A word from one of our sponsors

Inspector

Hello. Don here from Don & Sons Better Bunker Inspectors.

You might not recognize me without my makeup, but I used to be on TV. A lot. Lost that gig. And my wife. And my money. So sad. I miss my beautiful money. Bigly.

I lived in, uh, public housing for five years. It was supposed to be 10, but they let me leave early.

An old friend loaned me enough rubles, I mean dollars, to start a new career as a bunker inspector.

Don & Sons Better Bunker Inspectors is as family business. My two tools, I mean boys, Don Jr. and Eric, provide the drool, I mean muscle, and my daughter, Ivanka, provides the boobs, I mean brains.

They also lived in public housing for a short time. Ivanka’s husband, Jared, decided he didn’t want to live in public housing. Last we heard Jared was hiding, I mean, living in a kibbutz in the Golan Heights.

That’s OK.  I mean c’mon. Do you think Jared would last a minute in public housing? Plus I gave him plenty of jobs before I lost my old gig. He bonehammered them all. Total fusterclucks.

Here’s the deal. Nobody knows more about bunkers than me. Everybody says so. Why? Because I spent the last several months of my old gig inspecting the best bunker in the world. So beautiful.

At first I would stay just a tiny while, but eventually I spent hours and hours and hours inspecting and improving. I installed a covfefe bar, a spray tan booth, a pneumatic tube to deliver hamberders and a hotline – very hot – to Judge Jeanine.

Don & Sons Better Bunker Inspectors. Let us turn your bunker into a hidey hole fit for a fascist, I mean king, I mean, oh well. You know what I mean.

Brad Broberg

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