The dictator gathered the propagandists-to-be

The dictator gathered the propagandists-to-be for his instructions. "Instead of a resume, design a poster that proclaims your superiority over the other candidates. Only one of you

can control your career, your destiny and your fate.

By shaking it and waiting for the answer to your career, your destiny and fate appear on the purplish, multi-sided triangular die.

So there I was, shaking it, praying for an answer to my career, when Simon Cowell pulled up. He rolled his window down and said "You're shaking that thing with purpose. I like it."

I stopped for a second and looked down at the magic 8 ball. Through the blue liquid it said "not now". Simon saw my disappointed look and asked me to get in. He would take me to

the airport if I promised to buy him a six-pack of Corona using my fake ID. When we got to the tax free department, however, I remembered what the 8-ball had told me and decided

to filch on my promise. I excused myself for a "potty break" and dressed in the TSA disguise I had purchased from a Chinese costume site mid-April. Cheap. But as I made my way

back to work, no one seemed to suspect I was anything but a TSA worker. Passengers stepped aside mindlessly so that I could go ahead of them in line at the security gate.

Making note of which passengers I wanted to mess with & pat down, I pointed first to the fat lady in the pink dress. "Step aside, ma'am. Take off your shoes, please, & unzip your

handbag." But alas, the final fold's narrator had less wherewithal than an Airplane film, and lo and behold, the stolen hands fell out of the fat woman's handbag. Facepalm.