5/17/2006, 12:36 pm
I don't normally ask anybody to convert to American consumerism, but you seem to need my help, Mahmoud. I used to be like you. By Allah's will I was more inept at running my life than you are as the latest pooh-bah of Iran. I wanted to be a famous serial killer; I tried hard. I couldn't kill anybody. Bombs fizzled, guns jammed; knives fell apart, poisons turned out to be covert vitamins or aphrodisiacs. I couldn't even kill myself.
Finally, out of charity I didn't earn, Mother America made me into a zealous and pure consumer. Now, Mahmoud, unlike you, I squat like a Hindu god in my subterranean castle. I keep eating, drinking, playing fancy video games, snoozing whenever my caprice tells me to rest and slumber. I am isolated from the world of the Great Satan better than you are, you poor Shiite dunce. I don't have to produce anything - I only consume. I pray on the government-issue rug and read my taxpayer-funded Koran. Unlike you, you purblind boob, I'm not worried about anything. Isn't this happiness promised to us in the afterlife by Mohammed (PBUH)?
In your presidential palace, you are a beleaguered footman to fictional caliphs, ghostly courts, a lover of fake virgins, a vaporous cur in a coarse imaginary world. Listen to me, Mahmoud: you need not merely to threaten to destroy Israel or America but to seem to try to do it and fail - like me. There are several empty cells here I hear about from the rats. You need to occupy one of them. Allah knows I do. This buried heaven is not prison; it is Allah's deepest paradise. Come, Mahmoud, to America - to the inner heart of lovely Colorado. Join me in this consumer glory, in compassionate grace and perfect peace.
Bring lots of petroleum jelly,
Zacarias
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Submitted by Matthew Paris (aka Buck Buncombe)
