No fan of public sexual molestation or gratuitous cancer-inducing radiation, I haven't flown in four years, but tonight, I'll have to board a plane to fly to London. If there was a transatlantic tube, rickshaw relay or galley slave jubilee special to Piccadilly, I'd be on it, but since there's no way to dodge our eager TSA gropers, I might as well man up (or down) for some random intimacy.
Listen, punk, if there's no penetration, it doesn't count, it don't matter, so if a priest, football coach, cop or airport employee vigorously strokes or feels you up a bit, you can still join the Virgin Foundation or the Tim Tebow Fan Club. Rest assured.
At least it's same-sex molestation, some say, so America is not so adverse to homosexual cuddling, after all, which is good or bad according to your talk-show-host preference, anal retentiveness or upbringing, but this still doesn't take into account the sexual preference or aversion of the gropee. I mean, a cage-fighting nun cannot possibly want to be fondled by the same type of person, or in the same way, as a crucifix-collecting lesbian.
With my luck, my partner will truss me up in a backroom, stab me with an ice pick, eat me - yeah, baby - then mail my body parts to divers public officials. Obama will get my left testicle, Romney my right, though both nuts are barely distinguishable from each other, and unsmiling Janet Napolitano will get a generous helping of my, uh, Second Amendment.
Comment: This story reminds us of another Spiritual Predator: Prem Rawat AKA Maharaji.