Jeff Dunham: Arguing with Myself2006

Jeff Dunham:
[about having his luggage hand checked at Burbank airport] Now, they have these swabs, and they swab whatever it is they're looking at. They then take the piece of material, they put it in the analyzer, it then checks to see if your stuff has come into contact with anything dangerous; chemicals, whatever. So the guy has Peanut in one hand, swab in the other. This is all true; it's too stupid to make up.

[laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
He could have swabbed Peanut on the head, on the foot, no. In front of God and everybody, he swabs his butt, just like that.

[pantomimes, to roars of laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
I know it's only a puppet, but I work with the guy.

[laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
There's a relationship here. And I'm sitting there watching this, and the first thing I find myself thinking is "You sick bastard!"

[laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
"What the hell? Why are you wiping my friend's butt?"

[laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
He then takes the swab, puts it in the machine, shuts the door. I think we're finished, we start to put things away, suddenly the little machine goes

[imitates a warning buzzer]

Jeff Dunham:
Three more guys come out, they have me up against the wall, they're checking my ID, they're doing a background check on the Internet, they're going through all my stuff. It takes fifteen minutes. Now we're finished, everything was fine. Then we start to put things back. And then I start to think "What the hell was on Peanut's butt that labeled me the potential terrorist?"

[laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
And this is all true. I ask the guy, and he goes "Well, it's all in the code on the computer. Let's see."

[pantomimes typing]

Jeff Dunham:
And he goes, uh, "That would be, uh, military grade plastic explosives." And I go...

[laughs, then worried]

Jeff Dunham:
"What?"

[laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
And he goes "Well, sometimes the machine confuses lotion for that", and I went...

[feigns laughter]

Jeff Dunham:
"No, there's no lotion on the puppet's ass. I've been building bombs in my garage. You caught me, Skippy. Thanks for straightening me out." I don't ever want to go through the Burbank airport again. There's only a small number of these guys that do all the checking; I know next time I go through, they'll all be standing in a group and one of them will point and go "There he is. There's the gay puppet bomber. There was lotion on his puppet's ass."