The Most Terrifying Weapon Known to Man

During my recent trip to Las Vegas, which, in the grand tradition of my blog, I will completely otherwise ignore, I had the opportunity to realize something of shocking importance. Apparently, yet again, I was on the forefront of developing new strategies to help the terrorists bypass the security measures in place in our grand nation.

Allow me to explain in detail.

We arrived on time at the airport. On my back, I had slung my only bag. In my hands, I clutched a garish pink box with “Ronald’s Donuts” stamped on the front in ugly black letters. (Literally, stamped there, like via a return address stamper.) Inside, a baker’s dozen delicious vegan donuts glinted magically in the non-light. For people who are feeling a little lost here, allow me to mention that I went vegan before the Krispy Kreme craze even got off the ground. Those things look delicious. I have never had one. But my longing to do so burned with the fire of a thousand suns. Well, no. Perhaps a thousand candles. Hmmm. Still too strong. Ok, ok. The burning of my desire lit my brain with the brilliance of a thousand lazy, post-orgasm fireflies.

Anyway, low and behold, Las Vegas has a vegan donut shop. During my stay, my sinful urges inspired a pilgrimage to this curious shop. I was skeptical. I have had vegan donuts before. Most of them boast all of the culinary delights of a Styrofoam cup. However, one look at the wares of this store brought me new hope. Many donuts were purchased. Many were consumed.

Fast-forwarding back to the present, come departure day, I had many left. I had no intention of abandoning them to the anonymous hotel staff. They were mine. And thus, I clutched an ugly pink box close to my chest as we raced through airport security. When we reached the security checkpoint, I had a sudden revelation. Many of the remaining donuts were exotic flavors. I had jelly-filled, crème-filled, and moist-glazed donuts galore. And I had them in a questionably-labeled pink box. A quick glance at my packed-to-bulging quart-sized bag offered no hope. It was already full to the brim with such lethal weapons as an ounce of toothpaste and propylene glycol packets. (If you don’t know, you can ask.) Thus, the security scanners were sure to discover I was traveling with a large quantity of undeclared gels and liquids in my suspicious looking and oddly labeled pink box.

Scenarios of the impending confrontation flashed into my mind. I imagined myself asking the security guards if the horrors of my vegan jelly donuts would require me to dispose of all of them, or if I might be allowed to keep the less lethal chocolate glazed versions if I relinquished my crème-filled pastries in the name of national security.

As the box passed through the X-ray machine, I waited to be called aside for questioning. Then my box of donuts popped out in front of me, still nestled in its grey tray. I looked up, curious, at the guard. She sat squinting at the grave threat posed by what appeared to be a hamster frozen mid-hump, making love to a curling iron. Apparently, I was free to go.

Suddenly, I was filled with a mild annoyance that my donuts WEREN’T filled with gel-based explosives. Apparently, I shot too low when I settled for passive, vegan “eco-terrorism.” My skills are being underutilized.