(A customer walks in the door. There is a large radio in the corner, blaring Middle Eastern music).
Customer: Good Morning.
Owner: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the Liberation of Frogistine Terrorist Arms Shop!
Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man.
Owner: What can I do for you, Sir?
Customer: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the refugee camp at grid S-33 just now, watching the children tease a dog with its own entrails and praising God for this fine day, when I suddenly came over all jihadishly feverent.
Owner: Excuse me, Sir?
Customer: Justifiably homicidal.
Owner: Ah, oppressed!
Customer: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, “A little lethal violence against some unsuspecting and randomly chosen victims was just the ticket.”
Owner: Come again?
Customer: I want to blow some people up.
Owner: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the ghetto blaster!
Customer: Oh, heaven forbid…
Customer: That stuff just rocks.
Owner: So it can go on playing, can it?
Customer: Most certainly! Now then, some weapons please, my good man.
Owner: Certainly, sir. What would you like?
Customer: Well, eh, how about a little something in Semtex?
Owner: I’m afraid we’re fresh out of plastic explosives, sir.
Customer: Oh, never mind. How are you on RDX?
Owner: I’m afraid we never have that at the end of the week, we get it fresh on the Sabbath.
Customer: Tish. Well, my fellow in troubled times, three or four grenades will have to suffice, if you please.
Owner: They’ve been on order, sir, for weeks. Was expecting them this morning.
Customer: Not my lucky day, is it? Ahh, armor-piercing mortar rounds?
Owner: Sorry, sir.
Customer: Ah, antipersonnel mines?
Owner: Normally sir, yes. Caught at the inspection post today.
Customer: Knee-poppers? Bouncing Betties?
Customer: Limpet mines?
Customer: Pungi stakes?
Customer: Caltrops, piano wire, nun-chucks, throwing stars, tire-irons, brass knuckles?
Customer: Amanita mushrooms, perhaps?
Owner: Ah! We have Amanita mushrooms, yessir.
Customer: (surprised) You do! Excellent.
Owner: Yessir. They’re, ah … they’re a bit dry.
Customer: Oh, I like them dry.
Owner: Well, they’re very dry, sir.
Customer: No matter. Fetch hither the deadly Amanita Mushrooms, the wonderous white Death Angels, ahhhh!
Owner: I … think they’re a bit drier than you’ll like them, sir.
Customer: I don’t care how fucking dry they are, hand them over with all due speed.
Customer: What now?
Owner: The cat’s eaten them.
Customer: Has he.
Owner: She, sir.
Customer: Teflon-coated armor-piercing rounds?
Customer: Phosgene gas?
Customer: You … do *have* some weapons, don’t you?
Owner: (brightly) Of course sir. It’s a terrorist supply shop, sir. We’ve got —
Customer: No, no, don’t tell me. I’m keen to guess.
Owner: Fair enough.
Customer: Ah, well, I’ll take a dozen!
Owner: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mister Claymore, that’s my name.
Customer: Computer viruses?
Owner: Uh, not as such.
Customer: Red mercury?
Customer: Flight handbooks?
Customer: Greek fire?
Customer: Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?
Owner: Not *today*, sir, no.
Customer: Ah, how about nine millimeter full metal jacket rounds?
Owner: Well, we don’t get much call for it around here, sir.
C: Not much ca– it’s the single most popular cartridge in the world!
O: Not ’round here, sir.
C: And what IS the most popular ’round hyah?
O: Seven millimeter, sir.
C: IS it.
O: It’s our number-one best seller, sir!
C: Okay. Errr, seven, eh?
O: Definitely, sir.
C: All right. FINE. “Have you got any?” he asked, expecting the asnwer to be “no”.
O: Checking sir…. nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
C: It’s not much of a terrorist supply shop, is it?
O: Finest in the camp, sir!
C: Explain the logic behind that, please.
O: Well, it’s so clean!
C: It’s certainly devoid of any weapons.
O: You haven’t asked me about strap-on explosives, sir.
C: Would it be worth it?
O: Could be.
C: Have you — SHUT THAT DAMNED STEREO OFF!
O: Told you, sir.
C: Have you got any strap-on explosives?
O: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. Tell me, do you in fact have any weapons here at all?
O: Yes sir.
O: No. Not really, sir.
C: You haven’t.
O: Nossir, not a scrap. I was deliberately buying time for the police to arrive.
C: Well, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to shoot you.
(shoots the owner)
C: What a senseless waste of human life.
(fade, police sirens in background)
Apologies to Monty Python, etc.