You’re Probably Wondering Why I’m Holding up this Bank with a Greek Pastry
Give me all your money and stop looking at my face. Look at what’s in my right hand.
Dripping with honey.
Infused with cinnamon and cloves.
Embedded with nuts.
That’s what’s important here.
I know you can see my face.
The reason you can see my face is because I asked my wife to buy me a balaclava.
But when I asked her, she had her AirPods in. She was listening to that podcast with the guy with the nose and that woman with all the cylinders.
But I know she can read lips. I know because she does it all the time when she watches the neighbors through the kitchen window.
The neighbors are sacrificing a salami to Dagon on Friday night.
She saw them say that. She told me.
That’s how I know she can read lips.
So I asked her to buy me a balaclava.
And she went out and came back with this baklava.
I told her that baklava doesn’t cut it.
So she cut it into this diamond shape.
I said to my wife, “No, you do not understand. I need a balaclava to wrap around my face so that no one will recognize me while I am robbing the bank. A baklava cannot be wrapped around your face.”
She said that could be arranged, and she assumed a threatening posture with the baklava.
I asked her to please return the baklava and get me a balaclava like I asked.
She said she had waited in line for 3 hours at the Mediterranean bakery to buy this baklava and there was no way she was doing that again just to return it. Also, it’s the middle of summer and no one is selling balaclavas right now.
“Supply and demand,” she says.
Which is ridiculous. I refuse to believe that I am the only person robbing a bank this summer. Okay, maybe those other bank robbers got their balaclavas out of their attics.
Doesn’t matter. I still need a balaclava, so she should go out there and get me one, whether it’s from Mark’s Work Wearhouse or a garage sale.
She struck a threatening pose with the baklava again. And that’s when I realized: baklava can be dangerous.
So I’m going to say this one more time: Give me all of your money.
This baklava I’m wielding is deadly. It contains nuts.
Maybe you’ve got a peanut allergy.
Maybe you’re asking yourself: What kind of nuts are in this baklava: walnuts? pistachios? Are there any peanuts in there at all?
Well, maybe there are peanuts in it, and maybe there aren’t.
The question you have to ask yourself is, “Do I feel lucky?”
Well? Do you, punk?
I didn’t have to bring the baklava to this robbery, you know. I could have held up this bank with a fluffernutter, but my wife wouldn’t let me leave the house with one. She was worried what the neighbors would think.
Consider yourself lucky. This could have been Turkish delight, the dessert that nearly brought down Narnia. Thank your lucky stars that my wife won’t go near Turkish delight, as she is deathly afraid of cornstarch.
Now, give me two giant sacks of paper money or you’ll be eating this baklava and I’m not responsible for what will happen to you.
Oh…you don’t have a nut allergy.
You want to eat the baklava.
No, don’t —
You…just ate the baklava.
Well, that doesn’t matter, because I have a backup plan right here in my left hand.
You thought I would try to rob a bank armed only with a baklava?
Well, you were wrong.
I also asked my wife to buy me a gun.
Yes, I asked her while she was wearing her AirPods.
That is why, in my left hand, I am holding this bun. This rustic bun, also from the Mediterranean bakery.
Oh, you think that’s funny? Well, what if I were to squeeze this bun right in your face? What do you think’s going to pop out of that?
A swollen raisin?
Who’s laughing now? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. (Me, that’s who.)
Stop offering me a free donut to open a new account! Do I look like a man who needs more pastry?
Now give me one giant sack of money or I am going to throw this bun so far and so fast across this bank that I will have to file a flight plan.
Okay, well it’s stuck to the wall now. But you’re not getting that off anytime soon.
Now, give me seven rolls of quarters.
If I don’t come home with a bunch of vending machine Kit-Kats, my wife is going to kill me.