us. So anyway, I went out to the concourse to meet
him, and was shocked to see him - an Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts,
couple of flyrod cases, sandals with black socks and a Super Big Drink
cup full of rum and pineapple juice. "HOT FLOCKIN' DAMN, DUKESTER!
It's over and I'm goin' to the Keys!" he slurred. "Er, Tad, you might
want to check the fishing gear..." I suggested. "**** it! John Kerry
has a plan to allow me to carry it on!" he said. "OK, Tadster, old
bean. Whatever you say," I offered in the aforementioned spirit of
bipartisan bon homme. So off we went - well, to be fair, Tadster
staggered, but I digress - to the gate.

Upon arrival at the gate, I thought I'd have a little fun and winked at
the TSA inspector as I said, "Ya know, Tadster, that long tube thing
you're carrying almost looks like a shoulder-fired rocket or
something..." Imagine my amusement as the word "rocket" barely left my
lips and the TSA goon hit good ol' Tad with a full dose from an
ElectroSKORPION 900V30A Terrorist Submission Device stungun (which I
later learned is so named because it produces 900,000 volts at 30 amps).
As the Tadster's cocktail was now a almost-sickeningly sweet vapor, I
picked up the cup and collected his teeth and eyeballs from the floor,
put them in the cup, and filled it with water so the doctors could
perhaps reinstall them. And although his toenails had also escaped his
now-smoldering Gold Toes, I declined to collect these. I mean, this
spirit of across-the-isle cooperation only goes so far, dontchaknow, and
after the hookers told me what Tad likes to do with his feet, I wouldn't
touch those things with borrowed hands.

So anyway, as the guards were inspecting the Tadster's kit, I chuckled,
flashed my Skull Island ID, and said, "Don't worry boys, it's only
fishing gear - nothing to be worried about." "Good one, Dr. Duke!" the
head TSA man laughed, "Besides, it allowed us to check the SKORPION on
something besides a side of beef. Of course, it means we'll have to get
takeout for lunch..."

"Not to worry, boys. I'll call the Dickster and have him set you boys
up. He can just overbill the Government. Just call Haliburton, give
them your fax number and they'll fax over a menu - without prices, of
course, so order away!" We all laughed. Ah, yes, the spirit of
cooperation - it's the dawn of whole new bright, shining age!

HTH,
Raoul