This battle axe was purchased at the Opa-locka/Hialeah flea market’s plucky Pakistani knife booth for five dollars. “This is a weird store,” said the pleasant girl behind the counter. “You’d be surprised at how often we sell this stuff to weird people like you.”
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The owner of the booth was back in his home country of Pakistan. He had worked out some kind of awesome deal, she said, with a weapons factory out there. There were finger knives, Rambo knives, Pakistani ninja stars, a 20-inch blade that straps onto your arm, brass knuckles, belt-buckle knives, and a sword sale ($25, any size).
A young, dour man with a quaffed pompadour perused the aisles of various stabbing items, straightening boxes of Chinese cleavers and making sure the Brazilian machetes were sorted by size. I assumed he was the boss man’s son. But he wouldn’t talk to me.
Especially when I asked about Barack Obama.
Hear this America! The Pakistanis are preparing for Obama’s election with all the speed of a colony of pissed-off fire ants. They’re manufacturing clever shanks and pointy shit like sociopaths in a prison shop. If we start poking around in hills that we don’t belong in, expect one of these babies to come down on the base of our national skull. --Calvin Godfrey