Fellow Jihadis, our generous Pakistani benefactors 😉 and my countless acolytes, a few short hours ago after recklessly thrusting my head and chest into the path of two American bullets I boarded a stealth, radar-evading CH-47 Chinook helicopter at Abbottabad in the wee hours of the night to embark upon my journey to a new compound.
My departure was hurried and the ride was bumpy.
Unlike the other uniformed passengers in the helicopter I was not wearing a seat-belt since I was lying on the floor with sticky red fluid oozing out of the corner of my left eye and the round hole in my chest.
I was greatly saddened to be traveling without the company of my young wives and countless children (ages 2-34). But I consoled myself with visions of the many pleasures that lay ahead.
After being unceremoniously heaved out of the helicopter at a height of 50,000 feet over the North Arabian Sea, defying gravity I ascended straight to Heaven although I must admit that my hallmark turban fell off during my supersonic journey upward.
Boy, it can get really cold at that height.
Minus my Turban, the guards at Heaven faced some difficulty in confirming my identity but once the sentinels logged on to the FBI Most Wanted web page and looked at my mug, it was all smooth sailing thereafter. The guards quickly called their commander on the new Red iPhone 8. On Earth, you fellas have only Black and White iPhone 4 but here they carry the newer Red, Green and Yellow versions as well. Just one of myriad ways in which Heaven is so different and so advanced compared to Earth.
The commander of the guards, a Caliban-lookalike straight out of that British playwright’s Tempest and wearing a name tag that weirdly said Caliban Khan, arrived in a few minutes with a Green iPhone 8 clipped to his belt.
“Sheikh, welcome to your new permanent home. Here, you’ll have no fear of betrayal, no need to change houses every few months, no worries about your dialysis treatment, no more putting out cassettes every 11-months and no more endless Jihad against America and other enemies of Islam. Only you and your 72 Virgins to fondle and play with as you please,” said the commander in his effusive welcome address bowing repeatedly in my direction.
I nodded graciously as the commander droned on about my many brave deeds on the battlefields of Afghanistan, Sudan, Somalia and Pakistan.
Never mind that the only time I ever held a gun was a toy Kalashnikov in a photo-op. It was my minions, the canon-fodder martyrs who carried out all the bold, reckless, heinous acts and I just earned all the glory thanks to the millions my father bequeathed me and that I then redistributed at $2 a day to my bedraggled followers in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Indonesia and Jordan.
He quickly offered to drive me to my new compound and I hopped into the plush interiors of a shining car without wheels. Magnetic Levitation, I was told, pushed the car forward.
Thank God, no more camels for me, I muttered sotto voce!
As we were propelled along on a cushion of air, the Caliban commander told me my new compound in Heaven was a sylvan retreat where pure, sweet water flows plentifully, fruits ripe for the picking hang on numerous trees, nearby mountains glisten with white snow, the local Netflix streams unlimited porn movies and 72-Virgins desperately wait to serve me.
I smiled at the description of all the pleasures that awaited me as reward for my countless murders of the infidels around the world.
As we neared my new compound, the temperature started rising and I had to boost the AC in the car.
In a few minutes, we arrived at my new home. Not unlike my last compound in Abbottabad, this one too had 18-feet high walls with barbed wire reinforcements on top.
My Tryst with 72-Virgins
As we stepped out of the car, a blast of hot air hit me in the face.
With a lecherous smile playing on his lips and a sly wink, the Caliban Commander assured me that inside awaited me untold ecstasy in the arms of 72-Virgins, pleasures that Earthlings could only dream of.
72, 72, 72, 72, the numbers kept buzzing in my head as the Caliban Commander took leave of me with another deep bow.
With humility in my heart and hard expectation in my rising member, I opened the room using the magnetic card bearing 72-stripes.
As I swiped the 72-stripe card, I could feel the temperature rising. Sweat dampened my white tunic and drops fell off my dyed beard.
After hearing a click sound, I pushed the door and entered. It was mostly dark and there was a yellow streak of light proclaiming Enter Here for 72-Virgins on the wall just above the door of an adjacent room.
As I walked toward the light, the temperature rose further. “Man, this is worse than Saudi deserts,” I told myself when the door suddenly closed behind me with a loud click.
I entered the second dimly-lit room.
This room was huge, bigger than any other room I’d been in. It had 360-degree fireplaces and a large huge White bed in the center.
Desires rising, I gingerly walked toward the bed.
After just a few steps, I discerned several dark shapes lying on the White Bed. I smacked my lips and my hard member lifted 90-degrees in anticipation of warm lips and soft flesh engulfing it soon.
By now, the heat in the room was rising to uncomfortable levels.
My heart in my mouth and my member straining at the leash, I moved closer to the White Bed.
As I inched closer, the dark shapes on the bed showed signs of activity and started to move.
I moved closer and the objects rose. As did my hard member.
I took a few more steps and then the 360-degree fireplaces around the perimeter of the room turned brighter until it enveloped the room in a strange golden light.
The room was like a furnace by now.
I looked at the White Bed again in expectation of nymph-like forms taking me in their arms.
And then, then, as I beheld the Dark forms on the White bed I let out one long scream. A distressed, fearful wail that echoed thunderously in the large semi-dark room.
A dreadful fear took hold of me and after a gap of 50 years I wet myself.
For standing on the huge pristine White Bed were 72 black pigs.
Each one uglier than the other.
All staring at me with a feral look on their faces.
Together throwing up a filthy smell that shot up my nostrils and came out my backside in an explosive fart.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that that I was certainly not in Heaven.
Then, in unison the 72 snarling Virgin Pigs emitted a giant grunt, jumped off the bed and leaped at me.
My tunic was gone in a second and the Virgin Pigs were pawing me, their stinking snouts and dark, rough tongues exploring the nooks and crevices of my unclothed body.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I realized, too late, that my ascent to Heaven was but an illusion and the descent into the everlasting flames of Hell with 72 beastly Virgins as my constant companions was the reality.
Let my sorry 72-Virgins tale be a cautionary lesson to all future Jihadis.