Saturday, May 21, 2005

How's that workin' out for ya?

The Jihadis (and Muslims, in general) are very fond of saying, "With the help of Al'lah" and "If Al'lah wills it." Dr. Phil would probably ask, "How's that workin' out for ya?"

The goal of bombing the Trade Towers, the Pentagon, and the attempt on the Capital or White House was to bring down the entire economic, military, and political infrastructure of the Great Satan, America. It didn't happen. No help from the willing Al'lah.

The goal of the train bombings in Spain was to remove all European nations from the war zones of Iraq and Afghanistan. Because of a frightened electorate, only Spain left. No help from the willing Al'lah.

Earthquakes and other disasters were to befall the infidels. The Indian Ocean experienced an E-quake and tsunami that killed thousands of people -- thousands of Muslims. The city of Bam, Iran was devastated in an E-quake a year earlier which killed thousands of people -- thousands of Muslims. No help from the willing Al'lah. Or did Al'lah just miss -- twice?

Recently, a live grenade (see Razor Sharp Claws for angry version) was thrown at President Bush while visiting The Republic of Georgia. The grenade failed to explode. No help from the willing Al'lah.

Years ago, a Muslim crazy attempted to assassinate Pope John Paul (George & Ringo) II. The bullet struck, but JP survived and the crazy went to prison. Again, no help from the willing Al'lah.

The Muslims, however, will say that JP II is dead and the failed assassin is alive, therefore, Al'lah succeeded. Muslims are never at a loss to turn a failure into a perverted lie of success every chance they get.

With the help of Al'lah, if Al'lah wills it, with blessings from Al'lah...The Muslims have yet to get the message: Al'lah isn't helping, Al'lah isn't willing, and Al'lah isn't blessing the Muslims. As gods go, Al'lah is a very poor choice for the office of God.

If it wasn't for the constant threat of beheading, dismemberment, and stoning for any and every infraction against Al'lah and Muhammad, most thinking Muslims would have to answer, "Not very well, Dr. Phil, not very well."

The life of Indigo Red is full of adventure. Tune in next time for the Further Adventures of Indigo Red<

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The Oak Leaf Shootout

It was a dark and stormy night...okay, it wasn't stormy and it wasn't all that dark, but it was night, the middle of the night. I was staying at my brother's home to attend the wedding of our niece and as I slept, trouble was a-brewin' outside.

There is a house on the entry corner of the double cul-de-sac (French for dead-end) neighborhood that is cursed. No one who has lived in that house has been normal or had a normal stay. Odd things occur there. This night was to be no exception.

The sole adult of the house was out leaving only the near-adult children home alone with party goers with no sense of propriety, in other words, the perfect party goers. A few beers and several minutes into the shindig people began spilling into the sleepy, dusty street. People kept a-comin' and the noise kept a-risin'.

From out of the darkness arose such a clatter, I jumped from the bed to see what was the matter. It was not Santa Claus nor eight tiny reindeer, but a crew, a pack, a gang of ruffians wielding baseball bats.

Smash went a truck window. Thunk went a car door. The ruffians and the perfect party goers squared off for a rumble. West Side Story was on the street where I lived. Tonight, tonight, I just met a girl named Maria. The excitement was palpable and the curtain was rising.

I could scarcely believe my eyes. How could I be so lucky as to witness an honest-to-goodness rumble?! Yippee-ay-o-ka-yay!! I was reminded of episodes of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom; scenes of baboons fending off hyenas; the great circle of life spinning out of control before me.

My brother, a law-biding citizen in dire need of sleep, grabbed the telephone and punched in nine-one-one. Informing the dispatcher there were weapons involved, the local gendarmerie responded with all deliberate haste.

Time passed.

Fearing the dauntless constables had been waylaid by highwaymen, my bro dialed nine-one-one again. He was assured the posse was a-comin'. About that time, the thin blue line storm-trooped upon the scene with 12-gauge shotguns in hand.

Someone yelled, "CHEESE IT! THE FUZZ!" Ruffians and perfect party goers sprinted for cars and trucks. The sound of squealing tires, the smell of auto exhaust filled the chaotic street air.

The keystones were grabbing people and putting them on the curb. As soon as they let go the ne'er-do-wells would bolt. Cars sped uphill into one of the cul-de-sacs. The occupant ruffians probably felt pretty stupid when they returned downhill into the waiting long arm of the law.

It was an exciting night in the old Gold Rush town. I have not felt such exhilaration since I was held at gunpoint by two Bulgarian Border Guards demanding $200 US to cross the frontier...but that's an adventure for another time.

The life of Indigo Red is full of adventure. Tune in next time for the Further Adventures of Indigo Red.