Be alert, not alarmed.

I arrived a bit late to the bistro today. I was meant to start at 11am, but I took a wrong turn down an alley filled with gay blind men and arrived at work just past 6pm, my buttocks covered in red bruises. The bistro was already packed with the usual assortment of homosexuals and senior citizens, so I proceeded to eject anybody not meeting the strict standards of our dress code.

This left customers sitting at just one table. They looked to be foreign, and were wearing rather suspicious clothing. They also had a large bag that looked like it might have an anti-tank missile in it.

I went into the kitchen and spoke to Pooba, the apprentice.

‘Have you seen the suspicious diners at table 9/11?’ I asked him.

He shrugged. ‘Yeah, they asked if we had any ricin, but we were fresh out so I offered anthrax instead.’

I was very suspicious of the group. I decided that I should be alert, but not alarmed, so I proceeded to the table to interrogate the men. When I arrived, they were holding a tourist map of Athens and were studying it intently.

‘Hello gentlemen, how has your evening been?’

A tubby looking guy wearing a turban stared at me. ‘Terrible. This meat is not halal’ he said, pointing at the uneaten gumboot sirloin on his plate.

Another turban clad pansy piped up. ‘Yeah, this is a disgrace. Look at this sheep’s head! Someone has plucked the eyeballs out’.

This prompted a chorus of complaints from around the table. I started to add the clues up in my head: foreign appearance, anti-tank missile, complaining about their food… they were Terrorists!

I apologised profusely to the terrorist bastards and retreated to the kitchen, where I enlisted the help of Pooba and Pedro. We decided that the best thing to do would be to build a small bomb, take it to the table stuffed in a chicken, and then detonate it after they had all eaten their fill. Pedro set about gathering the ingredients for our bomb, and Pooba went to grab a chicken from the chicken coop in the alley next to the kitchen. I drank some pepsi max.

A few hours later, our chicken bomb was complete. On the outside it resembled a chicken – complete with beak and feathers – but on the inside lay a bombmaker’s dream. 2000kg of semtex plastic explosive attached to a detonator connected to a mobile phone transmitter. When we were ready to detonate, all we had to do was dial the number! I carried the piece de resistance out to the terrorists.

‘Allah Akhbar!’ they cried in unision, cheering to the prophet for their halal meal. I served the dish on the table and provided the tubby one with a carving fork. Pooba and Pedro peered out from the kitchen as the terrorists began devouring their explosive meal. There was a moment of worry when one of them noticed the mobile phone transmitter, but I explained by saying ‘It’s ok, it’s just stuffing for the chicken!’. ‘Allah Ahkbar’ they cried again and the mobile was devoured.

A short time later the terrorists came to the register and paid for their meals, leaving a large tip in Iraqi currency. Even though the value of the notes was probably around negative $20, I thanked the gentlemen for their patronage and wished them well. I then began to climb up the stairs to the top of the restaurant with Pooba and Pedro close behind.

At the top of the bistro we have a lookout tower which allows us to see all over the city. It came in use as we could chart the progress of the terrorists. We wanted to detonate the bomb when they were near one of our rival restaurants, so that we could blame the execution on them.

Sure enough, the group headed down Tinee Peniz street where the ‘Micro-prick bistro’ was located. The Micro-prick was one of our worst rivals, and Pooba began to chuckle as he typed in the phone number to detonate the bomb.

Just as he pressed the final key, we saw a school bus come down Tinee Peniz street from the north. Approaching from the south was a bus load of blind men. Intersecting from the north east was a boat carrying illegal immigrants and Steve Irwin.

‘NOOOOO!’ I cried. But it was too late.

A moment later the 2000kg of semtex detonated. The shockwave burst all our eardrums immediately. Pooba’s eye balls popped out, with the optic nerve slowly sliding down his shirt. Pedro’s anus ruptured, and poop flew out of his pants. My penis split in two, and required 45 stiches to sew back together.

The tubby terrorist’s left testicle landed on our lookout tower with a thick ’splat’. We looked up at the sky to see pieces of the 5 terrorists and the 366 bus passengers raining down over the city. In the distance were emergency sirens, but we couldn’t hear them on account of the fact that our ear drums had popped leaving us permanently deaf. 

We decided to head home and rest, having saved our city from a serious terrorist attack. We all knew we would never get the credit for saving so many innocent people, but the thought of having done good was enough to satisfy us.