One look at my performance schedule on www.jackiebeatrules.com and you will see that I travel quite a bit. Most recently I wowed audiences in Seattle and New York City. Due to the recent changes in airport security, I now have to give special care as I pack for these frequent “business” trips. I make sure to put all my makeup and toiletries in the suitcase I plan to check, and remove all liquids and gels from my carry-on bag. That means no dangerous hand lotion and no deadly ChapStick. Ever been on a plane? They recycle the air and therefore planes are notoriously dry environments. Ever seen me? I ain’t no dewy spring chicken and need my goddamned moisturizers! Okay, I can deal with no Vaseline Intensive Care or lip balm, but—did someone say bomb? Oh—balm. Sorry, please continue.

I can deal with no onboard moisturizing, but I really don’t want to live in a world where I cannot bring a beverage on my flight. No bottled water, no Snapple, no Diet Coke, no Frappucinos, no smoothies. I’m getting thirsty just typing this. That’s right! No Red Bull on that red-eye. No Jamba Juice on that jumbo jet. Can you imagine the terror of waking up from a jet engine/white noise-induced nap to see a bunch of dark-skinned, crazy-eyed people in turbans around you with copies of the Quran in one hairy hand and McDonald’s milkshakes in the other? “Shakes on a plane!” People: When an obese American kid can’t even enjoy an extra-large triple-thick chocolate milkshake from McDonald’s while flying to visit his extra-large triple-thick diabetic Grandma somewhere in Florida—as far as I’m concerned— the terrorists have won!

Thank God (not Allah, right?) that I have no plans to perform in the U.K. in the immediate future, because it is my understanding that they are so paranoid and liquid-phobic on trans-Atlantic flights these days that they actually drain the blood out of you, freeze-dry your empty husk of a body, swaddle you in bubble wrap and ship you there in a cardboard box. “Excuse me Miss, may I have some more peanuts, please? No, no, not the honey-roasted ones—those styrofoam packing peanuts, please!” Word is, they reconstitute you once you’re safe in London. It’s sorta like adding that can of water when you’re making Campbell’s condensed tomato soup.

I’m kidding, of course. It’s my job. But, sadly, what is no joke is the fact that now they have also banned those Dr. Scholl’s gel shoe inserts. Look at me. Look. At. Me. I am a big girl. A big girl who crams her enormous Sasquatch feet into narrow ladies’ shoes designed by homosexuals who hate women. Ouch! I need my motherfuckin’ gel inserts! Listen, when a drag queen can’t slather some much-needed Aveda products on her sagging, aging equestrian face, or soothe her barking dogs with a couple of squishy gel inserts—we’re all doomed. Because, although the world may indeed become a bit safer, it will be full of dry, ashy, wrinkled people with messed-up feet. Ugly people who look their age and walk like Courtney Love after a three-day weekend.

Yep, the fuckin’ terrorists have won.

Illustration by www.glenhanson.com