

D.I.S.S.U.S. 2030

by

Edward Drobinski

For Anni, my best pal ever and her Benji terror.

"Somebody should have warned the English and Americans. Beware of gifts bearing Muslims."
Copyright © 2019 by Edward Drobinski; all rights reserved.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Well beyond the bothersome semi-constraints formerly imposed through weak US law, all rights are reserved. This book may not be duplicated, distributed, or Allah forbid, hellaciously fornicated, without written permission from at least three recognized Ayatollahs or Imams, as stated in Koran 2:23 under the penalty of death by stoning; further addressed in Koran 7:12 which adds the subsequent exclusion from each, all, and every of Mohammed's seven heavens. The copyright holder doesn't really care what you choose to do, and frankly would likely find your lawless demise amusing; but in an act of outdated western fairness is compelled to issue this warning. An accredited book reviewer, meaning that they get paid for reviewing, as opposed to those useless, stupid, on-line freebie, flouncing dilettantes may quote brief passages in the course of writing a review; limited to one of the laudatory type and upon submission of proof of purchase.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Understand? Fictitious? As in untrue, fabricated, invented, made-up (not like in Liberace), false, pretended, fictional, conjured, and all those other words one politely calls liars. In fact they are so obviously fictitious that any attempt to assert otherwise would have to be the mercenary ploy of some lazy, non-productive crook or crooks, counseled, aided, and abetted by an otherwise unemployed chiseler or chiselers, as yet un-dismissed from the less than diligent bar. The year of the book is 2030. Like duh?? You know what day this is, ace?

Last and moreover, the unbalanced writer has vowed to report abusers to their local Muslim IDEAS office. Be forewarned.
Contents

The Big News 5-17-30

TheInterdepndentObserver.com

as respectfully reprinted from

The Guardian by way of

The New York Tattler

of unspecified varying dates, in turn

allegedly taken from Reuters

May 17, 2030

by Jennifer Jihad, Freelance Journalist

Theresa May Declares Brexit De Facto Dead

In a surprisingly candid statement, 73 year old former UK Prime Minister Theresa May declared Brexit dead. PM in 2016, when the people voted to leave the European Union, she has now directly declared the vote null and void, after suffering years of accusations of indirect intrigues. "Look here," she said, "There is absolutely no point in leaving the EU when we are its only remaining member. One cannot leave one's self."

"When Latvia left in April, it left Great Britain as the first desiring to leave the dance, as well as the last partnerless one still there. Embarrassing at the very least; wouldn't you say?" PM May has suffered fourteen years of criticism over her handling of the affair, and now feels vindicated. "Look here again. It would have been quite rude to just up and go in 2016 based solely on the vote of 52% of the less-than-well-informed people in a non-binding referendum on that one particular day without some sort of mutually acceptable agreement. Even disregarding the other spurious issues, 52% is far from any sort of mandate. In a civilized country, one does not get comme ci, comme sa divorced by willy-nilly sneaking away at night without leaving any note."

For your information, The United Kingdom European Union membership referendum, also known as the EU referendum and the Brexit referendum, took place on June 23, 2016 to ask the electorate if the country should remain a member of, or leave the European Union, under the provisions of the European Union Referendum Act of 2015 and also the Political Parties, Elections and Referendums Act of 2000. The referendum resulted in 51.9% of votes being cast in favor of leaving the EU. Although the referendum was legally non-binding, the May government of that time had promised to implement the result, and it initiated the officially farcical and pathetic EU withdrawal process nine months later on March 29, 2017.

"In politics, the astute of us learn that if one is patient, the needed decisions are most often provided for you. Time has clearly shown that this has become quite silly on the most practical of levels. Our left hand cannot very well negotiate with our right hand as to who holds the 400 million pounds. It's like publicly talking to one's self, and one might be seen as bonkers if seen doing that. We have attained the best of both worlds. Through astute, persevering management we have retained the entirety of the benefits attendant to remaining, while we have also gained the benefits of having left."

"If I may dare speak candidly, the politically shrewd among you no doubt know that even below average elected officials have absolutely no intention of following the ridiculous whims of the uninformed voters. Indeed, just like everyone else desirous of a lucrative career, we primarily represent the whims of our large corporate contributors, including the dictates of the information controlling 'social' media, which have the goods on all of us. This whole Brexit business got a bit out of hand when some elected wise asses decided that it might be humorous to throw this right in the faces of the voters. Rather than the usual blah-blah-blahing disinterest in the undefined will of the people, the non-binding referendum of 2016, which some un-credentialed turkeys perversely said would be binding, showed very clearly as opposed to the standardized 'serious appearing' and fogging claptrap, that we political muckers have absolutely no intention whatsoever of following the vote demonstrated will of our plebian constituents. If you might pardon my Arabic, we don't give two Shiites. In the near future, I think it is safe to say that responsible politicos have learned that it is not wise to directly ask the rabble what they want. The clarity may prove unacceptably blinding, necessitating an official response of a roundabout, convoluted, interminable KMA. Speaking of which, did you see the Biden photos? Shameful abuser of privileged position. And at his age. Humph."

"Still, I am confident, that with continued help from our Illuminilibtardi friends, Britain will soon be able to manage their own affairs, just like the Africans."

"Besides, at the most bottom of lines relevant to my many peasant constituents; those nasty, raping, knifing Muslim invaders bearing a behavioral intolerance and an 'Allah granted gift' to tell everyone what to do, such as has not been seen since the days of that over-his-head State Secretary George C. Marshall, have all relocated to D.I.S.S.U.S, with the continuing full approval of the media savvy, Sharia supportive, black-shirted Antifa fascists. God bless and save England, our Queen, and Tommy Robinson, not necessarily in that order."

We at Reuters would like to extend our sincere thanks for the prior interview/statements which were granted with the unanimous approval of the Saturday evening staff of the Devonshire Dementia Care Home; where Ms. May has been residing and thinks presiding since 2020 when Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson got uppity. Reuters especially thanks them for the sanction and Ms. May's bubble bath. Elsewhere in the world;

DISSUS (formerly the US) Has a New Supreme Court

More or less on this day, the nine members of the Supreme Court simultaneously died from undiagnosed terminal phlebitis. President Tupac Obama's nominations for replacement of Ayman Muhammed Rabbaie al-Zawahiri, Saif al-Abdel, Anwar al-Awlaki, Naser al-Wahayishi, Abu Yahu al-Libi, Busta Rhymes, Flavor Fav, Fifty Cent, with Sharia Fatwah at the helm were approved in two hours by both the House and Senate. The delay was encountered as a result of objections to two original nominees; The Notorious B.I.G. and Osama bin Laden on the grounds of purported death, and a House-Senate wish not to get bogged down in that invariably ensuing and tiresome Old School-New School BS, which resulted in Tupac's substitution of al-Awlaki and color co-ordinated Rhymes. This deft political maneuver overcame all objections, excepting a few hateful Republican reservations concerning Sharia's alleged transvestitism. Their first act was to legalize white beheading as a punishment for improper and recidivist existence.
Pleased to Meet Me

Please excuse my poor tabloid manners. It's not my wish to be discourteous, but things around here have gotten even more messed up than usual and I'm not myself. I'm Ralph Modesto. My humble family of three, counting yeztruly, my wife Alice and son James, but not including Sammy the boarder, reside on Humble Lane, in a hovel in the development called Humble Hovels,

Our humble abode. Trust me; it looks much better in color; really; property of the author.

which is situated in the borough of Humbletown, in the state of Humility, in the Delphic Islamic Squealing State of the United States (DISSUS), formerly known as the United States of America, now still commonly referred to as Rogue State, and still seen, albeit only partially, as the rich white terrorist country it was once considered in its entirety.

In all fairness to anyone's suspicious mind, I do suspect that Sammy's real name is Ibrahim Salih Mohammed Al-Yacoub. This revelation was entirely accidental. Hehe. I was retrieving the mail while kind of spaced and inattentive to the requirements of the task at hand. When I got the snail desecrated lumber to the kitchen, I scanned through the customary sales pitches, cons, and exciting notices of having won bonus points; brightly noticing that two pieces of said lumber were addressed to one Ibrahim Salih Mohammed Al-Yacoub at this humble address. Though one did not have enough space to get past the "Yac" on the top line, I figured that it was a reasonable guess to think that they intended reaching the same person. One was from the hobby retailer; "Al Harb's Burst Aides; your favorite polyester resin and catalyst merchant." The other was from some DISSUS governmental agency, a new one I guess, as I had not previously heard of "The International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IIDEA)." I was intrigued to find out what the second was about; but an ideological reverence for the sanctity, as well as fines and jail terms, of the mail system overwhelmed me, and I put the two items back in the box, hoping it would look like the posting of a bill to any casual observer.

I can and do laconically rattle that off for any near ear. My primary intent is to get a well-paid gig on "The Late Show with Stephen Colbert;" you know, that Illuminilibtardi propaganda "comedy" show they've been fucking up ever since Leno left. Barring that for now, I'm more or less contented to hone my material delivery skills through practice; which truly seems to excite the ringy thingy on the masjid. My tertiary goal is to convey a bemused attitude toward the popular, hula-hoop-type novelty which has been coming here through the Rio Grande since the days of the First-Muslim-in-Charge. If that "humor" escapes you at first, try thinking Rupert Pupkin, that's DeNiro, pre-empting an aged Jerry Lewis, laughing at someone-he-hate's teeth being broken through sucking on too large a sour ball, while trying to say that he was okay with blood covering his spat out tooth scraps. I really don't think so, but I guess I could imagine how for some this would be considered an acquired taste; requiring much too much .............. whatever. Welcome to the hovel.

My current state of mind might be interpreted as unbalanced or at least confused. I'm having some difficulty in reconciling and understanding how my middling career efforts at the middling local "Jimmy Hoffa Memorial Crematorium" franchise, have gone unrecognized. This is after four hard working years of diligent, piping hot requirements; right in the ugliest faces of disease, infirmity, flattening and insistent, yet too often untended, familial obligations, but in full compliance with any vaguery inferred by the dictatorial operations manuals in existence. I have attained the "glorious" rank of Assistant Domestic Non-Sentient Fireman, that which I had on day one, with the same pay.

I don't know, but this may have been consistent with what has resulted in my having been charged by the Islamic Defense Establishment Artillery Section (IDEAS), not to be confused with the International Deepstate Equalized Anarcho Socialists (IDEAS), with ostensibly being a rich, white, though covert terrorist. Since the return of another Obama as a First Muslim in Chief, new IDEAS have been proliferating like poppies in an Afghani spring.

I can almost understand when I dumb down a few necessary notches. ...... In fairness, I must note that this conclusion is based on a speculation which would be rejected by every credentialed Physicist; and even worse, rejected by the Physics PhD candidates and even the aspiring nutjobs at the Master's level who spend the bulk of their time giving mathematically based near-credence to that weirdo multiverse quantum stuff. Undergrad they re-check the water-heat-steam calculations, never finding an error. Perhaps this is what makes them get all goofy.

It is sad, but it is also my possibly ordained and unfairly considered pathetic destiny. Before you might think that that sounds too whiny and solicitous of the obligatory, amusing, "kindly," supportive, and "social" shit, please be advised that I have always and continue to recognize that at the most bottom of lines, other opinions have all the significance of last Wednesday's incorrect weather prediction.

This sluggish, low paid position followed my sixteen glorious years ending as a well-paid Senior Vice President for Deutsch Offshore Advisors USA, continually rising from my initial Assistant Junior Tax Dodging Analyst level. But, Deutsch was chased to Yakutsk, Siberia, Russian Federation by the Muslim interlopers even while Trump, Jr. was still in office; and I'm a picky traveler. I try not to think of those wonderful years.

Luvya, all my old pals in the permafrost. All the best. If this global warming BS has any merit, spring might be coming soon. Hehe.

While it is always difficult to pinpoint the first instance, I think that the First Muslim in Chief, Barack Obama, got the transitional absurdity started back around 2010 with a seemingly innocuous Twitter twaddle which went the commonly overused term of viral, not yet recognized as being of its pathological "word equivalent" witchery. As is now required by the state, the momentous announcement hangs on my middle-western wall, having replaced my esoteric quote from old Henry Ford; "Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal."

Oh, please excuse me again. Henry used to make cars before everyone started turning Japanese around 1970. ........ Can you keep that under your hat? You know, when you say things like that they call you old, fossil, codger, stuff like that. I don't really give a wet raspberry about that, but the Muslims and Libby Millennials investigate you for "infractions" against the required nicey-nicey speech restricting laws if you say that there was something here before they were. How they reconcile that subject with each other would seem to require more hoop jumping than Antifa's de facto support of Sharia law, thighing, and child grooming. Perhaps one day, I'll get enlightenment through a tiny glimpse into one of Mohammed's heavens.

Required Obama Twitter twaddle; property of the author.

That can't be argued as IDEAS never made its presence known until two years ago in 2028, when the "new ideas" man finally succumbed to a prolonged bout with elephantitis of the ears when the condition spread to his nostrils and from there proceeded to his alleged brain, leaving his son Tupac alone in the White House, barring another successful Ayatollah fatwah.

I can understand how we rich white people cannot escape being decadent and racist. For in excess of 400 years we have run the show to our liking. We came to take it for granted. It's in our bones. But, I do think that I understand the view that Republican tax cuts might be viewed as terrorism against the poor, as the benefits go only to those who pay taxes, and have a debatable effect upon those who don't; through either low income or untraceable cash gimmicks.

But all this is unimportant now, as it looks like I'll be spending the rest of my life on the water ride in Abu Grabby, being tortured into making up stories about other secretly Islamophobic white devils with hidden loot. I'll probably never know what caused this. It's not required. But, I have a few guesses.

The other day, very proud of his successful salvaging and reconstructive work, my twelve year old son, James Modesto pedaled down the driveway and into the street. He hadn't travelled very far when suddenly he heard a voice he was hoping not to hear, that of nosy Joe Finke.

"Hey, boy. Stop right here. ...... That bicycle looks obscenely expensive."

"It's an old Schwinn!"

"Antique?"

"I put it together with parts I found at the junkyard!"

"No need to get defensive, boy. Just admiring your fine bike."

"You can get one just like it with a trip to the junkyard and a little work."

"Good tires like that don't sit in junk yards."

"Well, no. You have to buy those."

"Not certain humble I can afford that."

"$12.95 on sale at K-Mart."

"Each?"

"Yeah."

"That's enough to feed a starving person in Afghanistan for a month."

"Gee whizz. Can you imagine how much better things would be there if the Taliban would behave like your everyday organized crime gang?"

"Have a posh white day."

Dejected, and sensing potential trouble, James brought the bicycle right back home, his initial modest elation now having been quickly potential "informant" converted to being fearful of being reported to the local IDEAS authorities. He put it inside the open, garage, and went back to the kitchen where he had piled up his Islamic school textbooks, intending to study more of Muhammed's heavenly excursions and white deviltry. Instead he was surprised to find me home on a workday.

"Dad, nosy old Mr. Finke had something to say about my 'posh' bike."

I was not in the best of moods. I was home from work early because Omar, the town employee who scoops up the Humbletown road kill, got a little careless on the job, cut a few corners near prayer time, and wound up being flattened road kill himself, a lump near what might have been an ass facing or butting Medina. This recycling, popularly called crushed art was provided free; courtesy of an out-of-control Humbletown garbage truck. With nothing to do while waiting for the ambulance, cops, social worker, and the Muslim Imam who would try to get the corpse to say; "I bear witness that there is no god but Allah," the innovative drivers threw all the road kill, excepting the more or less flattened road kill guy into their truck. So, I was having an easy morning flipping the privately delivered goldfish into the oven when "Bernie"-Abdul told me to go home saying; "I can't afford to pay you for doing nothing."

After hearing James' story I was infuriated, having had a head start, and in anger made a decision I will regret for as long as I live. I said; "Mr. Joseph Finke's old ass is annoyed. Is it really? Let's show him what annoyed really is."

I took James to Walmart and we bought his choice of a scooter which wasn't the cheapest one there. A Razor Pocket, fuckin' A; two hundred and forty-nine greenies plus the razor challenged Imam's cut.

Razor Pocket Mod 24-volt Electric Scooter, $249.00 plus the razor challenged Imam's cut; property of the author.

When we got back I told James to ride it around the block, FLAGRANTLY. I went the first hundred feet with him and when I saw Joe Finke gapping I said; "Good day, Mr. F. Have an assessment of this scooter? ....... Didn't think so. Take your time. I'd caution you to close your mouth as the black flies are in full flight this time of year. Yes, that's a luxury scooter, just like the one Snoop Dog's kid has."

Picking up on my tone, James, took the cue and flipped the buzzard off, stopping to add a two handed version while verbalizing; "Sit on it, fink face," and closed with a daredevil behind-the-back adaptation inclusive of an impromptu two-handed KMA chaser, before speeding dowm Humble Lane at 15 precarious miles-per-hour.

I was never more proud of my son.

Though quite fun in the moment, this undoubtedly proved to have been a major mistake as without doubt fish-face-Finke reported the event to the IDEAS authorities, causing this soon-to-be-mentioned, ridiculous IDEAS charge; and even if it didn't it could present complications to its adjudication, if any. I suspect that in and of itself James' scooter and the Finke flip-off would have constituted a minor personal infraction carrying a penalty no greater than two minutes of public stoning with small, blunt rocks. But I feared that we might be living in strange times.

In fact, the event's repercussions began to manifest with the speed attendant to a Syrian ISIS capitulation to 10 US troops backed by 50 Kurds armed with Neotech holographic sighting with magnifier, as little James became virtually immediately required to supplement his regular scholastic endeavors with an after-hours course on Ellen Degeneres Potty Mouth and Dance. James told me that the course seemed to have had a counter-productive effect, as at break the kids required to attend found it the height of hilarity to smoke regular Marlboros, and say things like "Eat my shorts, lesbo," and "Dance on this, Butch."

If I had it to do over again, I'd just have gone over to Finke's under the cover of darkness, and used my RoundUp to write "ISIS FINK" on his humble lawn.

James' Question

A rare Millennial; one with an inkling that something might have pre-dated their whiny, entitled existences, James asked me if we rich, white people were always governed by righteous, brownish Muslims and poor black rappers in Ferraris, aided by rich, white collaborators like Mr. Finke.

"Son, this phenomenon could be seen coming for a decade or more. In recent times it finally got full traction when the home grown International Deepstate Equalized Anarcho Socialists (IDEAS) conspired with Howling Organized Western Libbies (HOWL), Democracy International (DI), and International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IIDEA) to simultaneously declare the US a terrorist nation, primarily for the alleged harboring of rich white demons."

"We're rich white demons? Demons too?"

"Sure. Can't you tell by our surrounding opulence? My goodness, that laptop alone must have a market value exceeding $100."

" .......... "

"Please excuse me." I got up and banged my shoe against the wall and hollered "If you don't turn down that oud music, I'll report you for possession of that decadent contraband sound system."

I sat back down and continued; "Gone are the pleasant neighborhood mornings of 'Good morning Mrs. Farnsickle. I must complement you on your thriving begonias.' Now we and Mrs. Farnsickle grunt out greetings marginally courteous and eye each other for a sign of an opulence reportable to the enforcement arm of the DISSUS IDEAS Bureau, 92% staffed by belligerent Q-Tip heads. Gone are the malls where we rich white demons glutted ourselves on the fares of Dillard's, Banana Republic, and Athlete's Foot. Now they're all gone, replaced by jails, investigative departments of the government, Moe's Discount Hajibery, and Dar-us Salam Publications.

When I mentioned this to James, he said; "Actually, Moe's has a pretty cool knife section. I was thinking maybe one day we could ........... " I answered; "Let's wait for Ramadan. Everything goes on sale then."

Now don't get me wrong as I'm not the least bit of an Islamophobe. I rented half our hovel to an Iranian who listed his occupation as "jihadist," that by the way of Brooklyn, and on the IDEAS approved list. He called himself Sammy, perhaps a poor joke on my Uncle Sam, who was midfoot maimed by an Austrian Glock 17 in Iraq; and forever thereafter was reduced to hobbling disability; the latter term fortunately inclusive of financial considerations. Poor Uncle Sam.

Glock 17; property of the author.

It was nice to get Sammy's monthly rent; my humble little family now able to keep one laptop and a 40 watt bulb on after dark, so that James might be able to do his required Alwaleed Islamic studies. I admit that the benefits of Sammy's presence were not always in the forefront of my reasoning, as Sammy, who was apparently lacking in the need to go to a job, played an electrified four stringed oud, and accompanied it with high pitched chanting which sounded like "Ooveramavee, ooveramayou, ooveramawee, ooveramadoo," over and over again. Try as one may, some people have not been Allah blessed with the voice or the ability to phrase of Frank Sinatra or Tiny Tim; their lack of blessing ostensibly a "good" Allah ordained punishment for any rich white demons within earshot.

But, please excuse me once more, as I've been getting ahead of myself. I probably could continue to humbly live with the nosy neighbor finks, the low income, and seeing James' school picture with him wearing a black and blue kufi prayer hat, just like all the swarthy boys named Mohammed. Being well under the radar horizon, I could nod approvingly the few times required and enjoy my time with Alice, while substantially being able to ignore the Nulib-Muslim dictates, were I not un-nerved by the e-mail I got the day before yesterday.

To: Ralph Modesto

From: IDEAS

Subject: Terrorist Activity

This order may not be communicated to anyone other than the addressee, under section 3 of the "Patriot Act," A/K/A "Uniting and Strengthening America (sic) by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act of 2001," as well as that which is stated in Koran 67:3–4; "You are not entitled to be represented by an attorney or Imam."

You are hereby ordered to promptly report at 9AM on Tuesday, May 21, 2030 to Room 103 of the local IDEAS office at 396 Corrections Parkway, in the borough of Humbletown, in the state of Humility, in the Delphic Islamic Squealing State of the United States (DISSUS), where you will face unspecified charges of terrorism, as defined in the "Patriot Act," as they may or may not relate to decadent, underground activities.

Punishment for failure to appear and/or communication of your requirement to appear includes, but is not limited to beheading, stoning, limb amputation, life at Abu Grabby, and denial of heavenly access.

Cordially,

Muhammed Iqbal

Assistant Determinator

At first I thought it was one of those "funny" scams the computer proficient, young anarchos run. I thought of Dylan's "Rainy Day Women # 12 & 35" in what was initially an ironically amusing 2030 context to me.

Stoning and "Rainy Day Women # 12 & 35" by Bob Dylan; property of the author, the latter under both the "fair use" and "transformative" doctrines.

On second thought it wasn't so funny anymore. The times they are a changin' again, this time in the wrong direction.

Back on the subject of the e-mail I started to doubt that it was a phony when I saw that it inferred information about yeztruly only a few people could possibly know. The decadent, underground activities might well indicate my attendance at Aabirah and Sindhy's underground parties. They could have allowed informants in or were informants themselves. In 2030 D.I.S.S.U.S. no one can be fully trusted.

I got as serious as an Ayatollah in the proximity of a belligerent razor when I realized that the evidence, if still required, could be damning. My family and I usually keep to ourselves; a seemingly unnecessary difficulty incorrectly viewed as being achieved through an unjust luxury of sorts; but substantially overcoming that sapling view accidentally; Alice and I sometimes get an urge to engage in forbidden frivolity with other humble white middling devils.

Bossy boss "Bernie"-Abdul Nouri at the Crematorium was the one who had told me about Aabirah and Sindhy's parties. So I guess I should have known better, but the outings were so invigorating. An evening, once a week, in which the group could go down into the dugout and for a few hours revel in the images now deemed inappropriate, of horrendous taste, yadda yadda, inclusive of that which is destined to be regurgitated in disdain on tomorrow's MSNBC highlighted "news."

Decadent Underground Parties

Aabirah and Sindhy, over on Meek Lane, had taken a cue from what the earliest Native Americans did when the Spaniards forbade them from practicing their own religions, perhaps oddly under the same exhumed Muslim penalty of a semi-important limb's amputation for a first offense if okayed by the area's Ayatollah/Bishop; and dug out secret basements under certain houses to continue their practices. Aabirah and Sindhy had that done by a renegade general contractor Aabirah once referred to as "Bin Laden US Enterprises." Perhaps their names should have given me a second hint of a possible setup, but I was desperate for tales of Tiffany ...... Gucci ......... Louis Vuitton. So, every Friday evening a group of we devilish luxury devotees would meet, share some wine, speak very proper Leslie-Howard-type English, and peruse old issues of Vogue, Elle, and Harper's Bazaar. Alice and I found it exhilarating and as insidiously addictive as an ISIS thug does a brand new chainsaw.

Aabirah and Sindhy's humble dugout basement; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

Ah, the sweet remembrance of things past always brings a joyous tear. Please excuse the mushy, unforgivable nostalgia. ....... Thank you. The curved stairway shown on the photo's left was actually, potentially treacherous as its necessary pitch was so severe, that if one did not take the utmost of care, they risked a head bashing tumble to the natural stone floor. Various potpourri was intermittently added by the guests; indeed encouraged. Alice and I once brought a contraband video of Moon Unit and Frank Zappa singing "Valley Girl." It was played on the huge screen hung defiantly high on the wall. Everyone was noddin', boppin', while fondling the contraband, underground, shiny trinkets lying on the tables. Ah, for a few minutes we were all back in the good old days. "I am sure. Totally."

Shopping mall and "Valley Girl" by Moon Unit and Frank Zappa; property of the author, the latter under both the "fair use" and "transformative" doctrines.

Oh, and those magnificent wall hangings.

I remember the time when Joanie read that 2015 Harper's bazaar essay by Lionel Shriver. It was so ahead of its time I had memorized it. "On lesser matters some book reviewers have bemoaned the lack of male authors capable of writing in the female voice. Casual perusal has indicated that this group is far from rare. They are difficult to find primarily because the media controlling Illuminilibtardi have not yet sanctioned the open mention and display of the 'tits-on-a-bull' genre; as well as how this particular form of 'perversity' would be a violation of the governing Muslim beliefs, or they would at least say that it was in a somewhat humorous contradiction of the Muslim male penchant to wear those flowing robes which ape ballroom gowns. Now that we're on the subject, on an even lesser note, it seems worthy of mentioning that to say 'THE female voice' presumes that there is only one. Three seems an extremely reasonable reality, even when 'minor' differences, like momentary positional preferences, are not considered."

Don't get me wrong. When current events are less than ideal, nostalgia recalls the best parts of the past, conveniently blocking out the worst. That house on the wooded five acres overlooking the waterway was such a problem to maintain and the constant view of cheery boaters waving was enough to make an invasive leaping carp bite the hook.

Below is a picture I took when approaching the property in my lost bowrider "Pegasus" on one of those dismal days. The dock is virtually undetectable in the shadows of the trees. The house is also barely visible, the latter purposely that way in search of some semblance of privacy. You can see the cleared, but poorly mowed section near the water. In tedium, I used to harangue Javier about that, but as soon as he was out of my sight it was siesta time, as "dee motor, she break, boss" and I had to remain polite, because of all the expensive Illuminilibtardi laws about "proper" and "hate" speech during Javier's redundant rendition of all that shit. My doctor wondered why my blood pressure level had gone through the roof. I didn't dare tell her, in fear of the Islamic imposition of a possible ninety days and a quarter million dollar fine.

View from "Pegasus" going home; property of the author.

And I absolutely detested having to deal with that snarky, lazy French au pair. When convenient she would oh so cutely "je-ne-parle-pas-anglais" the putain de pisse out of me. Esme always mentioned that she was going to Columbia, as if she was some sort of unique gem of the ocean. Ostensibly, Ms. Self-Satisfied must have forgotten that she came from Ivry on the Seine. I'm only glad that the majority of the time the plain little Frog sequestered herself within the three room wing of the house, which we allotted her highness.

And all those gray days at the job. Christ! Advising all those ludicrous rich white twits in pressed suits how they could legally hide income and not pay any taxes. The Senior Vice Presidency, bonus and stock option situation was an illusion concocted by the right-wing fascists to enslave we poor workers. In terms of potential interest, I guess it's up there on the relative difficulty job scale, but after three months becomes boring standard operating procedure after determining what it was that the pretentious crook was actually doing. The only solace was in that these "big shots" were either too lazy or too fatuous to know what the IRS code allowed. So, they'd pay my fee and usher me out after they thought that they could blame me for any future IRS or SEC ramifications. Thank you for that much, fazools.

And those goddam brokerage accounts; always a "mistake." That would hold some more water if the mistake wasn't always in their favor. When you try to fix it, you get the three ringed runaround circus; designed to make you say; "Fuck the lousy thousand," as if you pursue it for weeks, when you get to the last station, before fixing it they want to know your great-great-great-great-great grandmother's maiden name; and those rip-off legacy web sites can't even tell you your mama's first name.

The computer assisted corruption had reached epic levels. With the benefit of hindsight, I guess that was inevitable; the natural product of growth.

Don't even bring up that Islam triggered market crash, bigot. Nonsense. No, the problem was not that unsubstantiated ex-post-facto ISIS claimed "plan" for a shoot-up of the exchange traders. Nor was the crash a function of the shooting itself; the source most likely that of one or two of the many nerds USA guaranteed to be blessed with gun access; in other words the domain of the nutjobs grammar school stymied for any of a number of "reasons" only other nutjobs and the Illuminilibtardi find relevant, when their "plans" failed to include the lack of easy research into that on their day of fame, retribution, and anti-heroism, that the local facility, which usually housed their mean bullies was closed, necessitating a token recompensed subway ride. Making the standardized, required, regretful statements with a flag wave here and there, to anyone interested in listening, yet all too curiously eager "new," professionally trained traders arrived in identical garb the next day and managed to carry on.

Working through Muslim-in-Charge #2, the Tupac Obama figurehead, the fundamentalist beardos with the Norman Bates' complex, "righteously" pressured the placing of sanctions and tariffs on the whole non-Muslim world, starting with the now defunct US. On a theoretical level, this presented the same difficulties enumerated by Prime Minister May, as articulated in her permitted remarks allegedly recorded this month, more or less, at the Devonshire Dementia Care Home, when she was permitted to address both the history of and current insignificance of the Brexit blah blah.

"About time;" said the happy Illuminilibtardi-lock-step-gang, their "likes' clicking to another reported "viral" volume point which endangered not only the ability to communicate that which will be forgotten the next day, but even more importantly, attesting to the economic viability of the web itself; though obviously not yet considering the digital display on the lower right hand corner; ostensibly referencing the former, if one can still activate the screen's un-displayed-last-page-recall button; the ever present Quora "answers" much too self-servingly utilized, for possible want of an anti-Occam alternative, the brief version "conveniently" devoid of date.

The legion-of-aspiring-powers outlawed and busted the evil western banks; replacing them with trustworthy Wadi'ah and Amanah. Sure, that crashed the DOW even more than Dubya did, but I was able to get out before it had erased all prior gains.

When I can avoid the silly nostalgia I am certain that I am quite happier to be humble Ralph Modesto; my humble family of three, counting yeztruly, my wife Alice and son James, but not Sammy the boarder, now residing on Humble Lane, in a hovel in the development called Humble Hovels, which is situated in the borough of Humbletown, in the state of Humility, in the Delphic Islamic Squealing State of the United States (DISSUS), formerly known as the United States of America, now still commonly referred to as Rogue State, and still seen, albeit only partially, as the rich white terrorist country it was once considered in its entirety. I appreciate my new non-sentient job at the crematorium. All I have to do is remember to put on the gloves, as like humans, some of these flattened animal carcasses they bring in have maggots and other gross parasites. I throw them in the oven, turn on the gas, check my gloves, and relax; as I'm now free to space out on quantum quantums until they bring in the next batch of bodies.

Could it really have been the Schwinn-Finke event? Or it could be something I'm not even aware of?

Suddenly it struck me that if the terrorist charges were because of the underground parties, then Alice could have been charged too. If that was the case; for the sake of little James, we'd have to make some kind of arrangements for him if we were both going to become members of the "disappeared" at the same time. We'd have to communicate somehow, but I wonder if we're being constantly filmed and recorded through our smart phones or other ways. ......... Maybe we'd have to pass hand-written encrypted notes like we did a long time ago. ......... I'll have to think about that.

James returned, saying that he was riding his new scooter around in the garage until he got dizzy. I was saddened in how that suggested James acceptance of a wobbly limitation for the benefit of the entire family. I figured that it was a good time to tell him some things he should know, just in case the forces of Sharia soon find me a forever home, away from the madding crowd.

An Explanation

"Have a seat before you fall on your head. Let me try to explain what has been going on in the world, kid. ........ Ooops. That won't require stitches. ........... I think."

"They teach us all that stuff in grammar school, dad."

Relieved, I continued; "No, I mean like politics, immigration, social studies, and stuff like that."

"I understand that that's covered in college."

"You might die before you get there. So, pay attention. This is the real thing. The crucial parts happened before you were born, and is absent from any approved, Muslim controlled school curriculum. It's difficult to make sense of a comedy of errors, but a little history lead-in might help. See, when the British came to America, the Injuns said; 'These goddam Teabags are going to fuck up the place. Mark my words. There's nothing that can be done but to lock up your daughters.' When the Irish came to America the Injuns and Teabags said; 'These goddam Green Niggers are going to fuck up the place. Mark my words. There's nothing that can be done but to lock up your daughters.' When the Polish came to America the Injuns, Teabags, and Green Niggers said; 'These goddam Polaks are going to fuck up the place. Mark my words. There's nothing that can be done but to lock up your daughters.' When the Italians came to America the Injuns, Teabags, Green Niggers, and Polaks said; 'These goddam W.O.P.'s are going to fuck up the place. Mark my words. There's nothing that can be done but to lock up your daughters.'

Getting my drift, son? See the obvious pattern? It's continual. There's a natural flow to these things which only professors at universities can't understand; that possibly a naïve compliment to their self-interested rendition of 'If I Had a Hammer,' conveniently leaving off for the following 'I'd plant it in my forehead' part. And it all more or less worked out, with some minor quaint and comical flare-ups reported by the guilty, rich, white nerd brigade at National Public Radio. Like the time the undergraduate Princeton University black students felt a need to demonstrate that they were 'down wit da bruthas in da hood,' and got all up in arms over their discovery that there was one street in liberal Princeton Borough which may or may not have born the name of an alleged slave owner, and closed down Nassau Street for three consecutive Sunday hours, boldly impinging upon the starting times of an untold number of remnant tennis matches in private side street courts.

Back here on earth, the Muslim immigration began when poor, non-violent Muslims needed to flee their Arabian home countries because of the intolerable persecution performed upon them by their home grown, Saudi financed, ISIS thugs and indiscriminate drone strikes authorized by US First Muslim in Chief, Barack Obama, their military admitted death totals consisting 70% of innocent victims.

Now, pay rapt attention, boy. Here's the deviation; the key error."

"Dad, they teach that in school too; but they don't call it an error anymore."

"I'll pretend that you're joking with your old man and laugh. Hahaha. Before they even got there, the European Union Western Europeans welcomed the poor, non-violent, migrating Muslims with open arms, especially compelled to do so, as a result of having been 'morally' induced to be indignantly critical of their long distance perception of Donald Trump and the US treatment of Mexican immigrants; as if it had any difference from the unilateral edict generated policies, decreed by their darling prior US First Muslim in Chief, Barack Obama. His unsupported Presidential edicts were solely the lack of will endemic to cowards confronted by thousands of thugs carrying concealed box cutters. The would-be-Grand-Mufti-for-life with crooked elephant ears rumored to be capable of flight, was continually unable to obtain the approval of either house of congress about anything. In fact, many more Mexicans migrated to the US under Trump, no doubt the result of available jobs, which did not exist during the Obama reign."

"Can a Mufti issue a fatwah?"

"An Ayatollah can."

"Then why wouldn't he want to be an Ayatollah? Fatwahs are cool."

"I didn't say that a Mufti couldn't. I don't know. Ask your school Imam."

"You should have said 'I don't know' first. It's okay not to know everything."

"Yes. Thank you. But, we're digressing a bit. Let me get back to the 'kind-hearted' Western European arbiters of morality. Instead of saying the time proven, working words when the Muslim immigrants began their trek; 'These goddam Cairo Coons are going to fuck up the place. Mark my words. There's nothing that can be done but to lock up your daughters,' the Eurotrash instead said; 'Welcome, friend. Please allow us to roll out the red carpet. Is there anything we can do or provide to make you feel more comfortable in your new home? Please meet our daughters.' Hearing this, the ISIS thugs, financed by the Saudi royal family, whose primary goal was to put as much distance between themselves and these ultra-violent assholes as possible, joined the march. Like any semi-sentient predator would have concluded, they thought on the first hand; 'It is sometimes prudent to buy some insurance,' and on the second; 'Allahu akbar! We can take these suckers for plenty.'

As a result, the poor, non-violent Muslims were accompanied on their now non-escaping trudge by the very same thugs they were trying to escape from. Their difficulty in saying that is the subject of another speech. Suffice to partially say that it is difficult to break from those incorrectly seen as the same in an environment which may not recognize differentiation. In addition, unsupervised ISIS thugs have a strong penchant for raping, chopping heads, and semi-organized crime done in the name of Allah.

Got that James? I know this is much too early to be giving the important facts of life to one so tender in years. But, I figured one never knows how long they have and I was impressed with your precocious, multi-tasked flip-offs of that Joseph Finke closet informant case. ........... Bear with me. I think that I'm at the end.

Within a week after the arrival of the migrants, the European Union's Muslim loving flagellants said; 'Uh oh. We have a problem here of the deepest doo-doo proportion. But, in the interest of a possible solution, let's make it a criminal offense to say that we do. Since most of the US has been subjected to some degree of higher learning provided by the university professor Libbies, and are at least moderately embarrassed by having elected the Trumps, they are ripe to likely buy into any liberal-one-world doctrine thrown their way, and we'll pawn the ultra-violent Muslims off on their mostly state school, undistinguished, professorially initiated, 'educationally' fluffed, Trump-Mexican guilty derrieres.'

Logical, right? Animals instinctively hide whatever problem they are able to. Worth a shot at the very least when cornered by bomb-crazed practitioners of extortion. Anybody got a better plan short of the longshot of a redirected Hitler II packed with other attractive ideas about genocide? .......... Didn't think so. So, with the US having burned their last Conservative 'witch,' Ann Coulter, at the stake of Libby controlled 'social' media, instead of saying the time proven, working words when the immigrants came; 'These goddam Cairo Coons are going to fuck up the place. Mark my words. There's nothing that can be done but to lock up your daughters,' the racially mixed US, in a pathetic attempt to ape their 'morally superior,' Western European partial progenitors, instead said; 'Welcome, friend. Please allow us to roll out the red carpet. Is there anything we can do or provide to make you feel more comfortable in your new home? Please meet our daughters.' Hearing this, the ISIS thugs, financed by the Saudi royal family, whose primary goal was to put as much distance between themselves and these ultra-violent assholes as possible, joined the march. Like any semi-sentient predator would have concluded, they thought on the first hand; 'It is sometimes prudent to buy some insurance,' and on the second; 'Allahu akbar! We can take these suckers for plenty.'

As a result, the poor, non-violent Muslims were accompanied on their second attempted escape trek by the very same thugs they were trying to escape from for a second time. Their difficulty in saying that is the subject of another speech. Suffice to partially say that it is difficult to break from those incorrectly seen as the same in an environment which may not recognize differentiation. In addition, unsupervised ISIS thugs have a strong penchant for raping, chopping heads, and semi-organized crime done in the name of Allah.

As the sorry population of the EU had hoped, the naïve and Mexican 'guilty' US was again duped into importing Western Europe's miscalculated bloopers, and unfortunately my tiny and dizzy son, you have lived in the ensuing garbage. The Injuns should have remained with the time proven, working words before the perennial flow of confident, reinvigorated immigrants came; "These goddam Teabags are going to fuck up the place. Mark my words. There's nothing that can be done but to lock up your daughters." Instead the US megaphone armed Libbies progressively said; 'Welcome, friend. Please allow us to roll out the red carpet. Is there anything we can do or provide to make you feel more comfortable in your new home? Please meet our daughters.' Hearing this, the ISIS thugs joined the march financed by the Saudi royal family, who want to put as much distance between themselves and these ultra-violent assholes as possible. Like any semi-sentient predator would have concluded, they thought on the first hand; 'It is sometimes prudent to buy some insurance,' and on the second; 'Allahu akbar! We can take these suckers for plenty.' As a result, the poor, non-violent Muslims were accompanied on their now non-escaping trudge by the very same thugs they were trying to escape from for the second time. Their difficulty in saying that is the subject of another speech. Suffice to partially say that it is difficult to break from those incorrectly seen as the same in an environment which may not recognize differentiation. In addition, unsupervised ISIS thugs have a strong penchant for raping, chopping heads, and performing semi-organized crime done in the name of their interpretation of 'Allah.'

That may sound familiar, and it should. But history has this boring tendency to repeat itself. That is your heritage, primarily supplied by a guilt driven tolerance of 'disenfranchised' Arabians; illegal to say that they may have chosen their 'disenfranchisement' through their historically documented inability to live at peace anywhere, anyhow, even with each other, and under any circumstances. Syrian forces once entered a war, only because at the time, they had no one else to fight with. That was their official word.

Son, even if that seems objectionable or overly long, hear this. If you choose to break out of your cell before serving your entire sentence, you will not find happiness. You'll have the hounds of hell on your tail for eternity. It will be tempting, as it is not very difficult to use your key in the jail's lock, and no one will stop you. Most jailers are not even looking, and those who are will pretend not to be, hoping that you will ............ See son, if you can use your gift of patience, and wait until the jailer frees you, you will be rewarded with an eternity of happiness."

"You sure of that?"

"No. That requires the faith part."

"Oh."

"Well. There's also a bit of forbidden logic there. You see, the easy, early escape is a guaranty of hell hound companionship forever. So, patience might be a bad bet, but the other one is guaranteed to be one. ......... And remember, there was no one party which turned in, prosecuted, and killed Jesus. It was done by representatives of all of 'humanity.'"

"Right, dad. Perhaps you might direct me to the most salient part, the part which has the most potential of being a virally liked Twitter tweet."

"Well, if you insist upon a further distillation, more or less, kid; regarding the observable story, there's always a choice, like it or not. The aggregate regurgitation might well entitle you to the prestige and zero remuneration associated with an underground Breitbart News op-ed; the 'Allahu-akbar-type' of 'satisfaction.' The 'we can take these suckers for plenty' part is actually pretty good for a bumper sticker or Twitter tweet, but that introduces the inevitable 'necessity' of a more generalistic discussion-soliloquy than either of us care to engage; as it will require interminable explanation to those who don't understand sarcasm. So, if you so choose; mind, never mind, partially mind, or shove it all the way up the Muslim ruled, EU duped, former US, Libbie indoctrinated, collectively humble ass. To be brutally honest, beyond the possible effects upon you and Mom, I don't really care if these goddam Cairo Coons continue to fuck up the place," the statement designed to be as sufficiently condensed as that required by an effectively dumbed down, self-congratulatory, 'cool,' partying loser; they almost clandestinally contained within that BS solipsism, perhaps true for their chosen brand of limitation. At any rate nothing worth bothering with, however you slice it. That immediately obvious baloney, short changed posture, a prior inadequacy replete with an attempted cover up, if guessing at the meta presentation of one seeking in ease to instill, as substantially opposed to that of one confined at the most inconsistently consistent at the most annoying level of defined coherence; that taken, rightfully and wrongfully, as a substantial comfort, conducive to the long term acceptance of the provided structure; humanity's over-riding skill; not that one which is complimentarily feigned as being mentally superior, while all potential demonstrations of that fantasy are self-interpreted by 'humans' as soundlessly absurd in favor of an ability to adapt to anything, which indirectly but surely consistently suggest an otherwise destructive 'logic' based will to a power, which never satisfies. Regarding the less easily observed route; 'Let it be' seems to be the governing principle."

"You get out much these days?"

"Certainly. My time at and trips to the crematorium speak for themselves."

James said; "I'm going back to the garage to ride my scooter in circles."

"Good idea."

Ruminations

I try not to think about it, as the more I do the angrier I get. It's a weird kind of anger, as it's not for me, at least not much. I'd like to tell Alice about it, but know that if I do she'll be a nervous wreck. But, it's more of an anger that those Deepstate anti-terrorist drones I hear overhead at night might hit Alice and James. In Iraq, 70% of those killed are innocent victims. Stupid drone will probably manage to kill them and leave me here in solitude, initially that best adjectively described as bent and vengeful at best, though much too susceptible to the diatribes of the suppliers of suicide bomb apparatus; and wrongful at the currently indefinable worst. ......... but best wrongful, thereby seen as an overwhelmingly "human" desire of the attractive, uncorrectable sort.

That would eventually result in an intolerance and the birth of a real, white terrorist of the popular sort; that also characterized as an Hitlerian view, conveniently and pragmatically adopted by all the stimuli possible in the jokey "sophistication" of a now insignificant version of the Europe, which claims all the "credentials" attendant to a potentiality consistent with that of a train which has stopped after losing its engine. If you so worship Islam, you didn't have to wait for its practitioners to bring it to you. You can fly to Syria. The ISIS monkey asses have not yet figured out how to work the RIM-66 Standard to shoot down planes.

I mean, it's bad enough that they can't have the things people, ostensibly previous candidates for a "largesse" no longer offered at first negotiation, took for granted not all that long ago, that it is absolutely retarded to draw any correlation between, and without the pretense of humor, say that James having a bicycle has anything to do with starvation in Africa. And sometimes I wonder if this is Deepstate inflicted. Maybe it's a false flag operation. The Trumps have been out of office more than two years now. They had a long time to make America great, and/or work again, with their fingers in the dykes of Islam. I'll never know how, with Europe's proven problems, we decided to do the same thing. Belatedly, I have this helpful how-to list I downloaded from wikihow.com.

Ways to Deter Muslim Aggression

1) Put on a Ms. Piggy mask and charge.

2) Point out that had Muhammed not had a horrendous childhood in Arabia, he'd undoubtedly have been a Jewish Rabbi.

3) Confuse them with weapons technology in excess of that which requires the correct pushing of more than one button in succession.

4) Tell the Israelis that they are close to a nuclear capability.

5) Offer them a 7-11 franchise in the US with no down payment.

6) Distract and excite them with a white, made-up, twinky in a mini.

7) Run a raffle for season's passes to Demolition Derby.

8) Raise tent prices.

9) Move to a sanctuary city. D.I.S.S.U.S. sanctuary cities proliferate from New Canaan, Connecticut to Carmel, California. Heavy recent demand from rich white terrorists have pushed prices into the tens of millions. Goodwill entrances in adjoining towns are clogged three deep by protected rich whites trying to sell investment advice. "My good man; we're just trying to work."

10) If of more modest means, joining one of their evening patrols which harass scantily clad white women might convince them that you have become one of them.

My concentration was broken when Alice returned from her immigrant baby-sitting job at the Humbletown Social Services Center wearing her contraband Jordache jeans. Totally un-nerved, I greeted her with; "You should have known better! Dammit, Alice, you should have known better by now!"

"What? There is not yet any rule that I have to feed them out of my own pocket."

"No, no, no. Designer pants. ........ And tight, Israeli distributed ones too. You can be arrested for that."

"I'm sorry. I was rushing and was on the border of missing the last bus, and just grabbed whatever was on top."

"That's not a good excuse. You should have taken the designer label off your jeans long before. I mean Jordache? Everyone knows that they are expensive; and worse are owned by Israeli Jews. Jesus!"

" .................. "

"For James' sake, I'm going to take a chance that you won't rat me out, and tell you that I've been charged with terrorism of some sort."

"What did you do this time, Ralph?"

"I don't know. They don't tell you and I'm not supposed to tell anyone else of the nothing I know. That would insure another charge."

" ............... "

"Okay. My best guess is that nosy Joe Finke informed the authorities about James' bike or scooter or that someone in the Friday night group is an informant. Or maybe Amaway on Steroids routinely reported my purchase of that Tommy Robinson poster."

Tommy Robinson poster; property of the author.

"I told you that you shouldn't."

"Well, you know. I mean, you can't run from everything. It could even be that sarcastic joke I made about FIDE being a racist organization, for never having recognized any black or Muslim chess grandmaster."

"Well, whatever. I'll be right by your side."

"Oh no. You were charged too?"

"No, no. At least not as of an hour ago. I just mean that I'll be standing by my man. Smootch. Smootch."

"No, you can't. That would show that I 'illegally' told someone."

"In spirit, lover."

" ...................... "

"This is Muslim fascism, aided and abetted by dumb, cowardly white scum."

"Tell me about it. It's more retarded then the norm. You know Kerry at work?"

"From what you've told me."

"We get along fine and one day I chanced saying; 'All this bullshit about equality was just a ruse to get white women.' He surprised me and got serious saying; 'No. I don't even feel comfortable around white people.' We both paused a while before he added; 'It's not like they're being openly racist, but they go so far to assure me that black is all right with them, it is indirectly so. I'm not asking for their fucking approval. My black existence does not require their authorization, yet it would be 'rude' to point that out when they continually tell me that they have black people in their neighborhood and that their kids play with the 'others.'" "They're probably trying to be re-assuring," I inserted. "In most cases, and that's what makes the whole situation impossible. Hundreds of years of shit has happened, fault on both sides; mostly yours. It's not going to be corrected in a couple of decades. So, chill out, you know. In the meantime please forgive me for being over sensitively Afro-centric.'" "That seems a small request relative to prior demands." "Fuck you." "Yes, true equality."

"What does that have to do with your potential Abu Grabby vacation?"

"Everything and nothing."

" ................ "

"Your position is clear. Okay. The fascists have some legally unmentionable problem with me. I love you; kissy, kissy; so I risked telling you. ......... That's kind of it. You know where the tin can with the money is. Right?"

"Yeah. You know, that's not the point; the ........ "

"Love you, babe. That's what I hoped. But if my hopes were unfounded, I still wanted you to know where the money was."

"I did! It's you and your lack of focus that I'm concerned with."

"You're the greatest, babe."

Cuddle.

Cuddle.

I said; "So, it wasn't you who ratted me out after all."

"You really think that you're funny. Don't you?"

"No and yes. ....... Sort of depends on the context. ...... Sorry. ........ So?"

"Umma Gumma. ..... You think you'll be getting water boarded?"

"Umma Gumma."

"I got the kid and the buried money."

"Soul mate."

Cuddle, cuddle.

Cuddle, cuddle.

Norton Barges In

Disturbing our cuddles and reverie, I heard a rap-rap-rap, pause, more insistent rap rap-rap, longer pause, rappity rap at my front door. I didn't need the intrusion at a time of blithe thought, but then I heard; "Hey, hey, Ralphie boy. I know you're in there. Open up." Without a locked door complemented by the immediate access to a loaded and ready pistol, I couldn't think of any other faux civil option.

Norton. My pal, Norton. Damn. I said; "The door is open. Come on in," in an ironic tone not meant to be encouraging to unannounced, semi-breakers-in, but somewhat semi-tempered by a resignation meant to sound as if it was capable of coping; at least on a strained semi-social basis.

Too dumb or determined; thereby unaffected one way or the other, Norton re-adjusted his sideways hat, while he came in saying; "I didn't want to be rude man, but I'd like to be the first to extend my congratulations on being the current Islamic rude boy celebrity. ....... Kudos, kudos," adding a Carson-type genuflection fully replete with the full hand-head-chest-belly wiggly.

" ....................... "

" ....................... "

"You're one of them."

"Oh sure; I mean like Goggle knows everything, with their spyware in every PC; and worse they talk like yentas on steroids, even when no one asks them to."

" .............. "

"Ha, ha Ralphie boy. Ya gotta get up on the techie stuff a bit. There are no more secrets."

"The e-mail said ............ "

"Yeah, right. The e-mails also say their pills can give you a foot long dick. ........ Sorry, Alice."

Alice shrugged before I did.

"The good news is that you probably won't end up in Abu Grabby. But, just in case you do, I'm here to say that I'm volunteering to look after Alice for you." Wink. Wink. "Sweet stuff."

Tentative smirk, intended to convey whatever the observer would like it to. "You're a pal, Norton. Why is it that I am just unable to dismiss the possibility that my best 'friend' might be my worst enemy? Could it possibly be that the notion is just too standard and trite?"

"Ignorance, Ralphie boy. Innocent ignorance. No aspersions on your challenged head cast. Blessed by Goggle and my sewer job, I get to see where all the rubbish comes out every day. It floats for all to see just as well as a viral Twitter tweet or a rat carcass. ........ No big thing. Just kinda like how the bookies become reasonably conversant in all the odds."

"Norton, you are some semblance of an adequate, expected man, and I am honored to know you. ....... Just for Alice's anticipated benefit, please tell us. Do you wash?"

Raising his left arm, Norton said; "Wanna huff?"

"I trust ya, buddy."

Norton nodded, again adjusted his cap, and exited the way he came in.

Ralph looked at Alice, who said; "Your buddy does wonders for mood."

"Yeah, he's a regular purveyor of peremptory pulchritudinal pleasing."

"So, still wanna?"

"Check it on Goggle. They know everything."

The Unofficial History of DISSUS

Like most countries, entities, sub-divisions, notwithstanding the Picasso and Cubist flavored approach now incorrectly seen as a Derrida nuanced abstraction, insistent and numerous irrelevances, and easily disputed errata, D.I.S.S.U.S. was founded a long time ago, had its infancy undermined in a much too hurriedly, cursorily, fleetingly, and non-consensually based coupling with some sense of ostensible interdependence in mind, exactly like the under-age white girls Muslim thugs "groom," the open mention of which gets one a cell adjoining "right-wing-racist" Tommy Robinson. The Illuminalibtardi must have simultaneously and en masse gotten some sort of perverse kick out of that; strongly supported by Millennial social-media-hogs with as much common sense as a turkey who drops in to say "hi" the day before Thanksgiving. They have taken credit for coining the popular, "brilliant" two word phrase; OLD SCHOOL.

The ponderous detailed wherewithal was most kindly interpreted as a temporary whim most mathematically associated with a notion of a clandestination, at best an inordinately biased confession to either a disturbed notion of a contestably unbalanced, protagonistic need to compete for the fleeting prominence afforded to every forgettable, hit parade flash or an ADD related challenge of memorizing what comes after 1.

Seemingly important in the moment, adjustments followed in their detailed lack of substance. Details may be found all over the web in two distinct varieties; libtard and fascist, insofar as the groups still consider themselves unalike.

Trump, Jr. on Hooey Sterno

They were broadcasting on BrightBart Private Radio from an inner compartment of the yacht "Black Medallion Box." The yacht was on loan from Robert Murder, making it tax-deductible in the former US of fucking A and the current batch of shithole countries aspiring to step into the Illuminitardi-Muslim-Mexican induced void. 76 year old Hooey Sterno got as serious as a destitute, long term unemployed, radio DJ is employer required to be plus an estimated practical margin of "comfortable" error; that rough, below-the-radar calculation intended to approximate the projected and projectile results of the universally accepted personalized capital asset pricing model. It was arguably spasmodic as well as sarcastically coincidental that a dinghy with no discernable passengers on deck, bearing a plagiarized Pinta-Nina-Santa Marie moniker, sailed on by un-noticed in the dark, murky, and turbulent international waters two nautical miles from the petty rebellion advertised by the "Mar-a-Lago-Pay-for-Play" neon, color co-ordinated lights, as if it was a blind, darkness-seeking ghost, in retreat from any sort of test designed to measure abilities to color differentiate, and thoroughly uninterested in trying to convince anyone that the indigo is on the flip side of the vermillion. Least of the most unbelievable of vices-cum-versas, namely how the unseen common courtesy wave of a silence is conveniently misconstrued as the non-argument which had been "legally" abolished by the Illuminilibtardi anyway, which is how the "revolution" more resembles a regurgitation of the etiquette/manners column popularized at some once un-rememberable point by former Zeitgeist darling, Ann Landers; rather than anything of Che, Karl, or Zapata. Hello. ........ Hello. ......... Hello, hello, hello. With the lights out .................. .

Hooey said; "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your #1, BrightBart Private Radio jock on the waves once again, shock-and-awe specialist, Hooey Sterno, with my trusty sidekick Artless, bringing you everything that the Muslim-Illuminilibtardi coalition has deemed either gauchely inappropriate or expressly forbidden, as they aspire to speak and act in the name of Allah, for our poor benefit. Dumb schmucks like that just always beg rebuke. Don't they? ....... What sayest thou, Artless?"

Artless said; "Oh, right. Like uh, say something brilliant, and bail out the bankrupted chief flunky. If you haven't noticed, this nautical two miles still remains a social democracy; burdens shared correspondingly in words and lopsidedly in pictures, schwantz face."

Hooey said; "All right. All right. You need a fix, but for our listeners who may not be interested in the cantankerous blurbs of a thick and obese, timeworn junkie, we are proud to have previous President of the US of Fucking A on the line, Donald Trump, Jr. For those of you who may have forgotten or like me, weren't paying any attention, Don Jr. followed his dad's eight year term as US of Fucking A Comedian in Chief, with what became a transitionary, serious, and IDEAS impeded Presidential term, for the four tumultuous years between 2024 and 2028. During those years, not only did every Mexican, Central and South American who could walk and knew north from south traipse into the unprotected mainland formerly known as the US of fucking A, with all of the 'justified' veracity of those who boorishly absconded with previously sympathetic and tolerant Dr. Zhivago's house; every goddamned Muslim in Britain and western Europe was flown into Mexico at the expense of the Saudi Royal Family. The Royals and their friends understandably want to keep their distance from violent, low-end scum. Okay, some including King Salman, understood; but the rich Saudis have to dump them ALL at our border? There are others. From there the Q-Tip heads worked like illegal wetbacks and proceeded to the shallow river in droves, to wade across the muddy and shallow waters of the Rio Grande, and spread out here like the 7-11's in all bipty states. Donald Jr. claimed that his efforts were hampered by an Illuminilibtardi congress coupled with an un-co-operative, un-elected, some would say diabolic and disproportionally powerful horde of Dem appointed, fossilized octogenarian federal judges, purportedly still among the living, and triaged by the naïve collusion demonstrated by the 'contractually bound to the ever expanding interlocking thesaurus, updated twice daily by the PCP of the controlled and controlling members and dupes of the mainstream cable media farts. Donald Trump, Jr.'s speeches and behavior became seen as increasingly irrational; comparisons drawn to Caligula's 'decadent' reaction to his naively infanticidic attempt to establish a theoretically inherent democracy's demonstrated ability to transcend its own common absurdity, which became some sort of perverse and covertly retrograde score card, later judged by the absurdly never existent standard of a Nostradamus in clarity as if it was his fault that he and his sister lacked the ability to predict the future, or even the present .............. "

Donald Jr. interrupted and said; "Yeah, yeah Hooey. You've taken all my lines. So what can I say? But, I'm kind of disinterested in all that shit right now anyway. Know what I mean? You're sounding like one of my late term speeches to the drooling base. Old news and fuckemall now. Hehe. Bottom line; their loss and I still got mine. The thing was that unless I had invoked martial law, simultaneously declaring an occupational policing war on Mexico, combined with a banning of the Muslim Fascisti, as not permitted by the media-controlling Illuminilibtardi, annoyingly supplemented by the said octagenarian, federally appointed judicial, bounds-dis-respective law makers, any one of the unelected hundreds of which was 'legally' sufficient to derail any of my initiatives. The highly predictable result was that in the absence of sustained white initiative, an obscenely doctrinaire Muslim-brown ignorance would prevail, as just a few years have conclusively shown that it undoubtedly did. I mean, to the credit of the Illuminilibtardi on a basis I have to consider as a good guess or a throw-enough-shit-at-the-wall thing, the odds against pulling all that off was something like gazillions to one. ...... So, in retrospect, I guess I should have taken dad's humorous approach more seriously; but you know that youthful need to rebel shit. Right? ...... In all fairness, I can say that my "Make America Work Again" derivative program has fulfilled the larger promise intended; as I personally didn't do too badly with the sale of those red emblazoned baseball hats with the stretchy things in back. Were he still here, I have no doubt that dad would have been proud."

Hooey said; "You are still a most serious fellow."

Donald Jr. said; "I'll gratefully place that assessment right alongside all the other stupid and incorrect, safe statements deserving of my respect. Consider. Like dad, I've been the subject of libelous and distasteful false news rendered by the Illuminilibtardi controlled media machine, as well as 85 year old Mueller's continual investigation of my supposed involvement with those Obama-Clinton planted Russian oligarchs in dad's campaign back in 2016. ........ The continuing jibes made me strongly relate to Little Anthony and the Imperials' 'Tears on MY Pillow.' But, I toughed it out for the love of my good fellow Americans. This entire bullshit isn't about me; it's about you; the people. Now, I'm quite okay, despite Dr. Phil's hands off public diagnosis."

Hooey said; "So, what now Don?"

Donald Jr. said; "Well, in an attempt to diligently keep up to date, I'm undergoing a violent personal consternation regarding the Sunni and Shia divergence. Why can't we all be friends in our one and only world? Yet, it still seems as if one must take a side. Having the contemporary leader a family member or just a tribe member is an issue which many righteously find mayhem worthy, either outlook essentially an anti-democratic, Antifa consistent statement; that even more impressive when done by those most obviously historically mayhem disposed. So, I've been in almost daily contact with many of the prorogued British Members of Parliament, and thus far I'm leaning toward the Shia stance, if and when an agreement can be worked out with the Sunnis, which will opt for the Shia estimated benefits, but not negate the Sunni advantages currently inherent therein."

Hooey said; "So, your ideology has, like D.I.S.S.U.S, turned Muslim?"

Donald Jr. said; "You must be kidding. Do you pay attention to anything other than the cue cards written for you? For me, Islam is not a religion; just a looting technique; like the Visigoth 'migration,' in brown face."

Artless yelled out; "Sure, just the current replay. Fucking Hooey can be so goddam stupid."

Hooey said; "Artie; you wanna be sent to your lower deck cabin? You know, you're only here because I felt sorry for your unemployed old ass, and insisted so to the head man at BrightBart Private Radio."

Artless said; "Yeah, right. Like you got the balls to insist anything of Murder. If he didn't want me I wouldn't be here. End of story."

Hooey said; "Sorry, Don. Artless is in a bad, impractical spirit right now; fixable with a little spoonful. Apologies for the late-coming, loud-mouthed, suck-up; who would have been institutionalized for his own good in other times. Please continue."

Donald Jr. said; "Yes, a technique; a technique which successfully relies on the majority public inability to see the present as an alternatively costumed replay of the past. But, unlike much which can be later seen as an innocuous teransient fascination with hula hoops, one might say ........... .

Artless monotoned his next interjection; "Yes, yes, my good man. By very definition, a necessarily incomplete list of further negative points of the 2028 Zeitgeist are excluded, and they include, but are not limited to;  
1) A silly penchant to attempt to fight fire with fire.  
2) A fascist requirement, which necessitates that members adopt ALL of their dogma-propaganda; ostensibly seeing their totality as the summation of a good Godly manifestation.  
3) A more specific redundancy with 2); making a crime of any semblance of 'free' speech; again ostensibly unaware that their chosen 'dictate' is the impossible imposition of a one sided coin.  
4) Of most personal significance to me, their prolific interest in lunch and substance habits, while cowardly afraid to comment on what is arguably the most significant evil of the last 100 years; the military-industrial complex.

In other words they get an A on stated intent, despite 'leaders' obvious primary love of 'power,' and a periodic goof up of the easy parts; but something less than an F on Methodology, Priority Assignation, Planning, Execution, Tolerance, Magnaminity, and Originality. A debased PhD granted, due to the biased grantor's recognition of having the personal stupidity to display one specific of his personal ignorance through assessing an infant by an adult standard. Will someone please bring in the clowns or play some music worthy of a Bandstand 9, because it has a good beat and you can dance to it."

Hooey said; "Who the fuck asked you anything, Artless? Need I again remind you that you're not on this show as a star or interesting guest? Okay? You can be replaced with a cheap, old laugh machine."

Artless mumbled; "Murder likes me better than you."

Accentuating Hooey's chastisement of Artless, Donald Jr. said; "And what are you talking about, anyway Artless?"

Artless said; "The twenty-first century Millennial manifestation of the Illumnilibtardi. Weren't we all, compadre?"

Hooey said; " .......................... "

Donald Jr. said; " .......................... "

Artless said; "Well, if no one knows what they're talking about, we should all just shut the fuck up."

Donald Jr. said; " .............. "

Hooey said; " ................ Hmmnnnn; that approach doesn't work all that well on radio. ....... Hey; to bridge the gap, let's play D.I.S.S.U.S.' new national anthem. It's a shame our listeners cannot appreciate the visuals. Doing it, here they are; the #1 D.I.S.S.U.S. group, as they appeared at the last, as in final, Super Bowl opening, right after the GoDaddy, largest domain registrant, and periodic applicant for a justifying associate-Nielsen, here are 'The Four Boxcutters!'"

Faht da Wat Powa

O bes train, bes brain

Bes solja, ain'ta faht?

Is me whatta say

Dey rada bitch dan blitz.

Git down on it

Wit yo fahn funky self.

Brudda an sista heart explode

Hittin, hittin in da soul

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa

Sang it loud

Ya gots ta sang it proud. C'mon

Lemmy hear yo sang

Faht da wat powa. Lemmy hear yo sang

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa dat we.

Elvis be a redneck honk

Key stole ow shit

An ow conk

Elvis be a redneck honk

Key stole ow shit

An ow conk

Yeah ...... Yeah!

String him up

Nex ta da Duke we wup

String him up

Nex ta da Duke we wup

Yeah ...... Yeah!

Lemmy hear yo sang

Faht da wat powa. Lemmy hear yo sang

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa dat we.

Foxy revalootion groan

No matta wat yo collah

Les it be pasty wat

Dat ain no true collah

Watchore pace face say

Thass raht

Yo wup

No madda

Cos now we sang

Faht da wat powa

Faht da wat powa. Lemmy hear yo sang

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa

Gonna faht da wat powa dat we.

Upwards on the horizon

rises the eastern sun,

The light in the eyes

of the believers in justice,

Bahman is the zenith of our faith.

Your message, O Imam, of independence,

freedom, is imprinted on our souls.

O Martyrs! Your clamours echo in the ears of time.

Enduring, continuing, and eternal.

The Four Boxcutters and "Faht the Wat Powa" by Ice Pee; property of the author.

"Thank you, once again Boxboys. ............... Whatever." said a seemingly mystified, but pleased Alemayehu Ziehirim.

Alemayehu Ziehirim; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

Hooey said; "Catchy tune. No?"

Artless said; "Can't stop my feet from uncontrollably jigging."

Don Jr. said; "I took a knee."

Hooey said; "Yes, I understand that can do wonders for an otherwise terminated career. But, I guess that the details are invariably a bore; though we can all sing and presumably dance to 'Faht da wat powa.' ....... Wrong again. .... So, Donny, I hate this type of question; so under the circumstances I'll ask it of you. What do you consider the greatest accomplishment of your four years in office, and what was the greatest failure? All fingers out of throats, please."

Don Jr. said; "I'm really glad you asked that excellent question, Hooey; as that was the one I most expected and therefore almost spent the entirety of an exhaustive two minutes in preparation of my answer. You see, that the phrasing of the question seeks to put me in the losing position of either ridiculously saying that I made no mistakes or that I fucked up, with the obligation to provide an example which the Illiminilibtardi and their affiliated suck-ups will then program at length with attendant 'expert' comment on MSNBC, CNN, The Communist Workers Daily, and the like for a month with subsequent residual regurgitations permitted; indeed encouraged; on slow-news-days not marked by a democratic, small d, Twit. Having established a preface; copyrighted, mind you, insofar as the legally ignorant are still intimidated by the term; I would have to say that my biggest accomplishment was winning the election in 2024 and my greatest failure was losing the election in 2028. I have the distinction of being the only living President to have lost an incumbent election, the last such person George H.W. Bush, before the flood in 1993, and almost a half century ago. The turkeys get used to most anything after a while. .............. On a personal basis; like a duh on the scintilla of un-detectable, performance enhancing drugs and crack that Biden's kid used to score for me in Ukraine; that also the failure. ......... Kind of late in the game for this I suppose; but time is out of my control. So there it is. I will do my utmost to care where that is taken as for what it was intended; a humbled failure to the cause of Fascist Sharia. Allah, please help all we sinners."

Hooey said; "Preparation is the mutha of muthas. Itiswatititis, huh? So, for the benefit of the segment of our audience which may not yet be able to relate to that, I have to note that the likely interpretation of your reply, is like totes one hundred percent consistent with the traditional, incongruous, physicist view of calculated personal observation, re-observed, and re-observed to some sort of a conclusion which simultaneously ostracizes and reaffirms all aforementioned possible relevance of the water-heat-steam numbers, which prompted the thoughts of process and intent similarity, much in the manner in which ontology gurus try to equate cause and effect."

Don Jr. said; "I think you've read and stolen my cue cards; so ................................... and so on."

Artless said; " ................. "

Hooey extended that to; " .......................... "

Donny Jr. followed his own Trump suit and carelessly upped or downed the ante to some lengthened derivation of ......... saying; "The details of the chump change to the Muellers for further study."

Hooey said; "So that we don't give our fans the fear that they've suddenly become privy; in the news today.

'New York Times – Sunday, March 30, 2030

Phil Space – Staff Editorial Investigative Reporter

Over the past week many extreme right wing, for want of a better and more accurate term, net media modules have been inundated with doctored photos and recapitulations of anonymous, anecdotally limited stories of people of color driving Bugatti Royales, Bugatti Venyons, Pagani Zonyas, Bentley Mulsanns, Ferrari Californias, Dartz Prombrons, Rolls-Royce Phantoms, some other funny looking cars, and even an everyday Mercedes with a misleadingly glorious 'I am expensive' bumper sticker, presumably just in case you might not know.

This reporter is here to tell you that there is not one bit of evidence yet in place to substantiate these racist claims, and find the irresponsible reporting of the Fox News Fair and Balanced Reporting website which contained the headline "Niggas Gassed at the Premium Tank" to be reprehensible in their inferences that hard working hip-hop stars have been Muslim exempted from compliance with the modesty codes imposed upon the rich white demons.

This kind of hate speech is obviously an innuendoed, underhanded one, used to stir inferred, racially based discord through inverted KKK-type claims of discrimination, at the same time prompting the vile and ignorant, white supremacist demonstrations throughout southern D.I.S.S.U.S. towns where none of these vehicles exist, other than through the extra points granted 'minorities' in the civil service tests which have been Illuminilibtardi designed to permit no pre-socially-adjusted score of less than 100 to non-retards, effectively guarantying civil service jobs to those still benefitting from minority status sixty years after that legal 'catch-up' had been rightfully conveyed in a fine tuning, intended as a temporary in consideration of 400 years of empirically and anecdotally documented theft of services. Now, blacks have had their legitimate issue usurped by Muslims with none.

Racheted down, all al-Farooki, head of IDEAS southern DISSUS branch could say was 'DEMONS DEMONStrate.' All we non-Farookis were further enlightened. Thank you once again, Al ......... whatever, this time.'

In possible anticipation of a protracted silence, Hooey said; "Much too obvious to be funny. Huh? Tough audience. Artless, you may not yet have noticed this, but the only reason you're paid to be here is for your infectious laughter."

Artless said; "Hahaha."

Don Jr. said; "If I laugh, am I assured of a place in Murder's Renaissance Technologies Medallion Fund?"

Hooey said; "Dunno. That's between you and Murder. Can't help thinking that you had a better shot when President."

Don Jr. said; "Yeah. Shit's undocumented anyway; the obvious beneficiary of AI generated rumor."

Artless nearly waxed poetic, saying;

"'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she  
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,  
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,  
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,  
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'

In some quarters that is deemed to be Commie propaganda snuck into the Statue of Liberty many, many years after her French installation. The original statue had only one inscription; 'July 4, 1776.' Consider how the founding fathers issued the 'Federalist Papers,' as suggestion rather than law. Further consider what must surely be their current regrets."

A backstage, union-represented, thereby foolishly secure commentator with a carelessly open mike used what sounded like a non-traditional sound-capable orifice to editorialize, adding; "Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaappappaapap."

Hooey said; "You guys backstage trying to upstage Artless again. Easy target. He's shaking in need of getting totally fucked. Okay. Deserves it too, more or less. No big thing to me one way or the other. It's all for the good of the paying, anti-progressive cause. But, con su permiso, let's try to put this in a contemporary by way of perennial context; courtesy of forty-five very biased and un-footnoted heretics who post anonymously on one of the websites purporting to be truly informational, while negating that allegation through crowd sourcing. Again listeners; sorry you'll miss the visuals, but take my word, this time you're not missing much. We have to break for many, many accurate words compiled by our sponsor; Renaissance Technologies, LLC; 'Please come see is if you have one hundred million to invest.'"

An unseen, deep and mellow voice intoned; "You may not know this, but the Muslim claimed 'homeland' of Western Asia is now as rife with violent trouble as it has always been throughout recorded history, perhaps more so due to access to an advanced weaponry imported from intelligent countries, with a surreptitious aim at having the brain challenged, bearded for want of understanding how a razor works, simians annihilate each other, saving the more advanced the trouble of icky contact; profitable too. But that is admittedly a monumentally high bar in need of some sort of adjustment for time, brain size, and available weaponry. It is only denied by those westerners still afflicted with IQ "issues" and the Illuminilibtardi lock-steps that there is no coincidence that retrograde simians produce an environment conducive to the continued habitation and encouragement of regurgitated retrograde simians. Holding all variables other than Islamic majority, dictated practices and beliefs constant, this is what you have begun to see and can soon more fully expect in D.I.S.S.U.S," now the land of hooligan goon ISIS backwardly interpreted Sharia law;"

Muslim Western Asia is the pre-eminent s***hole region in Western Asia, if not the world. Bordering Lebanon, Jordan, and Israel, one is reminded of how unfair random placement can be for the others. The super s***hole region has fertile plains which are not boringly farmed due to the Muslim Western Asian preference for the excitement of continued battle. As a consequence there is a proliferation of unskilled drone activity and the attendant opposition bombed ruins coupled with food shortages.

According to the limitations imposed through the crowd sourced information posted on Wikipedia, Muslim Western Asia is home to diverse ethnic and religious groups; 80% Sunni (pronounced soon-ee, as opposed to the reviled sunny) Muslim, 19.9% Shiite (pronounced she-ite as opposed to you-know-what) Muslim, and .1% the 14 various others too dumb or stubborn to leave; who have survived the approximately post-622 AD, perpetual Sunni Muslim purge. Those in fleetingly, ISIS thug controlled sections tend strongly toward strict adherence to fundamentalist Sunni doctrines, or have learned to say that they do, with the needed proficiency attendant to and perfected by a clandestinely-difficult-to-pin-down Parliamentary Brexit Remainer, more or less, depending.

By way of background; Sunni Islam is polled as being the largest denomination of Islam, followed by 75–90%, or 85-97% of the world's Muslims, depending on your source of information, further insofar as that estimate can be accurately gleaned, even under yet-to-be perfected polling methodology, and further in recognition that the outcome had been issued by a marginally co-operative society under the habitual burdens of duress, an educational system which stresses the plethora of ways to make and detonate explosives, fear for personal safety, and which are conducted by an entity somewhat known as an "affiliate" of "friendly," oft-used and "loved" Goggle, under a loosely worded government contract supposedly awarded to the lowest bidder; and is further well within the same "margin-of-error" limitations intoned in absence of apology by the professional pollsters who still seem to think that Hillary Clinton was elected President of the US (now re-named DISSUS) in 2008, 2012, 2016 and 2020 landslides. According to the statistically advanced and learned pollsters, it was the ignorant voters who were severely flawed, those flaws inclusive of, but not limited to, math deficiencies, a lack of common sense, out and out fibbing, and hostile, bordering on anti-social poll non-participation in all four races.

Sunni comes from the word sunnah, which is said to refer to the behavior of the Islamic prophet Muhammad, clearly and concisely explained as Sunnah, also sunna or sunnat, which is the body of literature which discusses and prescribes the traditional customs and practices of the Islamic community, both social and legal, often but not necessarily based on the verbally transmitted record of teachings, deeds and sayings, as well as the later interpreted, silent permissions of the ersatz prophet, tiny thigh aficionado, seven heavens explorer, slayer of 700, and reporter, Moe. To this semi-leap of faith is also added the various reports allegedly from and about Moe's alleged companions/accomplices, with an alleged predilection for 'justice,' most often administered through the righteous, crowd-sourced chucking of rocks. The Koran and the sunnah make up the two primary causes and supplies of Islamic theology and law; the former the supposed justification for the ISIS fundamentalism some detractors describe as dumb, organized crime thuggery, that characterization all too consistent with what is persuasively transmitted on a daily basis to the illiterate in the state of helplessness. In addition to the age old, boring loose construction-strict construction arguments, other differences between the Sunni and the rebellious Shia, or neither-here-nor-there versa-visa, somewhat beyond insofar as stating the minority position as being equated to that hoary Sunni Muslim armed-hissy-fit with Shiite Muslims, which emanate from a disagreement over the succession to Moe and subsequently acquired broader political significance with supplementary lesser information, nonetheless prejudiced, as well as the usual resultant theological and juridical dimensions, the subject of many more protracted theses and merchant of employment, most initiated by otherwise camel-poo-kicking Imams in search of a "powerful" profession, devoid of the stiff competition rendered by the three savagely proliferating forms of Muslim Western Asia dung beetles.

In brief, and according to Sunni traditions, Muhammad did not clearly designate a successor and the Muslim community acted according to his sunnah (information surmised ostensibly through advanced osmosis by the recent, now former camel-poo-kickers after his death) in electing one of his fathers-in-law, Abu Bakr as the first caliph. Though consistent in the ordinary, nepotistic method of power transferal, it contrasts with the Shiite view, which holds that Muhammad announced his son-in-law and cousin Ali ibn Abi Talib as his successor, most notably while in the presence of Ali's assertive mom. Political tensions between Sunnis and Shiites continued with varying intensity throughout Islamic history and have been exacerbated in recent times by ethnic conflicts and the rise of Wahhabism; essentially another branch of the infinitely interesting and never ceasing monotheism-polytheism argument.

The Koran, together with its attendant Hadith (especially those collected in Kutub al-Sittah) and binding juristic consensus, form the basis of all traditional jurisprudence within Sunni Islam. Sharia rulings are derived from these basic sources, in conjunction with the argued analogical reasoning, Sunni said to be provided through Imam holy regurgitations of things a lay person may not see as analogous, consideration of public welfare and juristic discretion, using the principles of jurisprudence developed by the traditional legal schools which originated to decide disputed camel poo ownership; un-named at their wishes, in fear of widespread mockery.

Muslim Western Asia contains some of the oldest continuously at war, thereby impoverished, inhabited, self-induced-tenements in the world; a tribute to the tradition-dominated, shallow, insistent ignorance, and laziness of one form of hominid life alleging some relationship with mankind. In the Islamic era, Damascus is a provincial capital of the Mamaluk Sultanate in Egypt, whatever that means. 1971 marked the introduction of yaks and yak poo, and a short lived Muslim Western Asian hiatus from economically and fun based hostilities.

Muslim Western Asia's chief exports are a religion centered on white annihilation, unshaven, violent jihadists, yaks and related yak poo; Sharia Law, Muslim underage-white-seeking posses intending a "grooming" obviously misplaced, camels and related camel poo, exotic dancers of all known genders, and fatwahs. Their chief imports are small arms, chainsaws, sound amplification systems, and how-to assemble bomb instructions.

Muslim Western Asia is unsurprisingly ranked last on the Global Peace Index, making it the most violent region in the world. This celebrated distinction has been held since the GPI began official tabulation in 1931; that no doubt a factor strongly taken into consideration by rumored native, former US President Barack Obomber when he gave nukes to neighboring Iran, ostensibly a respectable 133 of 163 on the GPI index, perhaps hoping they'd put Syria out of its misery. It is said that life, as it were, continues normally for most of its citizens as of December 2029.

According to Islamic doctrine, Muhammad was the founder of Islam, the last prophet, sent by Allah to present and confirm the monotheistic teachings of his predecessors. He united Muslim Western Asia into a single Muslim entity, through the Koran, his teachings, and by slaying heretics. In fairness, it should be noted, that the estimated killings ordered or performed by Muhammed range from a few necessaries, as stated by Muslim "authorities" of today, to 800, as stated by the heathen, heretical, disreputable sources of information; not inclusive of the deaths in battles he led or ordered.

Born approximately 570 AD (Year of the Elephant) in the Arabian city of Mecca, Muhammad was orphaned at the age of six and raised by his paternal grandfather and uncle; not the same person, but one has to specify in Muslim Western Asia. From 583 until 609 he was a merchant; from 609-632 a religious leader/battle strategist-captain. In later years he would understandably seclude himself in a mountain cave named Hira for several nights of prayer. When he was 40, Muhammad reported being visited by Gabriel in the cave, and received his first revelation from Allah, apparently from this "Gabriel" visitor. Three years later, Muhammad started preaching; a profession rather endemic to those blessed by "Gabriel's" social calls; much more prevalent prior to the inhibiting presence of psychiatric institutions.

Approximately twenty years later, when Muhammed was able to assemble 10,000 camel-poo-kicking followers, fighting ensued. Religion, power-based considerations, and Muslim Western Asian tradition combined to provide the impetus. The battles continued throughout Muhammed's existence; the end of which is attributed to the combined forces of physical and mental fatigue, as well as untreated syphilis. He had thirteen wives which are known of; the first married in 595, the second immediately upon the first's death in 619, and eleven married during his religious height in 623-630. Seven children were borne him by his first two wives and none by the last eleven. Recalling the initial Sunni-Shiite split previously mentioned one must presume that Muhammed must have deemed none of his offspring to be capable of succeeding pop. The ten wives who were not yet dead when Party Animal Moe kicked it in 632 simultaneously disappeared; their future earthly whereabouts unknown prior to reported fleeting glimpses of Heavenly ascension.

One might think that an inordinate amount of time has been spent discussing Muhammed during a discussion of Muslim Western Asia, but the writer-of-this-infomercial-in-search-of-a-kindred-spirit-with-deep-pockets feels it appropriate as Mohammed, Muhammed, Mohamed, Muhammad, Muhammat, Mohammad, or whatever has been recently granted an inordinate amount of influence in D.I.S.S.U.S. by the Illunilibtardi; in addition to what one might well-argue to be total control of Muslim Western Asia, for more than 1,000 years. That does seem a bit much for a murderer in need of so many aliases. Didn't anyone ever check his birth certificate and driver's license?

Islam, Muslim, Moslem, Musulman, Mosquegoers, or whatever; are the religion or religions he founded, helped by his trip into the heavens precociously prior to the invention of zeppelins, hot air balloons, airplanes, helicopters, or rockets, has a main tenet. It is forbidden to kill properly practicing Muslims, et al; flagrant suspicious use of pseudonyms previously mentioned. Others are discretionary. In the case of rich white shoppers in non-observing areas, like D.I.S.S.U.S., the U.K., and Israel, a self-sacrificing suicide bomber is rewarded with fifty virgins in Paradise; the faithful ostensibly believing that they do not eternally remain as such. Complications are known to arise when the bombed include one or more Muslim adherents mingling with the heathens. This high order Islamic dispute is investigated and judged by a secret panel of fatwah-happy Ayatollahs; the infinite fate of the bomber and his/her virgins in the balance. The effectiveness of this pervasive religion may in one way be assessed by the joyous, high living standards in the area, admittedly bolstered by the oil revenue. Its desirability as a home is indicated by immigration, and tourist popularity.

The writer thinks it fair to note that in addition to their demand to establish Muslim law wherever they may be, that is only one of the four Muslim traits westerners find most objectionable and disgusting. Thighing infants, child grooming, and Pashtun Bacha Bazi round out the short version of the list. Of the last three only the infant thighing was specifically endorsed by Mohammed, as 6 year old Aisha experienced with the then 50 year old holy man. The other two may be viewed as Hadith based heresay, approved in writing by the Ayatolla Ruholla Khomeini.

Prior to Muhammed's corrective actions, things in pre-Muslim Western Asia began a sharp decline shortly after jihadists stole a polytheistic god's nose and made women wear clothing, circa 1600 BC. One advancement was noted as early as the Ebla royal palace, circa 2400 BC; noting that the lack of windows is an ingenious adaptation to the proliferation of crazed rock chuckers, and is perhaps the earliest known manifestation of intelligent life sectors in the region, if one rules out the behavior of animals, unfair in comparison, due to the animals' inherent advantage of not being burdened by the worship of the alleged teachings of a prime candidate for institutionalization, had Muslim Western Asia any formalized institutions, other than an apparent tradition-based favoring of the entrenched bedlam, sprinkled with crumbs of dried camel and yak poo.

Wars began their perpetual existence with various groups with weak leaders and the usual stuff like that taking over, then getting wiped out, yadda yadda as one might expect, ad infinitum in pre as well as post Muslim Western Asia. Seekers of repetitive detail can find them in various places on Wikipedia; no offense intended toward Wiki's thoroughness.

By 1961, thanks to expansive General Motors Credit Corporation, autos replaced yaks and camels as the vehicle of choice. This also proved to provide an economic boom by Muslim Western Asian standards, as they were now able to eat their former means of transportation. But, despite the sudden economic shot in the arm, upheaval dominated daily life and the illusions and dreams of a full-bellied politics amenable to the bearded, short-tempered, violent, camel poo dependent aficionados of mayhem were promptly returned to the Southeast Asia version of normal. And it was even more normal when one considered the anger of the carpet knife armed, male segment of the population.

Politics and government are ineffective and/or non-existent in Southeast Asia. If there is any semblance of a central, semi-sentient power, the "semi" graciously stated in place of the more accurate "non," it lies in a confluence of approximately 40,000 Ayatollahs. However, there is little or no agreement between them, and at any given time there are 400,000 different fatwahs in effect. Based on their learned interpretations of the Koran, and if necessary the Old Testament, each call for the extermination or banishment of certain groups or people, often the other Ayatollahs. This belligerent and ecumenical hate model had been first adopted for the 21st century United Kingdom and later D.I.S.S.U.S. A more or less up-to-date listing may be found on WikiFatwahPediaphile.com.

Human rights, a standard consideration in most of the world's regions, is only mentioned by someone who must have a morbid sense of humor to even consider this in regard to Muslim Western Asia. There is a dearth of localized humanitarian issues due to a dearth of local humanitarians; as well as an absence of foreign relations which couldn't be described as ballistic.

Severed infidel heads became the primary "coin of the realm" in 1991. After suffering relentlessly changing regimes and relentlessly worthless new currencies, the people insisted upon something which was relatively small and would keep its value; settling on heads. Think of it like Bitcoin with a growing supply. Severed penises are used to make change. Abductees represent the entirety of human visitors from elsewhere. Some camels and yaks have crossed the border.

Education is more or less compulsory from ages 6 to 12. Schools are run by clerical gangsters who supply the books which teach that the white man is the devil, under grants from the Saudi Royal Family. This is followed by a three year training period in which the child can major in a myriad of subjects chosen by his Ayatollah, ranging from Export Jihadism, to Advanced Extortion, to Explosives.

Developed western societies must give patience the utmost priority if compelled to engage Muslim Western Asia. Where else on this planet would camel-yak-shit-kickers protect themselves from the 140 degree desert heat by donning every blanket the camel had not recently pooped?"

With this the voice temporarily terminated its purported Muslim Western Asia information analysis, saying; "Thank you for listening to part one in our presentation of 'Muslims are Icky.' Renaissance Technologies, LLC, once again invites the well-heeled of you to please come see the friendly associates we have on staff if you have one hundred million or more to invest. We have been return rated #1 by Hedge Fund Research, Inc. for ten years running, averaging a 35% return per annum. In a silly required legality, Renaissance Technologies, LLC management makes no such claim; past, present, or as an indicator of reasonable future expectations. Wink. Wink."

Artless said; "Oh, wow. That must have lasted five frigging minutes. How much you got in your pocket, Hooey?"

Someone backstage, and with an apparent predilection toward avoiding the main topic yelled; "Three and a fucking half! Learn to tell time, fat ass."

Donald Jr. said; "See what I mean, man. The show gets overtaken by the faceless unelected, protected by the union, in the unseen darkness of the Deep State and their partners-in-crime, the old, senile, federal judges."

Hooey said; "Sort of yeah. But, if there was anything more wouldn't a semi-competent world leader be able to overcome that?"

Don Jr. said; "Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Ooooh, the unbearable guilt. But, in order to make that useless feeling last more than five seconds, just show me one who tried and wasn't assassinated tooting sweet."

Artless said; "I asked you, how much you got in your pocket Hooey. Opportunity only knocks once, dammit."

Hooey said; " ............................ Just ignore him, Don. Everyone else does. ........ On a simple logic basis, it would be interesting to know why all these 'wonderful migrants' have chosen to leave the homes they have made so 'wonderful' in order to be in a strange land where, excepting London, they are completely surrounded by white devils. It may seem cruel to say, but the only possible answers are that the Muslims want to spread their Sharia law as far as possible at all costs, or that the 'Islamic men' have a thing about under-aged white girls and boys. In proper 2030 parlance, pedophile rape equals, and is more indivisibly termed 'child grooming,' in Muslim worshipping, Illuminilibtardi PCP parlance."

Demonstrating the "rare" adult ability to be ADD distracted, Artless abandoned his fixation with what Hooey had in his pocket in favor of a more personal fixation concerning his lineage and hue. He cried as he said; "It's not my fault that I was born white. No one asked me. No one offered me a palette of colors to choose from. But, here I am, trapped and reviled for something I can't hide. I've become the suicide hotline's most frequent caller. They're starting to tell me that my feelings are correct and ask if I have easy access to a rooftop of at least five stories. Dammit, I just wanna be black. ............ errr, brown. So that people like me, give me presents, respect, and stuff."

Hooey said; "Don't mind him, Don. He gets this way whenever the backstage guys outdo him. The sympathy seeking will end if he thinks of anything bright to say, that a relative term."

Perhaps borrowing from his Dad, Don Jr. may have, under the circumstances, gone startlingly attempted comic; and through his difficult to interpret guffaw said; "See, dad. You were right; but so was I. .......... I guess they just had to have been there, like one of the homeless losers who should be most concerned with meth intake, mental imbalance, and tent prices; which they never are, to have any hope of understanding the double twist at the end. ..................... Fuck it. It isn't our problem anymore."

Hooey said; "A non-serious moment if I might. It was decided that any attempt to keep Muslims out of the US was a violation of our long held freedom of religion doctrine."

Don Jr. said: "Islam is even less of a religion than that which is practiced by the Ku Klux Klan. At least the KKK only hates one group; kind of tolerant in relative comparison. Muslims make it a virtue rewarded in Moe's heaven to kill all, anything, and everything not in full compliance with Muslim regressive doctrines. I never could understand how the Illuminilibtardi could so consistently support a group which denies all female rights, denies any notion of legal due process in favor of mob beheadings reminiscent of 19th century Georgia, advocates ancient barbaric forms of cruel and unusual punishment, and blames those who have purchased their oil for all the problems which their own writings of history say they have had since before there was a West. The only guess I can make is that the media proficient Illumilibtardi have been purchased by Zawahiri, the Saudi Royal Family, or Bin-Laden interests. ......... As I previously said; fuck it. No longer my problem."

Hooey said; "Hasn't their punitive actions toward wealth affected you?"

Don Jr. said: "Just a smidgeon, Hooey; if that. In this advanced cyber age it takes less than 100 keystrokes to transfer money away from localities which seek to disdain and/or steal it to one which welcomes its presence. Surprised you didn't know that. Forgive me, but it seems that it's kind of Remedial Eco 101. I can see the flashing red light; so before we have to close let me read into the record that which they have deleted or purposely misstated everywhere else. Some quotes from Dad.

'The influence of Islam paralyses the social development of those who follow it. No stronger retrograde force exists in the world.'

'Improvident habits, slovenly systems of agriculture, sluggish methods of commerce and insecurity of property exist wherever the followers of Mohammed rule or ape living. Soon coming to a mainstream station near you.'

'These slobs ought to try grooming themselves.'

'Islam has already spread throughout Central Africa; and were it not that Christianity is sheltered in the strong arms of science, the science against which it had vainly struggled, the civilization of modern Europe might fall, as fell the civilization of ancient Rome.'

'The fact that in Mohammedan law every woman must belong to some man as his absolute property, either as a child, a wife, or a concubine, must delay the final extinction of slavery until the 'faith' of Islam has ceased to be a great power among hominids.'

'In America, we have as much need for Islam as we do more pedophiles and school shooters.'

'If you think that Islam is a real religion; the next time you need a doctor call Miranda Bailey.'

'The Illuminilibtardi media controllers conveniently attribute the countless atrocities to 'radical' Islam. It is not 'radical.' It is fundamental. Try reading their standard books of hate and listen to their hateful speech, libtard.'

'Either we have a country or we don't.'

'Muslims found their American dream with underage white girls after doing the same in the UK.'

'You think we had a problem with the niggaz and wetbacks? Niggaz and wetbacks love me. Wait until these Q-Tip heads take over. In six months they'll change the US into the backward, racially biased, shithole countries they came from.'

'When the constitution guaranteed religious freedom, only the Israelis knew that anyone considered this Islam abomination to be a religion.'

'There are a few easy ways to break up an Islamic rally;

1) Yell out 'Drone!

2) Yell out 'Israeli troops!

3) Bring three goats.

4) Open the Social Services office.

5) Hold a knife sale.'

'The best way to be classified as a bigot is to quote from the Koran and Hadith, unless you're a Muslim, of course. Try this gem. Koran (22:19-21); 'But as for those who disbelieve, garments of fire will be cut out for them; boiling fluid will be poured down on their heads; whereby that which is in their bellies, and their skins too, will be melted; and for them are hooked rods of iron.' One is doing the work of their 'Allah' to implement this.'

'....... Make no mistakes about it. I'm all if favor of Mosque construction ........ in Muslim countries like the U.K. ...... Just joking. Half way anyhow. In this great land of religious freedom, bring 'em here. If you got enough Saudi riyals we'll build ya yuge, classy ones here. It'll be terrific. Mosques concentrate the enemy in a small area. Make America great again. Bomb a Mosque on a Friday. Thank you.'"

Hooey said; "Forgive me, but one small point, as unfortunately wealth protection has never been an item of personal import. ......... More or less, tending toward the more, if one is still trying to measure, it is more polite to suppose. But look. More importantly, the silent guys with the cards are flashing me to 'End the show.' If they'll just bear with me; err us; a bit they'll allow me the time to thank ......................'

A voice feigned the excitement some needed, saying; "Please tune in the same place, same time next week when Hooey questions a representative yet to be named from 'Biden and Son,' about the value of governmental co-operation in the field of international wealth creation and maintenance in Ukraine and China! You don't want to miss it! The topic might be viewed as a bit of a deference to the over-rated Arbitron series of ratings, though it must be admitted that pre-net 'Arby's and Co.' did boast an excellent corned beef Reuben. For nostalgia buffs, once upon a time they did have an undeniable handle on the distribution of the advertising maize."

Murder leaped in celebration of another pro-capitalistic, anti-Muslim blast; and Hooey, now with a dead mike and thereby safely comfortable in a personal oblivion to a world oblivious to him grinned in his celebration of having earned another paycheck, whispering; "wheeeew," like any other member of the non-ruling class does at quitting time, careful not to wake Artless.

Alice allowed the door to bang close as she walked in, startling me. I looked in her direction and she chose to deadpan; "Norton's taking a loosely constructed constitutional, and may be headed this way."

"Thanks for the warning." I thought; "Yeah; right in our face. ........ I guess. Right in our tummy, anyway. It's difficult to precisely tell in this advanced, removed, and almost simultaneously neutral and opinionated age lived in by those who pay a plethora of attention to media, some allegedly 'social.'

No doubt some DISSUS centered confusion emanated from the derived and willing, Western European submission to an accepted, contagious, former US Presidential position some would like to rather have seen viewed as being from the depths and not having initiated. That false posture being to their advantage, it resulted in the proverbial farcical replay in modern clothing of an inverted act dating at least as far back as that which is chronicled in belated recognition of Machiavellian basics.

Cable TV distributed 'News' became not so much the commonly regarded villain once called 'fake news,' simply because it was neither fake nor was it news. The 24 hour 'news' sources filled their allotted spaces with biased interpretations, biased opinions, and biased discussions provided by amenable, never-previously-heard-of-expert 'guests' with-all-too-obviously-ready-to—wear allegations-of-having-once-met-someone-currently-deemed-significant after having subjected their audience to yet another opening 15 minutes of the reporting/recap of their carefully chosen events of the past, both young and old, but mostly old. The lock step viewers seemed to prefer to be browbeaten by their comrades, rather than risk being tweaked by the bad guys on the other channel. Or else they had lost all the interest that they now wished that they previously had. Wasn't the original Frankenstein monster also fueled by storm generated electricity?

Oh, for the good old days of late second decade adamant closemindedness in pairs. The Muslim singular insistence has brought about their approval of only one TV channel; the Muslim Broadcasting Channel, with all the daring ingenuity and consequent entertainment value of a BBC documentary produced in 'advanced' Syria."

Alice said; "Whoo hoo. You there? Aren't you worried about your impending charges?"

"I guess so. .............. In a way, no. I'm sure that it's not bravery. But, you see, it's much easier to worry about things when what I do or say might have some effect upon the outcome."
The Fire Franchise Boss Becomes Bugged

The next day I returned to my non-sentient job at the crematorium. As usual, I got there thirty minutes early as did Burner #2 Operator, Pal Konstanty. We nodded "mornin'" and leaned on our cars. I pulled out my Lucky Strikes, lighting one and offered the open pack to Pal. As usual, Pal waved it off and got out one of his Camels, and said; "Could use a light though."

I flipped on the flame of my precious, golden cross lighter. I think that Pal admired it too, as he continually was without his own light, necessitating his being lit by it. His beady eyes almost salivated at its sight. It was the last possession I had of my father's; and we once again smoked. He asked me why I had left early yesterday, hoping that everything was all right. Not wanting to state my "secret" problem with IDEAS, I confined my response to work related things and said; "Yeah, I guess. 'Bernie'-Abdul sent me home because road kill was slow, interrupted, or something like that." Feigning disinterest, I added; "How about you?"

"The high and low end human supply is always pretty regular. And the suddenly meticulously caring heirs don't want the dearly departed's ashes to get mixed with the ashes of another dearly departed. So, I've gotta clean out the oven more than you do. Keeps me pretty busy."

After we went in, I hardly had the time to give a few overly-headlight-infatuated deer their wildest dreams, when "Bernie"-Abdul used one index finger and a grimacing, critical facial expression of "grudging minimal disinterest," signal to accompany him to his office. I strongly suspected that this meeting was not going to be a pleasant one, but that most likely its cause was that he might have again found contraband venison in my oven. Admittedly, I'm a bit sloppy with that here and there, as in order to get all the work done, it is sometimes necessary to cut a few corners, and the non-human-left-behinds have yet to register any complaints regarding "carcass-ash purity."

You know, any remaining venison will get fried to the crispest of powders, neither comestible nor potable without the addition of vigorously stirred aquatic material; like the ice tea concentrate of sole interest to your dog, cat, or untraditional, perverse pet, with the next firing of the subsequent crushed load. It's not like that I'm trying to sneak out any contraband, anti-Muslim, decadent luxuries. It's just an attempt at an efficiency required to get my job done without moving into this oven franchise. I'd suspect that Pal, despite his standardized, pro-working-hard-yadda-yadda has it easier; but, you know; that kind of thinking doesn't help anything, and it's so easy to judge from the outside. Only the oven knows.

I mean, come on. Just be a little bit reasonable and look at the results. ........... Okay, yes. That complex method of evaluation is not yet universally available. Maybe someday soon, Goggle will "freely" provide a means to algorithmically calculate oven common sense, but I wouldn't suggest holding half a breath in anticipation of that. Look, can't you see that this is not about any sort of play for a personal aggrandizement; the "prizes" attendant thereto those I'd characterize as "booby." If of the other opinion, I can't help but think that it seems "fabulous" to profess that; in seemingly overwhelming contradiction to the observable realities, including that Alice, James, and I proudly do live on Humble Lane, in a development called Humble Hovels, which is situated in the borough of Humbletown, in the state of Humility, in the Delphic Islamic Squealing State of the United States (DISSUS), formerly known as the United States of America, now still commonly referred to as Rogue State.

In the lead, and in control as much as any white chess pawn chronically devoid of shade thinks he is, and without bothering to look in my direction, apparently assuming my correct interpretation of, and compliance with the "subtle and sophisticated" leadership one of tiny fingers was intended to convey, "Bernie"-Abdul again used his bent index to gesture me into his office on the up side of burner #1. ....... My many comrades and I, well acquainted with the rigmaroll associated with annual evaluations performed by those "important" folks with the head-to-toe nervous twitches need say no more. If you been there you know. If you haven't there' no 'splain'it. ........ Oooh, oooh. The definitions of "reasonable," "good behavior" and "time served" would be so welcomed. In that limited regard which they find as being of five word use to them, until one has experienced it a bit, it can be difficult to refrain from cracking up right in their face. You see, it's not as if the more gifted of them don't understand the game. It's as if they think that they understand all too well; that if you don't grovel, there are scores of others who will be proud to take your place, and do so with the most obsequious of butt-butt-kissy-kissy smiles; that not any reference to any particular, failed, and showing strong indications of forgetful early Alzheimer's, USA presidential wannabee losers. One must admit that the odds are heavily on their side.

I pounded my head with my open left palm. I tried to convince myself that the matter at "Bernie"-hand potentially held more personal significance than any accidental, time constricted attempt at a glorious ascension into Vilon, Rakia, Shechakim, Zevul, Maon, Machon, or even Aravot. ......... Not likely, but there's always a chance, and Vilon, Rakia, Shechakim, Zevul, Maon, Machon, and even Aravot have indicated a predilection for almost infinite patience.

"Bernie"-Abdul was displayed with a tail end appendage of Nouri on his wall hanging credentials, including a framed diploma indicating a bachelors in Church Burning from Jihad Ramadan U, right next to his computer "autographed" photo of some AARP target in hiding, who has alleged to having met Osama. I was encouraged by not having seen the usual computer autographed photos of football players not in the NFL for long. I grabbed a poor wooden chair and he grabbed his cast iron symbol of behind superiority. He didn't beat around any bush, "Bernie"-Abdul in alleged person that is, most efficiently, and might I say to the point of abrupt rudeness, informed me that since I was in trouble with IDEAS he couldn't risk keeping me on at the crematorium. "No matter how many squished, unclean, scavenger puppies you can burn."

I immediately knew that in his mind, I had endangered his "friendly" financed fire franchise. I obviously didn't mean to. Most things just kind of happen, but the assholes usually take it personally, or at a minimally advanced level, in their pants. To expect more is kind of a prescription for late stage depression. How he could know this "secret" information told me that Norton's assessment of Goggle's information collection methodology supplemented by their aspiring yenta-hood was one more degree believable.

I immediately knew that for him to have this information only two possibilities existed. It was either an indication of his being one of them, or that he goggled extensively. Given his "credentialed" name, I strongly leaned toward the former. With that lean, I suddenly understood why I'd been kept at non-sentient Burner #5 level all these years; never; despite providing a most efficient flame for the compacted and dead deer and bunnies among us, being given any sort of promotion and "progression" to sentient Burners numbers one through four; not even the kangaroos retired on #4.

In fear of impending financial desperation and degeneration, I blurted and pleaded with Bernie-Abdul to allow me to be the grounds keeping contractor or the nightly latrine attendant. Thereby I wouldn't be an employee, and we could work out some company name like "Islamic Gardens, PLC" or "Islamic Gardens, Inc." as an effective cover. I stressed that I had prior experience with sprinklers and was able flush most commodes not plugged by a floppy, obese, and hairy ass.

However, "Bernie"-Abdul remained as resolute as an Islamic Fundamentalist in possession of a chain saw. Frankly, he never previously struck me as one capable of performing difficult mental gymnastics; like simultaneously chewing gum and breathing, but in both fiscal and monetary desperation the plea was worth a shot.

When he said that I was flirting with a fatwah, I got up and left. On my way back home, I couldn't help thinking about returning with a gun to shoot up the place; a restoration of good old US values; but decided that my notion of patriotism was outdated. Rather, I should use a box cutter in the name of Allah.

I searched the garage, but sadly, could only come up with a rusted hedge clipper.

My Trial at IDEAS HQ

My outstanding terrorist violation and sham "trial" date arrived. During coffee I had the thought that if I was going to do the time, I should have done the crime; you know, like using my pig-blood-filled, super squirter to paint the local Saudi-royal-family-financed Mosque red, or at least congealing, dripping, contaminated carmine.

My fantasy of a more productive, equitable, and fulfilled past ended when Alice joined me in the kitchen, and drew my attention by saying that she wanted to come with me. I told her that I appreciated the offer, and I truly did. But, I added that despite the seeming public knowledge of my unspecified charges, that it would be better for me/us not to throw an open disregard for IDEAS' written secrecy order right back into the cyber face they proudly use to advance their world domination cause. I full-heartedly kissed her a special goodbye, told her that I loved her and left after trying to half-heartedly explain that to solve for the absolute value of X given one algebraic equation containing three variables, the result is a three dimensional array of numbers, possibly incorrectly taken as a finite group, in the sense that other three dimensional non-solving arrays are known to exist. In an attempt to avoid that version of the ghastly finite-infinite, right-wrong argument, the "integral" question regarding the possible co-existence of a finite solution with one that is infinite, might well be whether or not the limited, non-solving, three dimensional arrays are a temporary manifestation of absolute irrelevance to anything greater than or equal to a Lang-Nietschean view, now being incontestably reverse foisted upon current DISSUS, formerly the US of fucking A, or the lying, devilishly influenced continuation of a set which has absolutely no positive contribution to any existence other than that of its own brief duration. If not easily dismissible on a symmetrical basis, ouch. I was immediately regretful as I think that part two's anti-logic based, confusing and wrong pessimism had detracted from, though mercifully not negated, number one's loving anti-warmth. I hoped that I was not being totally self-serving, when I interpreted Alice's wonderful, kittenish eyes as ones that either understood or found all of my long-ass, mixed discipline BS personally innocuous, misguidedly well intentioned, and/or as amusing as the humor provided by the unintentional banalities haphazardly stacked in Markson's "Wittgenstein's Mistress."

That made me want to stay more than my desire to suffer the less than bumble bee buzz of a tattoo granting, one hand holding machine, with a three colored "artist" palette at the flesh one eighty end; called "bonobo," generally an unintentional insult to bonobos. So, lacking that billboard, I'm like "Baby, you're so great, that you can deal with it either way; and uhh ...... uhh; damn, the clock on the wall says that it's time to go."

Alice is looking like; "Yeah, kinda. After all these years, I'm used to his unfounded BS which more or less requires my non-disapproval of its periodically anti-substance, minutiae usually conceded easily; that viewed by irrelevants and irrelevance as a wrongful deference. But, who cares? Not me. Not us. So sad. Losers. In other words; fuck you sincerely; ...... err somebody; or not."

Whatever. Just hope they let me and her go; me the immediate question ........ That to be yet seen in the Millennial assessment yet to come, not at all a function of this petty personal situation which the dominantly backward, again and seemingly immune to any lack of appraisals-evaluations indicative of having unwittingly made maximum standard use of that predictable "advantage" of the group think prompted by the lowest common denominator methodology still utilized by the living minority of the brown and black Islamicists who; since the mainstream media control effected by the western branch of the international Illuminilibtardi; now make a living, in the financial sense, of their violent righteousness and the prior DISSUS supposed diss, as if their US supportive keepers withheld their required victuals and weapons; providing a perfectly expected calculation for the multi-nationals they claim to oppose; legally tax irrelevant charges and tax deductible contributions/"donations" welcomed.

I kissed Alice twice and sadly exited through the kitchen door adjacent to the unheated utility room; which in one of its ordained functions served as a conduit between the humble house proper and the need-of-repair garage; wondering if that momentarily prior notion was ultimately just another self-serving cacophony of solipsistically inevitable words designed for personal benefit, easily camouflaged in the to date, lack of anything more than poor attempts to Nostradumus the self. For the ostensible benefit of my possible solipsism, I may have chosen to think not. The "laughing out loud" one may lay upon me hurts for infinitesimal manifestation moments periodically, but so far it hasn't come anywhere near the dragons of devastation; maybe a cute morning lizard or two. If kind, I would think that it should be as such, as it seems more of a supposedly outlawed, outlaw "cruel and usual" indoctrinated Islamic punishment to be otherwise now. Yes, it's twisted. So, I've failed; or somebody else has. ........ The big time nature of the failure would seem to eliminate humble little me from consideration, but I've been indoctrinated to say and even think un-humble humble stuff like that. Harsh in the light of "necessarily" migrating oooh, so sorry not to have met the common and thereby lowest-common-denominator standards-of-the-popularity-unpopular aahhhs, which are also analogous with the anchovy-pizza topped regurgitation of the old loops, not seen as so by those not taking Community College level history of anything; but sometimes cum laude from a course offered by the trade schools on matchbook interiors. Get it? Best of luck. If you do, you're ahead of me. ....... Viewpoint seems to be lost; however, circling back in ordained imperfection ..... Thank you something or someone, for whatever you deem an appropriate attempt at a "lay" person's point of view, that herein inclusive of that editorially reported by the fictitious inversion ineptitude, Godard called not the subject of differentiation; that persuasive illusion accidentally and with necessarily commercial intent created and five starred by the many pretentious, in terms of self-importance, hyperlinked to the commercial recommendation to the banality, present in one of the un-viewed websites, presented as "oh, so cool."

Apologies, in a sort of feigned abstention, kindly extended to any and all of those who lionize obscurity only. I've lost my train of thought. Thank you, my old train friend. Monterrey. Huh? A different place; a different time, Not exactly you. Not exactly me; through a personally uninvited persistence. Me ... and ....... in their lack of experience with the comradery thingy induced through the loved ghosts they presented, they offered as a compelling monetary sort of half-truths, a deviated math; initially and calculated to be seen as one of an algorithmatic which throws away the beautiful, retaining and utilizing only zeroes and ones, convincingly substituting the current version of the never wrong, but contemporarily deficient layman "science;" that ordinarily induced leap of a faith kindly interspersed somewhere in the middle or so by the saints among us, only meant as .... an offering, simultaneously seen as interpreted as a seventies, deference to an eighties loop on guttural Barry White and Donna Summerbut, as derisively induced and inferred as an annihilation of innocence which was clever in previously being not so .................. That's all that passed through my mind while traversing the humble utility room on my way to the garage. I'm sure I could have added much more was I afforded the time it takes one to ride an airport escalator.

My humble old Toyota was parked in the garage, as it should have been, semi-safely immune to any of the misunderstandings caused by less-than-insightful surveillance. Or so I was temporarily able to think what Sisyphus may have thought prior to having been saddled with the floppy, transitioning boulder. With the ludicrous "faith" attendant to the standard Muslim Western Asian "religious" nut cases, I pushed the automatic garage door opener button. It made some garish, impressively metal-on-metal type of grinding-through-ineffectual-"thoroughness" noise before conking out and defaulting to its historically silent and worthless norm, to the tune of an unplugged toaster, leaving the door still closed; that position kind of usefulness-challenging to not only me, but my Japanese import assembled in the old US of A. Faith callously restored for all of the glorious ten seconds of machine groans and whines which I silently cheered on in a half-assed, futile, and pragmatically petty defiance of personally irrefutable, non-mathematically based .............. whatever. The easy button push was undeniably worth a shot for that seemingly reasonable ten second duration; whose redundantly boring culmination was no more a future deterrent to future attempts than a losing lottery ticket purchase to a routinely odds-unaware and slothful 7-11 addict; number agreement a luxury of sorts. For the rookies who may be still here, it would likely help to suffice to say that what may be construed as a seemingly, and much too exceedingly a Pollyanna-ish point of view, which was once again predictably dashed; I'd like to be able to honestly say that I was surprised and eternally put off the button. .......... No matter to moi, really. Think what you will. You have more freedom than you would like. So sorry that you think that your cheese is hard. Not. At this point, no possible argument is personally interesting to pursue; and I will push that god-damned button every time I want the door opened; and in the absence of absolutes it is assured that one day it will. No offense intended; differences are most likely to be no more than one of those species' things.

Editor's note. When the inevitable clarification is required by the non-sentient laptop jockey with no authority to require anything, let that loser please see the sites goggle leads you to after typing in "garage doors" in one of their seven convenient and appropriate spots. They know everything and aren't shy to blab it anywhere. It doesn't exactly take a PC maven to extract their government, post-intelligence distribution of already-paid-for data 24 hours after the credit is verified; seven days clearance required for matters of national security.

I grabbed the ground level handle with both hands and with no small effort, mind you, pulled the door, which slid on its tracks to open. Before I could hop in and start the engine I saw that Norton's humble old Nissan and Norton himself was in the driveway blocking my exit. I was a bit surprised, but I wouldn't say flabbergasted, as Norton had a proven uncanny way of showing up whenever the possibility of being totally useless or the possibility of starring as an impediment presented itself.

"Hey, hey, Ralphie boy. Don't worry, my friend. Got your back," he said while making yet another of his clichéd attempts to secure his sideways, crushed, old, grimy fedora on the peak of his irregularly sized head. I always thought that this maneuver was quite an accomplishment; the hatpins and/or strap nonexistent or hidden; not reflecting any of the sun's light; his hand delivered grime not echoic.

I thought; "Oh, shit," as Norton's opening line made me recall all the "benefits" I had thankfully, thankfully, and thankfully received from Mr. friendly Roger; the thanks a necessity along with the hundred dollars which was "coincidentally" needed to get my Roger "friend" out of the driveway before I collapsed from dehydration, while bearing his obligatory constant grin/smile/approval of his stated and stated efforts, which were demonstrated through his oft teary love of all people, the off button to which would necessitate more "friendly help" which I sometimes could not afford, when being low on hundreds.

Roger was the purported handyman-gardener I periodically used; back in the good old decadent Trump days when I was still devil-blessed with some of those "evil," white, Senior Vice Presidential systems analytical, bi-weekly, checking account credits. Not to sell tiny, chirpy Roger short, it is most fair to note that he had two "hidden," outstanding attributes somewhere beneath his five foot two, mankind-helping, and not-so-effectively concealed need for being in charge married to his slick, getting money-for-nothing exterior. Roger had a long honed ability to sound so sappy, sometimes even capable of effecting a sad tear or stream of them, that I'd find difficulty in telling him to go away because of his other outstanding attribute; an ability to be so useless, that it must have been one of God's gifts at birth; as you can't learn this much in "please-help-this-pathetic-sap-with-a-heart-of-gold" school, even if one had attained two PhD's. Natural born con-men are customarily a shoo-in for winning elective office. But Roger was hampered in that by a three year prison term for drug sales, a two year stint for sexual abuse his foster son, and never having filed an income tax return, the latter explainable by his never having had a discernable source of income sufficient to occupy his single-wide in the tax-free, unincorporated part of the neighboring town; where they were fracking.

Through the process of simple default, you might have guessed that this was most of the reason I didn't get rid of him. You'd be half right. Roger was my slick little supplier of overpriced weed, as well as the nonpareil source of the best derisive gossip about everyone he knew and many he didn't. It was certain that given his Enquirer type disregard for any in his imaginative perspective, that he also told others fabricated stories about me. I really didn't care about that, as I felt that anyone stupid enough to believe Roger was also someone who's approval I was not inclined to seek; and rather never have to speak with.

I knew damn well that Norton was being his obsequious "helpful" self in the hopes of ensuring that I be sent to Abu Grabby, so that he would have no obstructions other than his mind, face, and body in trying to get into Alice's pants. Or even more likely, the pants of twelve year old James. I wouldn't put anything past this meddlesome, deceitful bachelor, and confessed Goggler. Being the only non-Arab-Muslim on the Humbletown Central sewer crew, his lucrative job could be the result of him being an informant. He often said that I'd be surprised at all the good stuff you can find down there.

But, you can't clear the air and say that you know his real intent; at least not to his face. It's a guaranteed losing position, as though you know it, you can't prove it, and it sounds just too mean. So my first black move in the chess match was a seemingly innocuous one inviting his next, more aggressive one. I said; "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, Norton, old pal, old buddy. Listen; I'm late, I'm late for a very important date. No time to say ................. you know. Would you mind clearing my path, like pronto?"

"Please correct me if I'm wrong; but Ralphie, Ralphie, boy. Might I have detected a slight note of ........ ungrateful dismissal?"

"You tell me, chum. But, I have no idea why you would feel that way, old buddy, old pal." I wiped the nonexistent tear from the corner of my eye. Through Norton's nanosecond grimace I could see that my finesse approach was not going to accomplish my goal, so I tried to think of some lying, deceptive trick to accomplish my purposes. When one is confronted with a physical "check," the options to avoid "mate" can be extremely limited.

During my ponder Norton patted his bulging pocket, and said; "I'm packin'."

In no way on this side of Mohammed's heaven did I want to risk advertising to the IDEAS people, that I had violated their written order and had told someone of my terrorism charges. For the nothing it is worth, it was highly unlikely that Norton had a real gun, as two weeks into his four year term as D.I.S.S.U.S. Muslim in Chief Tupac Obama had ordered the confiscation of all guns held by white devils, even the sewer rats. Some foolish whites tried to hide their revolvers in bank lock boxes and back yard burials, probably unaware of the technology available to the Tupac administration. They should have guessed as it was merely an extension of the old metal detectors, upgraded to recognize not only metal, but certain forms of plastic. They came up with quite a cache, most still stored in Area 51; the rest distributed to those on the approved IDEAS list.

And no matter to me, as if they wanted to detain me, Norton's gun, if any, would only cause a losing complication. Time was of the essence, and I was as completely blocked as the pitiable indie writers should be.

I said; "Hey, Norton buddy. I'm just a little nervous. You can understand. Tell you what. Just get your car out of the driveway, and we'll go in mine." Norton wasn't the brightest fink on the block, so I figured that a "sophisticated" two-step approach would baffle and lose him.

He did move his car to the curb, no doubt aware that if I just took off in my humble Toyota, he could easily follow me in his humble Nissan. So, I reversed my car down the driveway, stopping to let him into the passenger's seat. Feigning overdue appreciation, I went on and on about how I was grateful for his support, hoping that he would not subliminally question that if I was eager to have him accompany me, why I did not also bring "packing" Alice. I think that he semi-bought it.

I pulled into the first 7-11 we reached. I told him that I just had to have some coffee. Norton looked at me sideways, before following me in, maybe considering that I might slip out the back, if unattended. I got the coffee and added some overpriced accoutrements, as did he. As I checked out the items, I reached into my pocket and said; "Damn. I've forgotten my wallet. Can you ...... ?"

While Norton presented his plastic for the "fie bipty" tab, I went to the car and drove off, leaving him with the armed and surly, Q-Tip headed cashier, who would not return Norton's plastic until he provided a "satisfactory form of payment," inclusive of the five digit PIN number which Norton was incapable of memorizing. It seemed an obvious standard-operating-procedural, Muslim Indian scam compounded by the typical American predilection for "duh," now taught at the pill dispensing grammar school of one's choice. Sometimes you get a bit lucky. Not.

I got to IDEAS barely early enough. After being checked for belly suicide bombs by one of the mean and serious looking guards with ISIS armbands and mucho hair on their chinny-chin-chins, toting Benelli M3's, I was going over my mental notes, as were the five or six Barney's off-the-rack guys also waiting, when whatever it was in the face covering niqab and full body burqa called my name. I followed it to a room with a simple copper or blended brass "Determinator" plaque on the door. Oooh, atomic.

Perchance foolishly insofar as I had any control, I was imbued with song. As far as I could tell it was no fault of mine. I was as devoid of effective differentiable discipline as the Illuminitardi lock step viewpoint which lock-steps to the politic misnomer of "Identity," just as much your everyday Muslim lock steps to looting marauder, had he no more enlightened Illuminilibtardi propagandist available during his shithole country provided, psychically challenged introduction to rich white deviltry.

Bomb detonation and "Atomic" by Deborah Harry and James Destri; property of the author, the latter under both the "fair use" and "transformative" doctrines.

I shook my head semi-vigorously, as to clear the music from it without drawing the unwanted attention given to those with a seizure disorder. This was serious business. Inside was Mohammed Amjad Yasser Abdel Rahman Abdel Raouf Iqbal al-Qudwa al-Husseini III, with an "Under Assistant Determinator for Humbletown Affairs" designation on his plastic breastplate, right under his full name. I couldn't help but think that Islamic breastplates had expanded well beyond those utilized in the now deposed USA; and might serve the dual function of implying a semi-bullet-proof forgery in the Muslim heart area. No matter; not of priority at the moment.

He rose and took a few steps toward me, stooped more than a bit and had one hand on his lower back; much in the manner of a spirited black woman when she is just about to give you hell.

After checking my driver's license, He said that I should refer to him as Amjaad Iqbal, as it sounded more westernized. Amjaad Iqbal read me my rights under The Patriot Act, Section 5, subsection 50b, which basically said I had the right to do what I was told, and I would likely have confused any possible future attempt to check the statute as it sounded like "Fie bipty bee," had I had not had any prior 7-11 gouging parlance experience. More or less necessarily I re-focused on the matter at hand. I had learned that in a situation which is totally out of one's control and potentially maiming, the best play is always obsequiousness. Sure, it is obvious. But it is also obvious that 9 of 10 of the insecure functionaries in ostensible charge lap it up like famished mongrels with rabies, prior to begging for more.

Yasser Arafat; modified public domain.

Trying to get on Amjaad Iqbal's good side and curry favor, I pointed to the Arafat painting on the wall and said; "I thought you guys had some sort of a problem with images."

"Interesting that you mention that. It's actually a bit complicated. But, just like Judaism and Christianity; Islam considers idolatry to be a heinous sin. However, the Qur'an does not prohibit making images or possessing them; only worshipping them. The Hadith clearly and consistently prohibits all images of any living being, with special mention of punishment for painters. One exception to this rule is dolls for children, probably because children are not considered in danger of worshipping them as idols. Neither the Koran nor Hadith specifically mention depictions of Muhammad. So, it's kind of up to you on that one. Now, this is the view of we majority Shia. The damn Sunnis have a different interpretation. Sometimes they can be so stupid, you just feel like killing them."

"I guess that puts a crimp in photography. Nice painting. I'd call it expressionistic."

"You know, now that we're on the subject of mistaken western views of Islam, this is one that just irks me. You white guys think that we're all uniformly religious, without taking into account the fact that the backward fundamentalists among us can become violent if they thought otherwise. It's no different than your politicians spouting all of that 'God willing' and 'God bless' crap when running for office. Preliminary studies find an inverse relationship between degree of education and degree of Islamic indoctrination. If you're Catholic, you should easily relate."

This seemed a bit much. At this point I had to consider the possibility that Amjaad Iqbal was trying to lull me into a false sense of security, whereby I'd respond in kind, and my own likely recorded words could be used to print my one way ticket to Abu Grabby. Not that I didn't expect to be going there anyway, but I figured I'd make them use their own bullshit, rather than mine. Trying to concoct a measured response under time pressure, I came up with; "That sounds so remarkably humane."

Apparently that was not one of the desired responses that Amjaad Iqbal was looking for. So rather abruptly he changed tone and said; "Okay, enough chit chat. Empty your pockets."

I placed the items on his desk, and his eyes gleamed like a Bedouin who had just chanced upon a camel in heat. Abjaad Iqbal added fresh salivation to his multi-hued and partially cleansed beard when he sputtered; "There it ish!" I was thinking; "Uh oh. In addition to Abu Grabby prospects, all I needed was a warped Arab pervert with an unbalanced fixation." I mean like, that in retrospect I should have anticipated the chance; but in my defense I do think it fair to say that this was the first time I had gotten such an exhilarated reaction to my humble wallet, key chain, and cigarette lighter, since the earliest of days when Alice discovered that I was carrying a Trojan as well as a horsey approximating gift. It's a curse. Believe me. ......... Well, sometimes. My first priority was to calm Amjaad Iqbal down. So, I tried to be as un-sexy as pejorative words can be, and said; "Ish shumthing there which meetsch your interesh?"

Undeterred, and as if he had calmly ascended to his coveted place and was now in the presence of Moe and some girls whose ages could be measured while keeping on one's Islamic flat sandals, at three bipty per pair plus the Ayatollah cut, in bulk, and apparently failing at trying to show that it was a reasonable expectation, he said; "I've got the contraband golden lighter!" He then screamed; "Guards, come and take this to Evidence," and two of the thuggish appearing, ISIS arm-banded guys with rifles carefully put it in an Islamic themed iPhone case and took it away.

He said; "Let me cancel that house tossing. They might not have started it yet. ......... The backlog here can drive you nuts. ............ No, they're already on site in progress. You know, these Allah damn workers always show up whenever they want to and always when you wish they wouldn't, and Allah forbid they have to adjust their half-day, self-convenient work schedules."

Christian Dior Windproof Special Edition Golden Cross Lighter; property of the author.

"I now know who finked on me; Pal Konstanty over at the crematorium. I should have let him go suck on his unlit Camels."

"Ha, ignorant rich white American devil. Pal Konstanty is Khaleel Abadi in Arabic. And, partially correct. Actually you've been finked on 142 times. You know, at the drop of a skullcap, you honky devils be sangin' on each other like cryin'-ass niggaz up on they third possession-with-intent-to-distribute narcotics charge. However, Khaleel is the only one on our Approved Fink List. We originally pursued the reports of any fink, but our resources are finite, and you rich white heathens fink on each other in a jiffy with the fall of a, a ............... a calligraphed mabkhara. It's disgusting. I mean, we get charges emanating from neighbor's disputes over bushes, bicycle tracks on lawns, kids who got slapped by a parent, romantic rivals, people who lost their lunch .............. You name it."

I was genuinely curious whether I was a mere heathen or a full-fledged devil, but had a more urgent question asking; "Norton on there?"

"I really shouldn't say. But, yes; thirty-three times. Norton has been placed on our Crank List. And please pardon my amusement, but there's a Joseph Finke on here eight times."

"Goggle?"

"They still send stuff. Every week we get a roomful of info, which we no longer look at, but we haven't told them. They send garbage like every bank transaction in the world and every purchase of a Tommy Robinson poster. We wish they would find a way in which to be more discriminating."

Thinking "Woo," but not wanting to risk putting a damper on Amjaad Iqbal's scorching and garrulous zest, I instead said "Aabirah?"

That proved to not have been the most superior of possible bets, but an un-harming neutral, when Amjaad Iqbal seemed to have returned to the confines required by his official Humble Islamic Operating Manual, and said; "I'm going to stop right there. But, with the numbers involved I'd guess that everyone you know has finked on you at least once. ......... By the way, that's not the least bit unusual. Let's proceed."

"For the benefit of my assumed future reference, might I inquire if Bics are okay?"

"Those with the 7-11 imprint bearing the star and crescent foreground only. Beware of the forgeries propagated by the rich, white, entrepreneurial devils. They're rather easy to pick out, with their screen-shot-induced-manipulation, which invariably results in a shading of the star. ........ So just sign this."

"Can I read it first? I don't want to be buying a pig in a poke."

"Possible responses aside in the face of efficiency, I'll let the cat out of the bag. You're pleading guilty to possession of obscenely expensive contraband with intent to distribute."

"I had no intent to distribute!"

"Well, Khaleel might say otherwise."

" ................ "

"Okay. I like you."

I got nervous again.

Amjaad Iqbal continued; "Intent to distribute carries with it the possibility of Abu Grabby. Look; I'll make it simple possession. First offense; worst case bipty-bie days latrine duty at the local Mosque. I'll recommend that. Okay?"

"Sure of that?"

"No. You can never be sure what a judge will do."

With some trepidation, thinking this the best deal I could get; I said; "Thank you, Amjaad Iqbal" and signed.

Abjaad Iqbal yelled; "Guards!"

Sentencing

The armed guards entered. One tightly cuffed my wrists to the point of discomfort only recognized by me upon the sight of a quickly drying scarlet line which I saw in the mirror of his shades. I thought that most likely this was not necessarily an act of un-needed Muslim doctrinaire viciousness; but rather, the work an uninformed and inexperienced ISIS retard, concomitant with his mindless attempt at a singularity of ignorance which the "anti-fascist" Illunilibtardi fully supports, though they would not tolerate the same from a Fundamentalist Christian. It's not a matter of a Webster definition; but rather merely another instance of the long-term Islamic inability to master the intricacies of anything other than losing battles and chucking rocks. The "new," unjustly and underhandedly demanded by the rigors of the 21st century high tech norms befuddle the Islamic crowd, despite their having become as sufficiently inventive as one must be to shoot themselves with a bazooka.

Particularly advanced and headless Allamah demonstrating how one can blow it out both holes simultaneously"; property of the author.

Famous last words- "Gee, I wonder what's wrong here. Let me take a close look at the hole parts."

Page 1 of US legally safe "Bazooka Instruction Manual"; property of the author.

In all fairness, the techies rarely deign to explain how to use that which they make; and when they do, each one says something different. But, they were lucky that the Islamic bazooka maven was not in the former US while he conducted his investigation, as the manufacturer, wholesaler, and retailer would all be seven digits legally liable for not having written; "Do not stick Q-Tip head in either hole part, especially hole part 2, when bazooka is loaded." Take my word. It's not any particular teaching of the Koran or Hadith which prompts these guys to use knives, hammers, and box cutters. It's merely a down-to-earth function of Islamic capabilities.

In the small, likely overstated as such, victory available to me, I succeeded in doing my best not to overtly laugh at the tech challenged beardo harboring hard green snot with which he imaginably had found to be the stepped down remnants of a visit to one of the Mohammedan heavens, this the one which found a heavenly release in blowing it out through the standing nostrils rather than the upturned ass. I was again foolishly encouraged to a fault or worse a default, as true revolution once again seemed deceptively at hand. Fearing an over obviousness, I am uncontrollably compelled to state that it is high time to admit that sweet Pollyanna is my loved sister. So, dare to ridicule me. In the throes of passion, I don't care, while also realizing that you have not the ability to understand. You further might find it hard to take that as something other than a depression. If it matters and it likely doesn't to you, "Au contraire." It is an exhilaration; one which continues to a perpetuity not yet recognized. On the other hand, if you believe any of the aforementioned bullshit, you are undeniably a top candidate for an eternal seat next to this Moe guy, obviously prone to randomized killing, even more than the talking dog inspired predilections and transitory horrors generated by the Son of Sam, to which idiots and conveniently affix, despite Berkowitz' recants and story changes, a lack of recognizable distinction as to age of consent, and finally, but not lastly, in a seemingly disproven potential of an un-testosterone-controlled male foray into an ignorance chosen or inherited through the concept of an Original Sin easily disputed, seen as all too inconvenient by one with a partiality or weakness toward a recognition of that which merits no recognizing. ........ It is Vonnegut-said that popularity is only a function of writer inviting the reader to ride a relatively definable norm, that norm or near facsimile thereof first dropping and then rising. Happy endings; my, oh how the heart soars. The wondrous cacophony of the yays of the speaking monkeys deafen the ears of the monkeys who hear no evil. Congratulations; progress well noted.

Amjaad Iqbal; resplendent in his flowing gown, I don't know. Beards and hairy legs in a dress just don't work well together; the value judgement aspect a philosophical problem, in whose discussion I'd rather not participate. Until totally negated, I will continue to insist upon my rights. I'm sure that Allah has cursed me into an insoluble limitation, but nonetheless ............. The dumb, flouncing thug pulled guilty white me to a waiting room full of other handcuffed and guilty, rich white terrorists, the rest in pinstripes and ties. Accidentally given a modicum of leeway by the prodding, bearded ones who were just a bit inattentive in their self-congratulatory glances at each other's whiskers, I took an end plastic seat next to another comrade, white terroristic contrabander who appeared to be on the low end of the dangerous spectrum, his tie devoid of a diamond stickpin. One of my escorting guards exchanged conviviality and papers with the IDEAS snipers who guarded the room from their perches on the rickety scaffolding left by the last hedonistic painting crew, and left.

...... So, where was I/you et al? No, not in terms of all of that, but just in terms of the story as so far mis-presented? Ever go to the theater when they played a film not advertised on the posters in the lobby? You kind of sit there un-entertained and wondering if you had arrived too early or too late; which gives way to an acquired taste which nags, strongly suggestive of your having been cheated; which you petty rebel at, with all of the strength of still clutching half of your ticket in your left hand, your right feeling at your posterior for the bulging signs of your market dependent wallet, while the projector streams the replay of an old B flick, which you think in a lack of memory of the uninteresting, that you have never previously seen. .......... Dare I say that I've forgotten something, but suffice to say; "Get back, Loretta."

I got the feeling that I had been duped by tricky Abjaad Iqbal, who was now probably finishing the process of cyber classifying me as "finished," prior to bringing up the details of his next white terrorist contrabander. I couldn't see his screen; only its reflection in his Subha beady eyes.

I soon became aware that my behind-the-back handcuffs made sitting uncomfortable, and also prevented me from perusing the Al-Shamika magazines piled haphazardly on the Safavieh Desta Natural End Table. My fright level went up a few notches, as this slyly provoked inability for cuffed white devils to see anything more than partial covers, excepting that of the top one in the pile, was suggestive of no top drawer, authoritative qualms concerning cruel and unusual punishment. At that moment I was sure of intrusive, offensive doom, and wished that I had not left squealing Norton at the 7-11; his puffed purported bluff better than nothing when cornered by snarling dogs.

For any ignorant white heathens who might be reading this, and thereby intelligently deducing my ultimate survival, please allow me to insert a note which probably should be footed. The end tables were wicker concoctions with loose, sharp ends; much like that of a well-used, antiquated bathroom hamper, possibly left as an unfortunately un-differentiable, branding-intended calling card by one practitioner or a small group of those Muslim Western Asian, US dollar grabbing, parasitic louses, with all the subtlety of one of the myriad of Seventh Day Adventist, tax-free property replete with buildings rented to various and sundry retailers, wholesalers, manufacturers of whatever, and a Sunday parking lot yard sale, begging an exterminator visit. The periodic play station of surreptitious, nocturnal vermin, though newly and unconvincingly marketed as something akin to a "re-invented" foray into a hot item represented as brown squigglies rather than the traditional, but scientifically unfounded representations of the end of the infinitely hued rainbow; that singular concoction marketed by the enterprising Muslim which called itself Safavieh; it's insignia lettered in gold leaf like a Trump "statussy" project of old, just under some particularly unruly strands of now errant wicker, the vermin not yet complete in their elimination attempts.

You might well have imagined that under the circumstances I finally had a use for my smart phone; but alas my smart phone's battery had run out while I was in Abjaad Iqbal's office, and my hands were not positioned to use it, were the battery still good, anyway. .......... Tell me about frustrating futility.

Suddenly I became fearful that I'd get an urgent need to wizz with no manual access to my woo or a bathroom. That soon converted to a liberating feeling, as I was totally out of control of my destiny and if I wizzed my pants it wasn't my fault. I didn't care, as I wasn't wearing my best Sunday church pants, anyway. I wondered if guilty, white pants wizzers got stiffer sentences. The questioning thought quickly passed as I surmised that I would or might soon find out, more or less.

Door placard with Islamic symbol of justice; property of the author.

The door with the Judge Pasoon Al-Hussain logo opened and after they carried out the remains of the previous, offending, white terrorist, one of the snipers came down and gently nudged my head with the butt of his imported FX-05 Xiuhcoatl.

I was left alone with Pasoon, but appendage limited to the use of only my feet. The judge seemed quite cordial when he motioned me to the seat opposite his. As I plopped down with all the grace of a hoarse muezzin I saw that the room's light emanated only from the sun, which streamed through Judge Pasoon's only window; that portal behind him and with a Medina view, if one could see 6,462 miles and adjust for the earth's curvature from this room's vantage point. But what captured the interest of rich, white terrorist me with a demonic bent, is reasonably counting on anything but appropriate punishment in full, radiant illumination; a conclusive blasphemy if there ever was one. Any sort of semi-Mecca or full-Mecca view is righteously reserved for the truly faithful on Haj or thrice daily, ass-in-the-air reverence to Allah; at least insofar as that has been Koranthed or Hadithed by perverted Ayatollahs, Imams, as well as various and sundry ISIS aficionados well attuned to that sweet injection of the fruits of Afghanistani poppy. Turning my guilty and humble eyes away from the consequences of the filtered, yet semi-blinding effects of the sun, I saw a framed photo of Muhammed on Pasoon's western wall; and given what Amjaad Iqbal had related to me in confidence, I was more than a tad intrigued.

Pasoon's wall photo; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

Also immediately recognizing that perspective as another opportunity simultaneously conducive to again trying to ingratiate myself with those backward weirdos in whom the humble fate my carcass lied, while choosing to ignore the picayune, petty, prosaic, possible precept attendant to that recently detailed by Amjaad Iqbal, I said; "That's a remarkably clear photo of Muhammed; or perhaps a painted product of photo realism at its best."

In all his fuzz-faced glory, Judge Pasoon graciously condescended to respond to my U.S. patented suck-up attempt with a semi-snarling; "You must be joking as neither is possible. That's my brother-in-law, Paywastun. As far as I know he's dead, having succumbed to the complications arising from the un-schooled shaving required by his decadent, western, Kojak re-make, gosi. He had many times asked that I hang his photo here; and he is my wife's favorite brother. So, if you are sufficiently Allah blessed to have been married to a good woman, you know how that goes. I figure that it won't hurt anything unless one of those dumb Sunni's sees it and compounds their fatal error. Anyway, please be advised that white heathen suckuppery attempts tend to result in stiffer sentences."

My fear level again increased. This bastard was the real deal. I considered and rejected further explanation on both ineffectively artistic and ineffectively plebian levels, leaving nothing I could imagine in the space provided in the protected semi-Sharia limitations positioned conveniently, much like a frozen Franzenian flip-flop in between, if one was of the "Identity" restricted skimmers in lock time; that position, most often one of the timid writer rather than one of the more secure reader, insofar as differentiations can be calculated without the professional use of a precisely calibrated wattmeter or one of a loser with no support at the electing, hypothetically un-committed center which invariably and "popularly" determines, or more likely merely reflects a direction debated as to source, in structured abnegation of that which is perceived by the players through polls, despite their oft demonstrated, poor methodology, web-encouraged proliferation, and unanimous insistence upon an absurd Hillary presidency, the laughable conceit dating at least as far back as when Tom Dewey defeated Harry, "The buck stops here," Truman in the Chicago of forgotten 48. For the sake of the Asian, hypothetically minority opinion, it has been long offered that; "Bad shit is coming. Better leave." ...... Oh, freaking well. You might pay more attention next time."

The incorrectly perceived gloat now stops here, manifesting to some as a Disney deer surrounded by a pervasive fire, but nonetheless one from which we now know that Bambi will escape. Personally having also survived many flicks of the Bic, and now as your everyday "curiously" indifferent spectator of the predictably funny whine as is unfittingly generated by the inanely jealous miscreant interpretation and limitation all too obviously projected onto the attitudes of Holden ..................... Please pardon my break away from the thought pattern deemed most accessible, as I have been indoctrinated to believe that something more important is going on here ........ or there. No sarcasm intended or implied. Unscientific and wrong, as they undoubtedly are, I once again relied upon my proven-to-be-failed instincts which suggested that most likely, there had been a continuation of the communications breakdown somewhere between the monetarily-based conclusions of the scientists and the monetarily-based conclusions of the politicians, which a switch from AC to DC would not ameliorate.

As it were, as it were again, it makes no further sense to go there, no matter how deified and adulated, as fully within my undoubtedly incorrectly perceived bounds of my supposed free will to be stupid, I concluded that this Q-Tip head was no fool, despite initial head and mean as hell on top of it. In the standard methodology provided to I thought it best to curtail my stymied opening attempt, and wait for him to display his opening move.

Judge Pasoon typed on his computer, periodically squirming and making a scrunched face, which gave him the appearance of one who has just sat on the naugahyde saddle of a camel after it spent a sunny afternoon in the summer Sahara. Without looking at me, he said; "Mr. Modesto. You have pleaded guilty to possession of contraband."

"Yes, your honor."

He held what seemed to be an intercom or electric shaver to his beard, and said; "Clerk; bring in the evidence."

A few minutes later, the clerk entered and said; "Habib in the Evidence Room says they have no evidence for this case."

Pasoon sort of lost it for a minute; "Fucking Allah damn! Just fucking allah damn! This is happening all the time now. Get Habib in here right now."

Habib, Evidence Room Director entered and said; "Yes, sir. You called."

Judge Pasoon: "The Modesto evidence was just put in a half hour ago. How could it be lost this quickly?"

Habib: "I have no record of having received any Modesto evidence."

Judge Pasoon: "Get Amjaad Iqbal in here."

Amjaad Iqbal: "Yes, sir."

Judge Pasoon: "Did you send the Modesto lighter to Evidence."

Amjaad Iqbal: "Yes, of course, sir. A half hour ago by Debasish Das sundial."

Judge Pasoon: "I suppose you have a receipt for that."

Amjaad Iqbal: "No, sir. Like always, I had the ISIS guards bring it. They should have one. ..................All right? I'm kind of in the middle of another case right now."

Judge Pasoon: "Tozz feek. Go and send in the ISIS guards. Ya Ibn el Sharmouta!"

ISIS Guard #1: "Yeah?"

Judge Pasoon: "You guys have a receipt for the Modesto evidence?"

ISIS Guard #1: "No. You, Abu?"

ISIS Guard #2: "No, Salah."

Judge Pasoon: "Why not?"

ISIS Guard #1: "I never touched the Modesto evidence. You, Abu?"

ISIS Guard #2: "No, Salah."

Judge Pasoon: "Aryeh feek. Stay here. Clerk, bring Amjaad Iqbal back in here."

Amjaad Iqbal, with an undeniable air of annoyance: "Yesss, sir."

Judge Pasoon: "Iqbal, are these the ISIS guards you gave the evidence to?"

Amjaad Iqbal: "Probably."

Judge Pasoon: "Probably?"

Amjaad Iqbal: "Well, sir. I can't be 100% certain, as all these ISIS thugs look alike to me. ........... And I really didn't stare at them."

Judge Pasoon to the ISIS thug/guards aborted: "Kol khara. Were you two on duty ............" To Amjaad Iqbal instead: "When did this exchange take place, Iqbal?"

Amjaad Iqbal: "As I previously said, about a half hour ago by Debasish Das sundial. ........... I'm sure that the Judge has made note of the morning clouds."

Again, Judge Pasoon addressed his question to the ISIS thug/guards: "Were you two on duty about half an hour ago?"

ISIS Guard #1: "Yes. You, Abu?"

ISIS Guard #2: "Yes, Salah."

Judge Pasoon: "So, how might I say this politely? As you two were the guards on duty a half hour ago, and Iqbal says he gave the lighter evidence to the guards who were on duty a half hour ago, someone here must be lying. No?"

ISIS Guard #1: "Not me. You, Abu?"

ISIS Guard # 2: "Not me, Salah."

Amjaad Iqbal interjected with a reply to the question asked of ISIS Guards #'s 1 and 2, intending to be helpful and simultaneously hoping it would expedite his return to his own paused case in progress. He may have made a poor choice when he opted for brevity and said; "Not necessarily."

Judge Pasoon aimed straight at the equivocating detail sought to be avoided when he said: "Tellhas teeze. Why not necessarily?"

Amjaad Iqbal said; "Well, sir; at any given time there are eight or more ISIS guards on duty. You might have seen that that is mandated by our IDEAS Operating Manual; section 2; paragraph 8."

Judge Pasoon: "Kess ommak! Allah damn kess ommak! Allah damn dess ommak that Allah damned manual! Allah damn and dess ommak that hominid written, attributed to Allah manual! Everybody, just get out of here. Kess ommak!

I got up to leave. With all the misdirected motion and confusion I thought it was worth a shot; but Judge Passoon yelled; "Not you, wise guy!"

I stopped to face him, and saw his fiery eyes riveted upon me. In an attempt to lighten up things, I pointed my index finger at my chest as if to say; "You talkin' to me?" My DeNiro attempt didn't work on any Pasoon level. He probably needed some more time in D.I.S.S.U.S. to become more familiar with the finer points of old American culture.

Without a discernable twinge of appreciation, even in the pejorative, Pasoon bellowed with all the resonance of a Mosque muezzin"s morning call to prayer in Istanbul, veritably singing the words; "Yes, you. Kess ommak!"

It wasn't the easiest of tasks to refrain from sticking my ass in the air. I was only deterred by the fact that I didn't know Mecca from Medina; and didn't want to risk farting in the wrong direction. Aiming at humble appeasement, I said; "With all due respect your honor, it might help if you gave some thought to being more precise. And if I might dare say so, potty mouth never helps anything."

As I sat, I heard an unemotional, under-the-breath, though resolute; "kess ommak."

Despite his brave words, after having seen and heard Pasoon's ineffective exchanges with people who seemed to be his de facto subordinates, though probably not exactly that on the Sharia organizational chart, I came to view Pasoon as being somewhat akin to the confidently inept Basil Fawlty type, though in Pasoon's case without a wife present to fix things up for him. Immediately following that observation I realized this probably made my situation worse, as ineffective people regularly seek to maximize their "importance" through being overly assertive with the poor souls over whom they have some degree of authority; almost always conferred through the humble attitudes of the poor souls.

Adding another layer of potential, perceptual problem to any attempted assessment daringly proffered by those who can audaciously chew gum and breathe simultaneously, Pasoon also had the attributes of post-Churchill British Prime Ministers, post-Roosevelt United States Democrat Presidents, wife beaters, and wannabe-made-men-numbers-runners-in-disguise-indistinguishable.

Amjaad Iqbal had warned me that judges were unpredictable. I knew that US criminal case law was a bitch. But, not having previously been familiar with those of the Islamic bent, I thought it best to take Amjaad Iqbal's unconfirmed word, in the absence of proper time for study, as this Pasoon, who was right in front of my face, had the power of Abu-Grabby over my modest, though rich, white, and demonic life. So, I decided that my best move was to be as obsequious as a beginning level, unqualified through liberal arts degrees, sales job applicant, with a Japanese-R lisp; insofar as I was capable of doing that without laughing in his face. I also realized that my thought process was formed in an old country not ruled by Islamic religious fanatics; real or fabricated; risking that the feigned capitulation might not disarm those with a history as long as has been recorded by uninvited interlopers, of inevitable, semi-understandable, entrees into a perpetual warfare which makes heroes of soldiers who dare not ask; "What if they gave a war and nobody showed up?" OmiAllah, the shock of the seventh century "news" in the twenty-first!

Returning to a business he must have considered manageable, surely in comparison, Pasoon gruffly said: "You have pleaded guilty to possession of contraband; specifically one Christian Dior Windproof Special Edition Golden Cross Lighter. Is that correct?"

At the time that was much more difficult a question than it might now appear. Since I was now aware that the evidence had been "misplaced" somewhere between Amjaad Iqbal and the Evidence Room, my first thoughts were to say that I had signed that confession only after extended application of the Heretic's Fork; hoping and perhaps naively expecting that to be a mitigating circumstance even under Sharia law or Sharia whatever. I dismissed this as a bad idea upon mentally pursuing other possibilities; one of which was that the Islamic thieves would suddenly produce the item in question just to be a bitch; another that a re-sellable E-Bay acquired duplicate would be made available just to further enhance the Abu Grabby terrorist population with yeztruly. Those thoughts, more or less, required all the nano-second stated time attached to that of another unrequested efficiency boast attendant to a Goggle search as calculated and "volunteered" by Goggle; and I promptly responded with a; "Yes, your honol," which seemed both uncontestable as well as bench deferential.

Despite my near-flawless execution of step one of my obsequious ploy, and in that further, despite my synchronized, clandestine and temporarily measured overture; the recognition of that, if any, obviously taken as a sign of weakness by the excessively needy, "important," Basil Fawlty vis-à-vis Pasoon redundancy; was demonstrated through a continued hard-ass, fundamentalist approach, with Passon saying; "Do you realize that the cost of this purchase, currently estimated at twenty thousand, and we're not talking Syrian pounds here, is enough to feed an Afghanistani family of four for each and every of the four months which precede the poppy harvest, as well as the ensuing 30-60 days during which the notes are expected to clear?"

I was momentarily tempted to avoid the trap of the financial mechanics to which Pasoon more or less accurately depicted through a rhetorical notion somewhat flawed through being much too suggestive of a cloister founded ideal, and thereby an outlook which was totally unaware of Dylan's utopian hermit monk side saddle on the golden calf thingy of old; and threw out as if his perspective was absurdly analogous to that of Mister Murder; "As werr that of the yacht Brack Medarrion Box, on a roan from Miltel Muldel .......... any fulthel yadda yaddas ealprugged."

I was encouraged when he had no contentious follow up. On a deceptively, seemingly practical level I again weighed my options hindered like an imperiled sovereign by the porous borders of immediate Muslim "necessity," primarily through the nasty imposition of the rudeness of time constraint, which I was required to get on my side through the process of eliminating any consideration of that which falls outside the range of the normal distribution, thereby attempting to ape AlphaGo, who in turn was attempting to ape its techie designers understanding of human decision making under memory and time constraints, leaving out a few of the remote candidates. If they're not going to co-operate by getting on the hill, then just the hell with the oddballs. Again I considered denying "full" possession, as claiming that I was just holding it for Norton might have worked when triaged with the US legal disallowance of being tortured into confessing and the US-bound-archaic-insistence-upon-evidence; two out of the three more than sufficient to likely establish reasonable doubt, since the item had disappeared into the "illegal," yet sanctioned through non-enforcement of the Islamic world of Banu Sasan. But I quickly rejected that foolish notion engendered during the gone, rich, white, devil thief days; as any claim to having signed a confession "under duress" is not recognized as either an ancient or "modern" Muslim legal concept and also very subject to a dismissal as Sharia "law" does not require any sort of evidence, and even further dismissed that nonsense as the lighter in question or a copy of it might miraculously re-appear if the ISIS guards were as stupid as Amjaad Iqbal more or less said that they were; my short term memory function as inaccurate as a possibly faulty short term memory function allows. Yet, I had the disturbing feeling that something essential was missing. That feeling may have gotten more personal attention if Judge Pasoon had been a bit less boisterous in his lauding of hardships encountered by the Afghanistani Islamic sources of opiate origin.

Or vice-versa. With all this foreign, aberrant behavior prevalent, is one still expected to act as if they care about an Illuminilibtardi and PCP approval of a chosen, "needy" migration to the land of milk and honey? Aircraft and flotation devices were the vehicles of choice for the "impoverished" and "desperate" Muslim Western Asian and Mexican haters of rich white devils, and ostensibly consequently wanted to join them. I have to admit that the day was wearing on, and my head was spinning not necessarily in tandem with that of the world, as I had only had a coffee or two; that starvation not in the best interest of promoting my attempt to not further populate the perennially combative, three-headed, Cerberus-like, contradictory beast's Abu Grabby resort, segregated and exclusive to rich, white devils in possession of contraband; the intent to distribute apparently negotiable at some level of the Islamic version of beast; heavenly trips available for sums in excess of those formerly legally availed in US "damages" from the retailer, wholesaler, and/or manufacturer of bazookas used by Islamis to blow their own heads off.

My consideration of alternatively stating that is a result of my not having been aspirationally trained as one certifiably blessed with a full-fledged metallurgical diploma, replete with a passed test, and thereby being a mere layman in no "expert" position to estimate substance or value, posed merit. Without any fear of recrimination, I could say that I was always under the impression that the lighter was not gold, but merely a cheaply gold-leafed piece of scrap metal, like a Trump structure, without being in violation of the Islamic legal advancements evident in 2030 D.I.S.S.U.S., but I also dismissed that, in and of itself, for the same reasons summed up as no longer being in the US. An addition was needed. So I said; "No, youl honol. I had no idea as I did not pulchase this item. Lathel it was a gift flom my dying father. It's the last thing I have of his." Tear ducts can be so damn un-cooperative sometimes. No matter, as the harshness previously in Pasoon's eyes shifted toward a dewy malleability, and I was 75% sure that the departed daddy story worked better than any Muslim-bride-oppressed-woman's-ISIS-jihadi persecution had in the past.

I guess that I was at least partly wrong about that as Pasoon quickly recovered his contentious keel, and said; "I have no record of you having paid any inheritance tax."

I said; "I was not awale that any tax was due for estates ress than some gleatly highel numbel they adjust for infration whenevel an Obama is not in office. As I said, this was the only thing I leceived flom my dad."

Pasoon said; "My judgement is this. There will be no Abu Grabby for you. Place is over capacity anyhow. But, you are instructed to pay a 33% tax on your inheritance, inclusive of non-tax deductible penalties dating back to receipt of the item."

I said; "Does that mean I'rr get the righter back?" I was thinking that I could dump it on E-Bay, pay the tax, get a buck bipty Bic, and keep the difference.

Pasoon said; "Not rikery; errr likely. You may have noted the difficulty in retrieving anything after the ISIS thieves get their camel dung hands on it."

I said; "I'rr be honest with you. I can't pay. Just yesterday "Belnie"-Abdur ovel at the rocal 'Jimmy Hoffa Memoliar Clematolium' flanchise filed me. Though he shouldn't have, he seemed to know something about my plobrem hele."

Pasoon said; "Sakhifing Goggle as always. I wish they'd quit talking about it, get off their pesty nerd asses, and actually move to bolshie China. ....... Excuse me."

I watched as Sasoon typed something into his laptop. I was completely un-nerved, as his angry, beady-eyed expression made me consider that his monetary judgement might turn to an overstocked Abu Grabby one. But, it was okay, as Sasoon was a rational man, despite Muslim Western Asian birth. Rather than a state draining incarceration, enjoyed only by the ISIS sadists who work at Abu Grabby, he wanted me to pay money to the state. The simple practicality of John Kennedy's "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." flashed through my mind. Sasoon said; "You are hereby ordered to return to your non-sentient job at the local 'Jimmy Hoffa Memorial Crematorium' franchise at 9AM tomorrow; and if "Bernie"-Abdul gives you any trouble just call me. A deduction from your wages will be made to satisfy your tax and penalty obligation over the next two years."

I not only wanted to thank this man; I wanted to kiss his beard. But upon thinking of beard, I had a much greater passion for showing up tomorrow at 8:30AM, and setting fink Pal Konstanty's beard on fire with a Bic.

On the way home I stopped at 7-11 and got a five pack of Bics for eight bipty nine plus Ayatollah cut. Norton was no longer there. I tuned the radio to BrightBart and picked up Trucker Carpson somewhere into his information vent. His words were as quick and sharp as the knife of an Islamic groomer.

" ............... should be advised that the life of Muhammad demonstrates that torture is sanctioned in cases of interrogation. The prophet of Islam did not stop his people from beating and abusing individuals in his presence when information was needed, whether it concerned a matter of sexual impropriety or the location of wealth that could be looted. In at least one case of the latter, 'the prophet' is noted to have directly ordered the torture.

Torture is also allowed as a form of punishment and when putting people to death. Rather than prescribing quick methods of execution there were times when Muhammad ordered his men to make a victim's death as slow and agonizing as possible. In one case, his men literally pulled apart the body of an elderly woman named Umm Qirfa by tying her limbs to camels then sent in opposite directions.

One of the most influential Shia religious leaders in Iran recently extended the validity of torture to the practice of raping prisoners in the defense of Islam. Mesbah-Yazdi said that it was advisable for the rapist to 'perform a ritual washing first and say prayers while raping the prisoner.'

Mesbah-Yazdi went on to add that 'If the judgment for the male or female prisoner is execution, then rape before execution brings the interrogator a spiritual reward equivalent to making the mandated Haj pilgrimage to Mecca, but if there is no execution decreed, then the reward would be equivalent to making a pilgrimage to the Shiite holy city of Karbala.'

According to the cleric, 'If the prisoner is female, it is permissible to rape through the vagina or anus.' When asked if the rape of men and young boys was considered sodomy, he said, 'No, because it is not consensual.'

When asked how a Muslim might meet a good girl, he directed them to the MeetIslamicWomen.com website and advised disabling the white function.

A 2006 fatwa on the popular Islam website WikiFatwahPediaphile.com. authorized burning people as a form of punishment. It was pulled after ISIS began doing this to people in 2015."

On my way back I saw Norton walking a mile from our Humble Hovels development. He frantically waved, so I sped up and showed him the most vigorous rendition of Lal Shahbaz Qalander of Sehwan I could muster bird.

The Broken Clock is Looted

I got back home and Alice greeted me like she did when we first met, excepting the question about the Trojan horse. Understandable under the circumstances. I coolly answered her "What Happened?" entreaty with; "Ah, they're just after loot like every other migrant. The judge got me my job back just so that I can make their chump change payments." For a second I thought that had to have sounded much too nonchalant; but I quickly settled into the realization that this well-loved woman knew me better than anyone on earth; both truth and bullshit.

I might have been paying too much attention to what was written rather than what their actions and speech suggested; but I was initially reticent to fill in all the details, as in the absence of any Islamic "authority's" written attestation to an alternative understanding and/or a modern "enlightened" disregard for prior words, I had seen what they had left for me to see. Duh? The IDEAS e-mail did explicitly forbid my doing so. But since I already had told Alice of my "appointment" and had experienced what seemed to be a Muslim disregard for the precision of the Koran, I plugged in the particulars about the confiscated and quickly lost contraband lighter and my fine for non-payment of "inheritance taxes."

She found that funny, so I added the part about how out of limited-resource-necessity the local Muslim authorities disregard honky devils finking on each other all the time; and work entirely from their Muslim based "Approved Fink List."

Alice apparently found that much less funny, and shrugged as if to say; "What did you expect?"

Those considerations fell by the wayside when I opened the bedroom door to see that the place had been ransacked. Cabinets and drawers had been emptied onto the floor, closet doors were left open, furniture was upside down, the cushions were cut open and bleeding snips of humble foam rubber protruded with all the disheveled, sympathy-inducing ugliness attendant to a thwarted escapee, ceiling light fixtures made a maze of the floor, and, and, and; and most disturbing of all, Alice entered the bedroom again laughing.

I said; "Are you all right?"

She replied; "Do I look all right to you?" before continuing her chuckles.

"What's so funny?"

"The ISIS guys took the clock which doesn't work."

"I still don't get it."

"They got so excited about 'sneaking out' that 1905 Ansonia Mantel Clock which didn't run and is probably worth about forty dollars, that they didn't bother tossing the rest of the house. The IDEAS ISIS crew must have thought it valuable." Alice had to sit on the upside down Eames chair reproduction to maintain any sense of tickled balance.

1905 Ansonia Mantel Clock; property of the author.

I was puzzled and said; "Won't there be a contraband charge?"

"I wasn't arrested and don't expect to be."

We embraced and laughed together once more.

James walked in, eyed the situation, and said; "You two tied one on again. And I'm not cleaning it up this time."

I said; "Are you learning your timing skills from Norton?"

James left, closing the door behind him.

Alice said; "So, Norton's the fink?"

"Yeah, like thirty-three times. But they don't pay any attention to the cranks. The only one that mattered was Pal Konstanty at work, which also means Khaleel Abadi. He was lusting after the golden cross lighter."

"This doesn't get it for him."

"No. But, the sickest of the envious ones are as content as they can be through denying what they can't have to everyone else."

Alice stood up and we cuddled. I was compelled to add; "We keep this stuff our little secret. Right?"

"Sure, babe. No point in showing our down cards."

The Grind Restored

The next day I returned to my re-appointed job at the crematorium. As usual, I got to the parking lot thirty minutes early as did Burner #2 Operator, Pal Konstanty. He may have been surprised to see me, as his khaki brown face went blank and buff. We nodded "mornin'" and leaned on our cars. I pulled out my Lucky Strikes, lighting one and offered the open pack to Pal. As usual, Pal waved it off and got out one of his Camels, and said; "Could use a light though."

I flipped on the flame of my Bic lighter and first lit my Lucky Strike. I had set it to the highest flame possible, just as I had done the other. I think that Pal admired and was entranced by that aspect of it, as he was continually without his own light, necessitating his cigarette being lit by it. His eyes bugged, likely the result of his secondary view. This time the flame emanated from an IDEAS approved Bic, rather than the customary, contraband golden cross. If he had any sense, at that point he should have exercised extreme caution, as there were now two things which were out of his norm. I couldn't help but think that his sentient burner assignment was more a function of his alliance, rather than any testimony to his flaming acumen. I immediately wondered why that was not previously obvious to me. I dismissed that in favor of my down-to-earth business at hand; not yet fully executed.

I started low, about ZZ Top's belly button level, and slowly worked my way on up; maybe a function of placement, maybe a function of desire, maybe a function of my assessment of effective tactics; but undeniably a function of a few move forward statement of biased intent. When surreptitious Abadi finally may have seen the function and not its placement, that likely a much too generous a valuation of his abilities, though deemed necessary in mathematical calculation, his inertly yellowed face showed no sign of quickly noticing that it was not only our smokes that were lit. His long unkempt beard was kicking up a wild blast reminiscent of the government "supervised" controlled burns scheduled for, and "efficiently" performed when the easterly gusts exceed 40MPH on the scheduled day.

I smiled as Pal-Abadi sucked his smoke, blowing out a few drags. He seemed wary, though his face and body did its best to deny that by trying not to make his temporary posture the obvious affectation that it did. Concerned with his appearance to his audience consisting of yeztruly, I don't think that he made any note of the conflagration which started below his head until the undeterred, thereby persistent flames reached the level of his nose. Yet he pretended that it wasn't there and calmly dragged on his Camel. For some difficult to explain reason, I didn't feel obliged to tell him of that Ayatollah-approved advancement. Apparently his supposedly sentient burning job prevented him from keeping up to date on his procedural Hadiths. No my yob, conscious Q-Tip.

To tell you the truth, I was kind of detached. I mean on one level, like I'm supposed to be all sorts of worried and helpful to the condition of a fink who tried to get me sent to Abu Grabby for life? Barf out. Get a little real. I suppose that, as a Christian, you're not supposed to admit that, but if you want to bless and help your killer through putting up no self-defense; go ahead, jerk. I'll deal with any possible repercussions when I meet the Ultimate Judge. On another level, this pathetic one; not having personally witnessed any ISIS-type brushfires, only having seen a few movies with flaming, soon-corpses-to-be, I was most taken by an intellectual interest in seeing at which point the searing pain level would become an item of personal burn victim note. ....... It seemed to be when the flame encompassed the Q-Tip head and the nose started to kind of melt. But, to be more certain, I'd have liked to have been able to observe at least bipty more similar events.

Spared the sideways crunching of squatting, like self-immolated Buddhist monks, Pal kind of kneeled there, ass not yet in the air, headless insofar as we rich, white demons traditionally think of Q-Tip regulated head/headlessness; his long beard perhaps having worked as an undocumented, enhanced natural accelerant; the obviously existent, dried green snot, not mentionable on the PCP owned web. His lower parts spasmed, though in an insignificant and confined area, somewhat like a miniaturized replay of what granny told me about what chickens do when their heads are cut off.

My smoke had a few drags left when I started to feel bad about the whole thing. For a second I considered telling the blaze deifying fanatic on the Approved Fink List that I'd take care of his woman and give her lots of Christian babies, but for some stupid reason balked in likely consideration of my early Christian teachings, and did not want to lie, as I was happy with my own, and had no interest in his ........ if any. So, I removed any feelings of guilt which might have been hag-witchly brewing when I told the heap of fat-on-a-low-flame; "You shouldn't take it so personal, pal. Any sympathy is with your Camel. ........ Does it hurt? Oh well."

And the ohest of dears; I fear that the inevitable Goggle duplication of this, in or out of context, might hinder the approval that I so crave from the solutionless-pissers-and-moaners-who-don't-like-it-whatever-it-is, thereby ostensibly implying knowledge of a crossed what it is. In the most measured of responses I could imagine as appropriate under the circumstances, I was resigned to keeping the voice in my head which kept repeating; "Kiss Muslim ass before Biden kisses Obama's once more."

My dark doppelganger, aiming for a competitive joust to determine #1 darkest status found that the height of hilarity. ........ Sorry, no win or place; but you got a show, suck-up. If you are lucky, one day you will see real hate. Persevere, intrepid rookie. It is not all that hard to find.

By the time my Lucky was down to a nub which perhaps jokingly mimicked what was left of Pal's body, only serviceable with a roach holder which I no longer had; the smoke-acid, hippy days long gone, cursed to death not only through the concerted effects of right wing economic "education" passed down to those ignorantly agreeing in basic absentia; but more significantly by the fact that the system-working-necessity of full co-operation and giving-the-benefit-of-the-doubt reciprocity was just a short-lived, innocent, naïve inability to see that the overwhelmingly vast majority of those who perennially seek to take "smart" advantage would revert to default status as soon as the draft ended and the economy sputtered. If there is any, the mystery is why anyone would bother to say anything other than "fuck you, let me get away" to such ignorant cretins. World continually contracted by scientific "advances," the creeps took and continue to take stupidly perceived advantage of any situation which gave them an extra dollar bipty. I chucked my spent Lucky; careful to make sure it was fully out. I had always taken Smokey's old advice of; "Only you can prevent forest fires."

I entered the crematorium and took my place at burner #5, and commenced throwing the piled up, dead deer into the oven, obliviously content to go through the required motions, eased by my mental image of Pal's righteous demise, hoping it lasted an eternity. Soon Abdul (Bernie) Nouri left his office and walked over to me. He said; "Got the word, sahib. Glad to have you back."

Trying my best not to openly diss the sucker-under-the—"irresistible"-throes-of-lock-step-identity-politics-identically-limiting-orders, who I actually would have set aflame in any verse I could imagine; instead I smiled and continued with my deer, rabbit, and squirrel chucking duties, wanting to show the pejorative aspect of my "diligence."

Bernie slapped my back and said; "Good man. Carry on," apparently unaware, or very aware of the possible homophonic interpretation. I thought; "Oh, dear either way."

Bernie gait stalled on the way back to his office. He turned to me and said; "I'm glad you didn't take that previous day's dismissal joke seriously. Glad you're back and hope you enjoyed your day off; ........... with full pay, by the way."

Pretending to not know that I had job security passed down from a Pasoon high to which Bernie deferred, ............. okay, maybe from a corruption of on high, but as any distinction doesn't matter in this particular case, I was quite jovial in responding; "Haha. No sweat, Bern." Just like as in a "Wired," unwanted conversation, I had the whole thing recorded on this miniscule thingy here. To address Bernie's deferential 'well wishes,' I used a productive and enjoyable yesterday to file a meta suit for worker harassment. In "modern" times, thieving owners no longer have the fascist right to instruct socially protected employees; though if dexterously deceptive, they still retain the ability based right to thwart the voted will of the majority of the people.

"................. "

"Little joke, Boss Bern. Hahaha." I went back about my work; this morning inordinately high in squished chickens; while headlight fascinated deer were in the minority. In an hour the human corpses started to pile up next to un-manned Burner #2. It wasn't as if the pile was anything more than you might see at a standard ISIS cleansing of rich white devils; but being in closed quarters, the internalized air was becoming an increasingly obnoxious stink of the type normally associated with the standard, unkempt, Muslim beards; the maggots, various, and sundry parasites jumping and playing in the rotting slime, no longer subjected to their customary boundaries. No doubt this would have been cheered by insulated globalists in the Cloisters; but within the stagnant air of this local "Jimmy Hoffa Memorial Crematorium" franchise, it was sufficient to get Boss Bernie's attention, even from behind his now closed door. I guessed that there must have been some unsettling seepage, most prominent where the door's base was a full quarter inch from the floor; as if the wall-to-wall carpeting had been removed in favor of a filthy, pressed board abomination which attempted to cheaply approximate wood.

I was on one of my serene quantum quantum breaks, monkeyed with only by the stench; the load of non-sentient carcasses now the job of the flames. Bernie finally came out of his office, and with an air attendant to those quaintly sidesplitting folk who want to appear as being in charge when they are obviously not; yelled out; "Why is Pal not burning?"

I almost laughed aloud, but realized that Pal may have gone out by now. And in the typical response to those quaintly sidesplitting folk who want to appear as being in charge when they are obviously not, Bernie received a silence that might have been sufficiently cacophonous to raise the buried dead.

I thought that by now, since Pal must have had adequate time to have been through with his burning assignment of today, and had likely entered the esoteric phase which transcends considerations bound by epidermal constraints. That silly kind of optimistic expectation always leads to depressive results. But I felt immune due to prior vaccinations and I followed Bernie outside, if for no other reason than to get some fresh air.

We saw the smoldering rubble heap which was once Pal. Presented with another unfinished cadaver, Bernie seemed upset, saying; "What happened here? What happened here? What happened here?"

Not thinking that his questions were directed toward me, I said nothing. While Bernie was pacing I saw that my golden cross lighter was in the heap. It had been dirtied by the ash, but was still visible to me. I pocketed it while Bernie was nervously calling the authorities, most concerned that he might not be paid full price for immolating an already half-baked stiff.

My fleeting optimistic thoughts of being advanced to Burner #2 were dashed an hour later when Qadim al-Beydoun took Pal's place there, after the briefest of introductions. Qadim seemed a natural for the job. Having the raghead, dull eyes, the beard, and a nifty command of the English language, suggestive of habbing bin in this country a long distance, I guessed that he had significant prior experience in a shithole, Muslim country crematorium.

Oh well; I had dad's lighter back. When I stopped to light a Lucky on the way home; I tested it, and it still worked! Immersion in my pocket had removed most of the ash, and it shone as brightly in the late day sun as Muhammed did on Lailatul Miraj Day when the angels purified him with Zamzam water, filling his murdering, torturing, and raping, heart with wisdom and belief, and he ascended to heaven, where he was honored by being allowed to see Allah directly, visiting the highest levels of heaven, and leading all the past Prophets in prayer. ......... "Damn," I muttered. "Where did I leave my supply of Zamzam water? Could it be all gone? 7-11 could be so erratic in their stockings."

That question was soon forgotten, as I was so excited to have gotten back my one possession of dad's, twenty thousand smackers worth, and my Lucky had a few puffs left.

Tupac Obama's Speech

For the rest of my day at the crematorium, things proved to have been rather uneventful; any further heavenly ascensions; they either non-existent or going unreported in the calamitous face of effort rewarded by pragmatic, dollar seeking, D.I.S.S.U.S. judges bearing a discernable affinity for crinkly, green things, oblivious to their previously having resided in the barnyard, penned in a semi-sloppy and semi-lumpy vessel.

In the Illuminitardi forbidden, Hebraic words, whether to the easily believable low end of a wondrous Vilon, while certainly not dared to be humbly expectant of the high end hyper wonder of Aravot; the miracle unfolded.

Muhammed's ascension with some explanatory Arabic notes; modified public domain.

My humble day had been spent with the dead; disposing through gas powered flames of mostly squirrels, pet white lizards, pet Muslim rats, and various predatory pigeons. When I got back home, Alice was already there, futzing with one humble, cast aluminum, unclad, supposedly unstuck pot or another. I took dad's lighter out of my pocket and lit up a Lucky. Alice made no note of it, and cuddled me perfunctorily, as if she felt it necessary to do the obligatories while tired. There was something else which exceedingly had her interest, perhaps a preciously generated glimpse into Aravot.

She said; "How was your first day back, hon?"

"Ah, same old burning of non-sentient carcasses. You?"

Alice didn't have to feign the deadpan voice, with which she replied; "Same old babysitting of immigrant kids until their 'loving' parents sober up, find their way to the Humbletown Social Services Center, file a complaint, and eventually somehow remember to take them back."

Was I a rookie Alice lover, I might have been offended, feeling rejected. That would have been all too self-centered and in zero recognition of the crap she had put up with all day. Since I'd been around the block more times than a slow, foreign kid on the training wheels supplied by D.I.S.S.U.S. largesse, I looked forward to the mysteries she was about to reveal. ....... Retrograde backtrack. I felt guilty, but I was first uncontrollably compelled to again show her the lighter. When she again saw it, this time making note, she perked up, or so I would like to think. As I had hoped, she didn't inquire about the source. Had she, I'd likely have been unforgivably stupid and told her, despite her early admonitions not to. Together we found an excellent hiding place in the garage, catty-corner to the tricky, electric chainsaw, which the ISIS guys had either overlooked in stopped-clock excitement or rejected as having been much too difficult to handle in their fledgling understanding of the high tech acumen required to make effective use of a rich, white, demonic extension cord.

Charges of limitations be damned, I only planned to use it when smoking at home.

Upon re-entering in the standardized tandem dictated by standardized space, Alice truly did seem perky to me when she said; "Come and look at what I found on the web," as we once again entered the house proper. She led me to her juiced laptop. There it was. The choice was ours. The screen contained a poll regarding Brexit. It was not of the largest of concerns in D.I.S.S.U.S., but an interesting diversion. I read the screen top which said "QueraOutdatedRelies.com," and proceeded downward or vice-versa from there; that ostensibly required word "necessary" for an accepted, complete sentence; and herein offered only as a wish to continue the levity. Yes, Alice had it right there with the push of a refreshing button. I tried to read and may have done that; she didn't confirm by saying anything. Super cool.

Poll

Question: What do you think of Brexit now?

1) I favor a second vote. And if the stupid Brit citizens and Muslim illegal aliens get it wrong again, a third.

2) Trick or treat.

3) Who cares? Only things that happen in D.I.S.S.U.S. (formerly the U.S.) matter anyway.

4) Wanna get punched?

5) I don't know. Whether the UK leaves or stays, the experts say it's bad for the economy. Limbo on down.

6) I like Paisano.

7) Boris Johnson's hair is really pretty cool. If he'd just stop cutting it, he could look like Rod Stewart with an untreated eating disorder.

8) The UK is a member of what Communist organization?

9) Upstanding Brits do not want to belong to any club that admits Italians, Germans, and Polocks. Pul-eeze.

10) Hasn't Brexit's term expired by now?

11) Let the UK Parliament boys play some more. They're on the verge of a major breakthrough, in designing an insoluble Rubik's cube.

12) At this point the UK is a better candidate for the Parliamentary Union of the Organization of Islamic Co-operation Member States. Jeez, these Ragheads just love the long names and titles; don't they?

13) What legitimate business do these foreigners have here anyway?

14) One world? Your cracked ass.

15) How about London remains and the rest of the UK leaves, and the leaving segment of the UK doubles our offered cash settlement part of the agreement?

16) I'm not voting because no one ever listens to me anyway.

17) If you add any more possibilities, you're getting such a fatwah, you rich white fascist demon.

18) If the Irish sots have to stand on line longer, I don't care. Let them bring an extra flask or three.

19) Its absolutely futile. GR-Amaway has now disabled my "like" button.

20) Isn't the UK surrounded by some kind of water or something which prevents invasion? I mean like, the bums can't just walk here. Right?

21) Please be advised that answers not approved by the Euro-PCP may subject you to Tommy Robinson treatment, you inadequate agent of provocation. No footy games for you! You got to be either smart or cyber hidden these "advanced" days.

22) I just wish that Trump was Prime Minister. He'd build a wall and the shithole countries in the EU would have to pay for it.

23) It is not my fault. I'm completely innocent.

24) If you need social media recognition; beware of Gog, Golligog, and Goggle.

25) Why are you asking stupid questions? Either way we're all fucked. After all, we are still exercising our modified free will. Aren't we?

26) Before answering, I'd like to first know what Putin says.

27) What's a Brexit? Is it anything like Franzen's "The Corrections?"

28) I bet that you haven't yet seen what Brexit spells backwards. Where is McCartney when you need him?

29) Kill that commie Corbyn.

30) Many more answers are possible, but I'm cutting it here, primarily out of a psychologically healthy disinterest.

31) You know where you can shove your stupid polls. Don't you?

32) Where did this mess start?

33) If we close our eyes and dream, Brexit will go whatever way we have subliminally chosen. Leave the details for those so inclined to be blighted.

I said; "I'd definitely vote for #15. A mutually beneficial reciprocating compromise is needed."

Alice excitedly said; "Me too! What a perfect wavelength we have for slightly in excess of two hours every week."

"Better we keep it to ourselves though, as Goggle will know and they blab like the National Enquirer on steroids. No big thing, but it just ain't any of their algorithmic, squealing business. Nowhumsayin?"

Now more enthused, like a homie not interested in approximating the distance between a currently scanned object vis-à-vis the lacking technology available to portray it in less enlightened times; though not inclined to respond to an overly obvious question through some sort of elementary form of osmosis, no matter how simplistically, and imaginatively broached through the likelihood of a widely compelling; perhaps subliminally engendered, long term appreciation in decline of the immediate merit easily conveyed, desperately, and in that which is restricted as to the prevalent previous, Alice dashed to the TV room, saying; "Just in time. Any second now, our Second-Muslim-in-Chief, Tupac Obama is giving a speech which his minions have characterized as 'significantly ground breaking,' the customary leaks silent. I don't know completely, but am reasonably certain that the 'new' ideas theoretically and obviously attendant to the electable bullshit of his daddy, are designed to serve as an un-apologetic apology to the tintinabular attendance of prior assholery. This could be funnier than those Trump-boiling-and-eating-brown-orphan jokes used to be."

Omigod. Alice' beauty once more overwhelmed me. For the infinitely un-countable of the wondrous Alice days of my life, which were much too often viewed through my blinders as difficult to not do so, as that which was reasonably expected at the naïve outset, I was humbled, thankful, and in possession of a Trojan horsey.

I have to admit that I instinctively had my doubts about the degree to which sheltered-through-First-Muslim-in-Charge-parentage Tupac Obama could outdo the surreal prognostications of one who has actually been somewhere; like an elected, roaming jihadist. But, simple, simple, simple acquired taste; I trusted Alice' assessment, and sat next to her in front of the TV. Alice held my hand and smiled at me as if to say "This is going to be more than good."

With a more than anxious semi-air toward the "newest" of words, most akin to the expectation of a hissing and howling cursory cat fight over an illogical over-supply of vittles cat-deemed otherwise, most attendant to the scenario in which it is only permitted to publicly state one of the entire set of "logical" reactions; that in support of a now Muslim controlled politik of identity falsely identifying an overwhelming, unannounced, and bogus shortage for all but the rich, white devils, in which all too capacious, "professionally proficient" practitioners in detached retrospect "wisely" couch their bias in a wrapping they incorrectly think to be not too obviously in conjunction with the latest polls and the cumulative media popularities on all of the Muslim Broadcasting Channel; in which the few significant participants, followed by their regurgitatively trained minions seeking the "niche recognition" of their leaders pretend not to notice that there are actually at least three other participants, likely infinitely more ......... I curtailed my incomplete thought/sentence in favor of focusing on Alice in the TV room, while puffing my Lucky, with dad's golden cross lighter once more safely in my pocket, and trusting her interest. I vowed not to joke of the BS I was certain to soon hear ........ unless she did first. I was excessively proud to think that any flip-flop would have confounded the likes of a simplistic Occam. He might well have taken a hint from the currently fashionable Muslim rejection of razors. No matter, the problem, if any, was now that of his simple cadaver.

All of their possible "convincing" subterfuges which made me momentarily unsure about the effects of the fine print bastion of the devil, which obviously lie in incorrectly giving the appearance of having taken up residence somewhere within the remains of Pal's ashes floated away; much like the digitally enhanced 2030 Retro Programmed improvement upon "Happy Days," now a thrice weekly provided "Purged Infidels," with Richie, Potsie, Joanie, and Fonzie redone as Omar, Amir, Aaliyah, and Muhammad. Don't ask me why there was only one. One is reticent to characterize the updated base lines improvement as "drowning." ............ Please excuse me. Simultaneous re-consideration has raised the possibility that I might have crossed the line toward that which might be too easily interpreted as seriousness by the low IQ ninnies. One must always be cognizant of current considerations; ninniehood the denied domain of the "impassioned-relevant-with-overwhelming-issues" "artistes" of no recognition, proudly so, on their inevitable path toward Joani Mitchell's early seventies concept, finally stated in clarity, of virginity going to the grave.

Apologies, my most dear and patient mind reader. It is only my sincerely based inadequacy which results in a penchant to address the inconsequential whiners; my resultant failure to properly convey what I'd like to; the simplest of intended entertainments, now no more of a pre-pre-antiquarian ideal once wrongly seen as manifested in Roosevelt's teddy bear. I guess that one has been heard many times before; but with continued apologies most profuse, I don't think that Alice has; and that's at the top of my priorities list. I'd be willing to wager a moderate sum that only one of us has previously been subjected to an encounter with a money grabbing immigrant, most skilled in an ability to "no speeka da yinglish" at moments most convenient to any perceived entrée into a discussion of their bullshit. Sorry, strangers. Not. Required to say that. Hehehe. With likely self-aggrandizement intended, I digress into a realm not of my humble origin. That circumstance a momentary diversion easily well-manipulated; I was with my wonderful lady; both my immediate and long-term trust in Alice.

The screen showed and in fact further bellowed in a prepared audio, which seemingly was all too consistent with that which that the commentators were still doing their needed attempt at a best of their space-filling bit, more or less, with a penchant toward a myriad of chosen antecedents supposedly like what will soon come; like the many book reviewers who show their brilliance through portraying the current effort as one which is a mix of prior this, prior that, and even prior that; ostensibly thinking they have thereby demonstrated a superior knowledge of the subject from somewhere above, while producing a document of no use to a potential reader.

"Mr. Vice President, Allahu akbar, Mr. Spokesman, Allahu akbar, Ayatollahs, Allahu akbar, Imams, Allahu akbar, other dignitaries, Allahu akbar, welcomed immigrants, Allahu akbar, black brothers, Allahu akbar, my fellow Muslims, Allahu akbar, and rich white devils; kol khara. Our movement has always been about replacing a failed and corrupt political establishment with a new government controlled by you, the corrupt Muslims of this Delphic Islamic Squealing State of the United States; of course with welcomed input from Muslims throughout the world. There is nothing that the Trump and Trump Jr. led, political establishment would not do, and no lie they would not tell, to hold on to their prestige, money, and power at your expense.

The Washington establishment, and the financial and media corporations that fund it, existed for only one reason: to protect and enrich itself. I'm here to tell you that it is now our turn. Thank you. Thank you.

The establishment had trillions of dollars at stake. As an example, just one single trade deal they'd have liked to pass, involved trillions of dollars controlled by many countries, corporations through their crooked lobbyists.

For those who control the levers of power in Washington, and for the global special interests they partner with, our turnaround mission represents an existential threat.

This is not simply another rephrased rehash of prior failed policies. In consistency with that thought we boldly propose some conciliatory changes in law, with which I'm most proud to say with 'Crackers DISSUS Ayatollah Council' majority approval; no mean feat. That is not meant to preclude the possibility of errant, rebellious, minority, relevance alleging fatwahs. Hear this people! We will end incarceration for being a rich white devil; much like we have come to accept the legitimacy of rich brown, yellow, and black devils. We are not racists. In place we suggest only the imposition of hefty fines for the first three detected offenses. Come on people. Rather than severed heads, we get money. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thought that you would understand subsequent to my having stated the obvious. Thank you.

This is a crossroads in the history of our civilization that will determine whether or not we, the righteous Muslim people reclaim control over our world.

The wicked political establishment which was trying everything to stop us; has done what they do best; failed. Western wastes of a weinie. This is the same group responsible for our disastrous capitalistic economic policies which have bled this country dry in favor of a few handfuls of untaxed wolves, barely above one percent. It's a clandestine global power structure that is responsible for the decisions which deny rights to immigrants in search of work and new drug markets. It is hereby decreed that all residents of DISSUS shall be deemed citizens thereof; except the rich white devils, sometimes referred to as oceanic wetbacks; with full rights to vote, receive welfare, and like it or not, will be Illuminilibtardi protected from any verbal inconvenience foisted upon them by the rich white devils under the promise of swift and sure application of the spiked rack. Thank you. Thank you. Yes. Yes. Yes, indeed. We have country. Another country. Thank you. Yes.

And this Islamophobia! Damn this Islamaphobia! We Muslims are more reasonable than our detractors. We offer non-Muslims many options. They can convert, leave, or be killed. The choice is entirely theirs. But, no; the devils have established fortified sanctuary cities. Why just today, the big news of the day was of a suicide bombing at the southern entrance to Tokeneke, an obscenely rich white enclave within the obscenely rich white sanctuary city of Darien, Connecticut. Among other slingers of fake news, the Wall-Street-Journal-in-exile reported it to have been a 'failure,' as the bomb was most likely set off at the entrance gates by the programming which is normally activated through a battery operated clicker; injuring only the metal gates, a few bushes, and the patriotic Muslim in the vest. Failure? Failure? There is no failure in dying for your principles. Thank you. Thank you. There is only honor and the fear it places in the hearts of the wicked.

Consistent with the rich, white devil's disregard for workers, the previous gate attendant was long gone as the residents thought it best not to have low income people in the vicinity. The heroic bomber's fragmented and spread out corpse once belonged to one Ibrahim Salih Mohammed Al-Yacoub, known as Sammy to many, according to both DNA and facial recognition tests performed upon the severed head. Many of you might not be aware that the explosion of chest level bombs go outward; often making spaghetti of the body, but leaving the head intact. Allegations have been made of the homeowner's association having inserted algorithms capable of triggering home-made bombs, and are under investigation.

But, hear me. Hear me. In honor of Ibrahim Salih Mohammed Al-Yacoub, we have proposed the 'Sammy' law. Are you ready? Are you ready? The thwarting of a suicide bombing which results in the death or dismemberment of the bomber will hereafter be punishable by death. This was no simple achievement, as when the result of an Ayatollah fatwah, it was politically necessary to differentiate the word from the deed. The issuer of the fatwah, if any, is not to be held responsible for any subsequent actions of nutcases, desperate for a meaning to their so called life. The separation from our formerly guaranteed freedom of religion and the state decreed form of it the major complication. But no matter the boring legal details. Let's hear it for Sammy. ............. Thank you. I'm sure Sammy is watching and thanking all of you too.

With devil control over our government at stake, with trillions of dollars on the line, the Sanctuary Honky Chateaus and their disgusting minions are determined to achieve the destruction of our righteous campaign, which has now become a movement the likes of which no country has ever seen before, outside of a fleeting German attempt a century ago. And don't worry folks. We're not going to let them do it. Nope. No fucking way. Thank you. Thank you. We're going to isolate the devils that we don't dispose of. Yes. There will be no more northern reinforcements to bolster their sad ranks, as we're going to build a wall on the Canadian border. No longer will the Drybacks be allowed to rape and pillage with impunity. No longer will the nuck devils be allowed to mingle amongst our good Muslim people spreading disease. No longer will our open northern border be crossed by violent members of the Canadian Mafia and MS-13. No longer will the Canuckleheads steal Muslim jobs. No longer. No longer. Thank you. Thank you.

And Canada's going to pay the full cost. I've already met with Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and he agrees that since his people are creating the problems his country will bear the financial burden. You can bet your sweet hijab on that.

From this day forward hockey is banned in DISSUS. That racist, so called 'sport' is nothing more than the devil's display of cheered stupidity and toothless snow monkeys skating around like little girls.

The most powerful weapon deployed by the Devils is the corporate media. Let's be clear on one thing: the corporate media in our country is no longer involved in journalism. They are a political special interest, no different than any lobbyist or other financial entity with an agenda. And their agenda is to elect corrupt Devils at any cost, at any price, no matter how many lives they destroy. For them, it is a war, a crusade, and for them, nothing is out of bounds.

This is a struggle for the survival of my father's 'new ideas' for our nation. This is not just conspiracy but reality, and you and I know it.

The Deep Devil establishment and their media enablers wield control over this nation through means that are well known. Anyone who challenges their control is deemed to be morally deformed. They will attack you. They will slander you. They will seek to destroy your career and reputation. They will remove you from FaceBook and all forms of social media simultaneously in obvious collusion. And they will lie, lie and lie even more.

People who are capable of such crimes against our nation are capable of anything. But I take all of their slings and arrows for you. I take them for our movement, so that we can set our country on the path of Allah. Our great and ancient civilization, here in DISSUS and across the civilized world, has come upon a moment of reckoning.

We've seen it in the United Kingdom, where the Devils voted to remove themselves from global Muslim government, Sharia Law, and global immigration deals that have destroyed their hateful sovereignty.

The central base of White political power is now more dispersed than ever. Here in D.I.S.S.U.S., excepting the Sanctuary Cities, it necessitates costly guerilla battle with cells of terrorists, which work to discredit efforts at radical globalization and promotes the disenfranchisement of the Islamic ruling people; Allah's good people. Their financial resources are unlimited. Their political resources are unlimited. Their media resources are unlimited. And, most importantly, the depths of their immorality are unlimited. They have no soul.

The only thing that can stop the Corrupt White Devils is you. The only force strong enough to save Islamic infiltration is you.

Let me intersperse a few quotes I like.

'The best way to persuade someone is not to let them believe that the idea is theirs as dumb as it may sound. The best way to persuade someone is torture.'

'Morals are the opium of the humble. If you haven't yet noticed, it's a humble eat humble world, fazool face.'

'Rich white Americans are the Devil on earth. Allah blesses you for killing one. Allah blesses you more for killing a few. Allah blesses you with a seat next to Muhammed if you kill 700. The Ayatollah gives you a discount card usable at the mosque gift shop of your choice for killing more than thirty.'

They have corrupted the former Director of the FBI to the point at which stories are already saying the great men and women who work for the FBI are embarrassed and ashamed of what he's done to one of our great institutions. The Trumps are guilty of all of the things that the Director said; plus some. And yet he let them off the hook, while others lives are being destroyed for far less.

This is a conspiracy against you, the good people of DISSUS.

This is our moment of reckoning as a society and as a civilization.

I didn't need to do this. I had a wonderful life living off the benefits of my father having been a man of influence. I could have enjoyed the benefits of years of unbridled pleasure and possessions for myself and my family, instead of going through this absolute horror show of lies, deceptions and malicious attacks. I'm doing it because this country has given me so much, and I feel strongly that it was my turn to give something back.

Some people warned me this campaign would be a journey to hell. But they were wrong; as it is a journey to heaven because we will help so many people and eliminate so many rich white devils. Indeed, the evil forces of the former USA, the infidels, have been entirely removed from our holy lands which had been temporarily viewed as being located between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea that also includes the eastern bank of the Jordan River. I am here to tell you that holy territory expands and expands in throes of shattered decency; the distinction between verbs and adjectives essential. For the heathens and uninformed listening, traditionally 'the Holy Land' may be roughly considered as synonymous with both the biblical land now called Israel on a secular basis, while not that of the religiously based Israel, yet to come. Still, Jews, Christians, and Muslims all popularly regard it as holy. I confess to not yet having made my Hajj. I look forward to ending my sacrifice, and experiencing that pleasure when my duties here in D.I.S.S.U.S. end. ............ I sincerely hope that when that fabulous day arrives, there will still be a few Muslims left there.

The residue of the corrupt D.I.S.S.U.S. establishment knows that we are also an existential threat to their criminal enterprise. They knew that when our electoral college win showed them how 22% of the people, including the 'undocumented' voters could provide the grounds for an effective coup. All praises to Allah. Their power is gone and returned to you. The clouds hanging over our government have been lifted, and replaced with a bright future. But it all depends on whether we let the rich, white devils at BrightBart influence our future; or whether we let the brave and good Muslim jihadist people decide our future.

If this rich white devil campaign of flagrantly provocative secession is allowed to continue, then no other highly successful, Muslim, son of a bitch will ever again run for this office.

I will not lie to you. Their false attacks hurt. To be lied about, to be slandered, to be smeared so publicly and before your family, is painful. The size of one's hand has no bearing upon the size of one's woo.

What the rich white devil machine is doing to me and my family, is egregious beyond words. It is reprehensible beyond description.

But I also know that it's not about me. It's about all of you. It's about all of us, together, living to the fullest, if male, Islamic, and of color, in Allah's open frontier of dreams; where they would draw the silly lines of fascist oppression through borders only visible on their gas-station-supplied-folding-maps of limitation.

It's about the Jihadists who need medical care, the mothers who've lost children to white terrorism, crime, and lawlessness, 70% inaccurate Yankee drones. It's about defeating the Bilderberg Group and appointing Supreme Court justices who will defend Sharia, rather than that hoary, racist, white paper called the Constitution.

This movement is also about the African-American and Hispanic people, legal or not, whose communities had been plunged into crime, poverty and failing schools merely through the criminalization of drug sales to the rich white devils. They would rob these citizens of their future, and I will give them their hope, jobs and opportunities back. I will deliver. No more minority ghettoes. We will move the ghettoes back where they belong; with the majority. Thank you. Thank you.

We will rise above the lies, the smears, and the ludicrous slanders from ludicrous reporters.

We will vote for the lack of country we want.

We will vote for the future we want.

We will vote for the politics we want.

We will vote to put this rich, white Deep State, corrupt government cartel out of business. We will remove from our politics the special interests who have taken crumbs to worship at the feet of the evil, rich, white, military industrial complex; betraying our workers, our ideals, our freedoms, our belief in one world, and our Islamic destiny to rule. We will end the politics of profit. We will end the rule of special interests. We will put a stop to the raiding of our land, and the disenfranchisement of our people.

Please join me in taking back our holy land, and creating a bright and glorious new dawn for our Muslim people.

Allahu akbar."

Hovel Sweet Hovel

I politely waited for the conclusion of the raucous ending cheers, like those seen by Trump, Sr. on 9-11, forever commemorated in his now infamous, despite PCP deleted, both at the source and comment; "Hey, I watched when the World Trade Center came tumbling down. I know what I saw. I'm a witness. We are all witnesses when we dare to speak a truth now 'popularly' reviled. The Illuminilibtardi and their loved Muslims cannot delete our memories; our memories of how we watched the unwashed, Q-Tip beardo heads and their covered, complacent female servants in Jersey City, New Jersey, where thousands and thousands of them were cheering 'Allahu akbar' between their incomprehensible din unforgettable as that great, and world occupied building was coming down. Thousands of people were cheering. Cheering. Unable to create anything other than perennial conflict, poverty, and ruins, that destruction is what they desire. Pathetic. Losers. Miscreants. Why are we destined to keep repeating what is obvious? Fuck them, and their foreseeable, following fatwah fart. Or better yet, don't."

Their Muslim-supportive endings were once more made tangibly overt through their obscene display of thousands of screamingly flatulent, "raised" asses. Surprise, fucking surprise. Barf out! It may be a cultural thing, but Midwest Muslim Asian turn-ons don't translate well in the rich, white, deviled west.

Backing up into the only part of Obama's bullshit which didn't seem an over-the-top-attempt at an anti-amusement born in like 1910 or something even older, of Beckett, I said to Alice; "Our tenant called himself Sammy, rather than Ibrahim Salih Mohammed Al-Yacoub; his real name. I once saw his mail."

She said; "Maybe; but those guys often have the same names, as there is only about ten to choose from."

"Well, his twenty year old Toyota pickup hasn't been around. And yesterday's Tokeneke event was also when I stopped hearing the wailing oud serenade. It's not as if one has to make much of an effort about these things, as an electrified oud sounds something like a cat dying a slow painful death, and Sammy's falsetto "Oooohh byyu Allahu ooo ooo" was only an improvement to the extent that it out ooo'd the oud."

"Yeah, but you know I was getting accustomed to that stuff. Ooooooo be doooobie doooooo, dooooo doooooooo dooooooo deeeedum."

"I think that you might have left out either the Allahu part or the early fifties version of doo-wop." I got up and knocked on the painted piece of sheetrock which I had put up to separate our living areas. I heard nothing and called out; "Sammy, you in there?"

I still heard nothing, so I knocked more loudly, yelling out; "Sammy! Fire! Drones!" This didn't produce any Sammy sound, but it brought James in from the garage, where he had been riding his scooter in circles again.

James said; "Where?" as he reeled in dizziness toward the kitchen counter, regaining an iota of balance at the far end which also hosted the indelibly inked, Satanic graffiti left by the ISIS team of tossers.

I said; "Uh, hard to explain. Something like trying to raise the dead with a pungent oxymoron. By the way, I've been meaning to tell you that it's okay to take the scooter outside; and if that gawking Fincke says anything, show him the super-duper royal bird all the way up to the elbow.

James grinned and said; "Cool. How about that dirty Norton creep?"

"With both hands, kid." James and Alice cheered and I was more exhilarated than the time I "accidentally" knocked "Siesta Javier" into the water just to see if swimming was one of his natural talents. I got my hammer, pounded on that piece of sheet rock with my fist, and called out; "Sammy, this is your last chance. I'm coming in right NOW or it's the hammer!"

Expected silence.

As my hammer smashed away at that sheet rock, Alice and James started to chant; "Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall. Tear down that wall." The happy sound reverberated around the house like any banal hip-hop repetition.

Perhaps sensing the silly gif possibilities that presented, they switched over to; "No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours. No more renting. This is ours."

It was like I was starring during the last two minutes of the banned Super Bowl. Small at first, the shards of shattered sheet got chubbier and chubbier as the partition got increasingly detached. Before it was completely gone, still rough at the edges, I got uncontrollably excited at the sight of the plugged-in electric oud on the other side; and prematurely went through. James and Alice followed as closely as a jihadist does a crackpot Ayatollah.

The first thing I saw was that the oud was propped against the wall which faced Mecca ........ or vice-versa. I don't know or care; just figured that the rag-headed bomber might of had such considerations when he was in heavenly bliss. Instinctively, as if it had a mind of its own, my hammer smashed the oud, leaving it in worse shape than an ISIS detainee.

Pre-smash Oud; property of the author.

I flicked on the light switch. With no frets and a short pencil neck, the shattered brown Q-Tip headed instrument looked easier to play than a drum. On a roll, I tried it; unaware of the oud's having been "tuned" to a previous, now totally demolished number four. The guitar-sitar sound, tending toward a screeching parody of the latter, filled the room through the plucked, electrified, un-connected, and loose four strings, which came amplified through each of the four wall's speakers in a brief linguistic shade of Simon and Garfunkel. "Homeward bound. I wish I was homeward bound."

James must have teased when he said; "Finally! The answer to played out rap. You're a natural, dad." Alice's eyes went somewhere else, like they used to do to The Church's "Bel-Air."

As we strode through Sammy's damage, apparently now unconcerned about brainless and facile gif repetition possibilities, both Alice and James re-commenced chanting. I joined them after the first few bars.

"Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our hovel. Take back our house. Take back our home."

End

