Sunday, November 25, 2012

Men: Gettin’ All Metaphysical

Men have done their damnedest to convince us that they’re very solid, logical, sensible creatures – no woo-woo magical stuff for them, they don't believe in it. If they can’t see it, smell it, scratch it or “rearrange” it (heh), it does not exist. Well, sorry to break it to all you boys, but this DOB knows better and is blowing your cover.

The final piece of the puzzle fell into place for me as I drove around in my Quest of The Neverending Errand: men absolutely must believe in a whole host of psychic phenomenon. One can draw no other conclusion, based on typical male behaviors. I present to you proof of my startling hypothesis.

Example 1: Turn Signals (That Final Puzzle Piece)

Men don’t need no stinkin’ turn signals – because they obviously believe you can read their freakin’ minds and thereby avoid rear-ending them when they turn without warning at the very last second. (Yeah, yeah, I know: quit yer bitchin’ & consider it a freebie cardio workout, but I may have soiled myself.)

Example 2: Answering Any/All Questions With A Grunt

She: I can grill steaks or chicken breasts for dinner. Which sounds better?
He: *grunt*
She: Which one was that?
He: *grunt*
She: So either one is fine?
He: *grunt & scratch*
She: Ohhh-kay, shit-on-a-shingle, it is! (This dialogue could’ve gone through several more grunts, but She has been married to He for more than two decades - her patience is wearing a little thin.)

Example 3: Honey, Have You Seen My (Missing Item)?

Yes, please let me use my congenital psychic-chick GPS to pinpoint exactly where you left your keys/wallet/cellphone charger. Pffft. The only thing I can definitely find is your dirty socks & boxers; I can guarantee they’ll be on the floor, about 6” from the hamper…cuz that’s where you *always* drop ‘em. (I can also use my staggering psychic powers to tell you that the socks’ll be in an inside-out, wadded up, stinky ball – but that’s an attitude & argument for a different post.)

Example 4: Not Telling You He’s Used the Last…

…just about anything that needs to be replenished on a regular basis. He expects you to magically know he took the last roll of paper towels to use in the garage, or that he took the last of the AA batteries (particularly frustrating, take my word for it). Or maybe he put that very last roll of TP on the holder- HA!

That last one was a trick – everybody knows guys do not *do* TP replacement, cuz it just ain’t manly AND, belief in psychic abilities notwithstanding, will never happen without a little divine intervention or an act of Congress (which is still pretty heavy on the testosterone, so good luck with that).

So yeah, as you can see, He-man's secret is revealed and the gals are not falling for it any longer. Next time your sweetie mumbles one of his requests for you to perform miracles, get that unfocused look in your eye, have yourself a good scratch, then answer him with…a grunt.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Woman Gropes TSA Agent

Yup, that headline’s an attention-getter – and you just know this DOB had to check it out. The video is conveniently placed for you below; I originally saw it on MSNBC, found a version w/out ads on YouTube – you’re welcome.

For those of you who don’t wanna watch the vid, a brief synopsis: woman (who apparently used to work at this FL airport) gets what she feels is an inappropriate pat-down by a TSA agent (it’s suggested by media they know each other & perhaps didn’t get along – MEOW!). Woman demonstrates the put-down pat-down to another TSA agent, who apparently decides she’s been assaulted. Woman, who was maybe a little more emo than normal because she’s traveling to her brother’s funeral, is pulled from plane and arrested for said “assault.” Wow – so much common sense lacking on both sides here; at least this poor woman has grief as her excuse.

According to woman’s lawyer – yeah, she had to hire one because of the arrest for “battery” – woman demonstrated a much less invasive pat-down than that to which she was herself subjected. Assuming this one actually makes it to the courtroom, can you imagine the hilarity that will ensue? I’d freakin’ love to read the court transcripts. Oh, and that stench that's wafting through the airwaves? It’s coming from the steaming pile of PR poo the TSA has just stomped through; it’ll stick to the proverbial shoes of the airlines, too – guilt by association, ya’ know.

This woman’s not the first to give the TSA a taste of their own medicine. And to be honest, the traveling public really seems to consider these gals to be folk heroes. For example, the YouTube description for one vid from a few months ago states “TSA Agent Gets P’wnd by Asian Lady, LOL” – I didn’t include the vid, it’s just a media suit yapping away in front of airport stock footage. YAWN. Again, you’re welcome.

Anyway, this rash of genital groping ala TSA agent got me thinking – and y’all know what a dangerous activity that can be for the DOB. I've decided that I should go into business for myself. Brace yourself. And the DOB created her own airline, catering to the female traveler, and she called it DOBDirectAir. And it was good. Very good.

Flights shall be reasonably priced – think Southwest Airlines, which has always treated me well during my shortish hops across the US. "Ah-ha," you may be thinking, "DOB shall make her big bucks by charging exorbitant bag-check fees, or sock it to us for in-flight cocktails, or bitchslap us with change fees." Nope, none of that, mi amigas; I have a much more interesting and stimulating way to part you from your hard-earned dough. Here’s how it’ll work:

If you want to pay just the reasonably-priced fare, that’s cool – it means you’ll go through the standard TSA pat-down with the standard TSA crew according to their same-sex agent policy. But if you’re willing to pay for an upgrade, you can receive your pat-down from a TSA hottie. Think bodacious bodybuilder or “daylighting” dancer of the exotic variety (y’all remember the Chippendales?). DOBDirectAir will even allow you to choose your TSA agent; when you get to the airport, we’ll be happy to tell you where to go: Line 1 for Latin Lover Luis; Line 2 for Thundering Thor; Line 3 for Bad, Bad Leroy get the idea.

Depending on your mood, you'll have different upgrade level options, all of which include a comped margarita – frozen, strawberry:

Basic: A slow grope to the strains of that Pointer Sisters classic, “Slow Hand” – delivered with a wink & a grin. He won’t stop ‘til the song is finished – I guarantee it.

Upgrade 1: A strip search (be still my heart) accompanied by “You Can Leave Your Hat On” – it will be performed in a curtained changing room environment, away from prying eyes & catty comments. (Note: please avoid body-taming-type undergarments – they’re a bitch to wrangle you in/out of and will definitely affect customer service efficiency.)

Upgrade 2: A body cavity search; girrrrl, you’re in charge of your own playlist for this one. You'll have a 15-minute time limit (that’s about 4-5 songs), so make the most of it. You will be behind closed doors, but screamers please take note that the walls will NOT be soundproof. (Note: Ditto re: the body-taming-type undergarments; and DOBDirectAir cannot hold your flight, so please allow adequate time to sort out your bawdy bits at the conclusion of Upgrade 2.)

Upgrade 3 – The Mile High Club. If we have to explain it, you can’t have it. (We can only book a limited number of this upgrade level, based on length – as in length of flight, you pervy wenches - AKA favorite customers.)

My business model is still in the rough stages and I have a few kinks to work out (heh), but I think it’s a decent start. Feel free to make any suggestions on how DOBDirectAir can better service you. We stand behind our motto: We Do Our Clients Good.

Click back in a few days for my next post, where I’ll tell you all about my plans to revamp policies & procedures in the flight tower – there shall be no snoozing air traffic controllers or near-misses for DOBDirectAir.