A Whimsical bit of Rhyme

I happened upon this little ditty on the Zipperfish YAAFM 12 blog; the unknown author requested that it be re-posted elsewhere if one found it amusing.

I did, perhaps others will.





"We'll be Drawing Old Muhammad on the Wall"

Sung to the tune of: "She'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes"
Score and lyrics available at: http://www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyrics/mountain.htm

We'll be drawing old Muhammad on the wall,
We'll be drawing old Muhammad on the wall,
For even Muslims must admit it,
You don't need a special permit,
To be drawing old Muhammad on the wall.

We'll be spraying old Muhammad on the wall,
We'll be spraying old Muhammad on the wall,
With graffiti that's persisting,
We will show that we're insisting,
On our right to spray the Prophet on the wall.

We'll be painting old Muhammad on the wall,
We'll be painting old Muhammad on the wall,
Now some claim that He's angelic,
So we'll paint Him psychedelic,
We sure hope He likes His pictures on the wall.

We'll be etching old Muhammad on the wall,
We'll be etching old Muhammad on the wall,
The time has come to make our stand,
Or our rights they will get banned,
And we'll find ourselves lined up against the wall.

(If you like this, please re-post it elsewhere on the Internet.)

LOST VERSES OF THE KORAN: SURAH 130: THE CALIPH

Surah 130: The Caliph

Bismillah:

A week passed, a laden caravan arriving at Mecca, providing the Muslims with what they needed most: decent food, instead of the bitter flesh of vermin. Goats, grain and camels were offered, Abu Bakr dealing with the merchants directly, paying them from a box of precious metal originally stolen from Sabri the Merchant.
The nearly starving Muslims gorging themselves on the bounty of Allah under a full moon, Abu, drinking wine, conversed with the merchant Ghanim into the night, asking of news from the lands surrounding Mecca.
"Business hasn’t been what we expected," answered a frowning Ghanim, having come from afar, "Many of the villages near here are deserted, rotting bodies litter the streets; Medina is empty, all of the people are dead. My cousin Bashir is a gifted seer, and says roving bandits led by an evil jinn caused the carnage."
"Is that so?" replied Abu, feeling guilty, knowing personally that the army of Islam, led by the deranged Prophet Muhammad, had slaughtered the innocent victims.
The caravan departed several days later; having secured his authority over the Muslims, as the first Caliph of Islam, Abu ordered Mecca purified, including the grounds of the defiled Kaaba, the evil demon of the Prophet trapped therein. Rotting garbage, bones and the bodies of infidels were dumped outside the gates of Mecca, covering the decaying, silk robed carcass of Muhammad in the filth that he had loved.
Establishing another pillar of Islam, for a fortnight the followers were ordered to march around the Kaaba, throwing pebbles at it to drive out the Prophet’s demon.
"Why are they doing this Abu?" asked a confused Zubair, watching as the Muslims continued to circumambulate the Kaaba. "If Muhammad truly was a demon or jinn in man’s guise, surely throwing little stones at a building will not harm him."
"It is a ritual to cleanse the Holy Kaaba, the rejection of Muhammad’s capricious demon is a rejection of Shaitan," answered Abu, a true believer in Islam.
"Who is Shaitan?"
"Another demon of the underworld, very powerful, he is king of all jinns."
A cynical Zubair sighed and let the subject drop, trudging off to find strong wine and the favours of harlots.
Later that evening, fulfilling the will of Allah, Abu Bakr again came unto his daughter Ayesha. Sitting on the side of the bed after withdrawing from her, Ayesha asked coyly, "I am now a widow my father; since Muhammad and my stepmother are dead, and you have no other wife, will you not wed me?"
"Uh, I will have to consider your words, child," replied Abu, shocked at her incestuous proposal.
"We do need to have our baby, my father, is not marriage proper for the mother of your unborn child Fatima?" asked a smiling Ayesha, refusing to cover her nudity.
A silent Abu left the bedroom, needing strong drink to grapple with the dark thought that he may be affected by a demon for desiring his own daughter. Coming upon the Nubian siren Sheba, he ordered, "Bring me a bottle."
Obeying, Sheba brought the first Caliph of Islam strong wine, in which Abu imbibed deeply, becoming very drunk, the harlot bringing him another bottle over the next hour. Shunned by the Prophet in his last days and needing the touch of a man, sitting beside Abu, she asked, "Since the wicked Muhammad is dead, do you wish to indulge in my favours?"
"I need to think about Ayesha," replied a somber Abu, distraught over the marriage proposal of his comely daughter.
Jealous of Ayesha, the harlot Sheba had enjoyed being the wife of a powerful man, she wishing to become the wife of the Holy Caliph. "Do you not find me attractive Abu?" she asked, baring her breasts and body before him, running a slender finger down his face.
"Not particularly harlot, be gone from my presence and tend to the needs of my house for your board, I’ve no desire to know the likes of you," he slurred, an insulted, livid Sheba feeling he was treating her like a common slave.
"How dare you say such to me, you’re nothing but an addled drunk like Muhammad was!" she exclaimed, covering her nudity and withdrawing from him.
"Shut your mouth harlot, it is not your place to admonish me in my own house!"
"Your house? A house stolen from an infidel that you murdered? I was the honoured wife of a great Prophet; I will not be relegated to a second position in your home!"
"Then leave my stolen house and fend for yourself in the streets as you did at the oasis," retorted Abu in disgust, "There are many others of your kind in Mecca, much cleaner and comelier I might add, and without the vicious mouth of a serpent!"
"If I leave here, I will tell all I encounter that you are affected by a demon; that you have the same afflictions as Muhammad did!"
"What are you saying to me harlot?" sneered Abu, putting down an empty bottle.
"You’re not only a drunk, you are as perverse as the Prophet was; you lust for your daughter in bed you filthy pig, shunning my favours in preference of hers: I’m a woman you twisted deviate, not a child that you rape!"
"Whore, you have earned this!" yelled an enraged Abu, rising and smiting Sheba hard upon her face with a closed fist. Her neck shattered from the powerful blow, the Nubian harlot fell to the floor, dead at his feet, the deed done.
"That shuts her up," declared Caliph Abu with a satisfied smile, staggering downstairs to a wine cellar for more strong drink. There he drank himself into unconsciousness upon the stunning realisation that Allah on high had betrothed him, long before he met Prophet Muhammad, to his own daughter.
His wives Umm and Fahimah had fell before her, his comely and enticing daughter Ayesha; she who had sprung from his loins, and borne in pain by Umm eight years earlier, chosen by Allah to bear his daughter Fatima.
Abu woke in the cellar near noon, his head pounding, feeling guilty for killing Sheba, but having accepted that it was Allah’s will for him to marry his daughter and make her with child.
The body of Sheba was removed from Abu’s house that afternoon and buried in a somber funeral ceremony in the sands just east of the garbage dump. A subdued Abu gave a long sermon over her remains, repenting before Allah and his Muslim followers that he had killed her in drunken anger.
"Hell, Sheba was an ugly bitch anyway, I don’t know what Muhammad saw in her," observed Zubair bluntly, watching the proceedings from his tent with an empty bottle in his hand. Lieutenant Jabbar and a drunken cadre of infidels laughed loudly at Zubair’s crude remarks, a helpless Abu and the funeral attendees frowning at their callous laughter.
Abu, still feeling guilty after the funeral for his drunken murder of the Nubian harlot, on that day swore before Allah and his fellows to never again touch wine, declaring that all true Muslims should forever abstain from the deleterious effects of alcohol. Upon hearing those words, many followers, including Zaid, the comely young manslave of Muhammad, and Abbud, chosen of the Prophet, reconsidered their embracement of Islam and recanted, moving outside the gates of Mecca. There, they and others resumed drinking strong wine in excess, welcomed with open arms by the uncaring, infidel freebooters, all outside the gates delighting in revelry and lasciviousness.
The following morning, on orders of Abu Bakr the Caliph, the Holy Kaaba was reopened, Prophet Muhammad’s demon having been exorcised by the devoted followers.
To prevent his evil demon from ever returning to Mecca, the black stone of Pig Allah was hauled from the Kaaba by a team of followers and destroyed outside the gates. The shattered remains of the boulder were buried in the garbage dump, cubits above the evil, rotting remains of Prophet Muhammad, a demonic smile still on his decaying face, his vileness interred beneath garbage, camel bones, and the bodies of infidels; his grave covered by the shattered black stones.
Mecca purified, it was time for the true believers of Islam to be cleansed and purified of the evil, corrupting force of Prophet Muhammad. Meditating in silence away from his followers, Abu attempted to discern what Allah wanted of the Muslims and how to keep them on the path of light and righteousness. Pondering the subject, Abu determined that wine and all he was forced to eat by the Prophet was haram, along with pigs, not wanting his followers to be reminded of the heresy of Pig Allah and his heavenly hogs.
Still pondering the beginnings of Islamic doctrine, a troubled Abu decided to consult with Zubair and Jabbar, whom he respected, even as infidels.
"Why are you asking us for advice?" asked Zubair, chuckling at Abu’s words. "We’re not Muslim and never will be; for us, everything is halal."
"You may be able to help in my time of need, I need to establish a firm moral base for the followers, so they will walk upon the path of righteousness before Allah."
"Morals, such rules are for those who live high on a camel, they needn’t worry of survival," observed Jabbar, picking his teeth with a dagger.
"That is the truth," agreed a smiling Zubair, reaching for a bottle.
"Perhaps," admitted Abu, "But I have determined through prayer and reflection that Allah does not want his followers to consume wine, nor does he want them to dine on pigs, dogs or the bitter flesh of vermin."
"Really Abu, you should ask someone else. I love wine, and if I’m hungry, I’ll eat practically anything, including dogs," replied Zubair, "I enjoy rat flesh and swine too; hell, I’d even eat people if I had to."
"You would consume the sacred flesh of people?" asked Abu, shocked at his blunt remarks.
"Why not, vultures and jackals eat such when they’re hungry, what’s so damn different about us?" retorted Zubair.
"I don’t know about you Abu, but I like eating pork and getting drunk, I guess I wouldn’t make a very good Muslim," said Jabbar, breaking into laughter at the pious Abu’s words.
"You think Islam is funny?" asked a frowning Abu, staring at the amoral freebooters.
"Not really, but it’s not for those like us. So make whatever you like haram; just don’t try to force Islam on us, otherwise, you and yours will face dire consequences, from me," answered Zubair bluntly, looking Abu in the eyes.
"Of course," answered Abu, moving his gaze to the floor of Zubair’s tent.
A somber Abu returned to his house, sadly realising that he would have to forge Islamic doctrine without the assistance of others. Prostrating himself on a rug for many hours, he faced the Holy Kaaba and prayed to Allah for guidance. Believing he had received a revelation, near dusk he rose and gave another sermon before the Kaaba, telling his devoted followers that they should never touch wine or the bitter flesh of vermin.
Introducing his version of Islam, on the following day, the apostate cult of Pig Allah and his sacred, heavenly hogs was officially banished by Caliph Abu; all they were forced to eat by the Prophet, including dogs and pigs, now considered haram.
A fortnight later, in atonement for his fornication with her, Abu and Ayesha were married before the inhabitants of Mecca, at the Holy Kaaba, devoted followers and the freebooters invited to attend the solemn ceremony of his foreordained union with his daughter.
"At least Abu’s not as twisted as Muhammad was, he’s only a paedophile," observed a smiling Jabbar, he, Zubair and other freebooters returning to their tents for strong wine and the favours of harlots.
"No, but a drunken sex orgy to celebrate their marriage would have been nice," replied the amoral Zubair, laughing as he entered his tent with a comely, dark eyed siren.
Over time, Caliph Abu, wishing to absolve himself of his guilt, established the five pillars of Islam, further refining Muslim doctrine. Remembering his good wife Fahimah, Abu adopted her moon god as the personage of Allah, the crescent and star becoming the symbol of Islam on his order. Outside the city, he reverently showed the devoted followers how to pray to Allah, facing Mecca in remembrance of the horrors of the demonic Prophet Muhammad.
Growing restless, as Mecca had changed for the worse, Zubair informed Abu that they were leaving the city in search of adventure and profit. Wine was running low, and as of late, the devout had been attempting to convert infidels outside the gates. One zealous follower, a dark harbinger of the Muslim faith, had beaten manslave Zaid to death with his fists for his refusal to embrace Islam, the fact of Zaid having propositioned him beforehand considered mitigating circumstances by Caliph Abu.
"You will not remain, submit, and become our Muslim brothers?" asked Abu, still hoping to convert Zubair and the freebooters.
"No, never will I embrace Islam, such a parochial viewpoint is much too narrow," replied Zubair with firm resolve.
"But why will you not submit to Allah?"
Zubair took a deep drink of wine, and said, "Look Abu, if there is a god, Allah or whatever, it will do as it pleases with us, we can do nothing to change that, and by our very actions we are fulfilling his wishes."
"Interesting, I never looked at it that way," replied Abu.
"It all depends on one’s point of view, doesn’t it?" asked Zubair; frowning for a moment and releasing foul gas from his posterior.
"Yes, it does," answered a wise Abu, receding from the tent while nodding in agreement with infidel Zubair.
Hearing news of the departure of the freebooters, devout Muslims petitioned Abu, the first Caliph, to send them abroad in the world with them to spread the doctrines of Islam and the love of Allah.
"I will take it up with Zubair," said Abu, meeting with them in his house. Again consulting the freebooter, Abu and Zubair conversed about taking Muslim missionaries with them.
"Sure, I don’t care, just pay me not to kill them should they annoy me with your Islam," Zubair retorted with a wicked grin.
Abu sighed, and agreed. To the loyal freebooters Zubair and Jabbar he gave gold, silver, and costly spices, allowing them to carry off the last of strong drink and the comely harlots of Mecca. At the gates, Abu, the first Caliph of Mecca, consecrated their holy mission with a sermon, a prayer and the giving of a banner his wife Fahimah had made, showing the crescent moon and star. "You are now warriors for Islam, believers or not," he declared, "You will guard our caravans and those who go out from Mecca to spread the word of Allah."
"Why not," said a shrugging Zubair, his swarthy lieutenant Jabbar at his side.
Charged by the Caliph, they, like Muhammad’s second army, left the Holy City of Mecca, rampaging, pillaging and plundering across Arabia in the name of Allah.

Preface to Surah 130

Pigallah here.

On this fine morning I am presenting the final Surah for all to read - one more than originally planned. This Holy Surah, "The Caliph", completes the Lost Verses of the Koran, revealed to me by the Archangel Gabriel over speakerphone. Now we all know why bloody Islam is so fucked up, please read and enjoy.

As stated before, anyone may copy and retain these Holy Surahs, for study, translation, reflection, or simply for laughs. I hereby grant licence for anyone to distribute them, in any fashion, by print, electronic transmission over the Internet, or by any other means.

Best Regards to all Infidels great and small,

Pigallah

LOST VERSES OF THE KORAN: SURAH 129: THE VANQUISHED

Surah 129: The Vanquished

Bismillah:

The following afternoon, god Muhammad woke from his drunken stupor, comely manslave Zaid snoring away beside him. Hungry, he reached for a bowl of boiled dung beetles. Brushing iridescent flies from his meal, he began stuffing cold, vulture gravy covered dung beetles in his mouth like a famished glutton, chasing the morsels with gulps of strong wine.
Having convulsed from a seizure near dawn, he had then dreamt a vivid dream of knowing Abu’s wife Fahimah again. In the mood for a woman’s touch, the Prophet sat on the black stone and consumed a copious quantity of hashish; delighting in the hallucinations Pig Allah gave him when he ate the Holy drug.
The hashish taking effect quickly, a wildly hallucinating Muhammad wandered from the Kaaba, shielding his eyes from the brilliant afternoon sun, intent on securing the favours of Fahimah. Abu Bakr was meeting with the freebooters outside the walls of Mecca when the Holy Prophet arrived at his house, forcing the door open with his foot.
"What do you want here, you debauched demon in man’s guise?" asked a disgusted Fahimah, looking upon the filthy and diseased Muhammad, his white silk robe and turban having turned brown from over a year’s worth of dirt, dust and sweat.
"I want your favours, infidel bitch," slurred the intoxicated Prophet, leering at her, Ayesha and Sheba watching him in fear.
Terror filled Fahimah’s eyes as the evil Muhammad started toward her: grabbing a pot of boiling vipers; she threw them at him, the pot and scalding broth hitting the Prophet in his face, knocking the filthy silk turban from his head.
"That’s what I like, a feisty woman," declared a smiling Muhammad, wiping broth and a large patch of blistered skin from his forehead, feeling no pain from the scalding broth. Grabbing Fahimah while his wives screamed, he beat and then knew her on the floor of Abu’s house.
"But I am with child!" cried Fahimah, Muhammad grunting as he reached orgasm, "Be silent, it is the will of Allah for me to know you on this day!" Much too engrossed with abusing the stiff-necked infidel woman, Muhammad hadn’t noticed that his child bride Ayesha had run from the house, intent on finding her father.
Infidel Fahimah sufficiently violated, the evil Muhammad leered at a cringing Sheba for a moment, then staggered from the house, heading back to the Kaaba.
Happening upon Abu at Zubair’s tent, Ayesha, out of breath, said, "Come quickly my father, the Holy Prophet is at your house, knowing my stepmother."
"The depraved bastard, I’ll kill him!" exclaimed Abu, rising and running from Zubair’s tent, Ayesha falling to the ground as he passed.
Freebooter Zubair put down a wine bottle and rose from his seat. He helped the child to her feet, and called for his lieutenant Jabbar.
"What’s going on?" asked Jabbar, walking up.
"Grab your scimitar and tell the others that we’re heading to Abu’s," ordered a frowning Zubair, anticipating the worst.
Abu arrived at his house, entering as Sheba was kneeling over the fallen Fahimah, she growing weak and bleeding profusely, the lower part of her clothing covered in blood.
"Muhammad raped her!" exclaimed Sheba, her face wet with tears.
Ignoring Sheba, Abu lifted his wife and placed her on their bed. "I am here Fahimah, forgive me for not defending you from that evil monster."
"My forgiveness will be yours my husband, but only if you kill that bastard before the sun sets," said Fahimah, the upright infidel woman lingering for a moment, then dying in Abu’s arms.
Zubair and Jabbar arrived just as Fahimah died. "What do you want to do Abu?" asked the freebooter.
Abu sighed, letting out a deep breath. Remaining silent for a few moments, Zubair again asked what he intended to do.
"I’m heading to the Kaaba to deal with Muhammad. Do as you like with his worshippers afterward, but leave Muhammad to me," an angered Abu answered, turning to Sheba. "Quickly harlot, find those who can tend to my wife’s body." Leaving the house, he kicked Muhammad’s filthy, flea infested turban from the doorway into the street, it landing next to the rotted skeleton of a murdered infidel.
Arriving at the Kaaba, Abu picked up the bleached thighbone of a butchered camel. Slapping it against his palm, he tested the heavy bone for strength. "Muhammad!" he yelled, looking about for him.
"What do you want, infidel oaf?" asked Muhammad, appearing in the doorway, barely able to focus due to the hashish, seeing Abu in double vision.
Abu was taken back at the horrific visage of the debauched Prophet, his wrinkled face burned, blistered and bleeding from the scalding viper broth; his filthy silk robe stained, his matted hair wet.
"What happened to your face?"
"My face?" asked Muhammad, steadying himself, leaning against the doorway, devoted worshippers appearing at his side.
"Your face, what happened?"
"I don’t know," slurred Muhammad, staggering toward Abu in the bright sunlight and again asking, "I’m tired from my revelry, what do you want from me oaf?"
"You raped and murdered my pregnant wife you evil, licentious bastard!" yelled Abu, Zubair, Jabbar and a cadre of armed freebooters arriving behind him.
"I did?"
"Debauched monster in man’s guise, you don’t even realise what you’ve done!" screamed a livid Abu, raising the thighbone.
"Be that as it may, whatever I did was the will of Allah," retorted a smiling Muhammad blithely, turning from him, "Put down that silly bone oaf, and go home."
"The will of Allah my ass, go to hell where you belong!" yelled Abu, smiting the Prophet on the head with the thighbone using all his might, the Prophet falling to the ground dead from a fractured skull.
"That’s the last time he’ll ever call me oaf," declared Abu, repenting that he had not killed him sooner.
A wicked smile still on Muhammad’s face, Abu, Zubair and the others watched in horror as a dark and evil spirit left the debauched body, floated into the defiled Kaaba and disappeared within the black stone of Allah.
"My God," said a stunned Abu, watching as the Prophet’s worshippers started blinking and shaking their heads, as if waking from a trance.
The one called Abbud, marked on the hand by the Prophet, walked up to Abu Bakr. He looked down at Muhammad’s body, blood pouring from his head. "You killed him, you killed the god Muhammad," he said.
"What choice did I have; he murdered my wife and unborn child," retorted Abu angrily, the thighbone still clutched in his hand.
Abbud paused and looked to his fellow worshippers, then turned to Abu. Kneeling before him, he yelled, "Hail Abu Bakr, he has killed the wicked Muhammad!" The other worshippers followed suit, shouting and marching around the Kaaba, "Hail Abu Bakr, he has killed the wicked Muhammad!"
The body of the evil and debauched Muhammad at his feet, blood still running from his skull, Abu watched as the worshippers celebrated the welcome death of the Holy Prophet.
"The Prophet is now with Pig Allah!" shouted one, falling to the ground, overcome by his complete devotion to Islam. Other followers continued to march around the Kaaba, shouting, "Hail Abu Bakr, he has killed the wicked Muhammad!"
The freebooter Zubair looked to Abu Bakr, intent on securing his authority over the Muslims. A hand on his scimitar, he asked bluntly, "What are your orders Abu, shall we kill them all and be done with it?"
"No, let them live, for Muhammad, peace be upon him, had them under the spell of a wicked and capricious demon. Take up his vile body, remove it, and throw it outside the gates." Turning to the followers, Abu ordered, "Lock up the Kaaba, so the Prophet’s ghost cannot escape."
Muhammad’s defiled body, dragged by the feet from the Kaaba by a pair of freebooters, was thrown on a rat infested garbage dump outside the gates of Mecca. Later, Abu gave a sermon, standing on a bluff overlooking maggot-ridden refuse, the body of the Prophet therein, covered by iridescent flies.
‘Though our Prophet was a twisted pervert and a mincing, boy-hungry paedophile, Muhammad, peace be upon him, showed us the way of Allah; not Allah the pig, but great Allah, lord of the universe!"
"He’s almost as bad as Muhammad was," snickered Jabbar, standing with Zubair and the other freebooters.
"Yeah, but he’s not half the drunk or pervert Muhammad was," replied Zubair, laughing at Abu’s ridiculous sermon.

Sacred Words: Surah 128

Surah 128: The Evil

Bismillah:

A fortnight passed. Muhammad, the unquenchable fires of insanity burning without respite in his deranged mind, continued in his licentious debauchment of little Arab boys, dozens of them running from the Kaaba, rubbing their sore posteriors. After having another dream, his most worshipful fellows were permitted by him to join in his wanton paederasty and the knowing of pretty animals within the Holy Kaaba.
The Prophet, now a god on earth, resorted to practicing all manners of lascivious revelry in the name of Allah: in his lust he had come to desire a captured manslave of Mecca named Zaid, having leered at him lovingly on several occasions while carried in his litter around the Kaaba.
His closest followers delighting in homosexual paederasty and vile bestiality with comely camels, Muhammad had taken to courting the manslave Zaid, while still coveting the favours of Abu’s wife Fahimah, she now very much with child.
Zaid Ibn Haritha of Mecca was a handsome young Muslim male of good build, bronze skin, fine hair and light brown eyes, given by Pig Allah the disposition of a woman, who found Muhammad’s keen interest inviting.
In the Kaaba they consummated their perverted desire, the Holy Prophet knowing him on the black stone of Allah, wantonly fornicating with Zaid within where he spoke and in his posterior: comely Zaid responding forthwith to the Prophet afterwards.
"Holy Prophet, please give me another example of Allah’s love, in my posterior," said a smiling Zaid while he lay prostrate before the Prophet of Allah and spread his cheeks, looking to Muhammad.
The drunken Prophet, reclining, his filthy silk robe open, stared at his flaccid, soiled member, covered in the faeces of Zaid. Scratching his flea infested testicles, he replied blithely, "All in time my good friend Zaid, Allah above says that I must rest and replenish my ample loins before enjoying your favours again."
Manslave Zaid, though he loved the Prophet Muhammad Ibn Abdullah deeply, turned his face from the Prophet’s fetid breath, the crushed shells of dung beetles and rotting entrails of vultures wedged between his filthy brown teeth.
Over time, details of god Muhammad’s latest perversions were heard by his wives Sheba and Ayesha, both shedding tears at the thought of Prophet shunning their favours for the likes of a comely man.
"I told you he was queer," scolded Fahimah sternly, standing in the house of Abu Bakr while his wives lamented their actions, "Muhammad is a licentious sodomite who lusts in his loins for the favours of men: those such as him are the spawn of a devil!"
"But he said he loved me when he first knew me in my father’s house," cried Ayesha, wiping tears from her face, harlot Sheba weeping in the background.
"And you, child Ayesha, my stepdaughter, now know your own father in bed, may my gods forgive both you and he!" retorted Fahimah.
Ayesha withdrew and hid herself in shame from the vengeful and righteous Fahimah.
"Muhammad said he loved me when he knew me in the brothel at the oasis," sobbed the Nubian siren, feeling sorrow for herself and no other.
"My heart pumps piss for you harlot; your perverted Prophet Muhammad said he loved me too, while raping me, as my good husband Sabri lay dead on the floor of my house!" thundered an angry Fahimah, turning from Sheba. Disgusted with her lot in life, she occupied herself stirring a boiling cauldron filled with the bitter flesh of rats and vipers, seasoned with salt, peppercorns and onions.
While the Prophet continued in his lascivious debauchery, factions of war were growing in the city of Mecca, Abu Bakr and the freebooters on one side, Muhammad and his fanatical sycophants on the other.
Zaid, now Muhammad’s closest confederate and sole male sex partner, approached the Prophet and told him of his woes, confessing, "Abu Bakr told me on this eve that you are little more than a licentious sodomite and revolting zoophile; he rues the day that he ever laid eyes on you."
"Be that as it may, he is an infidel oaf who has spurned the favours of Allah, such will be damned; no need to worry over the likes of him," replied Muhammad with the wave of a hand, taking Zaid in his filthy, carbuncle covered arms and kissing him deeply on the mouth.
Later, Abu Bakr met in secrecy with Zubair, leader of the freebooters, and his swarthy lieutenant Jabbar, cautiously listening to their words regarding the Holy Prophet as they drank wine together in Zubair’s tent.
"We’re only here for the money Abu; we couldn’t care less about Muhammad or his silly gods, do as you like with him," said an uncaring Zubair, tossing an empty bottle to the floor of his tent. A deep, red battle scar on the left side of his face marked the vicious Arab freebooter from his forehead to chin: wearing leather armor, heavy boots and bronze helmets with visors, he and his fellows appeared more like ancient Roman gladiators than contemporary Arabian pirates.
"God, not gods," admonished Abu sternly, "Great Allah is our God, only upon his Holy Name do I approach you, for Prophet Muhammad his sinned in the eyes of Allah, may peace be upon him!"
"Whatever you say friend, who cares," replied Zubair, drunk on strong wine, he and his fellows only interested in lucre.
"Allah is your god Muslim, not ours," added Jabbar.
"Then who is your god?" asked a confused Abu, looking to the amoral freebooters.
"Gold!" exclaimed Zubair and Jabbar in unison, Zubair adding, "And nothing but, excepting perhaps for wine and harlots," the pair laughing loudly.
"You forgot silver and jewels, friend Zubair," said a drunken Jabbar, pointing to him, choking on his laughter and coughing for a moment, spitting yellow phlegm upon the ground.
"No I didn’t, I’m just more interested in wine and harlots!" exclaimed Zubair, sticking out his tongue, laughing and slapping his friend Jabbar on the back, a thoughtful Abu looking to them in astonishment.
Infidels, they know not the love of Allah, thought Abu, looking to the floor of Zubair’s tent. "You and yours do not believe in Allah?" he asked.
"Yours is a god of swine, it is said he’ll turn us into pigs if we believe in him," answered Jabbar, "Who wants to become an oinking pig upon death, eating slop for eternity from a golden trough; I’d rather be in hell as a man, fighting, or not exist at all."
"No friends, our Prophet Muhammad is wrong on that point," admonished Abu, a true believer, he forging the first pillar of Islam. "Great Allah is not a pig nor a porcine creature, he is God on high, apart from us all, the maker of mankind and all that exists, everywhere. May he smile on us from above in grace; peace be upon Allah our God, and, woe unto him, his perverted and twisted Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him as well."
Zubair, spitting on the floor of his tent, snickered at Abu’s words. "Muhammad is your prophet, not mine," he retorted. Grabbing another bottle, he took a gulp of wine.
"If your words are so Abu, then Allah is crazier than Muhammad ever was," added a smirking Jabbar.
"You do not believe in Allah?" again asked Abu, frowning at their irreverent blasphemy.
"No, and I never will; you’re an ass like Muhammad, and I don’t give a damn about your worthless god, would you care to debate me on that?" asked a drunken, angered Zubair, pulling his scimitar.
"I meant no offence friends," answered Abu, holding up hands.
"Are you a coward?" asked Zubair. He lowered his weapon, looking Abu in the eyes, the vicious, greedy freebooter wanting to kill him for simply existing.
"No, I am not, and I grant you licence to believe in whatever you wish to believe," replied a brave Abu with hands out, staring him back, Zubair’s narrowed, dark brown eyes staring into his.
"Why would you do that Abu, those who grant freedom of choice to adversaries are usually cowards," retorted Jabbar.
"Because a man’s belief is in his heart only; I, as a man, cannot force you to bow to the will of Allah; I can only hope that he will move you to fulfill his wishes."
"Yeah, whatever you say, just don’t try to make us worship your stupid god," replied Zubair, grudgingly respecting Abu for having faced him down.
"Granted, so, are you with me, should I choose to depose Muhammad?"
Zubair and Jabbar looked at each other for a moment, then turned to Abu.
"Sure, we’re with you," answered Zubair, Jabbar nodding in agreement.
"Then it’s settled," replied Abu, "You will back me, should I decide to turn against Muhammad."
"Why not," said Zubair, "Just make certain we have ample gold when we leave Mecca, otherwise I’ll cut your throat and watch you die, gasping for your very breath."
"Done," said a determined Abu, shaking Zubair’s hand.