In 1983, while a recruit for the Central Intelligence Agency, they photographed the cones and rods in my eyes. Forty years ago, this was George Jetson-level stuff. I never got hired, by the way, a decision that speaks volumes of the judgement of the boys at Langley. A few years later, US Customs and Immigration recorded my palm print so I could skip the lines at JFK when returning from overseas, which I did like you change your underpants. Now there’s worry biometric data are being secretly collected and stored somewhere in the hundreds of millions of bits to enslave future humans. To my mind, The Criminal Donald John Trump’s a bigger threat, but still.
© 2024 John Oliver
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