Humor

I Own A Fruit Cart In A Turkish Bazaar And I’m Tired Of International Spies Destroying It

Do you know how hard it is to wash blood off a pineapple?

Photo by Evan Krause on Unsplash

I used to own a fruit store in an actual building, but international spies kept blowing it up.

So I decided to invest in a mobile fruit cart. I had to sell both of my kidneys to afford it, but I just filter my blood through an old dish sponge strapped to my waist. I have crumbs in my blood now, but it’s a sacrifice I had to make because of those goddamn international spies.

I thought that with a cart, maybe I could move it out of the way before a helicopter landed on it or a Masarati driven by a hot, six-foot-tall model who works for the CIA when she isn’t on the cover of Vogue Tokyo-drifted into it as she drove through the labyrinthine aisles of the market at 110 mph.

But no. The minute I set up shop, that asshole Jason Bourne vaulted over it just before some super-villain’s henchmen shot it up with armor-piercing bullets.

It took me THREE HOURS to make those grapefruit pyramids.

Maybe I should buy a target shooting school to teach these assholes how to hit the person they’re chasing instead of my…