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September 29, 2003

Message of the Day, 9/29/2003

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

From: Chaka Khan Chaka Khan
City: Riyadh
Email: Letmerockyou@hesbah.com
Sin: Goat kidnapping, well, practically goat kidnapping

Greetings be upon you, holy fighters in the war 'gainst the inanimate platiscine diversions of children. I commend you for your vigilance, for without your efforts, the name of Allah, Allah, Allah, Bo Ballah Bonana, Fanna, Fo Fallah Fee, Fy, Mo Mallah Allah! would be unknown in our land, so small and ineffectual a god is he.

Without you, surely the majesty of Him that is Him and not Her, no, nay, not even a little bit, would be as limp and full of oddly placed hairs as the genitals of an Al-Saud, long may they droop.

Surely every day as he breaks his fast, Allah thanks himself for your eternal vigilance in his name. The gods of the Norse and Slave may have died from disbelief, but surely Allah is the only god terminally allergic to a pair of doll-sized fuck me pumps. As Jesus had his cross and Mama Cass her ham sandwich, so does Allah have his little shoes. Pray the West never finds this out, else we shall be bombarded with miniature Jimmy Choos.

And Praise Allah indeed that the full size versions are not anathema, else King Fahd would have gone barefoot to his nuptial bed these many years ago.

My name is Chaka Khan Chaka Khan and verily, I wish to write to you today in defense of my brother Saudi, Wahim Wel Albidammed Mohammed, who has lately been a subject of many press releases regarding his piteous attempt to win back the emotions of his first wife, one Lurleen McBandy, of 21 Crimson Tide Lane in Big Billy's E-Z Rental Trailer Park, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, by taking to wife four females of our country.

Now, as any fool plainly knows, one western woman is worth at least eight Saudi women, four junior sharia clerics or two well trained goats when it comes to matters of the bedroom, so as a matter of simple mathmatics my brother Wahim must marry at least once more before he can say to Lurleen "You have been replaced."

Do you have any idea how expensive the upkeep is on eight wives? Why the Nads bills alone would beggar a Caliph, and Wahim, may Allah render his back and rear insensible to pin, already has challenges of his own in that area.

A man would be better off with the goats, but when my brother went to the great market in Mecca to purchase a pair of secondhand goats from Sheikh Al Ghamdi "Throw a stone, bust a nut" Bin Sulayman, the entire herd was purchased, literally out from under him, by Sheik Abdulla al-Merda, for use at the next OPEC meeting.

Firstly, no man should have his test drive ended in such a way, even if the animal is question was entirely unaware of his presence. It is unhealthy in the extreme. Secondly, while it is an honor to be mistaken for a member of the royal family, Wahim is in no way able to pay the bill for past services Sheikh Al Ghamdi Bin Sulayman then forced upon him. Prince Talal is well able to pay for his own yak, let him do so.

I beg of you, fair clerics, with your cleft chins and daintly hairless behinds, may they be held aloft for all eternity, if you are going to restrict the number of women a man may marry, will you not also place some limit on goat sales?

___________________

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 September 29, 2003 03:22 PM | TrackBack
Postscript:
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Comments

"I beg of you, fair clerics, with your cleft chins and daintly hairless behinds, may they be held aloft for all eternity..."

The jewel in the lotus (G-d my sides hurt!).

Bigwig, you really ought to be prominently identified as a choking hazard.

Posted by: Stephen at September 30, 2003 05:15 PM

Here's the message I sent them, but it looks like it's too long, so I'll have to send it in installments (sorry it's kinda long, but I was on a roll, and you _know_ they are going to re-read this one a lot):

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, and was not sure if you clerics would speak such an infidel tongue, 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 transferred 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.

Although all the infidels in the compound are breaking the law in some manner, 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 refrigerator 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 whiskey. They are growing some plants down there as well. I think it is most likely barley or hops, 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 hops and barley they requested so that this may be used against them? Please let me know. I realize 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 houri's 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 slightly. 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 deliberately, 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 magnificent 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 upon 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 my 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 there she was, staring at me. I could feel the pull of her eyes from across the street.

Ordinarily 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 would shave off that which Allah, peace be upon his name, would give us? And why? 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 womanhood! I could feel it's heat from across the way. It was calling to me, begging me to enter itís furnace of carnal desire. 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 of lust 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, glistening, 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 bosom 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 goddess. My goddess, 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 , her beautiful slit of delight. Even then, she took another week to explore around 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 agonizingly slow process over again. Or, just as I thought she would touch her mounds of womanhood she would move her fingers down to her taut thighs instead. Massaging them, kneading them, I though I was going insane. From time to time she would flick her clitoris lightly, her long fingers barely brushing her secret pleasure knob, and her whole body would shiver. Taunting 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 temptress 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 was trapped by her evil spell.

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, no longer separated 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 arranged 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 essence went into her, even though we were separated 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 will be unable to resist further temptation and must have Azura in the flesh when I return. I must! Please help me. You must imprison her or deport her, something. Beat the temptress out of her, anything you must do, but the madness must stop! I fear for my soul if she is allowed to continue controlling me. Please help me. Even after a week of fasting I am barely strong enough to ask for your help. I feel compelled to delete this message, thus ensuring that we will be together forever. I can feel my hand moving to the delete 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 controlling 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 an artificial penis which moves via a small motor. I know 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. I can not stand the thought of it pulsing inside her, when she is mine. It is taking my rightful 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 02:41 PM
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