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Okay, so Bilal and I get psyched up, check all the equipment to make sure it’s ready for a big boom, point the Jeep at the terminal, and mash the throttle. I’m shouting “Allahu Akbar,” and Bilal’s shouting “Allahu Akbar” and “Go Martyrs” just like the old pep squad days at CJU. And I’m thinking, “oil up them virgins Allah, ‘cause Dr. K’s luck is about to change.” BAAAAM! Right into the glass.

I was probably out for a two, three seconds. Bilal and I peeled our broken noses out of the airbags, which meant we were still alive, which meant the goddamn cannisters didn’t explode, again. Maybe we went through into the terminal and killed some infidels, I thought, then I saw we hadn’t made it in more than a couple inches into the terminal. I mean, WTF? The Jeep salesman kept going on about how the Jeep was this awesome unstoppable American SUV that crusader cowboys use to bulldoze their way through mountain forests, with an easy payment plan, and the damn thing can’t make it through a bloody plate glass window. I restart the engine and now the piece of sh** just sits there spinning the tyres. “All wheel traction,” my arse.

Okay, plan B. Bilal and I start pushing backup detonation buttons and cell codes. A couple of pops, but they were all duds. Then I see the cops coming at me.

As Allah is my witness, I really can’t explain what happened next; maybe it was stress, or confusion, or frustration. Whatever the reason, I decided it was a reasonable idea at that point to pour a can of petrol over my head and hit the Bic.