So, Rich had a couple of old Indian arrowheads in his backpack, that he found on my parents property in Missouri. Nothing big, just some little ancient stone arrowheads.
We had a smooth drive from Missouri to Texas, spent the night outside Houston, and this morning, after a necessary last refuel at Chuy's to stock up on proper Mexican food for the next 6 months, we headed to IAH airport to catch our flight home.
TSA confiscated Rich's arrowheads. Said they were too pointy.
Not, mind you, that they were potentially valuable historical artifacts. Not, of course, that they were of archeological significance.
Nope. Pointy. Too.
Because, you know, if *I* were going to take over a plane and kill people, I would DEFINITELY do it with an arrowhead found in a mud-ridden, tick-filled field in rural Missouri. Nothing like some home grown, hand carved terrorism to really get the old juices flowing and make me feel alive.
Imagine the fear in their eyes as I brandish all 1 1/2 inches of pure carved ancient Indian stone at helpless people all around me. Whooping and hollering in my Cherokee accent, I take over the plane wearing my best feathers and war paint. YES! I OWN this plane!! Me and my arrowhead! My evil, pointy, scary found on the ground arrowhead!
Which is why I have given Rich his Indian name.
Flies With Pointy Rocks.