Yes folks, we here at Spitting Llamas are biding our time 27 floors below sea-level in our duck-tape hardened bunker. We’ve had little contact with the outside world. In fact, if this message reaches you, you can thank the wonder of Crackers, our carrier weasel.

If you fear the repercussions of Threat Level Orange, like we do, you can follow Paul West’s lead by wrapping your entire house in plastic destroying the property value for miles. Or, you can join us down here in the bunker, where it’s all shaken and not stirred. Sure, we’re safe in a bunker hidden beneath a cleverly disguised defunct drive-in, but that doesn’t mean that we think the Office of Homeland Security know what the hell they are doing. Doesn’t the threat of terrorism have almost as much disruptive effect as an actual act of terrorism? If I’m the terrorists, I’m making threats every week, until that “Cry Wolf” syndrome sets into the general populace. Then I strike.

Actually, it seems to me that with assclowns like Paul West wrapping their entire houses in plastic and our nation’s capital looking like some Bruce Willis action movie come to life, the terrorists have already won Hell, we let them postpone the Emmys, they took the WTC out of Spiderman and now Paul West house looks like the dick of some overly cautious teenager getting laid for the first time. Now, we have to swerve around missile trucks on our daily commute and if you take a loud enough dump in an airplane toilet, they are liable to eject you for a bomb scare.

As we were drinking our powdered coffee and enjoying some reconstituted eggs this morning, the local mayor come on the handcrank-powered radio and was talking about how a terrorist attack would be a local event, so the people of our town shouldn’t really worry so much. In other words, those poor bastards in DC not only have to dodge bullets in Georgetown, but now they have to worry about getting gassed, while we in the hinterlands go about our business and mourn the losses.

It probably wasn’t a great political move, but it keeps the local Family Dollar from running out of toilet paper. Speaking of TP, here in the bunker we are fully stocked. You can only drink so much Ovaltine before your colon gives up. So, until next time, I sit on my throne filling out the bunker pool on when the war will start and wondering of Eazy Cheeze is truly digestible.