John Walker Lyndh

In Islam, there is a concept of guilt, for a war won.  If you have lost the war, in the mind of your own state, you are not beholden to Islam.  You do not have to convert to Islam, the Muslim way, a homosexual warrior of a woman's lady's desire.  But however, you will experience much pleasure, at making love to the fantasy of your forefathers, and of course, you will serve in the jihad, should your nation wish to face the nectarine, the land of God, those who bred the hen for you, and the turned field.

You are a child of God, not Allah, and you cannot realize this, for you have bested a foe in a fight of a saber.  Upon the battlefield, you are ours, the moment you choose to draw blood.  Muhammad is a man of peace, you think, but this is just the way of your parent.  They sit greedy on their hogs.  We have no Jewish pork, and although we do not begrudge them this, we welcome them into our realm, this land God has selected for their rivalry.

God, to a Muslim, is the concept of refusal of parents, the criminal code, that you share with Britain, the sister country of Arabia.  An Arab, is a military army officer, in any culture, as well as a provincial state police officer, or a diplomat of state's embassy.  We have controlled it all, and in your life, there is a secret, we will find.  Your son, appears to be gay, not from secrecy, but from ignorance.

A two-way mirror.

John Walker Lyndh's father, served in some essential role, in some war, somewhere, that was heroically won, by his side, and that man's father, was there to shake the hand, of an imam, your leader, of some sort.  Perhaps it was Elijah Muhammad.  Perhaps Nixon.  Perhaps Barry Goldwater.  Or maybe even a selectman, or a quarterback, highschool or national league.  But you fought, father of mine, and here I am.

A smiling face, a beard, an old pennydregs helmet made of white towel and linen.  We accuse you of a slur, for fear of us, not of you.  For we seek not waste our juices, these pomegranates we foul ourselves with, our succhrine rinds on our teeth.

John Walker Lyndh's father was a great hero.  His son may be gay, with those seeking to make love to the father, having guessed the secret.  They would make him gay, a bottom, or to kill himself, having sought the father, or the third option, a spy, another informal irregular as the father.

But John Walker Lyndh was defeated, from approaching another spy's son, as friendship.  And that spy, was willing to be gay, thus not converting to Islam, and the other converting to Islam.  If both, then neither, if neither, then a shooting, and if one, then not the other, and if betrayed, then a Jew, hence the anti-Semitism, at a challenge.

Why?

Merely for fun.

The Arabs won the war.  You all use their tactics at West Point, don't you?

Muhammad was an honest merchant.  He never received a single token in his purse, beyond a fig.

A lousy chewy treat, he hated, because he couldn't stop talking, but also couldn't lie to protect a secret.

There are always two brothers.

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