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.