Thursday, 18 May 2006
Sacred Words: Surah 128
Surah 128: The Evil
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.