Exclusive Interview with British Terrorist Doktor

[dude1394]

http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk...idnt-go-s.html

Iowahawk Guest Commentary
By Khalid Ahmed, MD
Board Certified Gastroenterologist and former Jihad Associate, al Qaeda UK

Ever have “one of those days?” Sure, all of us go through the occasional rough patch, but I swear there are times when I think Allah must really have it in for me. I mean, I know the “Big Guy” is supposed to have a sense of humor, but do I always have to be the punchline?

Take for example this last week. A few mates and I had been planning a big martyrdom weekend for quite a while; it’s something we first began discussing a few years ago in medical school back in Amman. We were sitting around the dorm eating pizza, cramming for a big anatomy final, when Ali said “you know, after graduation, we should get together for something really big.” We talked about a fishing trip to Canada or something, but most of the guys thought that sounded pretty boring. Abdul suggested a golf weekend in Cancun, but the all-inclusives there can get pretty pricey in-season. Hassan (who’s really into motorcycles) suggested renting Harleys and going to Sturgis for the Biker Rally, but we heard that crowd can get pretty rowdy.

Anyhoo, Achmed finally says, “how about packing cars with explosives and killing hundreds of random infidels in a coordinated series of gigantic fireballs?” And we’re like, f*ckin’ A! Not only would we it be an awesome bonding experience (with plenty of Paradise poontang, LOL), we would be doing a valuable community service. Okay, so we high-fived and made a solemn promise that we’d target two years after graduation for the big weekend prank blowout.

I know how it usually goes with these kinds of fraternity things; what with starting up a medical practice, honor killing obligations, and starting a family, it’s easy to lose touch with the old school buddies. But this thing — our thing — was serious, you know? Thanks to email we were able to keep in touch and keep the plan going. As luck would have it, we all won Achmedinijad scholarships to do our residencies in England for the National Health Service. We got our families together most every weekend for backyard cookouts and self-flagellation and TV football matches. Afterwards me and the other guys would slip out to the garage for cigars, and to pack shrapnel.

So okay, the big weekend arrives, and the guys come over to my place bright and early, everybody’s jazzed about rolling up some kufr carnage. All the propane tanks and propellant and nail cannisters are ready to go. I look at Ali and say, “okay mate, back up your car to the garage and I’ll start loading it up.” He gets this dumbstruck look on his face and says, “my car? I thought Hassan was going to do the martyrdom.” And then Hassan does a massive spit-take with his tea, and he’s like, “whoa dude, I rigged the cell phones, I didn’t agree to blow up. I thought Achmed was going to do the blowing up.” Then Achmed’s like, “don’t look at me, pal, I thought I was just providing the spiritual guidance. Plus my car’s in the shop for transmission work.” From there it just descended into this big shouting match. Holy frickin’ prophet, two years of planning this prank and now everybody wants to pussy out on the actual martyrdom.

(much more at the link...but couldn't leave out the punchline)....



SPOILER ALERT















After a half hour with a spatula and ten cans of Pam, the cops finally got 95% or so of me peeled off the sidewalk. I looked down at my legs and realized that I'll be saving a lot of money on clothes from now on, because I'm sporting a permanent pair of melted-on black polyester trousers.

And then the kicker: I looked down at my package and noticed "Little Khalid" was AWOL. As they were loading me into the the police wagon I glanced back over my shoulder and saw what was was left of him charbroiling on the sidewalk. Then one of the bomb sniffing dogs gobbled him down like a snausage. A fat lot of good those 72 virgin are going to me now.

Final box score: I'm out one Mercedes, one Jeep, £2000 in miscellaneous bomb materials, three layers of skin, and one very low-mileage penis. Infidels killed: nil. So the next time you want to bitch to me about how bad your day is going, don't expect a lot of sympathy.

Well, gotta go. The interrogators are coming, and afterwards I've got an appointment to have my arse skin grafted on to my face. But I will leave you with one more handy tip from Doctor K: no matter how many virgins they promise, don't ever join a fraternity.