Plan XXX

What’s your preference, scan or pat-down,
By new touchy-feely screeners?
Sister Regis used her worst frown
When we joked about our wieners,
Now called junk, which men don’t like stroked.
Women, neither, like their breasts poked.

Still, we face a greater problem
As we rush to catch our airplanes.
TSA requires mayhem
Stemming from Al Qaeda’s growth pains:
Toxicants inside a bodice;
Bombs inside a body crevice.

How to see our anger leaven
As ham-fisted searchers fumble?
Sister on her perch in heaven,
While around her storm clouds rumble,
Lightning bolts propels at Taliban.
All those volts can undo any man.

Better (though she’d ne’er say amen):
Traveling guys are searched by strippers.
Gigolos caress the women.
Heard each search, the sound of zippers.
Seems to me a thing of wonder.
Wait a sec! Do I hear thunder?