I Spy

With cameras focused on the two bunkers of the jihad party boys and one in the backyard of their queen, it looks like the hood is well covered with roving eyes. The party boys have been extremely quiet. I suspect that once they get use to the glare of an all seeing telescopic lens, they will resort back to the happy clap-clap songs and the touchy feely free for all but I'm not sure because something new happened today.

Their queen had a small child over. The men left that live with the queen so as not to disturb her. The child played for a while and then I heard the unpleasant cry of a small thing in distress. The queen was toying with her food. Playing with it, like a cat does before the fatal strike. The cries ceased and thirty minutes later, the men came back to administer to their sated queen.

She is a mean, bloated queen, full of young flesh. It is quiet now. The storm clouds have gathered and torrents of rain will wash the crimson stains from the backyard where the feeding took place. The men soothe their queen, comfort her belly full of eggs. Eggs that will produce more jihad party boys to do her will.

I'll put signs around seeing if anyone is missing a child. Ralph's milk department should be a good place to look too. Or perhaps they went to another sector of the city to find the mean queen a square meal. It could be that the children here are under nourished, not fat enough for a mean queen to bother with. She needs a child filled with fruit tarts and gummy bears. A child, blubbery and soft, fed on bread sticks and chocolate bunnies to satisfy a mean queen.

Perhaps that is why all is quiet. The jihad party boys had dance and touched. The jihad party boys built their bunkers and stood guard while their queen grew and now is ready for her massive egg laying. The select men have spermed her and filled her sacs full of semen ready to implant each egg. She'll need more children, I can see that already.

Dear god! I wonder if the chickens are safe?