Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Flying with my meat cleaver.

We are going to Philadelphia at the end of this week to visit family.  We are taking the baby on her first airplane ride.  And, after much debate, we are bringing our meat cleaver.

According to the TSA, I can fly with my meat cleaver, so long as I check my meat cleaver.  Thank god, because I don't know what I would do if I had to leave my meat cleaver at home. 

I was reviewing the policies for flying with infants, because until recently, I didn't have an infant to concern myself with.  I actually laughed out loud (so probably a good place to use an "lol" but I think the phrase is really exhausted.  I mean how many times can you actually write "lol" when you know you didn't actually "lol" before people begin to think, "Man, that wasn't that funny.  Did she really laugh out loud or is she just writing that because she maybe thought it was a little funny and wanted to convey that little bit of humor to us but we don't think it is even slightly funny so now we are kind of mad that she claimed to have 'lol'd' when clearly she is lying.  Plus she is stupid." So, I laughed.  I chuckled.  I giggled.  Whatever. It was funny.

Among the other things that I can now bring on baby's first flight (so long as they are checked):

1. My saber.  They don't differentiate between light and metal, so I'm a little confused. I will bring all my sabers.
2. My spear gun.  There is some good whale hunting in the Philadelphia-metro area. 
3. My realistic replica of a gun.  I have so many to choose from. 
4. My cattle prod.  Otherwise sex would be really boring.
5. Martial arts weapons.  Whatever the heck this is.  I thought karate kids killed people with fists and foreheads and chops. 
6. And the kicker? I can't even check my vehicle airbag.  Damn.

Remind me to write about the time I brought furry handcuffs on a cruise. 

No comments:

Post a Comment