Possession of these books could get you killed in a Muslim country
Excerpts from Johnny Whiz Bang:
One of the Mullahs grabbed Aisha before she could reach the operating table. She screamed and with tears running down her cheeks she struck at the man. But he was three times her size and her blows had no effect. He pulled her arms behind her back, caught her wrists in one large hand. A little pressure in the right place and she stopped struggling. She stood there obediently, sniffling, eyes focused on the floor.
The Imam was furious. “If this is any indication of how you run things here, ul-Heim,” he said, “I will recommend this place be closed.”
Dr. Haribert bit his lip. “Don’t be hasty, Imam, “ he said. “I have had nothing to do with this. We are in the presence of evil.”
“Evil?” said the Imam.
“I will show you,” said ul-Heim.” He had an idea. He took Fatima by the hand and led her to the operating table.
The nine-year-old was terrified. She had seen things the last few days no child her age should ever see—things that were as much nightmare as reality. She had seen a janitor with his throat ripped apart by a dog no larger than a bowling ball; she had hid in a toilet from two rampaging Mujahideen; she had seen her friend Bernie attacked by a girl with a knife; she had been flung end for end when the Midnight Rider left the road and ended up on its side in a ditch. And now Dr. ul-Heim was pushing her toward an operating table upon which her friend Krista was lying naked.
Ul-Heim placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and gestured at the naked ten-year-old. “Who is that?” he asked softly. “Do you know him? You can tell me—it will be our little secret. No one else will know.”
Fatima looked at Piffy. She was confused. Her mind was so cluttered with fearful premonitions she wanted to scream but Krista looked so beautiful lying there he took her breath away. He reminded her of the picture she had seen of the Christ child in the old Christian prayer book. “He is Krista,” she whispered. “He is the Christ child.”
Christ child? The Imam was stunned. He could not believe his ears. “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” he cried. He grabbed the girl by the arm and slapped her across the face. “Who told you that? Who told you that?”
Fatima began to cry. “No one,” she whimpered. “No one.”
The Imam turned on Piffy, his eyes blazing with a hatred Boris Karloff couldn’t have replicated in 1,400 years of Frankenstein movies. And the words he spoke came straight from the Qur’an (114:4):
“From the evil of the sneaking Devil, who Whisper Evil and withdraws after his whisper, the slinking Satan, the same who whisper into the hearts of mankind from among the jinn and men.”
Piffy eyed the Imam. Evil? What evil? The old fool was crazy. “You’re full of crap,” he said. “If there’s any evil around here, it’s you.”
The Imam leaned across the operating table his face twisted with hatred. A trickle of saliva ran from the corner of his mouth and spittle sprayed from his lips and across the face of the naked ten-year-old. Once again he quoted from the Qur’an (70:26):
“Fear the torment of the Lord, for the Lord’s torment is such none can feel secure.”
Piffy wanted to paste the bastard in the face but he was helpless. He stared the rat-bag in the eye. “Torment?” he said. “You let me loose and I will show you what the hell torment is. I’ll kick your stinking butt from here to hell and back.”
The Imam pressed as close to the child as he could until their faces were almost touching. The words were from the Qur’an (5:37):
“The disbelievers will long to get out of the fire, but never will they get out there from; theirs will be an enduring torture.”
“Those damn Jews,” somebody muttered.
A distinguished looking man in a pinstriped suit cleared his throat. “The Commissioner’s views are the same as those we hold in Egypt, “ he said. “We pray to Allah every day to open Israel’s eyes to the wrongness of its position.”
Goldstone nodded. “Many in Israel,” he said, “both Jews and Palestinians, deplore the actions by the Israel Defense Force that has caused unjustifiable civilian deaths and injuries on a very large scale.”
Yeah, blame Israel and the Jews, muttered Piffy. There were more thugs, gangsters, mass murderers, child molesters, conmen, sexist chauvinist pigs, pederasts, tax cheats, anti-Semites, frauds and religious bigots in the U.N. than there were in all of organized crime and they stole more money and did less charitable work and these pathetic UN rat-bags swilling free booze in the Midnight Rider were complaining about Israel. What a bunch of disgusting creeps! Compared to these rat-bag bottom-feeders even Jefferson Davis had nothing to be ashamed of.
The only thing that got Corker to his knees was his instinct for survival. There wasn’t much else left. Blood was coming from his nose. He was disorientated. He shook his head. Where the hell was he? He was getting the hell kicked out of him. He felt like Floyd Patterson in the last round of his first fight with Ingemar Johansson; like Cauliflower McPugg listening to the referee count to ten for the last time in some little tank town; like Shane before Van Heflin busted into Grafton’s Saloon with the ax handle. Where the hell was he? His mind was a quagmire.
The brontosaurus was up, bellowing its rage. The helicopter was rocking back and forth.
“Who on earth is piloting this thing?” cried Captain Hinds.
These books should be required reading for junior high, senior high and college students in America. Present one to your school or public library. Go to www.maxflackreport.com