“A third angel followed them and said in a loud voice: ‘If ANYONE worships the beast and his image and receives his mark [on his airline ticket], he, too, will drink of the wine of God’s fury, which has been poured full strength into the cup of his wrath. He will be tormented with burning sulfur in the presence of the holy angels and of the Lamb. And the smoke of their torment rises for ever and ever. There is no rest day or night for those who worship the beast and his image, or for anyone who receives the [SSSS] mark of his name.” (Rev. 14:9-12).
Yesterday the Transportation Security Authority (TSA) released its new rules on what can and cannot be taken aboard an airplane. This decision will greatly affect South Asians across America. Before, if you were brown an accidentally got caught with contraband, your life was over. After being strip-searched there was the possibility that you would be stamped with the “mark of the beast.”
Good news for airline passengers: Soon, security lines might move faster because you won’t be stopped for carrying most small, sharp objects, and best of all, you might be able to keep your shoes on.
Transportation Security Administration Director Edmund S. “Kip” Hawley is expected announce on Friday the agency will permit scissors less than 4 inches long and tools, such as screwdrivers, less than 7 inches long to be placed in carry-on items. Because screeners won’t have to take time to intercept the objects, passengers should be processed more quickly. [Link]
I for one am NOT HAPPY 
about this change in policy. You see, I have always carried the mark of the beast on my ticket. No explanation as to why I was anointed so, but who am I to question the infinite wisdom of the powers that selected me to be a chosen one? I have embraced it. I have used it to distinguish myself from you mere mortals, standing there like lambs in your TSA security lines. With the “SSSS” I am freed from conformity. Others worry about taking off their shoes in an orderly fashion. They empty the change, tangled with lint, from their pockets. And the belts. I pity those teenage boys that wear pants that are obviously too large for them. Without their belts, gravity slaps some embarrassment into them, the way their parents should be doing. Conversely, I tuck my shirt in and pull my pants wayyy up. Looking like Urkel, my metal belt is displayed for all to see. Other passengers avert their eyes. “Poor guy, he is going to get a beat down.” With shoes on, belt on, and a roll of quarters in my pocket, I walk through the detector. It beeps so loud that those frolicing on the Elysium Fields look toward the sky remembering past glory. I don’t care. I can do what I want. With the “SSSS” mark I am going to get searched regardless.
“Right this way, sir”
That’s right. They call me “sir” at the airport.
