After finding the body of Osama Bin Laden, the world's most hated (and thankfully dead) terrorist, Bobylon and I had the skeletal remains of the creep wrapped in cloth with a tag that read, "Property of Colorado Smith," that's me, the youngest archeologist of our time.
Bobylon, my Arab friend, was still uneasy about the whole situation. Bobylon usually wasn't so cowardice, so by now I should have put two and two together to realize that when Bobylon's scared, I should be scared. When Bobylon has a machine and/or a boozaka the dude's like freaking Rambo or something, and he loves weapons. You know how our president said, "You don't want to be between Michelle and a tamale."? well...you don't want to be between Bobylon and a gatling gun.
We had finally gotten the body on board and stored away when we went to or sleeping quarters. Bobylon almost always slept with a gun under his pillow, now he slept with a gun under his pillow, a rocket-laucher in his arms, a knife holstered to his side, and a bullet proof vest on his chest. This was the first time I thought that maybe Bobylon was nervous more than usual. Just then we heard a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" I asked.
Bobylon shouted at the door, "You have ten seconds to answer before I blow your head off!"
"Boby!" I shouted, "Put that rocket-launcher away!"
Finally the person who knocked said, "They weren't there."
I was confused. "Who wasn't there?" I asked.
The voice replied, "My seventy-two...Oh, never mind. I'm just looking for Colorado Smith and Bobylon"
Bobylon spoke up, "Sorry we can't get you connected. Please hang up and try again!" Finally the door was kicked down and in walked a tall skeletal figure with beard, a turban, eyes in his sockets, and a large gaping hole in his head. Bobylon said, "Are you...Achmed the dead terrorist?"
"No!" was the stranger's reply, "I'm not a puppet controled by Jeff Dunham! I am..."
"Oh!" said Bobylon, "I know this one! 'I am your father!' It's from 'Star Wars' right?"
"Shut up!" said the creep, "I am Osama Bin Laden! The modern day Adolf Hitler!"
"Hitler's dead," I replied.
"And he had a better hair-cut than you," added Bobylon. Then he said to me, "I told you we should've left him at the bottom of the sea."
Obama...er, I mean Osama shouted, "Enough! Now, are you two going to settle down or do I have to seperate you two!?"
We sat there silently. Then I said, "Hey Bobylon, show him your baby."
"What?" came Bobylon's reply, "I'm NOT a mother!"
"No!" I said, "I mean your baby," with that I winked at him.
Bobylon knew exactly what I meant now. He pulled out his rocket-launcher and said, "This is my baby. His name is..."
"That's a girl," came Osama's reply.
"Okay," he said, "her name is Alice!"
I scowled at Bobylon and said, "You named her after my girlfriend!?"
"Maybe," said Bobylon. With that he shot the dead terrorist and Osama blew up into a million pieces. We ran outside with our weapons and heard a distant voice chant,
To Hell I go, I go
For my disdeeds are rewarded
Be wary lest you come here to
For it is torturous to death.
After hearing the creepy chants, I leaned over to Bobylon and asked, "You named her after Alice?"
THE END
No comments:
Post a Comment