Bunker Shutdown

Drop dead quiet at the bunkers in the alley. As if they were pussy footing around and I'm sure that is exactly what they are doing. Something foul is coming. Some sort of mischief is at hand. I thought it would be a good idea to hang some butt flossers out on the chain link fence to dry. It rained the last night and this morning, a good time to get the flossers cleaned of offending dingle berries. And I thought that it might get the Zionist Jihad Party Boys interested in keeping their butt cracks cleaned. A kind of slow introduction to the idea. They now know what they look like and how easy they are to make. Plus how easy it is to keep a butt flosser cleaned after it has rid your crack of dangling dingle berries.

I think they studied them. The cameras showed a spy glimpsing at them from his bunker. He raised a black eyebrow and muttered something in Middle Eastern, probably Hebrew. I should record these remarks and take them to a Jewish deli that is nearby. I'm sure the waitress there can translate them for me because no matter what I say to her she replies, "Sure Hon, anything else?"
"Hows life treating you Elsie?"
"Sure Hon, anything else?"
Then I get a pastrami sandwich on seeded rye with a pickle and a cup of coffee. It doesn't matter what I say, "Elsie, I'll try the egg sandwich.
"Sure Hon, anything else?"
She knows Hebrew I can tell because when the Jews order, they get what they want even when they order in plain English.
"Elsie! So how's the tongue today."
"Don't ask."
"I'll take the egg salad."
"Sure Hon, anything else?"

They get egg salad.

So I know there is a secret code of the Jews. A slight twist of the tongue that translates English to Hebrew and back. The Jihad Party Boys know it and I'm sure Mean Queen and Daddy do as well. Perhaps if I gain their confidence with the butt flossers they will let me order something other than a pastrami sandwich on seeded rye. It is certainly something to strive for.