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Location: Susquehanna Depot, Pennsylvania, United States

Well, if you got here via the bi-chromatic Universe and "Dez", thanks. Their being available means they can be rented out, so to say, to vendors. For example, they'd be great in promoting pastries. Kids love cookies, so do adults. As for that ascending numeral three, it came about by way of ignorance. More than once, I'd see that same numeral with wings or a halo or both even on this or that pickup truck. And, dumb me, I'd think they were like golden horse shoes or four-leaf clovers ... good luck charms. It wasn't until later, I found out those threes are meant to commemorate one posthumously charismatic NASCAR driver. To inspire all those signs of grief, that guy might've had the makings for ... well, that's likely better left to the intuition of NASCAR votaries.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

scratch a muslim, find ==>

==> a christian. It happened, as if Allah the Compassionate, praise be upon Who Is Who Is, had turned insidious. A bizarre trick was played on all the Muslims in the world.

Our heart went from Muslim to Christian. Wherein the heart enters, the soul follows. Wherein the soul enters, the mind follows. We are bereft of our Islamic strength.

In obedience, subtle and unquestioning and innocent, to their Jewish Messiah, the West came after us. Oh, the West tried mightily with Christmas carols and bloodshed. Praise Allah, all that was in vain. The West failed utterly and miserably. We remained true to Islam. Our heart remained Muslim. And then, it happened.

In submission, subtle and unwitting, we welcomed, with open arms, the body snatchers.

Yeah, sure, we're still Muslim, outwardly. We still comport ourselves as good little Muslims. Here are some examples.

No, we do not cozen our children into being good with fairy tales about Santa Claus.

No, we do not dye and decorate hard boiled eggs, and then then plant them, where children may easily find them.

No, we do not sing Christmas carols during midnight church service.

Yes, we still recite the Koran in our mosque.

Yes, we still face towards Mecca, as we kneel on our prayer rug.

Yes, we still make our pilgrimage to that holy city.

Oh, Mecca, now, how (?) holy art thou truly. Well within thy precinct, here and there, by way of metaphor, McDonald's has pitched a tent. And this disturbs our siblings, who are drawn deep into the romance of Islam. These are the innocent, whom the Faith enthralls with the solitude of the desert, the triumphant roar of a distant lion, and the poignant vision of a redoubtable warrior. Islam presupposes men ... real men.

Does a real man scomp Big Macs?

What are we to tolerate? If we live in Scranton, we are permitted Big Macs. Suppose, we live, instead, in Mecca. Should we then regard McDonald's as being compatible with the romance of Islam ... as being compatible with the ambiance of a holy city, where the Prophet smashed idols, thereby winning hearts and minds. It goes without saying it's only good business practice to serve only Big Macs, which are in compliance with strict Islamic dietary ordinance.

Predictions that come to pass are prophecy. Predictions that fail to come to pass are metaphor.

In the attempt, subtle and innocent, to save Islam from blowing off a once-in-a-millennium opportunity, a scandalous old man made a prediction in a novel, whose copies were burned by an American agency for cause of obscenity.

"'Just as there are mosques and synagogues in Rome, mosques and churches in Jerusalem, soon there will be churches and synagogues in Mecca'." [quoted quote found somewhere in STEPPING STONES].

McDonald's is now in Mecca. How soon will we, poor banished children of Eve ... how soon will we, descendants of Abraham's cast-out Egyptian concubine, witness and dutifully record the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the first-- oh, never mind!

Yes, there's no doubt about it. If all that were in the West's arsenal were only Christmas carols and butchery, we would still remain in our heart true to Islam. Our heart would still remain Muslim. Wherein the heart enters, the soul follows. Wherein the soul enters, the mind follows.

In his DECLINE OF THE WEST, a certain Oswald Spengler is besotted with exaggerated rumors of the West's demise.

In the Jewish Old Testament, a prophet rails against vanity.

Oh, how insidious a poison it is!

Just as the world requires rogues, so does medicine require poisons.

Such dire medicines, such potent drugs, have been concocted by the West. Never before, has the world seen their like. Where were the recipes for the required antidotes? What were the ingredients we were supposed to gather and cook?

Where Christmas carols and full metal jackets failed, the West's conquest came by way of ballots and satellite television and Viagra. Yes, you read it right the first time. VIAGRA.

O yeah, sure, we're still good little Muslims, outwardly. In our heart, we are now Christian. Scratch a Muslim, find a Christian ... even worse, much worse, find a Christian American.

Oh, yes, it would be remiss to omit mentioning the crux of this lament. Here's what we had better understand, albeit maybe without completely comprehending. Even when the Americans are wrong ... horribly mistaken even, nevertheless, they still win.

Perhaps, we should take consolation from a fact one may well consider insignificant. The Americans, also known as "yankees", paid dear for that victory. Praise Allah, the price exacted, even today, continues to be macabre.


aaaay, c'mon, whyz.ache.err, what the hell should'ja (?) expect from a wild-eyed iconoclast cum "this laptop for hire"!

ah, come a little closer to the monitor screen, ever so discreetly, make sure nobody's looking over your shoulder. This is just among you and me and the monitor screen.

There are times I wish to God Almighty I had never encountered Avram Beilitzsyn. Here I am a retired bachelor, a geezer infatuated with-- ahnghgh, nun'ah yer beezwax! I'm up to my ears in credit card debt.

Even worse, like Avram, I'm even delving into an extreme case. Time and time again, he would intone that much can be learned from an extreme case, provided the heart is ready.

Here's how this case came to my attention. When the explosives, which were crammed into an automobile, were detonated by suicide bomber, some one hundred and twenty Iraqis were killed outright, with a score or more of others wounded. The perpetrator, who caused and died in the explosion, was a Jordanian national.

Allegedly, his family back in Jordan honored his "martyrdom" with a celebration. In a diplomatic dispatch to the Jordanian monarchy, the Iraqi government, such as it was at the time, made it perfectly that the latter was angered by the carnage, and furthermore, regarded as an affront the subsequent celebration.

Okay, here's where we delve in search for the crux of the matter. The perpetrator spent several years, living and working in the United States of America. According to several witnesses, whom he had befriended in America, he enjoyed "looking at the ladies".

I think it's reasonable to conjecture that the young man in question was doing more than simply looking. Taking that conjecture just a bit further, one may easily surmise that, as best and as intensely his modest means allowed, he pursued the so-called PLAYBOY lifestyle.

Here, I feel I should try my hand at intimating the import of that immediately preceding sentence. Truth be told, I'm taking a little time and space to be of service to the innocents in the readership.

PLAYBOY, the magazine, is justifiably noteworthy for its "centerfold" graphic, wherein a "virginal" comely late-blooming young woman is posed in her birthday suit.

Back to the Jordanian suicide bomber, his story gets a little more interesting. For whatever reason, he exited U.S territory to spend some time in the Middle East. When he tried to return to the States, he was denied entry by some suspicious immigration official. Now, we leap to what I'm surmising.

Denied entry into where he could pursue the PLAYBOY lifestyle, the future suicidal bomber fell into despair. He had been denied his heart's desire. Wherein the heart enters, the soul follows. Wherein the soul enters, the mind follows. In this case, the mind decided on retaliation through "martyrdom".

Bottom line, he was, in his heart, no longer, Muslim. Rather he was American. In as much as the country that spurned him is Christian, in his heart, he died a Christian American.

O yeah, almost forgot. Around Christmas of 2005, some Palestinian militants, notorious for sponsoring similar martyrs and also known as "bedbugs", occupied the Bethlehem municipal building. Before teevee cameras of local media, some spokesman in a mask informed the public what the hullabaloo was all about.

Now then, were they demanding new and improved (?) exploding vests for punishing Israeli occupiers by glorious suicidal "martyrdom"! Ny'ah, they were demanding jobs, employment with weekly deposit in their checking account.

Sort of ironical, is it not? That mob and others like it coaxed scores of devout Muslims to try buying an express ticket to Paradise, using as currency "martyrdom" by suicide vest or automobiles, crammed with explosives.

... o yeah, whyz.ache.err, ya'gotta admit, job seekers aren't exactly martyr material, despite their calling their mob some sort of martyrs' brigade.

One might suppose that, as currency, "martyrdom" is great for express tickets to Paradise. When it comes to paying for a falafel snack, the average street vendor prefers and accepts only what can be deposited in the local bank.


.he who is known as sefton


oh, yeah, here's something for would-be "martyrs" to chew on. Take the aforementioned "martyr", who killed some one hundred and twenty (120) of his sibling Muslims. He was no martyr to Islam. In his heart, he was a martyr to PLAYBOY.


Somebody had better alert the Palestinian negotiators about a "lead-pipe cinch" consequece of the entrance of Hamas into their government. This is what those negotiators are going to hear, when they meet with their Israeli counterparts, "We owe you nothing."

And one more thing . . . the man who poisoned Islam was American President John Fitzgerald Kennedy . . . funny thing, when he challenged his county men to put an American on the moon before the end of the 60s' decade, he probably thought he was only giving his fellow Americans a "pep talk" . . . likely enough, good ol'J.F.K thought the project was more impossible dream than possibility . . . but ayyy, he figured his fellow Americans needed a dream of some sort.

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