Bert Bananas features a story ripped, bloody and screaming, from tomorrow's headlines!

Lipo-Replacement Explosive Therapy & Threat Reduction
By Sholmo Shunn-Turtlebaum
RotoReuter
Tel Aviv, Israel

Sources close government sponsored anonymous spokesmen lurking in the the restrooms in the third floor cafeteria of IDF Headquarters in Haifa have confirmed the persistent rumors first heard at the new archeological dig, Go Tel it on the Mountain. With this confirmation we must now confront the question, how will this affect the balance of power among Israel’s enemies?

Details regarding the first use of Lipo-Replacement Explosive Therapy & Threat Reduction (LRETTR) have now been released. They read like a script for a technological thriller.

Mohammed Ali Yusif Al-Yiddi was a 42 year old full time Palestinian terrorist. He’d been Palestinian since birth, and become a terrorist 45 minutes after being enrolled by his doting parents at Honus Al-Wahgnerr Middle School Madrassa, home of the Fighting Wahabi. Their motto was, “The Fighting Wahabi will shiskabob ye.” It sounds better ululated in Arabic… Because in appearance he looked like a 13th Century monk, his nickname was ‘The Friar.”

Mr. Al-Yiddi’s 30 years as a terrorist had taught him survival skills the likes of which ordinary people have no concept. He never slept under the same roof twice in one month. None of his wives knew his real name. To his numerous children he was just the milkman. He would as soon eat pork as use a cell phone.

His caution was legendary; as well it should have been, because you can count on one finger his sole surviving contemporary, whom Al-Yiddi knew only by a code name, “Shabul,” which loosely translated means, ‘he who stirs up the ant-hill while memorizing the big words in the Holy Koran.’ The two terrorists had never met face to face, but had for the past 18 years exchanged messages in the code-plucked eye brows of those who have died to death by expiring for Allah.

On October 23, 2006 Mr. Al-Yiddi began to feel the effects of an-about-to rupture appendix. He happened to be in the small southern Israeli town of Elesdee, on the west coast of Galilee. Because he was traveling with the identity papers of a cooperative Israeli Arab, he checked himself into the local hospital. His malady was quickly diagnosed and the preparations for a quickie appendectomy were begun. Searching the eyes of the doctor who’d examined him and the nurses who attended him, Al-Yiddi saw no duplicity… for there was none to see.

But as soon as he was under anesthetic, a plan long in place was put into effect. Because unbeknownst to Al-Yiddi, the Mossad had been tracking him for over six years. Their agents had been following Al-Yiddi every time he entered Israel, having planted a GPS transmitter in a purple and pink head wrap, two colors irresistible to Al-Yiddi, which had been presented to him by the Mossad’s highest paid informant at that time, Yasser Arafat. (This certainly explains a lot, doesn’t it?)

So two seconds after he went under, the operation theater was invaded by scrubbed and gowned Mossad agents and a Mossad-friendly surgeon. Taking possession of the theater, they hustled the hospital employees out and began their work. The surgeon made a larger than necessary incision at the lower right quadrant of Al-Yiddi’s abdomen. While his thankfully as-yet-unruptured appendix was excised, two fancy looking thermos bottles were carried gingerly to the operating table. After the appendix was removed, the surgeon turned her attention to lipo-suctioning a large area surrounding Al-Yiddi’s belly button. The ‘spare-tyre’ accumulated by years of practicing all year long for Ramadan was removed, 13 pounds of human suet.

After the fat was out of ‘the Friar,’ a sterile cat gut ‘ladder,’ designed to hold the plastic explosive in place, so it wouldn’t pool at the bottom of the pelvic girdle, was put in place. Then one at a time, the six pounds of plastic explosive in each thermos-like container, formulated not as the clay-like substance made familiar by cinematic endeavors, but rather as a mimic for human fat, was injected into his abdomen. Finally, a microscopic receiver and detonator were anchored to the interior remnant of his umbilical chord. Then he was sewn up and sent to post-op. The Mossad team left the hospital, singly; anyone watching the hospital would not have noticed anything unusual.

36 hours later Al-Yiddi checked himself out of the hospital. Clapping on his headgear, he dressed and walked out of the hospital.. Beckoning a cab, with an Arab driver, he asked to be driven to the local bus station. At the bus station he bought a ticket to Jerusalem. He was in Jerusalem that night.

The following morning, under surveillance by no less than three part-time Mossad agents, he was seen entering a dry cleaners in the Chinese section of Jerusalem. Four minutes later a car pulled up and three Arab gentlemen exited, two older and one younger. The younger man carried a large briefcase.

Seated across the street at an outdoor café, the lead Mossad agent muttered into his beard while hunched over his bowl of sugar toasted minnie-motzas. He was asked to repeat his message. He did. The response was terse: “You have 30 seconds to get as far away as you can!” Throwing down money for his breakfast, plus a 5% tip, the agent scuttled away.

30 seconds later an immense explosion tore apart the dry cleaners. Al-Yiddi, two senior Al-Qaeda leaders and the President of Young Al-Qaedas for Allah, were killed. Plans they had been working on were never to be accomplished. Tens, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of lives had been saved.