Laying on your back while riding the conveyor belt through the airport x-ray machine, you have a moment to contemplate how life has gotten you to this point. Mostly you think about how you don’t have health insurance which forced you to go to such extreme measures as telling the TSA lady that you had to get into the x-ray machine because it was “a matter of life and death.” When that failed to convince her, you shot into the darkness of the radiation box and told her to “go fuck yourself,” then, remembering the purpose of your visit to the airport security checkpoint, you added “check the screen for anything weird, especially in the butt region.”
She reports to you, as the airport police were cuffing you, that she found something weird but nothing that looked “medical or whatever.” Now, perhaps too late, you realize butt cancer might not show up on airport scanners. At least now you know what happened to that Lego figurine of Harry Potter you swallowed on a dare.