8/18/2006, 10:26 am
Now in the decadent West, they have a myth about Santa Claus and Reindeer that can fly. We all know that is not true and even if it was true, Santa Claus would be an enemy of the state because he keeps elves as slaves and beats the Reindeer with whips. The ACLU and PETA would have sued him and his fat, jolly butt would be in the slammer.
Now in the progressive Islamic Republics, especially Iran, there is The Prophet and Bourak. Bourak is half man and half flying horse and the Prophet flies on his back to the farthest mosque (Jerusalem), heaven and hell, and the houses of misery and happiness. This is done on the night as what is known on the infidel calendar as August 22, and true believers call this the Miraj.
Once this is done, the 12th Imam, who has been living in seclusion since the 11th Century will return, bringing about the final Apocalypse. Isn't that nice?Now you can see, children, that while Israel's claim to its territory is based on myth and fairy tales of the Old Testament, Islam's claim to the same territory is based on strict historical facts and scientific analysis.So, now let me tell you about Miraj. You might think it was stolen from another poem, but this is the real one, the other one was stolen.
'Twas the Night Before Miraj
'Twas the night before Miraj, when all through dhimmiland
Not a camel was stirring, nor flea in the sand.
The infidels were hung by the over-pass with care,
In hopes that Twelver soon would be there.
The children were bomb-wired all snug in their beds,
While visions of martyrdom danced in their heads.
And mamma in her burqa, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long summer's nap.
When out on the dirt there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the tent to see what was the matter.
Away with my AK I flew like a rip,
Tore open the gunny and threw in a clip.
With my finger on the trigger, I almost let loose a round
When a flying Bourak then landed on the ground.
Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the Twelver himself, and the Prophet, right here!
With Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, so wily and slick,
I knew in a moment it wasn't a Jew trick.
More rapid than katushas his rockets they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, hijacked a plane!
"Now Hamas! now, Hezbollah! now, Ba'athist and Sunni!
On, Shia! On, PLO! we're all freaking loony!
To the Zionist state! to the Wailing Wall!
Now kill the Jews, kill the Jews, kill the Jews all!"
As palm leaves that before the wild sand storm fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to Aqsa Mosque the coursers they flew,
With a Bourak full of nukes, and the Twelfth Imam too!
And then, in a moment, I heard on the mosque's roof
The prancing and pawing of each giant hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the minaret The Prophet came with a bound.
He was dressed all in rags, from his head to his shoes,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes from Jews.
A bundle of weapons he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a jihadi, just back from Iraq!
His eyes-how they burned! his grimace how scary!
He laughed like a Stooge, the one they call Larry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a gate,
And the beard of his chin was as oily as Kuwait.
The stump of a Jew he held tight in his teeth,
And the blood it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a mean face and was more than smelly,
And Al Jazeera showed his image on everyone's telly!
He had flies like a dump, a right nasty old elf,
And I wept when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know all the Jews were all dead
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And nuked all of Israel, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the minaret he rose!
He sprang to his Bourak, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a nuclear missile.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he flew out of sight,
"Happy Miraj to all, and to all a good-night!"
