Paradise Is Overrated
Iowahawk Guest Commentary
by Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi
Former Senior VP, Al-Qaeda In Iraq
Howzit swingin', fagsicles? Yeah, I know all you bitzoches all seen the pictures by now. Go on and laugh it up chump, like your drivers license photo is all George fuckin' Clooney. Personally I think I'm lookin' straight GQ, seeing as I just got a 500-pound laser guided curb stomp. Shit cuz, y'all should see Kahlid, a.k.a. "Ceiling Spackle." But, hey, whateva. You kuffar haters can finally step off my nuts, 'cause I. am. outtahere. Y'all can just suck it, 'cause Zarkman got his free pass to Allah's celestial Disneyland.
You think I didn't see this martyrdom goatshit coming? Cracka, please. When we were out in the boondocks filming that recruiting infomercial last month, I told that asshole Zawahiri that it was dangerous, that Team Satan would lock in on us with one of their outer space high tech computer gizmos. But nooooooo, he's all, "don't worry, they need an NSA warrant," and then he's like, "we have to attack the mindshare gap with a high GRP, Total Quality Jihad leadership marcom message." Which apparently means I have to stand there under Team Satan's goddamn spy satellites, yelling like the goddamn OxyClean guy, burning my goddamn hand on a goddamn machine gun barrel, while that goddamn director Omar Al-Spielberg asks for another goddamn take. Yeah, that's some world class marketing strategery there, Ayman. Best ad campaign since Pets.com. Have fun training all four of those Syrian droolers that it brought in.
So yeah, I figured I'd be caught in the next round of downsizing, so I started keeping myself prepared. For example, I shaved my junk every morning this week. Okay, I know what you're thinking: what the fizzuck? But trust me, it's in the Koran, and it's not as weird as it sounds. If you're about to be banging a room full of doe-eyed virgins, you're gonna want those nards Brazilian waxed pornstar style. Plus I guess them foxy heaven hos also appreciate a couple of splashes of cologne so they don't have to smell your stanky sack. It's just common martyr courtesy, and that's why around the AQ office we call Brut "the smell of death".
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Pretty good in theory, I guess, but holy dung - you try keeping your nuts Kojak-ed with a 9-month old rusty Schick Quattro and your shaving hand all bandaged from gun barrel burn blisters. Faaack, I must have used up three styptic pencils just since Saturday. And when I slapped 'em with a splash of Hai Karate? Talk about a muthafuckin' STING. Mohammed H. Prophet, I think my scream hit two octaves above a dog whistle.
So anyhow, I got my bidness clean, I got my policy with Mutual of Medina paid up, I had a final family meeting with Fatima and the kids. "Are you going to paradise, Father?" says that teenaged one, what's-her-burqqa. "Yeah, but I'll have people watching out for you," I says. "So if you're even thinking about any of that clan dishonor shit, you better watch your back."
Okay, Thursday morning. I clock in at the office, pour a mug of tea, fire up the laptop and check out the latest posts on dKos. Sure, I've had my differences with them in the past. But with morale the way it is Allah knows we need a good laugh around here, and that shit is funnier than Homestar Runner. They had a new parody up, and I swear it had me roaring so hard I was on the verge of a shit hemorrhage. It had Kahlid laughing to the point of tears, and when he goes to wipe his good eye he almost puts it out with his hook, and then this makes Mahmoud squirt tea through his nose, and then this gets the whole damn office going. We're all just fucking roaring, when suddenly there's this silence, and then a funny high-pitched noise.
Tariq says, "did you just hear th..."
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