Bamboo

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Sir,” asks the lady behind the Democratic Headquarters desk, “May I help you?”

I say nothing.

“Sir,” she says in a more authoritative tone. “I’m going to call Security. Why exactly are you hiding in the corner dressed like a shrub?”

Thinking quickly, I says, “I’m a Bamboo.”

“I saw you getting off of the elevator.”

A pause.

I tilt the top of the tree forward, leaning into her confidingly, “I really doubt that.”

“I’m calling Security,” she says finally.

“On a Bamboo plant explicitly not trying to gain sensitive information for the Republican party?”

She looks at me sternly.

“That’s a very nice Mullet, by the way.”

“Pig!” she screams while blowing the air horn, punctuated occasionally by her silver whistle.

“No!” I scream reassuringly at the Godless whore. “Bamboo!”