by Aziz al-Boozy-Teezy
(Despite persistent requests from the Yemeni consulate at the Shop'n'Go convenience store just off I-80 in Ely, Nevada, we continue to present our Q & A section with Mr. Aziz, seer of truths, speaker of wisdom, bomber of Hindu child care centers)
Aziz, O Hallowed One of Comfortably Crotch-Bagging Pantaloons:
I am unworthy of your most valued advice, yet I need your holy assistance. Attacks on our brethren in Iraq are imminent. Just what is the best way for a sturdy Muslim man to confront the infidel pig-dogs of the Satanic Crusades? Should I stop buying Danish pornography online to slow down their Jew-Bank money? And is it permissible to perform jihad tasks in the frilly lace undergarments my imam prefers me to wear? Instruct me, O casual skimmer of the Q'uran.
Respectfully bemused,
Jahoonie Weatherington-Spyce, Blackpool, England
Aziz replies:
Ay, my unworthy underling, you are below even the armpits of snails in the underworld. Muslims like you from those slimy green rocks called The British Isles must purge your needs for female dress-up and overcooked vegetables. Slay your imam immediately for corrupting you further, but send me evidence of his perfidy, preferably a garter belt ensemble, rose pink, if possible, that will fit a medium sized dairy goat. Then do penance by consuming several platters of English bangers. A three month bout of constipation should lead you back to the path of the Prophet, little man.
Yo, Aziz-
I'm thinking of becoming a Muslim, my brother. Is it O.K. if I still jack a few white boys every day at my junior college for crack money? And do I have to wear a beanie? Man, I just got my 'fro up and runnin', and a beanie would mess my image with the white girls. They thinkin', "Big 'fro, big bro', if ya know what I'm sayin', dawg. And send my boyz and me some of them Koh-Rans, we be sellin' them on street corners in Berkeley at our tube sock table.
All-Salon I'll Beg-'em,
Mugdip Mo-Hammy (a.k.a. Tyrone Raggells), North Las Vegas, NV.
Aziz saieth:
My dark and scaly young protege, you must reign in the impulses of your neighborhood. It is quite nice for you to forcibly tax with Glocks and Uzis the pale-skinned infidels who oppress you by offering you employment, but you must forgo the wicked pleasures of Presbyterian panty-clam. You may indeed sell the Koran, my habibi, but do not mark up the price so high as to make Peruvian rock the preferred opiate. You may dress in your own manner, Young One, but do not wear your pants so low that the Crack of Assyria tempts the Jew-Fornicators when you bend down to pick up your three-card monte winnings.
Dear Mr. Aziz:
Please find enclosed a money order for 250 dollars, Canadian. I am not a Muslim, I am more of a humanist agnostic type, but I understand that you are against all things AMERICAN. We also hate the Yanks up here, their imperialism has made us feel very small ever since we all realized that their movie stars and best-selling authors can have any of us women any time they want. I thought that by sleeping with Axl Rose and Hunter S. Thompson that the snooty southland women would at least give it up for some of our travelling Canuck boys. Last I heard, Wayne Gretzky and Alex Trebek have to pay with a handful of American C-notes just to sniff a girl's bedsheets down there. So much for Free Trade. Aziz, please use my money fairly and wisely, and punish those icky John Wayne types down in Baja Canada.
Thank You so much,
Greta Pesusic, herbal masseuse (therapeutic scrotal ticklings cost extra), West Vancouver,B.C.
Aziz replies:
Keep your distance, unclean woman of the North. I will not answer you directly, you are soiled with the dirt of moose droppings, and you no doubt reek of the kidney-filtered yellow water of caribou. Nonetheless, I will use the money you send to facilitate Allah's revenge on the Yankee cows. 250 of your dollars should buy several day passes to the Disneyworld, which I shall surveil for my holy comrades, who plan to pants all the large Mouse creatures. These pagan animal costumers should be exposed for the licentiousness they bring to the world. My own brother, Kemal, went to Euro-Disney, and can no longer function, dreaming only of 6 foot talking ducks with no pants. First, to kill the Disney, then to hunt down the sexual temptress, Tweety Bird.