“…Eastwood. Clint Eastwood.”

By Jeffrey A. Friedberg, News Man

You’re walking down the street one Saturday—maybe in LA, or DC, or New York—just on your way out for a Big Mac and a Slurpy. When all of a sudden, an old VW bus materializes out of nowhere, on tire tracks of flame. And you’re confronted by angry, screaming Libyans.

Now—only one of them speaks any English, and that’s limited, from having watched old Star Trek reruns in prison. And all he can shout is, “I kinna hold her, Jim, she’s gonna blow!”

Okay, you look around, but no bimbo. “Who’s gonna blow?” You say, confused now.

Then he yells, “No, no! The containment field, Jim: I kinna hold her—she’s gonna blow!”

Again, okay, you look around, but no bimbo in sight.

Now the other Libyans are firing their AK-47s into the air, screaming, “Allah Ahu Akbar! Allah Ahu Akbar!”

But this one now holds up a map and points to downtown. “She’s gotta release here Jim, where she kin blow good!”

He stares at you. He sees you have no idea what he’s talking about.

He suddenly whirls and flings back a curtain in the side of the bus and reveals a nucler device the size of a garbage can. It has strange, pulsing, red lights on top,  and is stenciled with: “Made In 🇰🇵 North Korea, For Dear Leader, Kim.”

“DISCLAIMER: please wear glasses prior to detonating the nuke.”

Okay. Now you realize this is a Muslim hit squad, sent to detonate a nuke in the heart of the city—your city. Maybe it’s DC, LA, or New York?

A nuclear bomb, ready to blow. You realize it will take out the entire liberal government. They are meeting that Saturday morning, to celebrate the 110th birthday of Rep. Nancy Perogi.

So…like…what do you freaking do, man?

Let’s face it: you give him directions on how to get there.

And then you wish him luck.

Am I right? 🤠


Marty McFly: “Uh, Mar…Eastwood. Clint Eastwood.”

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