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To: Cicero

OK, I know these sorts of graphics don't really move the conversation along, but what else is there to say? We've basically - for no compelling reasons whatsoever - immigrated our very own Gaza Strip and West Bank into our midst. What the heck are we doing??

4 posted on 10/31/2002 8:31:15 PM PST by RodgerD
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To: RodgerD
The fighting Taliban is a weekly broadcast of the Al Jazerra sports network. The program features two Taliban fighters in robes, with turbans, and larger than normal boxing gloves. Very big boxing gloves, the producers wanted to add to the comical nature of these heretical, sordid fools as they fight each other. The two fighters sit in opposite corners and pray during the one minute breaks as their cornermen work on and assist them. Their ringside cornermen use blessed holy water to wipe down and clean up the fighters. Each fighter must have a beard at least eight inches long and must be able to mutter "Allah be to praise, or praise to Allah, Allah's at the bar," or words of that nature.

This week's fighters are Washama min Laundra, and Omar Sheiki Goldenstein, (whose mother was Muslim and father was Jewish.) Omar chose the Islamic fundamentalist religion because it thought it would get him in tighter with the foxy Muslim chicks in their softly colored burkas; he preferred his indecorous relations with the covered. He felt that Jewish chicks had bad attitudes and he is not partial to the extended proboscis.

Washama is the district champion in his local mendassa outside of Madagascar and he drives a donkey-pulled Mercedes bodied fivver. His wife Bridget works for Brown and Root of Sudan. They have four children, three by her previous marriages. He works out in his robes and turban in his village. His robes and turban get really sweaty, and he smells bad always. He uses his hand and his cloak to wipe is ass, blow his nose, and wipe oil on his AK 47. He always stinks, but no one notices because his entire terrorist brethren smell equally rancid. He chose boxing as a career because he enjoys fighting, but prefers beating and killing those unable to defend themselves.

The fight goes like this: Ring announcer, "LET'S GET READY TO JIHAD, (thunderous rumblings), praise be to God." As the crowd goes casual and some fans pass out from lack of nutrition, he announces, "In this corner, The Allotollah of rock and rolla, the sheik of shame, the Mountain where God pissed, WASHAMA MIN LAUNDRA." More generous applause. "And in this corner, the horny OMAR CHEEKY SHEEKY GOLDENSTEIN, shame of the Dunkin Sunkin providence, known to have shagged 35 bitches wearing mini burkas. Let's give him a big, praise to be him."

Both fighters bow to each other and simultaneously relay "May God be with you." The cornermen are Salaam Zeeaffe Ragdul for Washama and Surfi Muhammad Mulang for Omar. Both corner men are equipped with healing waters and magic potions. Not much to curb the flow of blood as it darkens the flowing robe garments. If I hadn't seen it I would not have believed the interest in these Taliban fools fighting. These Iron Mike Abdulla's were a couple of foolas. Falling around tripping over their robes, flailing away, sweat, spit, and drool in their beards. The strangest thing was the appearance of Don King at ringside. Mr. King's entourage kept all of the local terrorists away from Mr. King. Praise be to Don King, the real God.

Round one, the referee had the fighters touch gloves and come out fighting. Omar lands the first punch to Wahama's chin. Washama did not have a mouthpiece because Infidels manufactured the only ones available; so he lost his bottom middle tooth. While spitting up blood he mumbles, "Praise be to Allah." Omar saw his opportunity and stepped forward and punches Washama in the stomach with a solid right hand, and says, "May God be with you." Washama double over in pain and stutters in broken breath, "God is gre..." Omar punches Washama in the back of the head and Washama falls to the mat. Omar steps back and says, "May God be with you." As the referee turns to the timekeeper to check the time, Omar steps forward and kicks Washama squarely in the spleen while shouting, "Praise be to Allah." Round one ends as Washama struggles to his feet and stumbles to collapse on his stool in the corner. Salaam goes to work on Washama; he pulls up the bottom of Washama's cloak and wipes his brow. Washama hyperventiling mumbles, "Praise Allah, I must kill this man, he strikes with the power of goat." Salaam, reminds Washama to, "Work the body, punch through the robes, God be with you."

The Budweiser girls walk the ring showing round 2. Each of the Budweiser girls is wearing skintight skimpy bathing suits showing copious amount of leg and cheek. Omar Cheeky already making plans for shagging the Budweiser chicks, while Washama makes plans for stoning them. Just then a bomb goes off in the snack bar. Turns out some idiot wrapped in TNT walked up to the popcorn maker, shouted, "Allah akbar" double clicked the clacker and blew himself all over the coke machine, popcorn maker and snickers counter. "Great," thought the customers, "nothing left but the dill pickle counter. This sucks." The maintenance crew wiped up what was left of the terrorist suicide bomber and reopened the snack bar by the next round. Some pieces of hair and skin were later found in the bottom of popcorn bags.

Round two finds a rejuvenated Washama going on the offensive. At once he struck Omar with a combination of lefts, rights, and uppercuts. With each blow the salutation, "May God be with you." Omar's turban fell over his eyes and he began swinging wildly, he struck the referee on the shoulder. Omar's turban became tangled with his long sleeves of his robe and Omar could not strike beyond his elbow. Omar's waterman produced an AK47 from under his robe and shoots at Washama. He misses wide but the burst took out a couple in the fourth row and the beer guy walking up and down the isle. Four Chechnya mercenaries grab the shooter, trounce him and wrestle the AK47 from him then shoot him with his own weapon.

Mr. Washama was getting crushed in the first couple of rounds. With each exchange of blows the fighters would say to each other, "May God be with you." Another solid punch and "May God be with you." Turbans loosened and fell into each of to the fighter's eyes. Washama was devious, while mumbling "May God be with you" in the clinches he rapidly rabbit punched Omar in the back of head. The fans broke after each round to perform prayers, but were soon back for more of the fighting Taliban fools, engaged in their Jihad for a prize purse. Approximately at 1:40 of round three the leather strap on Washama's Birkenstock sandals broke. The referee broke up the fighters until Washama could borrow another sandal from his brother on row four middle isle seat.

Both Taliban fighters stood toe to toe and slugged it out. The tops of their robes are now soaked with sweat and their turbans are unraveling over their shoulders. With each punch come hurried mumbles of "May God be with you." Washama throws a punch and his glove goes flying off and lands against the timers larger official clock. Both looked stunned for an instant but Omar gets in a solid right to Washama's temple before the referee stops the action to fix the equipment. Washama falls like a flying safe. As he is dragged off, Omar untangles himself from his robe and turban and kicks Washama in the throat. Washama's eyes practically bulge out of his head as his breath is shut off. He notices a big piece of bloody phlegm on his robe and wonders if it his or Omar's. The bell to end the round sounds and the Taliban fighters stumble back to their corners. Each of their cornermen greets them with, "Good round for you brother, may God be with you." Saleem takes a piece of tape and closes off his nose as Washama smells so bad it stings Saleems nose. In Omar's corner, Surfi, says, "Dude, may God be with you. Are you OK man, he really laid you out, you wanna drink or something. Oh, dude check it out here come those infidel beer babes, too much!! Maybe we could score some herb and link up with those bitches." Omar, says, "Fool, may God be with you, I'm getting my ass kicked, grab me some holy water. Wipe the blood from my turban." The bell for round three sounds and Omar takes a big breath and returns to do battle with the fatuous Washama.

More of the same, as two fools flail arms, sweat, blood, unraveled turban, and too long robes into a bloody foolish mess. The western journalists are laughing so hard they are doubled over and the Islamic fundamentalist's are placing side bets. Washama, sees his reflection on Don King's watch, and thinks "Praise be to..." but before he can complete the thought Omar lands a crushing blow to Washama's testicles. Would have crippled most, but Washama's are so small it does no damage. "Ring." The round count girls come out in traditional Islamic fundamental burkas complete with long robes and covered faces. The crowd begins booing and throwing wadded up programs, beer cans, paper cups and hotdogs. Suddenly the girls in the ring stop walking around, and begin stripping out of their burkas, the Budweiser girls step from the flowing burka robes in their tight form fitting bathing suits. One of the women steps from burka in a thong bathing suit and the Islamic fundamentalists in the audience begin chanting, "Praise God and dental floss." Seems strange to this reporter because it is apparent that none of these people have any idea of dental hygiene.

Washama min Laundra suddenly rises up and piercingly utters, "God is great," and just as quickly falls back onto his stool. His cornerman massages his swollen neck and the bell for the fourth round rings. Washama rises up his cornerman removes the stool just as Washama falls backwards and lands with a thud on the floor. Omar seizing the opportunity rushes across the ring and ignobly begins pounding on Washama, with each blow he cries, "May God be with you." Washama's mind surrenders to a labyrinth of sonorous colors as he is beaten unconscious. As Omar pounds the daylights out of Washama he is mentally asking for forgiveness from both the Talmud and the Quran. His personal opinion is that some obscure functionary wrote both, but he wants to ensure he is theologically covered. As Washama tumbles over into mental blackness and surrenders to the floor, Omar suddenly quite idyll strolls over to his corner while blowing kisses to the babes in the burkas at the ringside seats. He brushes the sweat, spit, drool and blood out of his beard, and begins thinking how cool it would be to have a tattoo. "A tattoo, yeah, maybe Allah on one arm and Irving Stone (one of his father's friends) on the other arm," he thinks.

Sex pops back into Omar's mind as he imagines each of the women at the fight tonight were freemartins. Horny, and happy, he can't wait to wear the sixty-five pound champion's belt around his sticky, bloody, sweaty and torn cloak. "Oh, no, Ramadan starts this week, figures, ahhh, figures" he thinks to himself. "I'm gonna party with some of the Budweiser babes and some burka chicks; yeah, drink a few brewskis and eat some fatted calves or, what the heck, maybe some ham and bacon."

Washama is dragged out of the ring and loaded on a stretcher for the trip to the recovery room. Once in the back room and given the opportunity to recover he begins to regain his senses. Still seeing double and seized with tunnel vision he notices a stranger enter the room. The stranger approaches with a note pad as if he wants Washama's autograph, Washama reaches for the note pad, just as the stranger screams, "Allah, aha, God is God." The stranger throws open his jacket and Washama can see the stranger is covered with Infidel created composition four (C4). The stranger as if by magic is suddenly carrying an activation device. He rushes to grab Washama and wraps his arms around him while squeezing the detonator. Washama's last thoughts were, "Great, first I get my ass kicked and now this moron is ......." Boom!!

Out in the hallway Omar is surprised by the explosion in Washama's room. He says to himself, "Man, it sucks to be him, 'God is great.'" Next thing, find some babes.

And that is the report from this week's Taliban Fighters, brought to you by our good friends at Martin Marietta and the Post cereal company.

6 posted on 10/31/2002 8:32:43 PM PST by philetus
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To: RodgerD
BUMP FOR LATER COPYING OF SIGN FOR PROTEST SIGNS!!
12 posted on 10/31/2002 8:56:09 PM PST by timestax
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To: RodgerD
It is not what we are doing, it is what is being done to us.
14 posted on 10/31/2002 9:07:46 PM PST by MissAmericanPie
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