Funding Terrorists

I have a theory.

Tea shop owners; habour terrorists.

- Its true.
(Every rupee counts)

Note

For all concerned readers, the pictures below are infact not me.

You passed out din't you?

[sly man's tatoo] Australia.

Where are all the cookies gone?

I woke up early this morning and dragged myself towards the door
when, my phone rang! Class was cancelled(yippee!)
and the need to break out in song rose from deep within.

What follows is the result of 13 odd years of education.

'Old mac donald had a farm, in indy-indy yaa.
and on that farm there were some peoples, in indy-indy yaa.
With a riot here, and a riot there
here-a-riot, there-a-riot, everywhere a riot.

Old mac donald had a farm, in indy-indy yaa...'

[Second verse anyone? - Post away.]

Great Power. Grave Responsibility.

50 ccs of pure uninterrupted horse power, aka a
Tvs(also comes with pedals)beamed at me as i swung around
to find what i was about to endure. I started the day thrilled that
i had acquired a small part-time job. The sun was golden yellow,
the wind in my hair(yes). I felt invinsible.

So.
I trulled along towards my golden gate so to speak, my picture of
perpetual independence, the destiny of every man, boy and child.

Work.

Job Description:

Deliver whatever we give you at the speed of light.
Saluting the General, I proudly excepted my orders, and
optimistically hoped i would find the letters NOS stuck
to some part of the 'metal frame' i was about to mount.
I was delivering meat, fresh meat.

Enter Meat Boy and Ramu.

Riding Shotgun - little Ramu (not sure what his name was,
making a safe assumption.) He was my personal gps,
armed with a killer sense of smell and a sharper left finger.
Show me the way i rumble, trying best to disguise
my frame behind my helmet, you would think it impossible,
i beg to differ. So there i was hidden behind my mask,
helping them people who could not venture to the
friendly neighbourhood Meat Man, picking up the bills,
being a regular meat boy. Until, my first stop;
strange looking lady, her power, the need to question;

Old Lady: Who are you?
MB (Meat Boy):... Market Basket?

Old Lady: Who? - Where is the little fellow.
MB: ummm..

Old Lady: Are you short staffed?
MB: ummm..

Old Lady: Well..?
MB: I'm just helping out today.

Old Lady: Delivering meat?
MB: Yep, it seemed like an interesting prospect at the time.

Old Lady: Is something wrong with your pants?
They seem to be falling off.

MB: ummm..

MB: You may pay later ma'am, thank you, have a nice day.
Old Lady: God bless you child..

The End.

[Short extract from the adventures of 'Meat Boy and Ramu'] Copyright 07.