Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Greatest Chanike Extravaganza: Prelude: The Magic Fuel from Iran


Koskesh Sabourjian, a distant relative of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who was possessed with a conscience much unlike that of his dear leader, painstakingly wrote out the directions for mixing the missile fuel that he was preparing to send to a certain Rabbi Dovid Schmoigerman in Creedmoor.

The nuclear research scientist had no idea why a mental patient would order missile fuel, but he knew full well of its dangerous potential. He also thought he understood mental patients, as his inbred family tree was, to put it mildly, chock full o'nuts, especially as it approached the top of the leadership pyramid of the Dry Roasted Islamic Pistachio Shell Republic of Iran. Therefore, the instructions that he wrote out in Farsi, for translation into Yiddish by that most un-Islamic invention known as Google Translate, consisted of:

Mix three cups of Royal Ruhollah Islamic Atomic Fuel Concentrate with one half-gallon of milk and two cups of common laundry bleach. Add to one barrel of water, and set the mixture alight only after the barrel has been secured to a concrete base...

which in the Google dialect of Yiddish reads as follows:

פאַרמישן דרייַ טעפּלעך פון רויאַל רוכאַלאַ יסלאַמיק אַטאָמיק פועל קאָנסענטראַטע מיט איין העלפט-גאלאן פון מילך און צוויי טעפּלעך פון פּראָסט וועש בליאַקירן. לייג צו איינער פאַס פון וואַסער, און שטעלן דעם געמיש לענדן בלויז נאָך דעם פאַס האט שוין סקרוד צו אַ קאָנקרעט געמיין ...

Surprisingly, his Jewish colleague, a Mossad agent of pure Parsi extraction named Mashiah Kamtzanzadeh (whose surname made it clear that extraction of so much as one penny from him could be a difficult task), could make out one word of Yiddish, namely סקרוד

This word, which is probably missing a yud somewhere if it even is a Yiddish word, is indeed pronounced phonetically. In Creedmoor it is also spelled phonetically, as "scrooed." Mashiah Kamtzanzadeh looked forward to writing that word, in any language, on the plans for the Bushehr nuclear plant, but for now, he could not help but wonder what it was doing on a set of instructions for fuel.

"Moshiko, you know we're shipping this to a crazy man!"

This was something Kamtzanzadeh just had to report to his superiors in the Zionist entity.

"A crazy man? You are calling our supreme leaders crazy? You want to hang? I can arrange that, for half-price of course. Actually, you're such a scrawny little guy, I can arrange it for 75% off, special for the unIslamic holidays, because I can use cheapo Yahoodi rope that my uncle sells to dumb goat farmers in the hills to keep their goats from running off when they..."

"No, this is going to a crazy house in the Great Satanic territory. Look at the bill of lading! Creedmoor Psychiatric Center, D-ward, Rabbi David Schmoigerman, he's an infidel like you and I guess that is why he is in the crazy house!"

Kamtzanzadeh memorized the bill of lading for subsequent transmission to Mossad headquarters, but he hardly worried, as he knew anyone who tried to use Royal Ruhollah Islamic Atomic Fuel Concentrate would indeed be  סקרוד  over quite royally.

After all, he himself had sabotaged the manufacturing lines, and its chemical composition was far closer to that of rancid salad dressing than to any sort of fuel or incendiary compound. Sabourjian hardly had to compose any directions that would lead to its neutralization, as the fuel was about as inflammable as a glass of what it was - namely rancid apple cider vinegar with a bit of olive oil thrown in before it was emulsified with an egg-based compound that Kamtzanzadeh stole from his sister, a cosmetician and hair stylist, on his last visit home. The olive oil came from his uncle's falafel shop, and it was used as many times as possible before it was thrown out and relegated to use in sabotaging fuel back in the family's benighted homeland.

Of course, Kamtzanzadeh had a budget that covered any chemicals he needed, but he was Parsi to the core, and he gave the money he saved to his brother so that the two of them could open a discount shoe store near the Tel Aviv central bus station upon his upcoming retirement from the Mossad. Once his bosses found out how he sabotaged the fuel, he'd be able to collect his pension, borrow some stock from a few wholesalers, print 50% off signs the day after he opened, and in a few months, he'd even have enough to open a second store featuring a 75% off sale three days after it opened. Never mind that he was a chemical engineer with a master's degree from the Technion; Mashiah Kamtzanzadeh was born in Khoramshar, Iran - and that meant he was born to sell shoes for 50-75% off.

He even had a name for his store all picked out. Scarpe di Ponzi. 

However, Mashiah Kamtzanzadeh had no idea that the customer for this shipment of  סקרוד  nuclear fuel was a man who made far more money than he could ever dream of with international-level scams that would put his rather timeworn sham discount shoe shop idea to shame very quickly.

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