Ahmed Goes to Afghanistan
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.
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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.

* * *
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.

* * *
posted by Ollie Abbot
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.

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