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Yaser Abdel Said

A Gruesome Honour Killing in Mumbai

It is now beyond any doubt that in Muslim society women are simply sex objects to be raped, male Muslims are rapists and every Muslim household is a mini whore-house. Every male member of such a house-hold rapes his near cousins, sisters in law, daughters in law, nieces and any other near female relative without facing any conviction and punishment, while the victims have to keep their mouths shut as to prove such a crime in a Shariah court she needs to produce 4 male witnesses which is next to impossible.


A Horror Saga of Gruesome Islamic Honor Killings

by Dr. Radhasyam Brahmachari

A shocking, hearth-rending tale of gruesome honor killing of Muslim women around the world...

What brought you here?: 
victims of rape or female partners of so-called illicit relationships often become the target of gruesome honor killing, when the story comes out, as we will see. So, Ms Wafa Sultan, contrasting the freedom of women in Islamic countries with that in the West, rightly says, “Now in America, I enjoy freedom. I can now talk with a male member of my next door neighbour without being convicted of committing adultery.”

The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (Part 36)

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 Search for Yaser Abdel Said (Part 31)

He wasn’t Audie Murphy; he wasn’t Alvin York; he wasn’t Shane or Rooster Cogburn; he wasn’t Cump Sherman marching through Georgia; he wasn’t any of those, he was Bernard Piffy, an average private eye up to his neck in a lot of things he didn’t understand—Mike Hammer had once called him a nerd—but he would be damned if he was going to let some Muslim SOB shoot him dead in the basement of a dirty, stinking, little Madrassas because that particular Muslim SOB thought Allah had given him a license to kill unbelievers He lurched to his feet.

The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (part 24)

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.

The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (part 23)

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.

The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (part 22)

“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.” “Not our Piffy?” groaned Joe.

The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (part 18)

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?

The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (part 16)

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?

The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (Part 15)

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! And then he got angry—very angry.


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