We Can Laugh Now

Iowahawk has a first-hand account of the attempted terrorist bombings in London and Glasgow, straight from the horse's ass doctor's mouth. This, my friends, is a hilarious must read.

So okay, the big weekend arrives, and the guys come over to my place bright and early, everybody's jazzed about rolling up some kufr carnage. All the propane tanks and propellant and nail cannisters are ready to go. I look at Ali and say, "okay mate, back up your car to the garage and I'll start loading it up." He gets this dumbstruck look on his face and says, "my car? I thought Hassan was going to do the martyrdom." And then Hassan does a massive spit-take with his tea, and he's like, "whoa dude, I rigged the cell phones, I didn't agree to blow up. I thought Mohammed was going to do the blowing up." Then Mohammed's like, "don't look at me, pal, I thought I was just providing the spiritual guidance. Plus my car's in the shop for transmission work." From there it just descended into this big shouting match. Holy frickin' prophet, two years of planning this prank and now everybody wants to pussy out on the actual martyrdom.

Long story short, we decided to draw straws. And guess who wins? Yep, yours truly, good old sucker Khalid, the same guy with a pile of charge card receipts for petrol and propane and hardware. The same guy who ended up having to host two thirds of the martyrdom planning parties at HIS house, because his good old college "pals" always have some convenient excuse about "kitchen remodeling" or "MI6 surveillance," and never lift a finger to help clean up the empty bottles or paper plates or the C5 mess. Well, you know what they say: no good deed goes unpunished. Then the other short straw get pulled by Bilal, and I'm like, oh, great. Now I'll be banging some celestial virgin with that wanker looking over my shoulder.

So, I'm like, "okay, whose donating the cars?" And these dicks just look around at each other, and ANOTHER big argument breaks out, because "I still have 28 payments left," or "it's due for a tyre rotation," or some other lame excuse. So we draw straws again to pick the explosion cars, and guess who wins? Yup, my Benz, the same fucking car I just paid £129.95 to have detailed. So I go to the house and tell my wife Jumanah about the whole deal, and here it comes -- The Look. complete with the whole exasperated eye roll and head shake. I swear, if her dad wasn't my uncle, I'd be tempted to smack that irritating sneer right off her face. So she's like, "fine, go have your fun with your lazy jihad buddies and your 72 virgins. Just leave me the keys to the Jeep so I can get groceries."

There's so much more to the story. Really, go read.