Iowa Terror: Pinche Puta Store Detective


To honor the ballplayers wearing camo on the Major League games on Memorial Day and President Obama’s statement about cutting the troops in Afghanistan from 30,000 to 10,000 but still keeping the whole war thing going, because we need to be there to be free, killing blue donkeys, we bring you excerpts of stories of real Americans at home doing their part.

These reports come from Iowa, the big pig state — the Iowa Department of Homeland Security civilian deployed detachment of The Downtown Dubuque Wednesday Noon Kiwanis Club.

by Mike Palecek

Que paso?

I am sitting here in Gregg’s Hometown Foods.

Store Detective, looking for terrorists, securing the homeland on the front lines.

As always, just trying to do my part to ensure the freedom of my fellow Americans.

I am looking for Mexicans who might be illegally alive, who do not have the proper stamp on the papers in their pocket, and thus deserve to be separated from their weeping children and sent to wherever we want to send them in a hot, crowded white INS van piloted by highly trained, intelligent professionals with their uniformed butts smearing Ho-Ho’s into the vinyl seats, who could have been anything in life, really, but made the conscious decision to drive around in the desert sucking down dust for breakfast.

The whole thing is planned by licensed Christians in churches, in chambers, in Congress, to keep poor people and their children from having Frosted Flakes in the morning.

Because … their crawling from zero to one might conceivably hamper us from getting from ten to eleven.

If you can see me from where you are seated you know that I am also sitting, on the floor, in the corner between the white milk and the tortillas, at the far end of the Mexican Foods Aisle.

It is my charge to find any Islamiscists, Hispanunists, or other terror-type individuals.

I am also to tackle anyone I suspect of being from Nebraska. Gregg says.

This is where I will find my insurgents.

And though I do not understand their language, I know enough to know when they are hiding something, or planning to meet with Jesus Iowa to topple the towers, collapse Casey’s, dump the Dairy Queen, pillage Pizza Hut.

That jabber-jabber is all about planning with other foreign types to seek out sales on box cutters, steal our beautiful fall leaves.

These they get here have dust and weird stickers on their shoes from walking all the way up through El Paso and stuff, and Agua Prieta, Douglas, all those off-brand towns.

And they have to leave their home towns behind or maybe, probably grandma and their new puppy. Whatever. My grandparents probably did the same thing.

I can almost taste the salsa in the jars across the aisle.

I like Mexican food. Everybody does.

I’ve never had any other terror-type food, except Fred claims the sandwich was invented by Iraq.

That sounds like bullcrap, but I wonder if I would like Afghan pizza … or Nebraska corn.

I am undercover, as per usual.

I am wearing a big, wide sombrero.

My head is drooping to my knees.

But I am not sleeping. Sometimes I am sleeping. Sometimes snoring.

I get a beeper. I am wearing a new, white T-shirt with blood-red letters: Pinche Puta Store Detective.

Pretty cool.

Go about your day.

I got this.


Iowa Terror
art by Ben Heine, Allison M. Healy, Russell Brutsche, Ian Ward



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