Left and Right sat at the bar, trading rounds as they got to know each other.
"I mean, do I look like a terrorist?" asked Left, annoyed at having been picked for a random search earlier that day. "I mean, I'm no Arab. I don't even have a tan."
"I know exactly what you mean" said Right. "This whole War on Terror's gone so far everyone's paranoid these days. I mean, just the other day I sent a box to the Cops with three heads I'd cut off a family out West. Took me ages to get the whole thing set up, because of course the family didn't want to cooperate [chuckle], then I had to make sure I'd wiped all evidence that I'd touched it. So I manage to drop it off in front of the local Police Station without being seen, cross the road and settle in to wait for someone to discover my little present. But does anyone even pick it up and give it a shake? Oh no. They call in the bomb squad, clear everyone for two blocks and detonate the whole thing. Some of my best cutting, shot straight to hell. Man, it's getting so no one trusts anyone any more."
Right took a drag from his cigarette and finished up his beer. "So," he said with a smile to a shrinking Left, "you got a family?"