jonmc Let me begin, if not exactly at the beginning, at least near it. Recently (11.12.2012) in a press report I discovered that the Israelis had been using a bird to spy on Sudan – at least that is what the Sudanese claim; based on the fact that the bird, a vulture (no doubt the [...]
Jedda – Saudi Arabia, 10/19/2012 ISL News Our beloved Miss Peggy is a believer in the “Religion of Peace” now. The news was confirmed by prince Ali Al Saud; a distant cousin of the current king of Saudi Arabia. Prince Ali has been dating the beautiful piglet for a while. Miss Peggy, when [...]
7/27/2012 Mullah Nasruddin sent us the following videos claiming that this is why Shi’a Islam is wrong. We think that Mullah Nasruddin did “fabricate” those videos because he is Sunni. The person in the videos is Hassan Narallah, Leader of the terrorist group Hezbollah
Finally, Mickey Mouse and his wife reverted to Islam. Alhamdulillah.. Jazak Allah Khair…
Mickey promised to revert to Islam if he loses the debate with Muslims against Islamic creed. As he promised, he lost the debate, said the Shahada, him and his wife. ISL news says the the happy couple plan to go do Hajj next year….Alhamdulillah “Yuhdi man Yasha’ “.
Islamic scientists have proved that the pig is the most shameless animal on the face of the earth. Islamic expert Zakir Naik has rightly pointed out that ‘it is the only animal that invites its friends to have sex with its mate’.
Naik also said that in America, most people consume pork. Many times after dance parties, they have swapping of wives; ie many say ‘you sleep with my wife and I will sleep with your wife’. If you eat pigs then you behave like pigs.’ Naik is a world authority on such matters, and I believe every word he says.
6/6/2011 True, sad and funny story I must apologize to my liberal friends. They were right: There are many groups other than jihadists who are conspiring to violate our laws and our American way of life. Our tradition of drinking devitalized, pasturized cow’s milk, is under attack. But obama’s vigilant Justice Dept has caught the [...]
5/27/2011 QURAN WAS CORRUPTED BY CHRISTIANS Have you ever wondered why Quran implies that Prophet Jesus had godly characteristics and Prophet Mo had satanic characteristics ? It is because Christians have corrupted our holy book. Here are the proofs. – Quran mentions in sura 19 that Jesus was born by immaculate conception . That [...]
Allah hates all non muslims because they are the worst of creations, lowest of the low , worse than animals and evil ( 2.99, 8.22,8.55,95.5, 98.6). They have been declared filthy and najis (untouchable) likefeces (9.28). Here a very famous learned muslim scholar of quran Dr Qazi vey rightly describes a non muslim .
Allah tells Muslims in Quran: 3.110 “You are the best people, raised for the good of mankind”. And certainly there are. The following are the great Islamic qualities that distinguish them from others. MUSLIMS HAVE HIGH LIBIDO As a special favour from Allah all Muslim men are given high libido. They can fondle a mannequin [...]
Islamic Countries are mostly ruled by dictators. The “religion of peace” encourages tyranny. Mubarak of Egypt has ruled for thirty plus years. People are getting injured and killed on the streets of Cairo and Alexandria. Yet, the tyrant wants to stay in power. The Egyptian people are resilient. A well-known fact about Egyptians is [...]
Hat tip to Philip Goatly Disclaimer: All names have been changed in the story to protect confidentiality, but anyway, any likeness to anyone on this planet or the universe is completely coincidental. Momus Big-Al and the Many Wives by Ian Hamilton Once upon a time, on a planet far away from the earth, there lived [...]
IF YOUR CHILDREN DON’T PRAY, BEAT THEM UP Sunan Abu Dawood ,Book 2, Number 0494: Narrated As-Saburah: The Prophet (peace_be_upon_him) said: Command your children to pray when they reach the age of seven years. When they become ten years old, then beat them for prayer. One pious momin got over- ambitious in performing this Islamic [...]
Larry’s kindergarten class was on a field trip to their local police station where they saw pictures tacked to a bulletin board of the 10 most wanted criminals. One of the youngsters pointed to a picture and asked if it really was the photo of a wanted person. ‘Yes,’ said the policeman. ‘The detectives want very badly to capture him. Larry asked,”Why didn’t you keep him when you took his picture ? ”
HE WAS AN EQUAL OPPORTUNITY LOVER : Our prophet had eleven wives (including permanent sex slaves Rehana and Maria Quptia). he was so fair in love making that whenever he had an urge to have sex with one of his lovely teenage wives and made love to her , he considered it his moral obligation [...]
Pundits, such as Dr Ali Sina, claim that the Qur’an is not a good book. In fact it is filthy and evil. While we may not contest this claim directly, we, the good Muslims Ibn Kammuna and Ibrahim Lone, still believe that the Qur’an is good and useful in many aspects.
Allah has already given that information through Prophet Mohammed for a reason. In Quran he said so many times that he is your role model. Ignoring his sayings is ignoring your deen (religion) punishable with hellfire
Daniel Greenfield No Contessa, the Times Square car bomber was not a frustrated Tea Party protester or one of those angry right wing extremists everyone in the Obama administration and their media hanger-ons begin warning us about every time the White House encounters some political blowback. No, he is that rarest of creatures, hardly [...]
Okay, so the game was up. “On the count of three…” the gun would go off and they would see who the coward was…”Mr. Piffy. So Che Guevara had figured out who he was. It hadn’t taken much—Piffy had given himself away repeatedly, he couldn’t blame everything on Asma bint Marwan and the chances were one hundred to one that Ward Churchill’s patron saint had stuffed enough bullets up his butt to blow Bernard Piffy to Kingdome Come with a few left over for the peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia. A double-homicide was in the offing.
The men seated around the conference table stared at Jimmy Carter. Richard the Lion-Heart could have parachuted into the middle of their séance from the siege of Acre with a crossbow strapped to his back and would have caused less alarm. Mouths gaped open; eyes flickered with fear.
Che Guevara was the first to recover. He smiled. He was Alfonso Bedoya in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. :”Ah, Senor Carter,” he said. “Mi amigos tell me you were Presidente of the United States. It is an honor to meet you.”
The peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia, seemed embarrassed.
Okay, so he was in Yasser Arafat’s Fuhrerbunker. It was where he wanted to be, wasn’t it? It was where the Keepers of the Fleas hung out, where they kept the homing devices that controlled the Fleas from the Prophet’s Beard, fleas that were still alive after 1,400 years and still capable of spreading death, disease, destruction and ignorance across the world—the Fleas of the Islamic Apocalypse. He should have been happy.
It wasn’t Des Moines, Iowa, or Gun Blast, Texas, it was Gaza City, the land of Yasser Arafat and Hamas, of car bombings, honor killings and nasty old men filled with 1,400 years of hatred. But no one had promised Piffy a rose garden, least of all Asma bint Marwan. He got off the bus from Rafah carrying puppy dog in a covered birdcage—yes, a covered birdcage. The mutt was sound asleep and no one could see inside so no one was the wiser. The first thing Piffy noticed about Gaza was the smell, a combination of cooking oil, horse and donkey sweat and raw sewage.
Mrs. Cowsnofsky was furious. The worst that could possibly have happened had happened. Aisha had been snatched from under her nose! She started across the restroom toward Henrietta. ‘Hank’ was still sitting on the floor wiping at his bloody nose with the back of his hand. There was blood on his blouse and on the floor around him.
A noise came from one of the stalls, a muffled cry for help, perhaps. Mrs. C had always been a woman of action, that’s what Mr. C liked about her. She had played lacrosse in college and not on the girl’s team.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Piffy,” said Cowsnofsky. “We’ll get you the best damn lawyer in England and you’ll be out of jail before those rat-bag government plumbers can aim your toilet at the good old red, white and blue.”
Piffy knew the routine. At length he was ushered into the interrogation room. Deputy Chief Constable Stumble, no-smoke pipe clenched between his bulldog jaws, eyed the interrogatee silently for some time.
Piffy was caught between a rock and a hard place; between the devil and the deep blue sea; between a last tango in Paris and a dance with the devil in Hell. With the muzzle of Hani Hanjour’s Glock 17 pressed to the side of his head there wasn’t any time for prayers—no Last Confession; no Hail Mary; not even a Jesus Saves! He was less than a second from eternity and a dumb headline in the newspapers—if they ever found his body. He managed one word—just one word; maybe it was wait; yeah, wait, as it “Wait!
The nikab proved to be an excellent disguise. No one paid much attention to him. He passed within an arm’s length of three different Bobbies and one even smiled at him. He got back to his apartment without any difficulty
It was when Piffy removed the nikab that he discovered that Asma bint Marwan, as usual, had had the last laugh. Secreted in one of the pockets of the bulky garment was puppy dog! Yes, puppy dog! The infernal pooch had been dozing. It came awake at the first touch—or maybe it was the sudden exposure to fresh air. It bared its shark’s teeth and hissed like a cat. Piffy set St.
Piffy offered no resistance and the patrol officers hustled him back to his cell—it was time for another conference with Deputy Chief Constable Stumble and it wasn’t long in coming.
He sat there on the edge of his cot, a tired old man, as Stumble paced back and forth in front of him. Neither said a word. At last Stumble sighed, shifted his no-tobacco pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other, checked the cell door for the third time—Harry Houdini couldn’t have got out of this room without help, not Harry Houdini. He studied the old man.
“It was on You Tube,” said the Professor. “It was a hoot. A guy named Bernard Piffy—“ He paused to look down the length of the bar. “Now where have I heard that name before?” he said. He smiled and continued: “This Piffy character attacked the grandnephew of King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia on the Kharma With Darma Show. Then he beat up some Asian kid and knocked down a Constable, appropriately named Stumble. It took three Bobbies and Darma’s masseuse to subdue him. He was a wild man.”
There were no laws against being caught in flagrante dilecto in a hospital bed in England or anywhere else for that matter—not that Bernard Piffy had committed an illegal act or had done anything that could be considered as contributing to one (indeed, if anyone had been sinned against it had been Piffy) and by the time Nurse Gladys and the intern got over their surprise the originator of the one-act hospital comedie, Algernon A. Algernon had, like any good jinn, disappeared. Piffy, of course, insisted he did not know the man or where he had come from.
Piffy was lucky to be alive. The police found him lying in the gutter. Otis was dead. His skull had been fractured and his spleen ruptured. The attendant at the Esso Petrol Station had called the police. Fortunately, a police cruiser had been in the area. It might have been the famous Lamborghini Murcielago. Anyway, that’s what Piffy would tell the boys at Joe’s Bar and Grille and Gun Club when he got around to it. In the meantime it was off to the hospital.
For an octogenarian he made a remarkable recovery.
The Professor looked up from the newspaper he had been reading. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I would think this was our man Piffy, but that couldn’t be. It would be ludicrous to even think so.”
“Piffy?” said Joe. “Our man in London?” Joe was proprietor of Joe’s Bar and Grille and Gun Club. “What’s he up to now?
He wasn’t the first naked ten-year-old boy the prostitute with the heart of gold had ever seen, if indeed she was a prostitute, but it was the first time she had seen a naked ten-year-old boy that was supposed to be a girl and she recognized the difference immediately. She was surprised, that’s all—not flabbergasted, not astounded, not astonished merely surprised.
Piffy, on the other hand, was as close to being totally, completely, unreservedly and incontinently discombobulated as he had ever been. To say he was mortified wouldn’t have been close.
Oh, yes, he had went and done it this time! No one in the history of law enforcement had ever attempted a more ridiculous hair-brained scheme—not Inspector Clouseau; not Maxwell Smart, not Tracer Bullet; not Deputy Dawg. It was a new low—for him, for his profession, for humankind. What on earth had possessed him to think he could pull off something so incredibly stupid? Asma bint Marwan?
If only he had been Mike Hammer or Hulk Hogan or even George Costanza, he might have had a chance, but he was Bernard Piffy—worse yet, a ten-year-old Bernard Piffy, a puny little kid who would have had trouble handling Shirley Temple on the deck of the Good Ship Lollipop, and here he was in the clutches of King Kong’s Siamese twin, the notorious Yaser Abdel Said. At least he thought it was Said. And it was all thanks to Asma bint Marwan and the latest of her hair-brained schemes. He would be lucky if he got out of this alive!
Piffy sat there. What else could he do? He might as well have been glued to that gol’ durned prayer rug! He was as helpless as a jackrabbit with a broken leg at the bottom of a prairie dog hole thanks to Asma bint Marwan. What on earth had made her think they could pull off such a ridiculous stunt?
He glared at the kid who had singled him out. “You little bastard—“ he began. Then he remembered the kid was only ten-years-old. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Wait till I tell your mother!” he hissed.
Mohammed Atta and Hani Hanjour, followed by the instructor, were hurrying across the room.
The transformation couldn’t have taken more than ten seconds. He didn’t know what he had been afraid of. He didn’t feel any different than he had before. He was still Bernard Piffy, the same old insouciant unflappable world-renowned private eye on the trail of Yaser Abdel Said—at least that is what they thought at Joe’s Bar and Grille and Gun Club and that would have to do. He glanced at Asma bint Marwan. She seemed a lot taller than she had before—more formidable.
It could have been worse—he could have been killed in that library, he could have been cut up in little pieces, maimed, scarred for life at the end of that crazy man’s hook. He could still be in jail, pacing that ridiculous five-by-five cell till the hairs on his head turned gray, thinking up cute names for the roaches that would creep out from under his bed to steal the crumbs from the corners of his mouth whenever he dozed off.