who noted my current occupation as “urban terrorist” on my application to the new Faluja International House of Pancakes . . .
I would thank the god I call Allah, the same god the Jews call Yahweh, and the same god Christians and some Republicans call Heavenly Father, that Americans seem so determined to stay in my city that I and my party faithful have been able to prevent more than 3,000 of them from returning to my ciountry. My worst day will be when the commander in chief and his invaders finally concede there is no monetary or moral capital to be harvested from my people.
I pray that the Yanker will command the Yankees to stay in Iraq because it is easier to kill them here than it is to kill them in the United States of America. I would be thankful that I do not have to take their war to them iin their homeland as long as they insist on remaining in my back yard. My tribe (who do know Shiite from Shinola) have the best of two worlds spread before us as an all-you-can-consume buffet.
Not only to I purify my country by subtracting those of my faith who are fatally flawed in their blasphemous thinking — misguided damned who have squabbled with my people for thousands of years, — it’s as convenient as shopping at a Quik’N'Ezee to send Americans to the vast forever as well. You can find one on almost any street corner. Had the blubbering Texan not committed the blood of his countrymen to my cause, more of my Islamic soldiers, “marching as to war,” would die in our effort to purify my country. I not only lessen the hordes of heretics who flaunt their misbegotten perversions to fellow Iraquis, I depopulate my country of infidels from the West: the Americans, the British, the Italians . . . . that seems to be it. They all look the same to me.
May He Who is All permit the man whom opponents call 43 tol continue to give to me the privilege of serving Allah just for the hell of it. As long as I dictate the terms of battle, I am the victor. My mission would be so much more difficult without the blessings the “Lucky Number Swaggerman” heaps generously upon my true believer patriots every day .
It is said in many languages that “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” When I think of 43 and all he insists on doing to make my life worth living, I praise Allah for making it so. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He ignores the will of his citizens seeking only is self-sanctification, the same as I, purely and simply. It is hard not to think of him as an ayatollah in a ten-liter hat. Who in my terrorist croquet league could ask for a better friend than that?
