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August 29, 2003

Message of the Day, 8/29/2003

Today, via their handy web form for cowards and informers, I sent the Saudi Religious Police the following message:

From: Haminahaminahaminahamadi
City: Riyadh
Email: disapprove@hesbah.com
Sin: Blasphemy

Blessings be upon you, oh imams of the faithful, and also upon the delicately oiled fingers and toes you pleasure the goats with. May they never lose their sheen!

My name is Haminahaminahaminahamadi, and I am wish to inform you today that the Great and Powerful Allah has libeled the whories of paradise, 72 of whom await every jihadi possessing the bare amount of stones needed to kill a heretic child of the blaphemous west.

A small child, perhaps a toddler, who is not only deaf but looking the other way. Or a blind one. Yea, verily, a deaf and blind child, perhaps with less than the requisite number of limbs, would truly be the best way for most of us to lawyer our way into the fleshpots of paradise.

But that's not the point.

The point is that Allah, great is his belly and small is his penis, for were we not created in his image? has promised that the killers of even helpless babes will be rewarded in the afterlife with unending chants of "Hey, jihadi! Me love you long time! Boom-Boom!"

But what am I to think when The Great and Powerful Allah, may his curtain never be lifted, himself here refers to the whories as plushies! This cannot be, for is it not written on the pages of the Koran that the virgins of paradise are possessed of a sleek coat of smooth and silky fur, much like that of Omaha the Cat dancer?

I know this because I penned those very words on the pages of my Koran over a week ago, and Allah has not removed them. Why then would he do the shahid the grave disservice of promising plushies when all his followers favor furries?

I can only conclude that, due to the recent overwhelming losses suffered by my jihadi brethen in ....well, everywhere, that paradise is suffering from a whori shortage, and that the Great and Powerful Allah, may we all one day ride in his magic ballon, is attempting to discourage further actions among the shahid until such a time as come that the whori population of paradise is returned to a more normal level.

This is indeed heartbreaking news to the average jihadi, as it was only in paradise that they could reasonably expect to rid themselves of the burden of their virginity. Must we content ourselves with the birds of the air, the beasts of the field and Al-Qaeda's greased wrestling events until such a time has come?

I say to you, NO! For Allah has given me the knowledge needed to end the whori shortage. Many of us have extra sisters, mothers and daughters cluttering up the house, hogging the remote controls and shrieking incessantly about one's cat harnesses. Why not kill them? I am sure that Allah will receive them with all due honors, restitching all broken hymens with the finest 2/0 silk and covering all with coats of the sleekest fur!

In fact, I am writing this down in my Koran right now. Come tomorrow, if the words are still there, I shall know what to do.

May I one day greet you on the other side, with static electricity in my hair and fur in my teeth.

Haminahaminahaminahamadi - Minister of Saudi Culture.

----------------------------

___________________

If you'd like to participate in the culture jamming of the Mutaween, a handy list of names to use can be found here. Directions for the form, as well as the reasons for the Messages of the Day, are here.

A list of all the Messages of the Day can be found here.

Posted by Bigwig at August 29, 2003 12:12 PM | TrackBack
Postscript:
First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself.
Comments

Bloghammid Al Beegweeg Abu Al Hraka does it again!

May wild pigs mate above their graves.

Posted by: Stephen at August 29, 2003 03:26 PM

There are no words. I prostate myself, o Large One, before your ineffable wisdom. (And that's no mean feet, 'cause I'm a gril.)

Too effin' funny!

LB

Posted by: Lynn B. at August 30, 2003 11:18 PM

Thanks, you two. Praise is awlays nice.

Updated your site lately, DP?

Posted by: bigwig at August 30, 2003 11:46 PM

Many great blessings be upon you and upon your many fine cameltoed daughters! May we all be swept into the sky in a blinding flash by the power of Allah as the infidels are blasted from the great cities of the fastidious Soddom Hussein and his little Soddomite sons.

Posted by: Hakeem Lekeesha Ahwingawackawingawack at September 20, 2003 05:39 AM

here's mine:

Peace be upon you my brothers,

I must first apologize for writing in English. My Arabic is very poor at this point. I can speak it enough to get around and be polite (Hello, Thank You, This camel is delicious), but my writing skills are very very poor. I felt that your German would most likely also be poor, and while I speak and write French fluently, I do not enjoy doing so, so I choose to write in English. I hope this is not a problem.

Where to begin? I converted to Islam one year ago, shortly before asking to be transfered to Saudi Arabia. I thought I would be in the next thing to paradise here, but the truth is far from it. I have been in Saudi for only a few months now, but already I have seen crimes against Islam almost unimaginable and innumerable.

I will start with the French family across from me in the compound. The Cousteaus. They say they are related to the famous diver, but I do not believe this to be true as Jacques Cousteau was a fine upstanding man and I believe he was a devout Muslim. This family is far from it.

The first crime I shall speak of is of the father, Fabron, who, along with his partner in crime, the American Bob Flaa, is manufacturing alcohol in his house. There is a secret passage behind the refigerator that leads to a small room under the house where they brew the evil spirits. In this cellar as they call it, there is a large apparatus for the brewing of beer and another for the distilling of wiskey. They are growing some plants down there as well. I think it is most likely barley or hopps, but I saw at least one plant that looked like marijuana. It has been many years since I saw a marijuana plant, so I could be wrong. Please warn the officers who enter to guard their breath as the cellar smells as foul as the very pits of hell.

I know of this secret hiding place because both Bob and Fabron asked me to smuggle brewing supplies for them as I am in the United States this week, at the company headquarters in Houston. They even gave me a suitcase that has been modified for smuggling. I will be happy to give you this suitcase upon my return to Saudi this next Monday morning. Should I go ahead and purchase the hopps and barley they requested so that this may be used against them? Please let me know. I realise that this is more of something for the non-religious police, but I thought you could let them know about it.

The wife, Brigitte, I believe is a whore. I often work late in the evenings so that I may coordinate my time with that of the home office. This leaves me home during the day, and often I see men WHO ARE NOT RELATED TO HER entering the house. I have never seen this woman Brigitte not to wear the hijab, never have I seen more of her than is proper, yet still, I think she is a whore and must be punished.

Speaking of whores, we must now look at their daughter, the evil temptress Azura. Azura! A truer name I have never heard, as her eyes are the color of the sky, and as piercing as a hawks. There are not enough grains of sand in the whole of the Barren Quarter to count the times I have seen her ankles, calves and thighs. When I first moved to Saudi I was working during the day and I would see her everyday as she waited for a ride to school. The first day I went to work, THE FIRST!, she showed me her ankle as I drove by. A more gorgeous ankle has never been seen on this planet. Perhaps in Paradise all the houris will have ankles this perfect, but on this world this pair is unique. At first I thought little of it, I assumed that the passage of my vehicle caused the robe to lift slighlty. Several days went by with no ankle sightings, so I assumed it was a fluke. But then, one day as I drove to work I could feel her eyes upon me. I turned my head and she moved her hands down slowly to her sides and grasped her robe, lifting it up just enough to show, quite deliberatley, her beautiful ankles.

Thus it began. From this point on, every morning, no matter what time I left, she was there, tempting me, showing me things reserved for her family and husband only. Each day the robe was lifted slightly higher, until I was able to see her full, long, bare legs. There are not words in any language I know to describe her legs. The perfect ankles are attached to the perfect calves, knees and thighs. In my home country the women are more decent than she and do not shave their legs. This temptress Azura, however, had shaved off all the hair and her bronzed legs glistened each morning with a faint sheen of oil or sweat, if such a magnicicent creature is possible of sweat. Even now, as I am sitting here several thousand miles away, if I close my eyes all I see are her silky legs glistening in the morning light. I have prayed and fasted for the strength to resist her temptations, but I fear she has cast a spell upong me. I am fasting my whole trip to the States. My hope is that I will be all the stronger for it when I return. Also, I have heard that since 9/11 the Americans are putting swine into the water supply, and it is better to be safe than sorry, correct?

I feared that she would continue to raise her robe and display to me her vile woman-hole. Since her legs and feet were bare, I could only assume that beneath her robes she was naked. Thankfully me request to work nights was finally granted before that could happen.

I thought I was safe, and went on a fasting regimen to help purify my body and spirit. I thought I was safe. This lasted two weeks.

Then one morning as I was getting ready for bed I could feel her eyes upon me once again. I tell you this in truth, I feared for my soul as it felt as if Satan himself was pulling at me. I felt myself being lead to the window. I gazed out, across the way towards the Cousteau's house. And there she was. She must have had her room moved to the front of the house, because she had never been there before, previously the window I was looking at was the library or den. But ther she was, staring at me. I could feel the pull of her eyes from across the street.

Ordinarilly my eyesight is quite poor. I have worn glasses since the age of nine. I do not know why, but when I look upon Azura my eyesight is perfect. I felt that had I wanted to I could have counted the hairs upon her head. Yes, she was uncovered, her hair there for all to see. And that was not all that was uncovered. I have heard the American, Bob, use the phrase "Naked as the day she was born," but I never understood it until that day, for most are born hairless and who woul dshave off that which Allah, peace be upon his name, would give us? But as I gazed upon her I knew that this was a wickedness that Bob spoke of, for there she was, my temptress Azura, completely naked and as hairless below her head as when she was born. It seemed she did not stop at her legs when she shaved, but rather removed all hair below her neck. Her underarms were smooth as was her womanhood. Ah, her womanhod! I could feel it's heat from across the way. It was calling to me. I began to think it was not her eyes, those beautiful azure eyes that had been casting the spell on me, but her womanhood instead. Her womanhood was red and angry, moist with her woman juices which ran down her legs. She stood there motionless as did I for several minutes, my eyes unable to turn away from this vision before me. Then she broke the spell by looking away and I fled away from the window to the other side of my house, until finally I drifted off into a dreamless sleep where I hid in the pantry.

This went on for several weeks. Each morning as I came in from work there she was, displaying herself for me. Gradually, she began to do more than just display. She began by sucking on her finger, slowly. First one, then as the days went on, more. Slowly she moved them, glisting, in and out of her mouth. I was helpless before her. Then a few days later she expanded her routine and began fondling her bare bossom with her wet fingers. Bringing them back to her mouth when they dried out, she kept her breasts gleaming with her saliva and with oils she would pour upon them. The oil would run down her body, gleaming in the morning light. She looked like a goddesss. My goddes, Azura, and Allah, praise be his name, help me, I worship her still.

Slowly, ever so slowly, agonizingly slowly, over the course of days she worked her way down to her woman hood. Even then, she took another week to explore it's depths before my eyes. She would dart a finger near her slit, only to bring it back just as quickly and put it on her breasts, to start the whole slow process over again. Or, just as I thought she would touch her mounds of womanhood she woul dmove her fingers down to her taut thighs instead. Massaging them, kneading htem, I though I was going insane. Tauting her womanhood and myself for a week, A WEEK!, until on that glorious morning that she first inserted her finger into her womanhood I, and she, both exploded with release. We both shook with passion for several minutes. When I was finally done, I looked across at her, and there she was, my tepmtress Azura, still going. At the sight of her nubile body writhing in ecstasy I became engorged once more and, with very little help from myself, released once more my seed.

I know what you are thinking, why didn't I move back to days or come home from work later. Well, I tried, but no one else wanted to work nights. And it did not matter what time I arrived, there she was. I came home early a few days, around midnight, and there she was. I came home late and she faked an illness to stay home to tempt me. In fact, it was worse on those days, as she was not rushed for school and would take hours, HOURS!, tormenting me through the window. Running her fingers slowly across her body. Fondling her bronze breasts and her woman hood until we both were crying for release. And release we both did. Such pleasure I fear I will not know again until Paradise, or until I return to Saudi and my lovely Azura. It seemed at the time that my essence was able to fly across the way and into her, but surely that was not the case. See how she rattles my mind?

She cast such a spell on me that my work suffers. All I can think of is my beautiful temptress Azura. I close my eyes now and I see her. She is in my dreams, calling me, begging me to join her flesh to flesh, not longer seperated by meters of air. I was in Dubai three weeks ago, on business. I thought perhaps the touch of a real woman would break her hold on me, so I aranged to marry a Russian woman for the length of my trip. But alas, it did not work. I saw Azura's face on her face, I saw only her bronze, perky, perfect breasts and astounding womanhood. No amount of relations with my new wife could drive Azura from my mind. In fact, after two days, I was unable to be intimate with my wife because I knew she was not my lovely Azura, but a pale substitute, and had to divorce her early. I tried another wife, but was unable to be intimate at all with her. Nothing worked, not even the Viagra. Only when I returned home and saw my lovely temptress across the way waiting for me, calling to me, did my shaft become engorged. Again that day, we once more released at the same time and again I thought my esence went into her, even though we were seperated by the street and many meters. See how she rattles my brain? See how she corrupts my mind? I can not think properly anymore.

Even now, thousands of miles away I can feel her womanhood calling to me. It taunts me and begs me. I fear that I wil be unable to resist further temptation and must have Azura in the flesh when I return. I must! Please help me. You must imprision her or deport her, something. I fear for my soul if she is allowed to continue controling me. Please help me. Even after a week of fasting I am barely stong enough to ask for your help. I feel compelled to delelte this message, thus ensuring that we will be together forever. I can feel my hand moving to the delelte key. I must stop it. I must be strong. You must help me. I am afraid for myself. Please, you must help me. Please stop her from controling me and using me. I fear for my soul.

You must do something before I return next Monday morning. You must! The day I left she began incorporating a device into her show. I do not know the Arabic or English word for it. We call it a Zerhacker in German. It is a artificial penis which moves via a small motor. I feel that she is using it to further tempt me, to force me to cross to her and join in the flesh. I am jealous of this device. It is taking my rightfull place inside her. She is using it to tell me that now is the time, when I return we must be together. We must! Help me my brothers. I feel as if I have been promised her. Perhaps she should die so that she will await me in Paradise? Then we will spend forever together. I am so confused!


Peace be upon you,

-Hans Muller


Posted by: hans muller at October 1, 2003 12:59 PM
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