Tough Love

The plight of Rofayda Qaoud makes me wish I had a sister.

Or at the very least, been born Palestine in that rugged artillery test range known as the West Bank, where the Jews are still dirty and everything is Her fault. Sure, there would be that underlying fear of having my house bulldozed, and an unadulterated hatred of all things Infidel such as America, pornography, and bathing, but surely the obvious benefits would outweigh even these heavy drawbacks. Because where else can one find the strong moral values, family bonding, and unquestioned love of a parent for her children, than that magic city of Abu Qash?

Your local rabid hyena pit, that’s where.

And that hyena pit, otherwise known as Palestine, is a lot like Mexico, in that the locals speak no English, don’t use toilets, and are constantly tunneling under a big fence to find work where the money is. Of course, there are some obvious differences, such as their tendency to wrap their balls in explosives and detonate at the most inopportune times. I mean, who here hasn’t had to stop eating dinner or assslapping their buddy’s girlfriend, to tell a telemarketer which way to go? Now imagine that phonecall being packed with a couple pounds of dynamite with cordite dental floss. Inconsiderate bastards. They never consider anybody’s feelings but their own.

Which brings me back to our tragic story. Now as if being female in the land of Towels and Beards wasn’t enough, young Rofayda was roundly raped and impregnated by her brothers Fahdi and Ali. Now don’t get me wrong, I can see how such a fantasy could fester and climax into this, no pun intended. Their struggle is not so far from their American adversaries – let’s pretend for a moment that you’re ugly, impoverished, and too chicken-shit to blow yourself on a bus in Tel Aviv, and suddenly your little sister grows tits and starts to smell funny when the moon’s full. What would you do? You’re goddamned right you’d sniff her burka, jerk off into her bra, and throw her around the house a bit. After all, sexual frustration and woman beating is your right. You’re a man in Man’s Land, but unlike West Virginia where the practice is sternly frowned upon, or the Amish country of Ohio where you have to marry your kin first, this is Palestine. Religious territory, where the Quran has been warped in translation more than Michael Jackson’s nose and gender combined. How long could you hold on? Not even. So one night, after a long night of gutteral conversation and dodging Israeli bullets, the boys decided they’d been teased enough, and popped Sissy’s cherry all over their respective robes.

Now while it’s popular Palestine, even American tradition to blame a woman for all things wrong, even those freaks have some law, under which each of the loving brother’s was sent to rot in a dirt hole for ten years. Those boys must have had one shitty attorney, ‘cause over here in the land of the brave, you can kill a blood relative and get out in five with good behavior. Joy unto the World, holy Allah blessed Palestine with yet another single mother, who carried the child to term and did what any loving mom would do in a city of Dirt and Suffering – she put him up for adoption.

Perhaps her own mother should have considered the same option, as we can only guess from bringing up six children, two of which fucked a third, the situation may have been less than stable at the Qaoud home. And following the custom to point the finger at the ladies, maybe Amira Abu Hanhan was feeling a little guilty for her own shortcomings as a parent. After all, her sons have been incarcerated, her daughter rendered a town whore, and her little grandchild given away for a pair of blue jeans and a pack of Djarums. So, in a last ditch effort to keep the family name clean, Rofayda was given a couple of straight razors and told to step off.

For a bunch of crazed religious fucks who think America is Devil Country, we can already see a striking number of parallels between their supposed “righteous” style of life, and our own “infidel American pig” ways. Domestic violence? Yep. Incest? Yep. Illegitimate children? Sure. But giving a young woman a razor in the midst of post-partum depression? Man, that’s just mean. Hell, here in the US of A, nobody’s gonna care if you shit out a kid without gold on your finger, and if you’re at least homely and older than 15, nobody’s gonna believe you’re a virgin anyway. Maybe Rofayda tried to reason thus with her obviously unreasonable mother, who then took said razor along with plastic bag and stick, and proceeded to beat, smother, and bleed her youngest child to death.

Whackjob bitch goes off the edge and kills her kid in a religious rage? What could possibly be more American than that?

Oh, wait. I know. How about a huge monolithic monument to a bunch of dead people, in extremely poor taste?

Yes, while the West Bank shall never be graced with any monument to our young murdered paramour, those in charge has chosen their new World Trade Center architecture. Over a 70 foot deep open pit which shall display the shattered foundation and structure of the original towers, a new spire 1776 feet high shall be erected, thus giving jumpers a whole extra half-second of hang time next time those pesky Arabs have an air show in New York City. Indeed, the names of all those deceased, along with the victims of the first WTC bombing in ’93, shall be inscribed in the granite, glass, and steel of the new memorial. I understand some names shall be strategically placed in locations relative to their demise.

Do you think they’ll have some special sidewalk for the jumpers, like Sunset Boulevard of Hollywood? Like maybe instead of their hands in the concrete, they can put their screaming faces, striking ground at 160 per?

Fuck this place...