I first got myself locked up for shoplifting when I was thirteen years old . Then as the years went by I added grand larceny, burglary, simple assault, and then later, arson. But that arson charge was crap! I just
happened to be in the apartment when it got set on fire, and as fate would have it, I just
happened to know the cat that set it on fire. I'd barely got out the door when they pinched me. They figured it had to be me when they took a look at my priors; so, they convicted me of something I didn't even do. I reckon it all evened out though. I did a
lot of other things that I never got caught for. I suppose I had it coming. So I did a stint in the joint...and that's where I learned about the jihad.
I'd been locked up for about three weeks when I met Calvin Jones, aka,
Akmed Madullah.
Akmed kind of took me under wing, seeing that I'm biracial and that all the skin heads stayed on my ass
so much. Before I got locked up I'd never had any problems with the white boys. In fact, some of my biggest scores as a
thief came with a guy named
Bubba Holliday from a place called
Possum Kingdom, South Carolina. But in the
hoosegow it was different. They didn't take to my Afro-Asian appearance as well as they did on the outside, so I ended up hanging with
Akmed,
Mohmmad,
Tariq and the boys just to keep my ass out of a sling. And it worked.
Akmed presented me with my first Koran 4 months to the day that I started my 10 year sentence. Before long I was getting instructed
daily on infidel hating and Christian bashing. Well, needless to say I was not prepared for the Prophet's teaching, so I just gave lip service in order to keep
Akmed happy and to preserve my protection from the crazy white men. But before long, the boys started requiring that I chime in when the berating of the Great Satan began. Again, I faked my way through for the aforementioned reasons. I got pretty good at screeching out
Allahu Akbar! I warmed up to the role eventually and started rolling out what I considered to be some damn fine anti American tirades. "Death to the dogs of decadence and impurity! May the breath of Allah forever devour their lands and slaughter their women and children"!
Akmed beamed with pride when he heard my screeds. I noticed that the boys really got worked up when you threw in some "kill their women and children" stuff; so, when it was my turn to rant, I incorporated a fair amount of that kind of thing into my
performance. It was about that time that
Akmed told me that he had a mission for me on the outside. 3 and 1/2 years had sped by and I was up for parole.
It seems the boys had gotten hooked up with some
real Muslims on the outside and they had promised them that a recruit from within would carry out a mission in Washington DC once he got sprung. Well, it wasn't going to be
Akmed, Mohammad,
Tariq or any of the other boys in the Muslim brotherhood, because all of them were in for life without parole. That pretty much left me as the mission boy. I must say that when
Akmed gave me the details about the mission, I immediately began having reservations. The plan, if that is what you can call this turkey, was for me to put on a dynamite
ladened vest, waltz into a
shopping mall, and blow myself to smithereens. It dawned on me then that just maybe these guys were taking this whole
jihad thing a little too far. I mean, I tried to sympathize with their inner demons, but in reality I never really caught on with the whole scene. As I said, I went along just to survive the joint, but truth be known, all that death to America chatter didn't make a lot of sense to me. Hell, I was born in the Florida panhandle, I like beer, movies, cigarettes and blonds. And I never told the boys, but more than once I talked to Jesus when the chips were down.
His salvation plan sounded a whole lot better to me than blowing myself up in Macy's.
The real trick was to shake the guy who picked me up the day I was released. I thought about tipping off the cops, but I put the kibosh on that idea. I figured, the recidivism rate being what it is, I'd
likely get caught doing something stupid, sent back to the
clink, and right into the arms of the jailhouse
jihadis that I ratted out on the way out the door. So, I decided to keep mum and give my escort the slip once I was free. And that's what I did, but it wasn't easy getting away from my handler, a guy name Sahib. He checked us into a Red Roof Inn where he showed me the vest and drilled me on what to do once I got to the mall. He told me that he would be nearby and that he, or someone, would kill me if I attempted to chicken out. So, after the evening prayer, and some particularly rancid Chinese food, Sahib went to the toilet...and I bolted with his
Glock, a box of condoms and a quart of whiskey he had stashed in his backpack. I dyed my hair blond (Like I said I like blonds), shaved my beard and headed for
South America. I've been on the lamb now for three months.
I have to say, one lonely night back in the joint with
Akmed, I really started thinking about those 72 virgins I'd cash in on once I did my thing in the mall, and it began to sound pretty good. But I snapped out of it. With my luck I'd get to heaven and find out that it wasn't 72 virgins, but 72
Virginians, and instead of lolling around with
curvaceous Islamic beauties, I'd spend eternity getting my ass whipped by George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Tyler...
So I came to my senses...and God bless America! I hope to come back some day if the heat dies down.