posted by Ollie (the Wahhabi)
Al Abbas
Good Muslim of San Francisco, CA
Saturday June 15, 2002 - 02:22am
Ahmed didn't have a beard although he remembered
his mother had one. No wonder his father Habib preferred having
orgies with goats. The old goat lover knew he would burn in
Islamic hell for that. He amended his sins by insisting that
his wife wore a thick, black, full-length burka even to bed.
That clearly wasn't enough to escape hellfire, and that didn't
exactly make Habib a cheerful and supportive dad.
Then one day an al Qaeda man came from the mountains looking
to buy some boys for the use as suicide attackers against the
infidels of the West. The evil and corrupt foreigners threatened
to destroy the family values of True Believers, the al Qaeda
man said, so if old Habib would give up his son to be trained
as a living weapon against those hoodlums, the boy would go
to Heaven and -- for the sake of the true family values -- bring
his old dad with him. The young fool might also bring his mom,
Habib figured, but that was alright as long as she kept her
burka on. With that new perspective in mind Habib cheerfully
traded little Ahmed for some goat feed.
* * *
CHAPTER
2
Ahmed Meets Dung
Beetles
posted by Mehmet the Carpet Pilot
Extremist of London, England
Saturday June 15, 2002 - 02:31am
Thus Ahmed was taken over the mountains to
Afghanistan with a herd of other boys from the families of True
Believers. He met his new adopted father named Osama who lived
in a big cave with about fifty or so real sons of his from his
twelve burka-clad wives. With all that spawn crawling all over
the cave, Osama wasn’t exactly a cheerful and supportive
dad either. His adopted children lived in smaller and colder
caves with a lot fewer amenities.
Their school called madrasa was also in a cave. They only
had two classes taught by one and the same one-eyed, one-armed,
and one-legged teacher named Mulla Abdulla. From sunrise untill
noon they all read the Koran. Then they briefly snacked on
dry pitas with occasional cheese and proceeded with the second
class wherein they fiddled with automatic weapons, grenade
launchers, and other clever contraptions taken off dead infidels.
This class lasted until sunset.
Safety rule number one was, "Don’t run with a
loaded grenade launcher -- you may fall and hurt somebody."
Rule number two was, "When you strap yourself with explosives,
make sure you’re not standing next to the teacher."
There was no rule number three. The school walls were stained
with pieces of dried crust left over from the less careful.
That served as an extra incentive for the survivors. Mulla
Abdulla would point at one stain and say, "This used
to be my left arm." Then he would hop to the other wall
and say, "This used to be my right leg." Then he
would stand silently for about an hour, scratching the wall
stain with his brown nail and sniffing at his fingers.
Ahmed favorite toys in the camp were dung beetles which he
found in great numbers at the camp cesspool. He even learned
some arithmetic by counting dung beetles. Arithmetic was frowned
upon by Mulla Abdulla who himself could count only until five
on his right hand, so he punished Ahmed by making him eat
lunch by the cesspool for as long as he lived in the camp.
That was fine with Ahmed; he ate lunch with his friends dung
beetles.
* * *
CHAPTER
3
Ahmed Meets Mohammed
posted by Habib McDonald
Infidel of New York, NY USA
Saturday June 15, 2002 - 02:37am
As Ahmed grew older he started longing for
a more mature relationship. Dung beetles could not satisfy his
carnal needs, so he followed in his father’s steps, experimenting
with small mammals and whatnot. Afghanistan’s rigid nature,
however, could not offer him much in the way of small fuzzy
creatures. Ahmed wound up looking at bigger reptiles, especially
snakes of the less poisonous varieties. The only book he read
besides the Koran was the Guide of Afghan Snakes. The book was
published in Pakistan and given to Ahmed by Osama for his sweet
sixteen. The book had colorful pictures and Ahmed would sometimes
achieve orgasm just by looking at those creatures, writhing
shamelessly, with those sleek naked bodies uncovered by burkas
or other such items, those big lusty mouths open wide.
One day he was reading the book by the cesspool when an Egyptian
boy named Mohammed sat by and asked to take a look at the
pictures. Ahmed gladly lent it to his new friend. The next
thing Mohammed did was, he tore a page out of the book and
started making himself a stogie.
* * *
CHAPTER
4
CAVE BOOK CLUB
posted by Ollie Abbot
Infidel
Monday September 2, 2002 - 03:28pm
“Why did you do that?” Ahmed bleated
in protest. “This is how I fight America,” Mohammed
replied condescendingly as he lit up the stogie. “America
now has two major enemies -- drugs and terrorism. An enemy of
my enemy is my friend. Have you heard of a war on books? Drugs!
They make me a better terrorist than books.” “But
that was my favorite book!” Ahmed whined. “Favorite,
shmavorite...” Mohammed inhaled and paused for quite a
long time. “That's what's wrong with your approach --
uneven experience!” he continued after a while, more light-heartedly.
“With my approach I find all books equally satisfying.
Look at you! You're a nervous wreck -- and I'm a healthy, wholesome
lad.” “Tearing up books to roll joints is not
only barbaric -- it's plain stupid! For while it is possible
to re-read a book it is not possible to re-smoke it!”
Ahmed shook his head indignantly.
Mohammed grinned menacingly. “You are a close-minded white
middle class conservative pig, Ahmed. My approach to books is
as good as any other! You wouldn't have argued if you weren't
such a close-minded white middle class conservative pig you
are. Therefore, you're a close-minded white middle class conservative
pig.”
He took another deep draw and paused again, giving Ahmed time
to digest his statement. Then he continued through his teeth,
“But unlike you, Ahmed, I keep my mind open. I never said
my approach is better than yours. I concede that both approaches
offer an equally elevating experience.” “I guess
you're right…” Ahmed bleated, anticipating the beginning
of a beautiful friendship. “It's quite fortunate that
the greed-driven Western capitalists print books in thousands
of copies to maximize return on the investment.”
Mohammed laughed and slapped Ahmed on the back appreciably.
“I like the way you talk, my friend! Your voice is funny.”
And thus harmony was restored and would be broken only when
Mohammed would rip another page from Ahmed’s book --
which would happen practically after every meal. This conversation
would then be repeated in its entirety and friendship reestablished
-- until the next time.
