I just flew in from the tropics and boy are my arms tired--from having to raise them so an airport "security" official could pat me down on the off chance that my knickers were rigged to explode. The frisking occurred both coming and going due to the fact that our flight wasn't direct but was routed through Charlotte, N.C. (Lovely airport, BTW, the only one I've been to that has a pianist performing on a grand piano in the concourse.) The you-must-be-freakin'-kidding-me aspect of my first frisking, in Toronto (apart from the fact that men and women were divided into two lines so that everyone could get up close and personal with a same-sex frisker) was the garb of the "security" official directing those of us in the chick line to the chick-frisker who would do the deed: she was wearing a heavy duty hijab.
Yes, that's right. Yours truly, anti-jihad warrior, was ordered to hop to it (apparently, I wasn't moving quickly enough for her taste) by a "security" official who displays her devotion to the sharia worldview for all to see; someone who, though she may not agree with Abdulmattalab's exploding gotchies modus operandi is in synch with its religio-ideological underpinnings. Hijab gal is supposed to keep us infidels safe from the likes of BombPants.
What's wrong with this picture?