Smuggler’s Blues

“When do we eat?” asked Achmed’s family.
“Soon,” said Achmed. “Food is coming.”
A few minutes later, Achmed heard the tell-tale rattling of his teacup on the living room table.
He dragged the table off of the floor and pulled the rug away.
The trapdoor burst open and two dusty masked men crawled up, hauling wooden crates.
“Food?” asked Achmed.
“Better,” said one of the men, pulling a rifle out of a crate and handing it to Achmed. “Weapons! To fight!”
Achmed flipped the safeties and shot them both.
Their ID cards were good for some flour and powdered milk.