Thanks for touching my junk. I love you guys. No, not for the touching (though sometimes...). What I really love is how your pointless security theatre makes me feel safe and secure.
And your swiftly growing and unnecessary bureaucracy is only getting faster. Not like last year when you made me miss Christmas with my family, or that time a business deal fell through because you wouldn't let me on the plane or tell me why. Now your line of junk touchers is really humming and I'm barely there for an hour or so. What a smooth operation, my hat's off to you.
After all, I make money from flying and it's all down to you guys. Not the pilot, or the air-traffic controller, or the baggage handlers or engineers or stewardesses. No, it's all down to you guys and I salute you. And if my taxes are paying for this meaningless charade, all the better.
It's not like there is any alternative. I've read about other countries where they don't touch your junk and let you bring your own peanuts without a surcharge on the official news sources and it seems like planes are just falling out of the sky left, right and centre because someone didn't get their junk touched or peanuts confiscated. I'm so glad I don't have to put up with that.
God bless Apple, sorry..., America!