Let’s face it, protesting is tiring business and can leave any Muslim feeling spent and just downright exhausted. Spending hours on your feet, yelling "Allah Snack Bar" aka Allahu Akbar and threatening another 9/11 really takes its toll. So at the end of the day, 9 out of 10 Muslims enjoy the great satisfying taste of Mad Mohammed’s Pork Rinds. Go ahead, crack open a bag and watch the show.
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March 2nd, 2006 at 1:16 pm
LMAO, This is wrong, funny but wrong.
March 2nd, 2006 at 3:13 pm
Where I live they would be immediately busted on hate speach offense. I wonder if they don’t have such institute in the UK, and why are the bobbies just watching…
March 2nd, 2006 at 4:59 pm
Fucking freaks, they’re no better than christians.
March 10th, 2006 at 3:12 pm
I am a muslim myself as well but I have a very open minded family who told me that I will find the real answers and belief in myself if I look into my heart. They didnt force me to believe to anything, and told me to get on with my education and my career rather than focusing on these issues. I am from Turkey and unlike everyone thinks we dont have too many of these type of freaks in Turkey! This is only a minority and unlike UK they will never be able to protest in such a freakish way in Turkey, the cops will take them away and they would be taken to court or at least stay in jail for the night (if they had a very clean background). Even though I am also a muslim I believe that too much of “something”, “anything” is bad! I believe that these freaks are really freaks. I dont like the idea of any prophet to be caricaturised in a funny way however I love South Park and they caricaturised prophets few times. E.g. Super Best Friends episode was cool. I think the best episode ever was the one with the PSP where Kenny beats the army of Hell with the HOLY PSP. :P Anyway… to cut a long story short, I believe that everyone should be able to believe in what they want. I was born in Turkey and I didnt have any horrible issues about religion in my country. I would like to wish peace to everyone. Please do not think of every single muslim as the same as in the video. I am sure these type of freaks exist in christianity or in other religions as well. Wishing peace and happieness to all. Take Care…
March 10th, 2006 at 4:33 pm
Well said Selin, I couldn’t agree more.
March 13th, 2006 at 1:33 am
If indeed you cross the line. Feed a muslim Pork and Wine. If indeed you feel free set a man on fire with gasoline.
If indeed you feel fine give a muslim a hard time.
If you give a man fire, he’ll stay warm for a day.
If you set a man on fire, he’ll stay warm for a much longer time frame.
–
Osi Osi
Give me the news.
I’ve been drinking Mountain Dew.
March 31st, 2006 at 11:09 am
Weak minded individuals who feel the need to be led around by the nose. Fuck em all!!! question authority!!!!
August 12th, 2006 at 1:47 am
Lost Verses of the Koran
Surah 115: The Pig
Bismillah:
The hurried flight of the Hegira had led the Muslims to a fertile oasis, where they were at last safe from their many enemies in Mecca.
Pausing, each thanked Allah the moon-god for their good fortune.
Assembling at a long table, they enjoyed rare delicacies brought by bare-breasted sirens whose faces were veiled. During the feast Muhammad sternly forbade his disciples to partake of pig flesh, while fondling the youthful breasts of a Nubian harlot named Sheba.
Obeying the Prophet, the pilgrims partook of the succulent flesh of jackals and vultures, washing their food down with strong wine.
“I never dreamed I’d have to eat the loins of a jackal, let alone the bitter entrails of a cursed vulture,” observed a hungry pilgrim named Ahmed to a fellow Muslim, choking on the unpalatable morsels.
“Neither did I, but the Holy Prophet has ordered it,” grumbled another starving follower, almost heaving as he consumed greasy vulture flesh.
“A rancid pork chop would taste a hell of a lot better than this crap does,” retorted Ahmed.
“It’s an acquired taste brother, you’ll get used to it,” spoke up another, smiling with a mouthful of rotten teeth.
“I don’t think so,” said Ahmed, forcing down a burned jackal testicle.
An uncaring Muhammad, famished, greedily wolfed down roasted jackal in enjoyment, quaffing from an earthenware wine carafe on occasion, while choosing which of the sirens that would soon endure his favours.
The meal finished in the late afternoon, a drunken, lustful Muhammad initiated a sex orgy with the sirens, the debauched Holy Prophet, Allah speaking through him, declaring all earlier betrothals or marriages of the women he knew null and void.
The Muslims celebrated their good fortune, again thanking Allah for the bounty they had been blessed to receive.
Later, as Muhammad sat half-naked under a palm tree, masturbating to the thought of molesting little girls, Ahmed chanced by and remarked, “Oh great prophet, why does Allah say that we cannot dine on delicious porcine flesh?”
“Why?” asked Muhammad, closing his filthy, tattered, moth-eaten robe, “Because Allah’s younger retarded cyclops brother is a pig, and Allah doesn’t want us killing his holy kinfolk.”
“Allah is a pig?” asked Ahmed, staring at Muhammad.
“Of course,” replied the deranged Prophet, hallucinating thanks to ingesting strong hashish minutes earlier.
“That’s ridiculous, why in hell do we worship pigs?” asked Ahmed, thinking his flight from Mecca may have been the result of heeding the words of a false prophet, possessed of a capricious desert demon who delighted in seeing them consume the flesh of vermin.
“Because they’re better than we are,” answered a smiling Muhammad, now fantasising about raping little boys, “Look at me, I’m little more than a lecherous child molester, thief and murderer!”
“True, but pigs can’t even talk!” exclaimed Ahmed, digging a heel into the sand.
“Allah can, he speaks to me in my dreams,” retorted the wildly hallucinating Muhammad, barely able to focus on Ahmed, seeing him in double vision.
“You’re a madman,” declared a disgusted Ahmed, “I’m heading back to join the infidels in Mecca!”
“Who cares?” retorted Muhammad, slurring his words and breaking into riotous laughter.
Prophet Muhammad, opening his robe and again reaching for his flaccid sex organ, was too occupied with masturbating his building erection to reply further, while Ahmed disappeared behind a sand dune.
“What a stupid, perverted, licentious bastard,” spat Ahmed, walking off, “Muhammad is crazier than a shithouse rat!”
Surah 116: The Pervert
Bismillah:
And it came to pass that Muhammad was growing ever hornier and more depraved: In a dream it was revealed by Allah that he was to molest a young girl named Ayesha.
Drunk on strong wine, the Prophet looked to a follower named Khalil and announced, “Allah has said I am to have sex on this day with a child; the virgin daughter of my brother in law Abu.”
“What?” asked a frowning Khalil, holding a wine bottle, taken back by the remark and turning to Muhammad.
“I am to know Abu’s daughter Ayesha,” declared Muhammad, a finger in the air, becoming visibly aroused at the thought having sex with her.
“She is but a little girl who plays with dolls; her womb does not yet weep, are you insane?” asked Khalil, knowing in his heart that the Prophet was little more than a pervert, thief, liar and murderer.
“Probably, but it is the will of Allah”, Muhammad said to himself, staggering off to the hovel of Ayesha.
“What a twisted devil the Prophet is – the will of Allah my ass, he’s just an evil, depraved monster who lusts after the flesh,” Khalil mumbled, putting the bottle to his parched lips.
An oblivious and uncaring Muhammad blundered down the street, weaving as he went, arriving at the hovel shortly thereafter.
Knocking on the door, Ayesha’s mother Umm appeared.
“What do you want Prophet?” she asked, staring at the debauched Muhammad, clad in a filthy tan robe covered in dust and wine stains, a lone flea crawling upon his moustache near his nostrils.
“Bismillah, I am here to take your daughter Ayesha in bed,” the Prophet answered, slurring his words.
“You licentious beast!” exclaimed the girl’s mother, “She is only six years old, if it is indeed the will of Allah, take me instead to satisfy your wanton depravity!”
“Taking you is not the will of Allah,” retorted Muhammad, the scent of wine heavy on his foul breath, “You are a wrinkled and faded flower without comeliness; be gone with your favours; I could never get a hard on at the likes of you.”
Enraged by her rebuff, Muhammad smote her upon the face with a backhand.
“That’s what one gets for disobeying the will of Allah,” declared Muhammad, his words punctuated by a loud belch, “Take me to Ayesha, that I may know her on this day!”
Obeying, Umm reluctantly led Muhammad to the room of Ayesha, opening the door.
“This perverted Prophet here wants to screw you,” announced Umm with a frown, Muhammad ogling the virgin child in double vision.
“But you knew my cousin Abdullah, younger brother of Ahmed not an hour ago,” replied a shocked Ayesha, dropping her doll, revolted by the sight of the filthy, lascivious paedophile Muhammad.
“Be that as it may, Allah has said I will also know you,” said Muhammad with an expectant smile, the gleam of lust in his eyes.
“Why me?” asked Ayesha, looking to the Prophet with trepidation.
“Because Allah has said it and I am horny, let us lay down, that I may know you,” ordered Muhammad as he removed his robe, Ayesha’s mother shaking her head in helpless disgust and closing the door.
Surah 117: The Murderer
Bismillah:
Muhammad and his followers enjoyed many days away from Mecca at the oasis, home of his oafish brother in law, Abu Bakr, who was also Muslim.
Dining on roast jackal, vultures and snakes, their strength was renewed by the bounty Allah the moon-god provided: plentiful food for their bellies and plentiful sirens for their carnal pleasure.
Khalil was upset that the Prophet was an evil lecherous paedophile who had known a little girl, so he went to the home of Ayesha to speak with her father, Abu the oaf.
He made his way to the hovel, and knocked on the door.
Ayesha’s mother opened the door, frowning as she beheld another of Prophet Muhammad’s followers.
“Is life not bad enough, what are you here for, to rape my daughter, me, or one of my sons?” she inquired with disdain.
“Indeed not woman, I must speak with your husband, not you,” said Khalil, who as a good Muslim, looked down upon women as little more than objects of pleasure, or dogs to be beaten into submission.
“My husband Abu is very drunk,” she related, lowering her gaze in respect.
Khalil entering the hovel, the oaf Abu appeared from a side room holding a wine bottle, and slurred, “What do you want here, follower of the Prophet?”
“I must speak with you regarding your little daughter Ayesha,” answered Khalil.
“What about her?” asked Abu, blinking his eyes and trying to focus on the man.
“The Prophet came unto her in her room a fortnight ago; do you not know?” asked Khalil.
“He has come unto her many times since, she is his wife,” replied the unconcerned oaf.
“His wife you say - you permitted it?” asked Khalil, stunned by the revelation.
“Of course; he has come unto one of my nephews too, Muhammad is a paederast, it is the will of Allah,” declared a shrugging Abu.
“He’s raping our child you drunken bastard!” exclaimed a tearful Umm, looking to Khalil.
Abu smote her across the face, admonishing, “Take care woman, speak not ill of Prophet Muhammad, it is the will of Allah. The Prophet first knew Ayesha in a dream, when Gabriel showed her to him, uncovering her body for him to see.”
“That’s really sick, she’s only six years old,” observed Khalil.
“Better for the great Prophet to know her than one of the infidels,” declared a smiling Abu.
“Prophet my ass, Muhammad is a depraved monster possessed of a demon; how could permit such a thing, you are her father!” exclaimed Khalil in utter disgust.
“Yes I am, and the Prophet says I will know her too,” confessed Abu, contemplating the odd thought of having sex with his own daughter.
Umm burst into tears and sobbed, throwing herself to the floor upon hearing Abu’s repugnant words.
A fearful Khalil fled the hovel, not knowing what to think; realising Muhammad and his brother in law Abu were wicked licentious perverts and vicious rapers of children, possessed of capricious and malevolent demons.
Later, Abu spoke with the Prophet while they entered a brothel together. He told him of the strange encounter with Khalil.
Khalil’s an idiot, he takes Islam much too seriously,” replied Muhammad, looking to his oafish brother in law.
“It is a bad omen Prophet, Khalil woefully disdains your marriage to Ayesha, and disdains that I am to know her too,” declared Abu, even he feeling deep down that such a liaison was distasteful, but knowing it was the unalterable will of Allah, the moon god.
“It is the will of Allah for you to know your daughter, did not Lot of Sodom know his daughters in the cave?” asked a slurring Muhammad, quite drunk, leaning against a wall to steady himself.
“Yes Prophet, he did,” answered Abu with firm resolve.
“Indeed, it was and is Allah’s will,” replied Muhammad, picking a flea from his beard and crushing it between his fingernails, “As for our problem, I will have a dream tonight, and Allah will order me to kill Khalil.”
“He will?” asked Abu, putting a hand to his chin in confusion, “But I thought the Perfect, Most Merciful Pig Allah never revealed his intentions until you had a dream.”
“No matter oaf, he is making his will known to me by making me drink strong wine on this day,” said a quickly lying Muhammad, holding up a bottle.
“Don’t you drink strong wine everyday?” asked Abu.
“Not as strong as this stuff,” replied the Prophet with a broad smile, “It has hashish oil in it; let us partake of a pair of this brothel’s women and enjoy wine together.”
As Muhammad and Abu descended into more revelry and debauchery, a troubled Khalil approached another of the Prophet’s followers, the one with rotten teeth. Telling him of his woes, he awaited the reply.
“Who cares what he does, have vulture and some wine,” said the man, tearing a leg from a roasted, maggot-ridden carcass and offering it to Khalil.
“You don’t care that Muhammad is a deranged pervert who has sex with little children?” asked Khalil, taking the leg.
“Hell no, I’m only here for the food, I was starving in the alleys of Mecca before I met Muhammad,” replied the rotten toothed man, grabbing more vulture flesh and a wine bottle.
“Oh,” answered a defeated Khalil, taking a bite from the leg and reaching for wine.
Late evening came, with Khalil and the other followers drunk and passed out in their tent.
Muhammad and Abu awoke at the brothel after midnight, rested and refreshed.
“What are we to do about Khalil?” asked Abu as they left via a side door, avoiding an encounter with the brothel’s madam, to whom they owed money.
“Leave that to me oaf,” answered the Prophet, holding up a hand, “In my dream Allah told me how to deal with him.”
Muhammad headed down the street and stealthily entered the tent of his followers, intent on taking Khalil’s life. Abu Bakr followed him through the entrance, looking about for possible witnesses.
Holding an oiled leather garrote, the smiling Prophet mercilessly strangled the sleeping Khalil, knowing in his heart that it was the will of Allah.
The helpless follower struggled defiantly as a determined Muhammad gritted his teeth and pulled the garrote tighter, crushing Khalil’s windpipe, the Prophet letting out foul gas from his posterior due to the exertion. The struggling ceased; he and Abu then quietly removed the body from the tent and carried it into the desert.
“That takes care of that problem,” declared a satisfied Muhammad as he pocketed the garrote, he and Abu making their way to his hovel so he could know his young wife Ayesha again.
“When will I know her Prophet?” inquired Abu in the lamplit hovel, looking to his daughter’s room.
“Very soon, Allah has said it, go know your wife Umm for now, oaf,” suggested Muhammad with a smile, opening the door to Ayesha’s room.
Surah 118: The Liar
Bismillah:
Time passed, and a strengthened Muhammad and his followers left the fertile oasis. The Prophet was joined by his young wife Ayesha and her father, oaf Abu, who left the remainder of his family stranded at the oasis, his wife Umm dying of grief shortly afterward.
Not one of the party dared question the vanishing of Khalil, some fearing that they too would vanish, perhaps due to Allah’s will or worse.
Muhammad told his followers that Khalil was an evil infidel, and had fled because he had coveted Ayesha, the child looking to her husband the Prophet, she and her father knowing he was not telling the truth.
“That is not true my father, Khalil only came to tell you of the Prophet knowing me,” Ayesha whispered, she and Abu standing only a few cubits from Muhammad.
“Take care in what you utter among others child, some things are better kept to oneself,” answered Abu quietly, not half the oaf the Prophet thought he was.
The rotten toothed man was listening intently; he had watched from the shadows while a smiling Muhammad strangled Khalil, but wisely kept this knowledge to himself, vowing to flee the group at the earliest opportunity.
Abu Bakr, fulfilling the will of Allah, came unto his daughter Ayesha over several evenings in a tent at the beckoning of the Holy Prophet, oddly finding her favours more satisfying than those of his wife.
Feeling strange from the experience of knowing his own daughter, a troubled Abu sought wise Muhammad’s advice.
“It was the will of Allah,” declared the debauched Muhammad, drunk on strong wine, “Allah has also revealed it is you which will sire her firstborn in her twelfth year; her incestuous bastard child Fatimah.”
“I will?” asked Abu, incredulous that he would be siring a child by his own daughter.
“Yes,” replied the Prophet, removing his filthy robe, “But first I must satisfy my carnal urges, by indulging in her favours myself.”
Prophet Muhammad entered the tent and came unto the young Ayesha, who complained that she was sore from knowing her father three times in one day.
Striking her across the face, Muhammad admonished, “Keep your mouth shut wife and be thankful to Allah that only I and your father are knowing you.”
“Yes Holy Prophet,” Ayesha replied, closing her eyes and wincing in pain as Muhammad again knew her.
Arriving in Medina the following week, the Muslims found friends in this city, delighting in drunken revelry and the favours of veiled, tempting harlots with dark eyes.
A lecherous Muhammad, Ayesha and his brother in law Abu took up residence at a fine brothel, the Prophet and the oaf sampling the offerings over many weeks, finding that Medina had the finest of all harlots in the land.
Many residents of Medina found that Islam was a faith that appealed to them, Allah’s unalterable will moving the people, they abandoning their staid ways, joining with Prophet Muhammad in idleness, licentious revelry and drunkenness.
Abu later visited the Prophet in his tent, informing him of dreadful news that Medina was host to a band of Jews.
“Jews you say, the people of the book,” answered Muhammad, “They are bitter enemies of Allah and Islam; we will not suffer such people to live in our midst.”
“But there are 40 score or more of them in the city Prophet, do the warriors of Allah have the numbers to defeat them?” asked Abu.
“Of course oaf,” declared the evil Muhammad, “We shall wait until the dark of night, prowling by stealth, and then cut their throats as they slumber; Allah has willed it.”
Listening in the shadows, the rotten toothed man determined it was time for him to flee. Regardless of the free food, he wanted no part of a group of vicious, skulking cowards who would slaughter people as they slept.
Allah’s will was fulfilled on the next night, 40 score Jews meeting their end at the hands of the deranged, murderous paedophile Muhammad and his obedient Muslims.
Surah 119: The Thief
Bismillah:
A fortnight passed, with many of the remaining people of Medina embracing Islam, and others fleeing for their lives, with the exception of a wealthy merchant named Sabri and his family.
Sabri vexed the followers with his words that Prophet Muhammad was little more than a drunken liar, murderer, and wanton sexual pervert; a wicked, lascivious monster and paedophile who kept the company of prostitutes, drunks and the slothful.
In another dream, the Holy Prophet learned that the vexing merchant had to be silenced, and that he had been chosen by Allah to murder him.
Telling Abu of his dream, he and Abu plotted the murder of Sabri the merchant. After enjoying strong wine together, they headed to his home on a dark late evening, let in by a lovely servant girl.
Muhammad and the oaf Abu observed the opulence of his residence; Sabri dressed in a fine silk robe with a silk turban, seven rings of gold and silver on his fingers.
His wife and the lovely servant girl brought food and a carafe of wine for her husband, they disdainfully looking upon the filthy, debauched Prophet and his henchman Abu.
“Why will you not submit to Islam, it is the will of Allah,” declared the evil Muhammad, looking to Sabri, looking for the chance to end his life.
“The will of Allah my ass, you Muhammad are a murderous debauched lecher and raper of children. Your loathsome followers feed on the rancid flesh of vermin instead of fine pork roasts, and defile all that they touch,” declared a disgusted Sabri, noting that the Prophet was drunk, dressed in a filthy tattered robe, with his unkempt hair and long beard matted with dirt.
“I consume the flesh of vermin too, Great Allah is a Holy, Merciful Pig, it is not halal to dine on the sacred flesh of his younger brothers,” said Muhammad with a finger in the air, Abu nodding in agreement.
“No, it is you who are a pig, you deranged cretin possessed of a vile demon,” retorted Sabri, looking upon the Prophet with hatred in his eyes.
“Those who do not submit to the will of Allah will suffer dire consequences,” threatened Abu, looking about for anyone who would dare stop them. Observing only two women in the house, he smiled, knowing that the will of Allah was about to be fulfilled.
Sabri paused, staring at the Prophet and Abu in contempt, hoping he could in some way persuade them to leave the city, noting that business had fallen off to practically nothing since the arrival of the Muslims.
“Look, if I give you money, will you and yours flee Medina and never return?” asked Sabri with folded hands, hoping he could encourage them to leave with a payment of fine gold.
“I can’t leave,” declared a smiling Muhammad, “I am serving Great Allah, the Most Merciful Pig.”
Sabri, confused for a moment, replied, “But I thought Allah was the moon goddess of Mecca.”
“Whatever,” retorted a shrugging, uncaring Muhammad while picking his nose, he knowing that Allah didn’t exist anyway.
“You are destroying Medina with your vile harlotry and wicked ways!” exclaimed Sabri.
The Prophet laughed, and replied, “Indeed not, Allah is guiding my hand in this and all my actions, providing me and my followers with what we desire: food, fine drink and the company of willing sirens, like your lovely servant girl back there.”
“My servant girl is betrothed to a good man in Mecca, you will not speak ill of her, nor will you covet her favours,” declared Sabri, noting Muhammad leering through an open door, ogling the girl and his wife.
“I will do as I wish,” retorted the evil Muhammad with another laugh, reaching into his tattered, filthy robe and producing the garrote, “I covet the favours of your servant girl, and will take her to my bed for a concubine on this night. Those such as you will not stop the will of Allah or his Messenger.”
Abu rose while the Prophet was speaking and smote Sabri upon the face with a closed fist, knocking the silk turban from his head. Muhammad descended upon him like a viper, pulling the garrote tightly around his throat, strangling him in his chair while his wife and servant girl screamed.
“Be silent women, it is the will of Allah!” Muhammad yelled through gritted teeth as he took the life of Sabri. Oaf Abu moved into the room and beat them into submission while a struggling Sabri kicked the wine carafe from the table, it shattering on the floor.
Sabri’s life vanquished, Prophet Muhammad exhaled loudly and let the lifeless body tumble to the floor.
The trembling women remained silent as Abu returned to the Prophet with them.
“Where is your money?” asked a greedy Abu of Sabri’s wife.
“A box of gold and silver is in our bedroom,” answered his tearful wife, almost fainting from Abu’s foul breath.
“I’ll get it,” volunteered a smiling Muhammad, pulling the garrote from the body, “Get the rings from his fingers oaf.”
The Prophet returned with a box of glittering coins, pleased that Allah had provided such bounty for his followers.
“I can’t get the last ring off,” complained Abu, having pocketed six others.
“Cut off his finger to get it, and take his robe and turban too,” ordered Muhammad, determined not to leave one valuable item in the house.
Abu obeyed, reaching for a knife on the table, slicing off the finger and pulling the ring from it.
Arriving at the brothel, the Prophet celebrated his good fortune by knowing Sabri’s wife and the servant girl, annulling the widow’s marriage and the girl’s betrothal in the eyes of Allah.
Later that evening Abu was given Sabri’s widow for a concubine, as he had grown weary of Ayesha’s favours, also needing an able slave to cook and serve him.
Having to beat her before he knew her, Abu thanked Allah and Muhammad for the welcome gift of Sabri’s wife.
Surah 120: The Hypocrite
Bismillah:
More time passed, with some of Muhammad’s followers finding the Prophet’s actions in Medina going against everything he had preached in Mecca, seeing him as Khalil, the rotten toothed man, and the merchant Sabri had seen him: an evil, debauched rapist, paedophile, liar, and murderer.
These and other apostate followers were quickly slaughtered as infidels, fulfilling the will of Allah; a smiling Muhammad strangling many of them as they slept.
Even Abu began to think that Muhammad’s wanton depravity may have been going too far when he encountered him in a tent knowing several young Jewish boys that had been taken captive.
“Prophet, some of the followers are complaining that you are denying them participation in the bounty given us by Allah, and that you are also practicing strange acts that Allah has forbidden to others,” related Abu, frowning at the displeasing thought of Muhammad knowing little boys.
“They want some of the gold, right oaf?” asked a drunken Muhammad, dressed in Sabri’s silk robe and turban, seven rings of gold and silver upon his greasy fingers, the fine garb growing filthier with each passing day.
“That, and some of them would also like to have some of the girls and boys for concubines,” answered Abu.
“They cannot have the little boys, Allah has given them to me for my carnal pleasure,” declared the lascivious Prophet, “As for the little girls, give them to the followers as wives, so that their carnal desires can be sated; it is the will of Allah.”
“Others say that you don’t practice what you have preached,” added a fidgeting Abu, hoping not to arouse Muhammad’s maniacal wrath.
“I’m only the messenger, Allah’s revelations don’t apply to me,” retorted Muhammad, releasing a tearful Jewish boy from his carnal embrace.
“What about me?” asked Abu.
“They don’t apply to you either oaf; would you like a lovely little boy for your carnal pleasure?” slurred the depraved sodomite Muhammad, lustfully leering at another boy he had chosen next to debauch.
“No, I find not that boys appeal to me,” answered Abu quietly, though he was a lecherous paedophile and incestuous pervert, he had no desire to sodomise little boys.
“Suit yourself oaf, more for me to enjoy,” answered the Prophet with a chuckle, undressing another captive boy, returning to his lecherous paederasty as Abu left the tent.
The city of Medina had been taken completely by the conquering Muslims, they reveling in their murderous victory over the infidels and Jews.
In another dream, it was revealed to Muhammad by Allah that they were to attack and conquer the city of Mecca. They were to subdue it and convert the inhabitants there to Islam, after which the Prophet was to take a pagan shrine called the Kaaba and defile it in the name of Allah.
“In Mecca there is glittering plunder, fine gold to steal, and many women to be taken for concubines,” declared the Prophet, “Allah has said to have faith in him and we will not fail; are you with me, warriors for Islam?”
The devoted followers answered, shouting in unison: There is no god but Allah the Pig, and Muhammad is his prophet!”
“We will need weapons to defeat them,” Abu observed, looking to the Holy Prophet.
“Easily done oaf,” replied an unconcerned Muhammad, ordering several henchmen to plunder the city of metal so weapons could be quickly fashioned.
Bronze implements were seized from every home; plowshares were heated and beaten into fine scimitars for the devoted followers.
As his followers labored over hot forges, Muhammad gave a sermon, declaring that vengeance, blood and death would rain down upon Mecca in the name of Allah.
The work completed over several days, a feast was held by the warriors of Islam to further strengthen them for the long journey; the flesh of rats, snakes, vultures and jackals gracing their tables. The hungry Prophet had a willing siren prepare his favourite of all dishes, fat dung beetles boiled in seasoned vulture broth.
“We should give Allah our thanks for the bounty he has provided,” declared Muhammad, seated at the head of his table beside Abu, crushing the hard shell of a dung beetle between his filthy brown teeth.
All bowed their heads in prayer, thanking Allah for the food he had provided.
“Would you like to enjoy a tasty dung beetle oaf?” asked the Prophet, turning to his brother in law, offering one to him.
“No thanks,” replied a nauseated Abu, choking down a plateful of greasy rat flesh.
Washing the unseemly morsels down with strong wine, Muhammad and his followers filled their bellies with the bitter flesh of vermin and then enjoyed the welcome favours of tempting, veiled harlots with dark eyes.
The Muslims, their women and their captives set out for Mecca on the following week, determined to exact Allah’s revenge on the people who dwelt there.
“There are many able men in Mecca, much more than we have,” observed Abu, realising their numbers were wanting when compared to the teeming hordes of infidels occupying Mecca.
“Allah will watch over us oaf,” replied Muhammad, a sharp scimitar on his hip, he unsure as to what the outcome would be, but keeping this from the others and preparing for the worst.
“There aren’t enough of us Prophet – how will we win?” asked Abu with his arms in the air, looking at their limited numbers, no more than 50 score of able men in the service of Allah.
“Great Allah has said it, they in Mecca will embrace Islam or die for resisting his will,” the vengeful Prophet declared as Medina disappeared behind them in the distance.
A thoughtful Abu wondered why Allah would wish his followers to attack a fortified city where they were outnumbered, and also as to why Allah would have chosen a debauched murderer and licentious pervert for his Prophet.
“Oh well, it is the will of Allah,” agreed a sardonic Abu, much too committed to the deranged Prophet and Islam to back out, checking for the scimitar on his hip.
Surah 121: The Coward
Bismillah:
Returning to the oasis to gather strength before attacking Mecca, Muhammad and his followers again feasted on the bitter flesh of vermin and partook of the favours of eager women, the depraved Prophet coming unto the veiled, bare breasted Nubian harlot Sheba.
Oaf Abu learned that his wife Umm had died, Muhammad stating to him over strong wine that it was Allah’s will.
A grieving Abu came unto his new wife, the widow of Sabri, and also knew his daughter Ayesha, fulfilling the will of Allah the Pig.
The Holy Prophet also lusted for Abu’s bride, demanding that he be permitted to lay with her again.
A shrugging Abu handed her over, an angry Muhammad having to beat the stiff-necked infidel woman once again before he knew her.
“You evil murderous beast!” she screamed in tears as Muhammad was knowing her, “May the gods of my fathers destroy you and all you have wrought!”
“How dare you attempt to curse me or Allah,” grunted the Prophet as he reached orgasm, his fetid breath causing her to heave, “Take care woman, or I will expose you as the sorceress you are, giving you over to be stoned by my devoted followers.”
“Better to be dead than to endure your vile attentions again,” Abu’s wife retorted as the Prophet rose from her bed.
“Bitch,” Muhammad muttered as he left Abu’s tent, adjusting his filthy silk turban.
Leaving the oasis on the third day, the devoted Muslims resumed their journey to Mecca, Abu still troubled about their limited numbers and telling the Holy Prophet of his doubts.
“Don’t worry oaf, we will remain behind while the first wave of our brothers besiege and subdue the infidels in Mecca,” Muhammad declared in a low tone of voice, Ayesha looking up to him and frowning.
“Do you have a problem with that wife?” asked Muhammad, strangely controlling his compulsion to beat her for daring to disagree with Allah’s unalterable will.
Ayesha remained silent and looked to the ground, Abu answering, “I thought we would lead them in battle.”
“No, we are to remain behind and observe the followers take the city, it is the will of Allah,” replied Muhammad, he filled with doubts and preferring to watch from afar, as the strong hashish he had eaten in Medina had worn off long ago.
Arriving outside the city walls under cover of night, the Muslims prepared for battle in the only way they knew: skulking by stealth and murdering defenseless people while they slept.
As a full moon rose, a vanguard of devoted followers scaled the city walls, only to be discovered and cut down by the defenders of Mecca.
“Attack in the name of Allah!” shouted Muhammad while retreating to a bluff with Abu, his wives and several trusted followers, the Meccans opening the city gates to meet the glorious warriors of Allah in battle.
Seeing the Holy Prophet on the bluff by moonlight, this sight strengthened the attacking Muslims.
“The battle is not going very well,” observed Abu as the moon rose higher, watching the Muslim army being wiped out.
“Yes, Allah is displeased that our faith was not strong enough,” replied a strangely detached Muhammad, staring from the bluff at the carnage outside the walls of Mecca.
“That, or we didn’t have enough men, I told you,” retorted Abu, watching several followers being hacked to death by the defenders.
“That is possible oaf,” admitted Muhammad, Abu frowning at the reply.
“What do you plan to do to save your followers Prophet?” asked Ayesha.
“Nothing, it is Allah’s will,” replied Muhammad with a shrug, still watching the battle.
Abu’s frown grew into anger as he watched a smiling Muhammad delight in the butchery of his followers.
“You’ve lost at least 30 score since the moon rose, do you intend to stay until we are slaughtered too?” asked Abu’s wife.
“How dare you speak to me unless spoken to!” exclaimed the Prophet, preparing to smite her across the face.
“My good wife Fahimah makes a wise observation,” declared Abu, using her given name for the first time, grasping Muhammad’s forearm, preventing him from striking the widow.
Pulling away from Abu, the Prophet paused and replied, “It’s time for us to leave oaf, we shall retreat to the oasis to pray and fast.”
A defeated Muhammad and his trusted followers left the bluff and headed back toward the oasis in the moonlight. Looking over his shoulder, the Prophet feared that vengeful Meccans might pursue them.
“Let us make haste,” declared Muhammad, fearing for his life.
Several days passed as they retreated from Mecca, the remaining band of Muslims at last pausing for needed rest and making a camp in the desert.
The captive Fahimah had grown to respect her new husband Abu, as he had prevented the Holy Prophet from striking her outside the walls of Mecca. Making him a meal of jackal flesh soup, she presented it to him in his tent.
“Thank you woman,” Abu replied, taking an earthenware bowl and strong wine, she nodding and leaving him to eat.
As Abu was eating, a stir rose in the camp: a lone survivor of the battle having at last caught up to the followers. Putting down his bowl, he left the tent to find the survivor admonishing Muhammad.
“You coward,” he gasped, “You left us to die, have you no faith in your visions, or are they only lies coming from your vile mouth?”
The Prophet, drunk, answered, “I had a dream after the battle, it was Allah’s will that we were defeated, as it was his will that you survived. We lost because our faith in Allah was not strong enough.”
“You lied, telling us of easy plunder and women; there weren’t enough of us to take Mecca, 50 score died outside the gates for nothing!” the man exclaimed.
“No matter, have dung beetles and strong wine to renew your strength,” slurred Muhammad, picking fleas from his beard and flinging them into a small fire at his side.
The man, much too exhausted to argue further, gratefully took a plate of boiled dung beetles and a bottle of wine, trudging off from the deranged Prophet in disgust.
A shocked Abu observed this from the shadows and retreated to his tent. Such knowledge set heavy upon him, he meditating privately on the events.
Finishing his meal, he called for his wife Fahimah, she appearing before him.
I would hear your words wife on this matter: Muhammad preaches Islam, yet he does not follow the words of Allah.”
“He is your Prophet, you have sworn to serve him and Allah, my words are those of an infidel,” she answered respectfully.
“Still I would hear them, for there is wisdom in what you utter,” Abu replied.
Fahimah, still fearful of her brutal husband, yet bound by her personal honor to obey, told him of her thoughts on the Prophet and his actions.
“I care not what god he worships, but this demon in man’s guise is not a prophet of a clean desert god,” she began.
Abu looked at her as she continued, “He forces his followers to consume the flesh of vermin, delighting in their disgust. I truly believe him to be so perverted as to rape an infant - he has others carry out his murderous work while he has no courage to fight himself: you should draw a knife across your daughter Ayesha’s throat and my own to save us from the corruption of this man.”
Abu, oaf that he was, looked at her silently as she urged him to destroy the demon Prophet Muhammad, her wise words much harder to ignore than the screechings of his deceased wife Umm.
Surah 122: Muhammad the Merciless
Bismillah:
Abu Bakr, though he had listened to the wise words of his good wife Fahimah, found the prospects of strong wine, glittering plunder and wanton sexual pleasure outweighed her foreboding admonitions; he advising her to remain silent with regard to the Holy Prophet. For this request, he agreed that he would do his best to keep the depraved Muhammad from coming unto her.
The widow bowed her head respectfully, obeying her brutal husband.
Staying for a time to renew their strength at the oasis, Muhammad announced over a fine evening meal that they would return to Medina and take it in the name of Allah.
“That will be easy, considering we slaughtered everyone there who resisted us,” slurred a drunken Abu, he, the Prophet and their closest followers sitting at a long table. Veiled, tempting sirens with bare breasts served the bounty Allah had provided: the flesh of vultures, vipers, and lizards gracing the table.
“Good point oaf,” the deranged Muhammad agreed, seven rings of gold and silver on his fingers, his mouth stuffed with roast vulture. He swallowed, belched loudly and added, “Allah revealed to me in a dream that Medina will be our base, and from there we shall send brave warriors out to capture and recruit new followers.”
“More men will be needed after the debacle at Mecca,” replied Abu, looking to their limited numbers, choking down the bitter flesh of a fat, boiled viper with another gulp of wine.
The evil Prophet hid a smile at the sight of Abu’s nausea; watching from the head of the table in delight as his devoted followers dined on the flesh of vermin. “No matter about the others, they are dead and gone, it was the will of Allah,” declared an uncaring Muhammad, spitting a shard of fractured vulture bone to the table. Wiping greasy hands on his filthy silk robe, he grabbed a wine bottle and took a deep drink from it. “My belly still rumbles, bring tasty dung beetles to sate my gnawing hunger,” he ordered to a siren nearest him.
The lone survivor of the battle of Mecca, a swarthy Bedouin named Hamal, sat at the table, eating from an earthenware bowl of lizard soup, seasoned with ground peppercorns, onions and the juices of crushed scorpions. Having considered his low standing amongst his fellow Muslims for calling the Prophet a lying coward to his face, he wished to make amends by making himself useful to Muhammad. In return, he hoped the murderous Prophet would allow him to live, so he, like his debauched leader, would have the chance to kill, rape and plunder in the name of Pig Allah, the moon god.
Their meal finished, a lustful, drunken Muhammad initiated another sex orgy with the sirens, the warriors of Islam delighting in the licentious revelry: the debauched Prophet entering the tent of the Nubian harlot Sheba, relieving his carnal urges while held in her willing arms.
“Oh great Prophet, if it is the will of Allah, will you take me as one of your beloved wives to Medina?” asked Sheba, looking up to him with seductive, dark eyes as he continued to know her.
“Sure, as my young bride Ayesha often grows sore from my constant attentions,” grunted Muhammad, reaching orgasm for a third time, finding her the most satisfying harlot he had ever encountered.
“She is only six, most wait until they bleed first,” replied Sheba, the Prophet looking at her and frowning, both knowing that he was little more than a brutal, licentious paedophile who delighted in the rape of little girls and boys. Rising from the bed and closing his robe, he left her tent, adjusting his filthy silk turban.
Later, when others at the oasis were asleep or passed out from drunkenness, Muhammad, oaf Abu, and Hamal the Bedouin sat by a small fire, discussing plans for the recruitment of new followers. As the fire died down the Holy Prophet rose and walked into the shadows, releasing foul, pungent gas from his posterior while Abu and the Bedouin continued speaking.
“When will we be leaving for Medina?” asked Hamal, looking forward to visiting a comely harlot he had met there.
“Very soon, but you will not leave with us,” answered Abu, just as Muhammad leapt upon the hapless Bedouin with an oiled garrote. Pulling it tight around his throat with all his strength, he gritted his teeth and strangled the infidel to death, crushing his windpipe.
“That is what one gets for insulting Allah’s messenger,” declared the wicked Muhammad with a smile, allowing the corpse to drop to the ground. He pulled the garrote from Hamal’s throat and pocketed it in his filthy silk robe. Looking to Abu, he said, “Get over here and help me with the body oaf.”
Abu rose, the Prophet and his henchman carrying the remains of Hamal into the desert.
On the next day, Abu’s young nephew Abdullah appeared from his mother’s hovel at the border of the oasis. The adolescent appeared more of a man than a boy, his face having a short beard. Troubled, he asked his uncle as to why he had left his aunt Umm to die of grief, and why he had permitted the Holy Prophet to know him and his little cousin Ayesha. Not aware of Abu’s incestuous relationship with his daughter, he awaited the answer.
“My daughter Ayesha is his child bride, given unto him by Gabriel on high; alas, Muhammad is also a paederast, it was the will of Allah for him to know you,” a shrugging Abu replied, revolted at the thought of paederasty, not looking his nephew in the eyes.
“The will of Allah? Then Allah is an evil, insidious demon possessed of lust and caprice!” exclaimed Abdullah. “Your Prophet is a depraved sodomite sent from the depths of hell: grasping my crotch, he raped me after having a seizure, holding me down and declaring it was the will of Pig Allah!”
“I don’t know what to say, my nephew,” replied Abu, looking to the ground, knowing that Muhammad had truly hurt a beloved member of his family by raping him.
“I do,” said an angry Abdullah, tears welling in his eyes as he glared at his uncle, “I say be gone forever from our oasis, you, your demonic Prophet, your vile brethren, and never call me your nephew again!” Wiping away tears, he turned and trudged off, a saddened Abu watching as the young man disappeared into a date grove.
A fortnight passed; the Muslims returning to the nearly deserted city of Medina. The faithful inhabitants celebrated at the sight of Prophet Muhammad, joyously greeting his arrival with a spectacle of drunken revelry and lasciviousness. To the Prophet’s pleasure, he found the brothel was still open, the madam thankful to Allah that the brave warriors of Islam had returned unto their midst.
After indulging in the favours of comely, dark-eyed harlots for several days, Muhammad, his wives Ayesha and Sheba, together with his entourage of slavewomen and little Jewish boys, moved into the merchant Sabri’s house. Oaf Abu and wife Fahimah accompanied them, as the residence had more than enough room.
The body of Sabri, murdered by the Holy Prophet months earlier, lay rotting on the floor, a tearful Fahimah looking to the desiccated remains of her loving husband.
“Lamentations over infidels is forbidden, it is the will of Allah that such die for resisting him,” declared Muhammad, picking fat fleas from his beard and crushing them between his fingernails. Ordering other followers to remove the remains, they dragged the body from the house and dumped it in the street for all to see. Looking down, the Prophet smirked and kicked Sabri’s mummified severed finger through the open door.
“You soulless brigand, I am an infidel, why don’t you just kill me and put me out of my misery?” asked a defiant Fahimah, tears of grief wetting her cheeks.
The Holy Prophet raised an arm to smite her, Abu stepping between them. “You will not strike my good wife Fahimah, nor will you touch her in any other fashion from this point forward; there is much wisdom in her utterances regarding the likes of you,” warned Abu, staring at the Prophet with anger in his eyes.
Muhammad lowered his arm. Hiding his fear, he frowned at his muscular henchman. “Of course oaf,” he muttered, quickly turning and leaving the house. “Bastard,” he spat in defeat, heading to the brothel for the favours of harlots, strong wine, and hashish.
“Thank you husband, for what you have said and done for me,” said Fahimah.
“Don’t thank me, thank your gods,” replied a confused Abu, sweat on his brow, looking to the doorway that the madman Muhammad had passed through.
Charged by the words of the Holy Prophet, vanguards of devoted followers moved across the land surrounding Medina, converting scores to Islam in the name of Allah the Pig. Along the way, the warriors helped themselves to women, children and glittering plunder: slaughtering, torturing, raping and robbing as caravans, villages, towns and cities fell before them. Returning to Medina with fresh converts, the warriors rested, joining with their fellow Muslims in idleness, debauchery, licentious revelry and drunkenness.
Fearful of being exposed as the coward he was, Muhammad was determined to prove he was an able leader, chosen by Allah the moon god. Together with trusted group of followers, he, Abu and a band of vicious cutthroats entered a peaceful village near Medina in the middle of the night. A guard, subdued and beaten by a pair of the Prophet’s followers, asked Muhammad, “We have done you no harm stranger, what do you want here?”
“We want everything,” answered a smiling Muhammad. Pulling out his garrote, he strangled the defeated infidel to death, fulfilling the will of Allah.
Allah the Pig smiled upon the devoted followers; over time the Muslim army was strengthened to near invincibility, their numbers in Medina now amounting to over 300 score.
Surah 123: The Demon
Bismillah:
Growing restless at Medina, an insane Muhammad was determined exact his revenge upon the inhabitants of Mecca, so he could capture the city in the name of Islam and defile the Kaaba in the name of Pig Allah.
At his urging, followers created more weapons, seizing metal wherever it could be found, using captured infidels as slave laborers for the hot forges. Under the watchful eyes of brutal Muslim slavedrivers, cooking pots, utensils, plowshares and pruning hooks were heated and beaten into deadly scimitars for the warriors of Islam; those who refused to serve the warriors slaughtered, their bodies thrown into the fires of the forges.
The once peaceful Medina had been transformed from a prosperous trading centre into a filthy lair of vicious freebooters, brigands, and evil cutthroats, hungry for plunder and blood. Allied with the warriors of Islam were assorted perverts: depraved paedophiles, brutal rapists, and lascivious sodomites: comprising a revolting den of amoral, lustful, lecherous monsters who gleefully destroyed entire towns, taking the virtue of women, girls and boys at will.
The Muslims were led by the corrupting force, Prophet Muhammad, chief pervert of Islam, otherwise known amongst his fellows as Abu al-Qasim Muhammad Ibn Abd Allah Ibn Abd al-Muttalib Ibn Hashim.
The Holy Prophet, knowing from his vivid, epileptic dreams that his actions were the will of Allah, returned to his licentious paederasty, knowing freshly captured Jewish boys during bouts of drunkenness. At other times, strong wine having caused vile fits of vomiting in the street just outside Sabri’s house, he amused himself by eating strong hashish, molesting his young wife Ayesha afterward.
Seeing the depravity of Muhammad, the Nubian siren Sheba felt shunned, left out of the wanton debauchery, watching in horror at his perverted, drunken orgies with little boys from a dark corner of Sabri’s house.
“You’re hurting me Prophet, I bleed!” cried a very young Jewish boy of eight as Muhammad knew him, his ample girth having ruptured the boy’s posterior.
“Vile Jew, how dare you question the will of Allah’s messenger,” retorted an angry Muhammad, slitting the boy’s throat to the spine with a sharp knife. He threw the body to the tiled floor of Sabri’s house; his filthy erection covered in blood and faeces as it slipped from the murdered victim.
Shedding painful tears while viewing the murderous sodomy, the Nubian siren also witnessed the Prophet’s brutal fits of paedophilia with young Ayesha.
“You ingratious bitch, how dare you cry out as I indulge in your comely favours, my knowing you is the will of Allah!” grunted Muhammad, slapping the child, finally achieving orgasm within her.
“Yes Holy Prophet,” replied Ayesha in tears, having turned seven that day, wiping blood from her lower lip.
“These terrible actions of Muhammad are not the work of Allah, nor any other god; they are truly the evil ministrations of a vile and sadistic demon,” Sheba said to herself, withdrawing into the shadows.
Troubled, she approached Fahimah one evening and told her of her woes.
“You made your bed painted harlot, lay in it,” the widow retorted while cooking a pot of viper stew, not wanting to arouse the Prophet’s maniacal wrath. The house had grown filthy on the orders of Muhammad, it revealed to him in a dream that cleaning it was not the will of Allah.
“But what of you, how did you come to be here in this hell on Earth?” asked Sheba, surrounded by iridescent flies, filth and the butchered bones of vermin, not knowing how the upright woman had become part of a band of depraved brigands led by a demented, demon possessed maniac.
“Your disgusting Prophet murdered my good husband Sabri in this very house in which you stand. He took our money, raped me and my maidservant, and then gave me to his brother in law Abu as his wife.”
“As for Muhammad being my Prophet, I cannot be sure from what I have seen him do; how can you live such a life among such after what you’ve been through?”
“I am but a prisoner of uncivilised brutes: I cannot live such a life, except at the whim of my gods, perhaps one day I will simply die and be released from this dreadful fate,” said the widow, just as Abu walked in.
“I need food and wine,” the oaf announced, the harlot withdrawing from the room.
“Yes,” replied Fahimah, presenting him with a bottle and a warm earthenware bowl filled with snake flesh cooked in seasoned jackal broth.
“Viper stew – I can’t stand this shit!” exclaimed Abu, revolted at the boiled head of a snake floating in the bowl, an eye staring at him, surrounded by sliced onions, bits of scorpion shells, and withered parsnips.
“We have no more jackal, vulture, or rat meat, Muhammad has eaten it all, even to their rotting carcasses and the nauseating entrails; that and other vermin is all your Prophet will allow us to consume. I respectfully confess that I long for a fine pork roast to dine upon,” said his wife.
“That’s the truth; what did the Nubian harlot want here?” asked a resigned Abu, pulling the snakehead out and gnawing at it, pulling an occasional scale from his mouth with a thumb. Shuddering for a moment, he spat a tough, chewy eyeball to the floor.
“She came to complain to me about Muhammad shunning her comely favours, while knowing little Jewish boys,” answered Fahimah. “She also said the Prophet is knowing your young daughter too much; I have seen it, from the way she walks, she has grown very sore from his attentions.”
“Yes, he should come unto Ayesha only after a week or so has passed, as do I; for it is Allah’s will for me to know my daughter. Regarding the little boys, I fear that the Prophet’s wanton paederasty is both strange and revolting to me,” Abu replied, throwing the skull to the floor in utter disgust and drinking jackal broth from the bowl.
“Revolting; a filthy bitch in the throes of heat is not as vile as that depraved sodomite: he is an evil, lecherous, perverted freak who lusts after the flesh of men,” his wife declared, not telling of her revulsion to her incestuous husband knowing his daughter in their bed on many occasions.
“They’re not men, they are infidels, according to the Prophet, such does not matter in the eyes of Allah.”
“Flesh protrudes from their loins; as does it from the vile crotch of Muhammad. My gods frown upon such perverse acts, condemning those who engage in those practices to eternal damnation.”
“They do not yet spit their seed on the ground, as Onan did, they are nothing,” replied Abu, taking a gulp from the bottle.
“That has nothing to do with what I am telling you husband,” said the wise Fahimah, “Your Prophet knows little boys; it is wrong in the eyes of my gods: he is little more than a queer.”
Oaf Abu stared at her for a moment, knowing in his heart that she was correct. He returned to his meal, peeling snakeskin from a chunk of viper, the fat carcasses of boiled maggots infesting the meat. Looking at the maggots, a frowning Abu spat, “What the hell, I’m hungry,” stuffing the half-rotted flesh in his mouth and chasing it with wine.
After several weeks of preparation, the rebuilt Muslim army was ready to attack Mecca. Hordes of bloodthirsty Saracens were armed with sharp scimitars of brass and iron, their bellies filled and bodies nourished with the bitter flesh of vermin.
A drunken Muhammad, standing on the upper porch of Sabri’s house, gave a sermon, telling a crowd of devoted followers that pain, death and destruction would be visited upon the inhabitants of Mecca for resisting the will of Allah and his Prophet.
As Muhammad smiled in delight, the crowd shouted to the heavens in unison: “There is no god but Allah the Pig, and Muhammad is his Prophet!”
“He said that the last time,” Ayesha observed, Fahimah stifling a laugh while they stood only a few cubits from the vile Prophet.
Looking to her, Abu sighed. “Yes he did, but take care in what you utter child, for Muhammad has a great, malevolent power not of this world.”
“That’s because he is the Devil incarnate; may the gods of my fathers destroy that queer murderous bastard and all he has wrought,” retorted Fahimah.
“Do you beg for him to strike you down?” asked a frowning Abu.
“Perhaps I do, for death is better than this existence,” she answered bitterly, looking to the demon in man’s guise calling itself Muhammad, while feeling the life of an innocent unborn in her womb.
Surah 124: The Defiled
Bismillah:
Another fortnight passed, during which Muhammad and his devoted followers delighted in the vilest of debaucheries; the drunken Prophet leaving the bodies of several murdered Jewish boys in a dark annex of Sabri’s house; their posteriors ruptured and throats slit by him. The Nubian siren Sheba watched from the shadows, shedding tears for the slaughtered children.
Oaf Abu Bakr, fulfilling the will of Allah, again came unto his daughter Ayesha, she having recovered from the Prophet’s advances; a lecherous Muhammad occupied with knowing the remaining Jewish boys.
“Why is it that you know me, my father?” asked a satisfied Ayesha, sitting up on the bed after Abu had withdrawn from her and closed his robe.
“It is the will of Allah,” answered the oaf, looking upon her nude body. “Cover yourself from my sight child, have you no decency?”
“Do you not find me comely, or is the stiffness of your nether member only for my stepmother Fahimah?” asked Ayesha coyly, smiling and reclining before him.
“I do find you most comely, that is why you must cover yourself,” Abu ordered, finding his incestuous lust for her troubling.
“Yes my father,” replied an obedient Ayesha, pulling a sheet over herself.
Crossing the desert, the Muslim army left Medina and returned to the oasis to refresh themselves and rest among the palms, the inhabitants there vexed at the presence of the Holy Prophet. A defiant Mecca stood to the south, Muhammad knowing that with the help of Allah, the army of Islam would prevail over the infidels.
Abu learned that his nephew Abdullah had committed suicide by climbing a tall date palm and hurling himself from it, his broken body buried in the desert by his grieving father and brothers.
Troubled, he approached Muhammad and told him of his grief.
“Waste not time mourning over him oaf, it was the will of Allah,” said Muhammad blithely with a wave of a hand, drunk in his tent, dining on a bowl of boiled dung beetles smothered in thick vulture gravy.
The Nubian harlot Sheba looked to Abu in silence, sympathy in her eyes, recalling the Prophet’s licentious paederasty, having watched from in the shadows as he murdered those who dared to cry out in pain at his advances.
“That, or he couldn’t live with the idea of you having known him,” replied a frowning Abu, staring at the floor of the tent, sadness on his countenance.
“My knowing of him was a gift: how dare you question the will of Allah or his messenger!” exclaimed Muhammad, finishing his meal of dung beetles, his filthy fingers covered in cold vulture gravy.
“I don’t question the will of Allah, what I do question is the unrelenting stiffness of your nether member and your licentious paederasty, knowing little boys in his sight,” retorted Abu. “Are there not captive women in our camp that could satisfy your carnal urges?”
“Perhaps there are, but none are as tight as the lovely orifice of a little Jewish boy,” answered a smiling Muhammad.
“You are a hypocrite; you have repeatedly denied others of your inclination the ability to know them, stating that such actions are a sin in the eyes of Pig Allah,” said Abu boldly, revolted at the thought of paederasty.
Harlot Sheba silently wiped tears from her cheeks, she mourning for the young victims of Muhammad’s insatiable homosexual depravity.
“Hypocrite, no, for Allah’s revelations do not apply to me, nor do they to you,” answered the Prophet with another smile, wiping hands on his filthy silk robe. “You, oaf, along with myself, have sanction from Allah to do whatever we wish.”
“We do?”
“Yes,” answered Muhammad, pausing to squeeze foul matter from a swollen boil on his forehead, “It runs the gamut, from taking women in our beds, or lovely boys in our tents, or even to the knowing of pretty animals, indulging in their comely favours as it suits us.”
“The favours of beasts!” exclaimed Abu, “I always thought you were a twisted bastard, but the likes of us knowing animals?”
“A camel can be most attractive if one drinks enough wine: just look at their pretty eyes,” replied Muhammad, raising a bottle and drinking deeply from it.
“Such is bestiality!” exclaimed Abu in utter revulsion.
“No oaf, it is love; for Allah is love, and his Prophet is love: I spread Allah’s love by knowing those I desire; indulging in the favours of comely women, lovely boys, and pretty animals.”
“You are a depraved raper of young boys and a perverted molester of lowly beasts!” retorted Abu, looking the drunken Prophet in the eyes.
“Be that as it may, it is the will of Allah,” answered an uncaring Muhammad, growing visibly aroused at the thought of knowing pretty animals, a small, malnourished female camel with light brown eyes just outside his tent crossing his utterly deranged mind.
Pulling open his filthy robe, he reached for his erection and began masturbating, the harlot turning away in disgust.
“Have you no respect or decency, even in the eyes of your wives and fellows?” asked Abu, turning his head and covering his eyes.
“You needn’t look unless you desire to pleasure Allah’s Prophet, such is the will of him should you find my organ enticing.”
“I’m not queer, your offer is revolting!” exclaimed Abu, turning and heading from him.
“Very well, be gone with you, ugh, oaf,” grunted Muhammad, reaching orgasm as he finished the sentence, spitting his seed upon the ground and his filthy silk robe.
Leaving the tent, Abu chanced upon another of the Prophet’s followers, a dull-witted, nearly toothless man with a missing eye, known by his fellows as Sadi.
“Duh, where is the Prophet?” asked a staggering Sadi, he very drunk.
“He’s playing with himself in his tent over a camel, do you want to watch?” spat a disgusted Abu, pushing him out of the way.
Sadi tumbled to the ground, watching Abu trudge off into the darkness.
Returning to his tent, a troubled Abu told Fahimah of his terse words with Muhammad, and that the Holy Prophet was not only a paederaster, but also a vile practitioner of bestiality, knowing pretty animals in the sight of Allah.
“I told you he was little more than a depraved devil in man’s guise,” she replied, “Only such could lust for the loins of a beast. Muhammad is an evil madman desiring death for all who oppose him; you, husband, will come to blows with him, if not only to save your very life.”
“Do we have any food?” asked Abu, not commenting on her wise words.
“Yes, with the help of your daughter and the Nubian harlot, I caught and baked several rats for us this afternoon.”
“It beats viper flesh, bring some to me wife, with a full bottle,” ordered a frowning Abu, hoping that drunkenness would ease his contemptuous feelings for the Holy Prophet.
Surah 125: Mecca
Bismillah:
Having renewed their strength at the oasis, the vengeful warriors of Islam marched into the desert, heading south toward Mecca, killing any in their path that dared to resist. Along the way they recruited more converts: augmenting by several score a revolting cadre of amoral pirates, vicious brigands, twisted perverts, depraved paedophiles and lascivious sodomites, all hungry for glittering plunder, rivers of blood, and helpless victims.
Muhammad and his entourage followed, a string of captive Jewish boys in chains, having been thoroughly sodomised, trudged along with them, some forced to carry the Holy Prophet in an ornate litter. Fahimah and the Nubian siren Sheba, together with Muhammad’s child wife Ayesha, were carried in another litter behind the Prophet.
“What are we to do about that insane monster in man’s guise?” asked Sheba, her voice low in fear of the Prophet.
“Nothing harlot, we are but women, and haven’t the strength to subdue such as him,” whispered Fahimah, her belly showing she was with child, fearful the Jewish boys carrying them might hear and tell the evil Prophet of their words.
Oaf Abu, dismissing his utter disgust at the Holy Prophet’s revolting paederasty and bestiality for the moment, conversed with Muhammad in their litter as they were carried across the desolate waste.
“You told the followers that great Allah dwells in heaven; who else dwells there with him in his abode on high?” asked Abu, wiping sweat from his brow.
“His brothers,” answered the Prophet, drunk on strong wine. Covered in sweat, scratching at biting fleas in an armpit, he pulled his filthy, sweat stained silk turban from his head, revealing a head of lice ridden, matted hair drenched in perspiration. Frowning for a moment, he grunted, releasing foul gas from his posterior.
“What are their names?” asked a gagging Abu, pulling a curtain open for fresh air.
Muhammad, his head reeling from drunkenness, making up the story as he went along, replied, “Let’s see, Allah, Holiest of all Pigs, rules the heavens and the earth, sitting on his golden and bejeweled throne. His younger brothers, Hogallah the fat, Swineallah the wise, Boarallah the cyclops, and Porkallah the whiskered one stand at his side, singing his praises for eternity.”
“You’re telling me heaven is filled with pigs?”
“Yes,” answered Muhammad plainly, his mind much too deranged to realise his utterances made no sense at all.
“If that is so, what use would they have for the likes of us or our worship, considering we are not pigs?” asked Abu, confused and doubtful of the words he was hearing.
“Upon our ascension to heaven, we too will become holy, purified Hogs, welcomed into paradis
April 1st, 2008 at 10:33 am
in the name of allah, the all-meciful the compasionate
that post above is disguisting!
what is wrong with you?
why must you mock my religion and my beloved prophet to satisfy your self?
may allah guide your soul