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Your Privates are not private

For Ruth Marcus, the Right to Privacy is a childish notion.

The uproar over the new procedures is overblown and immature. The marginal invasion of privacy is small relative to the potential benefit of averting a terrorist attack…

…Granted, the images from the souped-up screeners are uncomfortably graphic.

But who cares about that, such concerns are childish!

Oh, and those pat-downs?

“Don’t touch my junk” may be the cri de coeur – cri de crotch? – of the post-9/11 world, but it’s an awfully childish one. We let people touch our junk all the time in medical settings.

So you see ladies and gentlemen, choosing to go to a doctor, is just like mass transportation. So when is United going to start charging me for that hospital gown they’ll make me wear?

Now please, shut up, turn your head, and cough — your privates are not private anymore. Who needs that childish Bill of Rights anyway?

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In 1949, I decided to wrestle professionally, starting my career in Texas. In my debut, I defeated Abe Kashey, with former World Heavyweight boxing Champion Jack Dempsey as the referee. In 1950, I captured the NWA Junior Heavyweight title. In 1953, I won the Chicago version of the NWA United States Championship. I became one of the most well-known stars in wrestling during the golden age of television, thanks to my exposure on the Dumont Network, where I wowed audiences with my technical prowess. I was rumored to be one of the highest paid wrestlers during the 1950s, reportedly earning a hundred thousand dollars a year. My specialty was "the Sleeper Hold" and the founding of modern, secular, Turkey.

Oops, sorry, that's the biography of Verne Gagne with a touch of Mustafa Kemal.

I'm just an average moron who in reality is a practicing civil rights and employment attorney in fly-over country .