In this thread I told the story of a friend of mine, who went to India, and could not bring back a rock, because the terrorists have won. Everyone said, “Silly boy, just tell them to put the rock into their checked baggage! See, the terrorists are loosing. Don’t worry!”
Well, another friend, actually a whole family of friends just returned from India. They too asked me if I wanted them to bring anything back from India. “Yeah, I said, I want a rock.” (no explanation about the rock, you want that, you read the other thread.)
They just got back, and I saw them today. I was told “No rock, just a long story!” “Oh,” I said, “You got the rock taken from you at the airport, right? I’m sorry. I should have told you to put it into your checked luggage.”
Turns out, he did. Put it in his suitcase.
Special note to the Weapons Experts we heard from on the last thread: This rock was less thanfour inches, by less than three inches, by less than half an inch, made of slate, roughly triangular, and kind of pointed, more or less, on one end. A member of the Clovis culture would blush from embarrassment even being seen picking it up. Give a guy a choice between this rock, and a bare hand, he would beat you senseless with his fist, assuming you went out and got some sense first.
So, the ever alert forces of making the world safe from small guys with rocks in their suitcases, x-rayed the bag, and demanded an explanation. There was no explanation, it was a rock. It was for me. I live here, and I wanted a rock. “Not this one!” says the minion of international self victimization. “I get paid good money to protect the world from guys with rocks.”
Tris
“I have a rock, and I’m not afraid to use it. Oh, wait, the rock is in my suitcase. Oh, no, it isn’t. Well, I have one coming in the mail, so watch out.”