Posted on 01/01/2006 3:09:33 PM PST by wagglebee
"Muslims also believe Abraham was a Muslim."
Yeah...and they also believe in drinking camel urine and that satan sleeps in your nostrils at night.
Not to worry - we'll print more.
lol :)
And yet I don't feel the urge to go murder people. I figure God can handle his own battles in cases like this.
Would you care to make a small bet on that proposition, Jihad, old habibi?
Having just heard this, I am now going to go outside and riot.
They probably use it as dip.
Gee, I wonder who's lying?
Anyone who doesn't understand what swill we are dealing with should read one or two of the Q & A. Anyone believing these liars is demented.
The idea that the Old Testament is shared with the Muslim religion is a complete fallacy. A Biblical scholar well read in the Koran summarized it this way: The Bible and the Koran have many of the same Biblical stories, except that the Koran stories have a different ending.
Islam is truly based on Satanic verses and was founded by a murderous pervert (Mohammed). None of these muslims are every to be believed about anything.
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Thanks for the post. It doesn't surprise anyone. The problem arises because we don't kill a number of them for doing it (whether those killed are innocent or not).
http://www.mochinet.com/poets/service/index.cgi?ListTitles=Bar-Room%20Ballads&Poem=3
Too long to post all.
The Ballad of Salvation Bill
'Twas in the bleary middle of the hard-boiled Arctic night,
I was lonesome as a loon, so if you can,
Imagine my emotions of amazement and delight
When I bumped into that Missionary Man.
He was lying lost and dying in the moon's unholy leer,
And frozen from his toes to finger-tips'
The famished wolf-pack ringed him; but he didn't seem to fear,
As he pressed his ice-bond Bible to his lips.
'Twas the limit of my trap-line, with the cabin miles away,
And every step was like a stab of pain;
But I packed him like a baby, and I nursed him night and day,
Till I got him back to health and strength again.
So there we were, benighted in the shadow of the Pole,
And he might have proved a priceless little pard,
If he hadn't got to worrying about my blessed soul,
And a-quotin' me his Bible by the yard.
Now there was I, a husky guy, whose god was Nicotine,
With a "coffin-nail" a fixture in my mug;
I rolled them in the pages of a pulpwood magazine,
And hacked them with my jack-knife from the plug.
For, Oh to know the bliss and glow that good tobacco means,
Just live among the everlasting ice . . .
So judge my horror when I found my stock of magazines
Was chewed into a chowder by the mice.
A woeful week went by and not a single pill I had,
Me that would smoke my forty in a day;
I sighed, I swore, I strode the floor; I felt I would go mad:
The gospel-plugger watched me with dismay.
My brow was wet, my teeth were set, my nerves were rasping raw;
And yet that preacher couldn't understand:
So with despair I wrestled there - when suddenly I saw
The volume he was holding in his hand.
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