As one of the lowest compensated federal employees entrusted with the safety of 2.6 million passengers and 43,000 aircraft a day, not to mention 325 million people on the ground below, I’m sorry to say that in light of not receiving a paycheck, I will be confiscating more than your 3.4 ounces of liquids.

Sir, simply hand over the cup of coffee. Do not drink or dispose of your flat white. These are long shifts and I need a jolt if I’m supposed to ensure that anuses like yours do not contain explosives.

Miss, your shampoo and conditioner are in the perfectly sized containers, but they’re also perfect for my split ends and dry scalp. And yeah, if I debated calling in sick this morning because I’m low on money for gas, you can bet I’m out of change for toiletries.

On that note: change, right here, ladies and gentlemen! Please just lob your loose coins into the upside-down trucker hat.

If you have harmonicas, saxophones or small brass instruments of any kind, we’ll be confiscating those too and playing blues all day over here, between the backscatter and X-Ray.

Feel free to leave your smartphones, iPads, and electronic devices in or around the hat.

If not, we’ll get them when you get up here. We’re going to be confiscating a lot stuff today. Think of yourself as a guest in a studio audience, and me as the opposite of Oprah.

I know you have homework, young lady, but we’re fresh out of pens and if you don’t give me your glittery bag of school supplies so that we can make these little check marks on your boarding passes, who knows what the fuck will happen.

Sorry kid, I’m taking your Happy Meal.

I don’t know Ma’am, on closer inspection I just can’t tell: Is this ChapStick or a projectile? My lips are very dry.

I’ll be honest, we’re not going to give you back your shoes.

You know, my son really likes action figures, too. But this Christmas while I made sure families traveled safely to tropical destinations just like you’re doing with your mommy and daddy, I wasn’t able to put a single toy for him under the tree. Because even though I’m supposed to act as the first line of defense against violent extremists by diligently detecting potential weapons that could be used in the skies against the American masses, the government doesn’t think highly enough of me to pay me more than $25,518 a year—which as a single mother of three is just above the poverty line—or even pay me at all! Isn’t that funny? Isn’t that hilarious? You get it, right Bobby? Thanks for sharing your Optimus Prime.

Just place your little dime bags of weed right over here and we’ll dispose of them ourselves without telling a soul.

Ma’am, I love your dress so much I’m going to strip search you and wear it home.

Is that a labradoodle? Trust me, I need an emotional support animal more than you.

Here’s how this one’s going to work: I’m not going say anything about the vibrator in your carry-on and you’re not going to say how much better you made my Valentine’s Day.

Jeremy, could I get you to come over here and figure out how we can remove this guy’s pacemaker? My dad’s health insurance won’t cover it and I think this is what he needs.

John, any chance you’ve still got those clamps around so we can pry out this lady’s titanium hip?

Anyone with pitchforks, headed to Dulles or Reagan? Go right on ahead.

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