OK, I admit it. A Syrian is trying to kill me. I tried to find a "Terrorist Hot Line" but guess what? Right, there isn't one!
This Syrian is an insidious bastard and his methods are subtle. He runs a "restaurant" which is really an "Infidel House of Death" where he serves succulent lamb kabobs and gyros. Yes, death by obesity - slow but sure.
And, his "French" fries are to die for. Get the connection? French and die? Oh, why didn't I see that his French style pomme frites were an evil plot, rather than a crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, seasoned to perfection gastronomic delight.
Subtle, he is. And relentless. He plies us with hummus, freshly made every day and guaranteed to lull you into a sense of security and satiation. Why, you'll even pay him for killing you slowly with his gyro-nomics.
Did I mention his selection of fine Russian beers? That should have been the tip-off, but I was only thinking of a strong, shirtless Putin on a horse - I swoon.
Give me another gyro and a double order of fries. Also I'll take a Ruski Bruski.
I hate myself.