Lost Verses of the Koran: Surah 123

Surah 123: The Demon

Bismillah:

Growing restless at Medina, an insane Muhammad was determined to exact his revenge upon the inhabitants of Mecca, so he could capture the city in the name of Islam and defile the Kaaba in the name of Pig Allah.
At his urging, followers created more weapons, seizing metal wherever it could be found, using captured infidels as slave labourers for the hot forges. Under the watchful eyes of brutal Muslim slavedrivers, cooking pots, utensils, ploughshares and pruning hooks were heated and beaten into deadly scimitars for the warriors of Islam; those who refused to serve the warriors slaughtered, their bodies thrown into the fires of the forges.
The once peaceful Medina had been transformed from a prosperous trading centre into a filthy lair of vicious freebooters, brigands, and evil cutthroats, hungry for plunder and blood. Allied with the warriors of Islam were assorted perverts: depraved paedophiles, brutal rapists, and lascivious sodomites: comprising a revolting den of amoral, lustful, lecherous monsters who gleefully destroyed entire towns, taking the virtue of women, girls and boys at will.
The Muslims were led by the corrupting force, Prophet Muhammad, chief pervert of Islam, otherwise known amongst his fellows as Abu al-Qasim Muhammad Ibn Abd Allah Ibn Abd al-Muttalib Ibn Hashim.
The Holy Prophet, knowing from his vivid, epileptic dreams that his actions were the will of Allah, returned to his licentious paederasty, knowing freshly captured Jewish boys during bouts of drunkenness. At other times, strong wine having caused vile fits of vomiting in the street just outside Sabri’s house, he amused himself by eating strong hashish, molesting his young wife Ayesha afterward.
Seeing the depravity of Muhammad, the Nubian siren Sheba felt shunned, left out of the wanton debauchery, watching in horror at his perverted, drunken orgies with little boys from a dark corner of Sabri’s house.
"You’re hurting me Prophet, I bleed!" cried a very young Jewish boy of eight as Muhammad knew him, his ample girth having ruptured the boy’s posterior.
"Vile Jew, how dare you question the will of Allah’s messenger," retorted an angry Muhammad, slitting the boy’s throat to the spine with a sharp knife. He threw the body to the tiled floor of Sabri’s house; his filthy erection covered in blood and feces as it slipped from the murdered victim.
Shedding painful tears while viewing the murderous sodomy, the Nubian siren also witnessed the Prophet’s brutal fits of paedophilia with young Ayesha.
"You ingratious bitch, how dare you cry out as I indulge in your comely favours, my knowing you is the will of Allah!" grunted Muhammad, slapping the child, finally achieving orgasm within her.
"Yes Holy Prophet," replied Ayesha in tears, having turned seven that day, wiping blood from her lower lip.
"These terrible actions of Muhammad are not the work of Allah, nor any other god; they are truly the evil ministrations of a vile and sadistic demon," Sheba said to herself, withdrawing into the shadows.
Troubled, she approached Fahimah one evening and told her of her woes.
"You made your bed painted harlot, lay in it," the widow retorted while cooking a pot of viper stew, not wanting to arouse the Prophet’s maniacal wrath. The house had grown filthy on the orders of Muhammad, it revealed to him in a dream that cleaning it was not the will of Allah.
"But what of you, how did you come to be here in this hell on Earth?" asked Sheba, surrounded by iridescent flies, filth and the butchered bones of vermin, not knowing how the upright woman had become part of a band of depraved brigands led by a demented, demon possessed maniac.
"Your disgusting Prophet murdered my good husband Sabri in this very house in which you stand. He took our money, raped me and my maidservant, and then gave me to his brother in law Abu as his wife."
"As for Muhammad being my Prophet, I cannot be sure from what I have seen him do; how can you live such a life among such after what you’ve been through?"
"I am but a prisoner of uncivilised brutes: I cannot live such a life, except at the whim of my gods, perhaps one day I will simply die and be released from this dreadful fate," said the widow, just as Abu walked in.
"I need food and wine," the oaf announced, the harlot withdrawing from the room.
"Yes," replied Fahimah, presenting him with a bottle and a warm earthenware bowl filled with snake flesh cooked in seasoned jackal broth.
"Viper stew – I can’t stand this shit!" exclaimed Abu, revolted at the boiled head of a snake floating in the bowl, an eye staring at him, surrounded by sliced onions, bits of scorpion shells, and withered parsnips.
"We have no more jackal, vulture, or rat meat, Muhammad has eaten it all, even to their rotting carcasses and the nauseating entrails; that and other vermin is all your Prophet will allow us to consume. I respectfully confess that I long for a fine pork roast to dine upon," said his wife.
"That’s the truth; what did the Nubian harlot want here?" asked a resigned Abu, pulling the snakehead out and gnawing at it, pulling an occasional scale from his mouth with a thumb. Shuddering for a moment, he spat a tough, chewy eyeball to the floor.
"She came to complain to me about Muhammad shunning her comely favours, while knowing little Jewish boys," answered Fahimah. "She also said the Prophet is knowing your young daughter too much; I have seen it, from the way she walks, she has grown very sore from his attentions."
"Yes, he should come unto Ayesha only after a week or so has passed, as do I; for it is Allah’s will for me to know my daughter. Regarding the little boys, I fear that the Prophet’s wanton paederasty is both strange and revolting to me," Abu replied, throwing the skull to the floor in utter disgust and drinking jackal broth from the bowl.
"Revolting; a filthy bitch in the throes of heat is not as vile as that depraved sodomite: he is an evil, lecherous, perverted freak who lusts after the flesh of men," his wife declared, not telling of her revulsion to her incestuous husband knowing his daughter in their bed on many occasions.
"They’re not men, they are infidels, according to the Prophet, such does not matter in the eyes of Allah."
"Flesh protrudes from their loins; as does it from the vile crotch of Muhammad. My gods frown upon such perverse acts, condemning those who engage in those practices to eternal damnation."
"They do not yet spit their seed on the ground, as Onan did, they are nothing," replied Abu, taking a gulp from the bottle.
"That has nothing to do with what I am telling you husband," said the wise Fahimah, "Your Prophet knows little boys; it is wrong in the eyes of my gods: he is little more than a queer."
Oaf Abu stared at her for a moment, knowing in his heart that she was correct. He returned to his meal, peeling snakeskin from a chunk of viper, the fat carcasses of boiled maggots infesting the meat. Looking at the maggots, a frowning Abu spat, "What the hell, I’m hungry," stuffing the half-rotted flesh in his mouth and chasing it with wine.
After several weeks of preparation, the rebuilt Muslim army was ready to attack Mecca. Hordes of bloodthirsty Saracens were armed with sharp scimitars of brass and iron, their bellies filled and bodies nourished with the bitter flesh of vermin.
A drunken Muhammad, standing on the upper porch of Sabri’s house, gave a sermon, telling a crowd of devoted followers that pain, death and destruction would be visited upon the inhabitants of Mecca for resisting the will of Allah and his Prophet.
As Muhammad smiled in delight, the crowd shouted to the heavens in unison: "There is no god but Allah the Pig, and Muhammad is his Prophet!"
"He said that the last time," Ayesha observed, Fahimah stifling a laugh while they stood only a few cubits from the vile Prophet.
Looking to her, Abu sighed. "Yes he did, but take care in what you utter child, for Muhammad has a great, malevolent power not of this world."
"That’s because he is the Devil incarnate; may the gods of my fathers destroy that queer murderous bastard and all he has wrought," retorted Fahimah.
"Do you beg for him to strike you down?" asked a frowning Abu.
"Perhaps I do, for death is better than this existence," she answered bitterly, looking to the demon in man’s guise calling itself Muhammad, while feeling the life of an innocent unborn in her womb.

Sacred revelations from a pig called Allah: Surah 122

Lost verses of the Koran

Surah 122: Muhammad the Merciless

Bismillah:

Abu Bakr, though he had listened to the wise words of his good wife Fahimah, found the prospects of strong wine, glittering plunder and wanton sexual pleasure outweighed her foreboding admonitions; he advising her to remain silent with regard to the Holy Prophet. For this request, he agreed that he would do his best to keep the depraved Muhammad from coming unto her.
The widow bowed her head respectfully, obeying her brutal husband.
Staying for a time to renew their strength at the oasis, Muhammad announced over a fine evening meal that they would return to Medina and take it in the name of Allah.
"That will be easy, considering we slaughtered everyone there who resisted us," slurred a drunken Abu, he, the Prophet and their closest followers sitting at a long table. Veiled, tempting sirens with bare breasts served the bounty Allah had provided: the flesh of vultures, vipers, and lizards gracing the table.
"Good point oaf," the deranged Muhammad agreed, seven rings of gold and silver on his fingers, his mouth stuffed with roast vulture. He swallowed, belched loudly and added, "Allah revealed to me in a dream that Medina will be our base, and from there we shall send brave warriors out to capture and recruit new followers."
"More men will be needed after the debacle at Mecca," replied Abu, looking to their limited numbers, choking down the bitter flesh of a fat, boiled viper with another gulp of wine.
The evil Prophet hid a smile at the sight of Abu’s nausea; watching from the head of the table in delight as his devoted followers dined on the flesh of vermin. "No matter about the others, they are dead and gone, it was the will of Allah," declared an uncaring Muhammad, spitting a shard of fractured vulture bone to the table. Wiping greasy hands on his filthy silk robe, he grabbed a wine bottle and took a deep drink from it. "My belly still rumbles, bring tasty dung beetles to sate my gnawing hunger," he ordered to a siren nearest him.
The lone survivor of the battle of Mecca, a swarthy Bedouin named Hamal, sat at the table, eating from an earthenware bowl of lizard soup, seasoned with ground peppercorns, onions and the juices of crushed scorpions. Having considered his low standing amongst his fellow Muslims for calling the Prophet a lying coward to his face, he wished to make amends by making himself useful to Muhammad. In return, he hoped the murderous Prophet would allow him to live, so he, like his debauched leader, would have the chance to kill, rape and plunder in the name of Pig Allah, the moon god.
Their meal finished, a lustful, drunken Muhammad initiated another sex orgy with the sirens, the warriors of Islam delighting in the licentious revelry: the debauched Prophet entering the tent of the Nubian harlot Sheba, relieving his carnal urges while held in her willing arms.
"Oh great Prophet, if it is the will of Allah, will you take me as one of your beloved wives to Medina?" asked Sheba, looking up to him with seductive, dark eyes as he continued to know her.
"Sure, as my young bride Ayesha often grows sore from my constant attentions," grunted Muhammad, reaching orgasm for a third time, finding her the most satisfying harlot he had ever encountered.
"She is only six, most wait until they bleed first," replied Sheba, the Prophet looking at her and frowning, both knowing that he was little more than a brutal, licentious paedophile who delighted in the rape of little girls and boys. Rising from the bed and closing his robe, he left her tent, adjusting his filthy silk turban.
Later, when others at the oasis were asleep or passed out from drunkenness, Muhammad, oaf Abu, and Hamal the Bedouin sat by a small fire, discussing plans for the recruitment of new followers. As the fire died down the Holy Prophet rose and walked into the shadows, releasing foul, pungent gas from his posterior while Abu and the Bedouin continued speaking.
"When will we be leaving for Medina?" asked Hamal, looking forward to visiting a comely harlot he had met there.
"Very soon, but you will not leave with us," answered Abu, just as Muhammad leapt upon the hapless Bedouin with an oiled garrote. Pulling it tight around his throat with all his strength, he gritted his teeth and strangled the infidel to death, crushing his windpipe.
"That is what one gets for insulting Allah’s messenger," declared the wicked Muhammad with a smile, allowing the corpse to drop to the ground. He pulled the garrote from Hamal’s throat and pocketed it in his filthy silk robe. Looking to Abu, he said, "Get over here and help me with the body oaf."
Abu rose, the Prophet and his henchman carrying the remains of Hamal into the desert.
On the next day, Abu’s young nephew Abdullah appeared from his mother’s hovel at the border of the oasis. The adolescent appeared more of a man than a boy, his face having a short beard. Troubled, he asked his uncle as to why he had left his aunt Umm to die of grief, and why he had permitted the Holy Prophet to know him and his little cousin Ayesha. Not aware of Abu’s incestuous relationship with his daughter, he awaited the answer.
"My daughter Ayesha is his child bride, given unto him by Gabriel on high; alas, Muhammad is also a paederast, it was the will of Allah for him to know you," a shrugging Abu replied, revolted at the thought of paederasty, not looking his nephew in the eyes.
"The will of Allah? Then Allah is an evil, insidious demon possessed of lust and caprice!" exclaimed Abdullah. "Your Prophet is a depraved sodomite sent from the depths of hell: grasping my crotch, he raped me after having a seizure, holding me down and declaring it was the will of Pig Allah!"
"I don’t know what to say, my nephew," replied Abu, looking to the ground, knowing that Muhammad had truly hurt a beloved member of his family by raping him.
"I do," said an angry Abdullah, tears welling in his eyes as he glared at his uncle, "I say be gone forever from our oasis, you, your demonic Prophet, your vile brethren, and never call me your nephew again!" Wiping away tears, he turned and trudged off, a saddened Abu watching as the young man disappeared into a date grove.
A fortnight passed; the Muslims returning to the nearly deserted city of Medina. The faithful inhabitants celebrated at the sight of Prophet Muhammad, joyously greeting his arrival with a spectacle of drunken revelry and lasciviousness. To the Prophet’s pleasure, he found the brothel was still open, the madam thankful to Allah that the brave warriors of Islam had returned unto their midst.
After indulging in the favours of comely, dark-eyed harlots for several days, Muhammad, his wives Ayesha and Sheba, together with his entourage of slavewomen and little Jewish boys, moved into the merchant Sabri’s house. Oaf Abu and wife Fahimah accompanied them, as the residence had more than enough room.
The body of Sabri, murdered by the Holy Prophet months earlier, lay rotting on the floor, a tearful Fahimah looking to the desiccated remains of her loving husband.
"Lamentations over infidels is forbidden, it is the will of Allah that such die for resisting him," declared Muhammad, picking fat fleas from his beard and crushing them between his fingernails. Ordering other followers to remove the remains, they dragged the body from the house and dumped it in the street for all to see. Looking down, the Prophet smirked and kicked Sabri’s mummified severed finger through the open door.
"You soulless brigand, I am an infidel, why don’t you just kill me and put me out of my misery?" asked a defiant Fahimah, tears of grief wetting her cheeks.
The Holy Prophet raised an arm to smite her, Abu stepping between them. "You will not strike my good wife Fahimah, nor will you touch her in any other fashion from this point forward; there is much wisdom in her utterances regarding the likes of you," warned Abu, staring at the Prophet with anger in his eyes.
Muhammad lowered his arm. Hiding his fear, he frowned at his muscular henchman. "Of course oaf," he muttered, quickly turning and leaving the house. "Bastard," he spat in defeat, heading to the brothel for the favours of harlots, strong wine, and hashish.
"Thank you husband, for what you have said and done for me," said Fahimah.
"Don’t thank me, thank your gods," replied a confused Abu, sweat on his brow, looking to the doorway that the madman Muhammad had passed through.
Charged by the words of the Holy Prophet, vanguards of devoted followers moved across the land surrounding Medina, converting scores to Islam in the name of Allah the Pig. Along the way, the warriors helped themselves to women, children and glittering plunder: slaughtering, torturing, raping and robbing as caravans, villages, towns and cities fell before them. Returning to Medina with fresh converts, the warriors rested, joining with their fellow Muslims in idleness, debauchery, licentious revelry and drunkenness.
Fearful of being exposed as the coward he was, Muhammad was determined to prove he was an able leader, chosen by Allah the moon god. Together with trusted group of followers, he, Abu and a band of vicious cutthroats entered a peaceful village near Medina in the middle of the night. A guard, subdued and beaten by a pair of the Prophet’s followers, asked Muhammad, "We have done you no harm stranger, what do you want here?"
"We want everything," answered a smiling Muhammad. Pulling out his garrote, he strangled the defeated infidel to death, fulfilling the will of Allah.
Allah the Pig smiled upon the devoted followers; over time the Muslim army was strengthened to near invincibility, their numbers in Medina now amounting to over 300 score.

Preface to Surah 122

I love to write, especially when my alter ego Pigallah is upon me, whispering sacred Surahs into my ancient ears.

Entering my sixth decade of life, the wife knows this, and she leaves me alone on dark, foggy evenings to pursue my latest obsession, to expose Islam for what it really is, contrary to the deluded remarks of vociferous Muslim illiterates, who, like children, will defend god Allah unto their very deaths. (Whilst taking others with them, of course)

Be they in buildings, buses or tubes of the Underground, the vicious Saracens ushered into our midst, for whatever reason by those in power, are determined to slaughter anyone within their grasp, be they man, woman or child: to please their bloodthirsty, hateful pig, Allah on High, sitting on his throne in the Stye in the Sky.

What misanthropic bastards Muslims are; on my word I hereby curse them and any of their descendants forever. May upon those Muslims who read these very words, come a vicious, insidious, crawling and virulent pox upon them and theirs, wherever on this earth that they may reside, from pole to pole. May the bloodthirsty males of their kind acquire an unrelenting, consumptive venereal disease of their loins that murders their swimming seed and renders them sterile. Upon my word, may their veiled, burka shodden, homely women rot from inside from a creeping endometrial malady that cannot be cured by any means whatsoever, heroic or otherwise. Upon my word, may their vile and repulsive offspring, of either sex, expire from painful miscarriage in the primary trimester: dropped in tearful agony upon the ground as cold slugs of undeveloped grey and bloody flesh.

Such are the unalterable pronouncements of the stoic Pigallah; verily I say unto you, if those calling themselves Muslims desire to be hated, you are indeed, by me. I assure you that my hatred is of the most perfect, vicious hatred that can possibly exist. Were I in charge of all things, you would be annihilated unto the last man; the caftan wearing Hasidic Hebrews of Judaea would hang their heads in pitiful envy and sorrow, standing before the Wailing Wall at the unrelenting Holocaust that I, Pigallah, would bring upon you and yours.

In contrast to Pigallah, Fuhrer Adolf Hitler of Nazi Germany was a blundering pretender; Marshal Joesph Stalin of the Soviet Union was an amateur, and Chairman Mao Zedong of the People's Republic of China was an apprentice of the second degree. Further, little Pol Pot of Cambodia was nothing at all, and the Nubian Idi Amin of Uganda was a punk in comparison.

A good thing for you and yours that I will never rule this earth; please, fall to your knees, face Mecca and thank your verminous pig on high called Allah. Upon your prayers of thanks to him I will laugh hysterically, looking upon deluded, genuflecting fools.

Vivid allegory aside, I candidly venture to lucid readers that Musims are a strange type of evil "racist", those who despise others not of their kind. Very typical of deluded, stupid mankind; those who are not "like" are generally distrusted by any given population; set aside, and, when it comes to Muslims, killed.

I dare anyone to prove me wrong by using facts. Indeed, no other explanation seems to fit, considering most of the people they are slaughtering are of European extraction, in Britain and America, Africans and Asians running a distant second.

Do you have any factual words to rebut me in my objective observation, vile Muhammadan pigs?

I conclude that you do not, regardless of any absurdities written in your absurd Koran, idiotic Hadiths, or ridiculous Sunnahs, naturally twisted in your favour by those who are cunning; id est, your disgusting Mullahs, Imams and Caliphs.

Recall Surah nine of your bloody "Koran"; I am not fooled by the likes of you: I believe not in any god and never did.

My pen is mightier than any of your scimitars, bombs or knives; read the next post and weep before your verminous god, subhuman Muslim swine.

More lost verses on the way - Surahs 122 thru 129

Pigallah here on a cool, cloudy evening.

Due to the immense popularity of the previously revealed Koranic Surahs 115 thru 121, I took it upon myself to search for more wise revelations from Allah the Pig (sacred almighty warthog), our one true god, sitting on his porcine haunches in Hog Heaven.

My diligent efforts have been rewarded. I just got off the speakerphone with the Archangel Gabriel, spending nearly an hour at a wordprocessor drinking Glenfiddich whilst listening to him dictate Allah's (saw) Holy Words.

The results are impressive. Using these latest revelations, we can now learn more of our Holy Prophet Muhammad (place bacon upon him) and his Muslim followers (place bacon upon them), together with his child wife Ayesha (place bacon upon her), and his devoted henchman, Oaf Abu Bakr (pbuh).

Holy Surahs 122, 123, and 124 have been recorded, and are awaiting final editing by dutiful Muslim scribes before they will be released to the faithful in perhaps a few days.

Remember brethren - There is no god but Allah the Pig (saw), and Muhammad (pbuh) is his Prophet!