Written by Pointer

Thursday, 21 August 2008

image for I Dated A Suicide Bomber!
The love of my life's dream explosion

While studying neuroscience at Brandeis University and later at MIT it turns out that I dated a suicide bomber. On a cool October night in New England I stopped off at the MIT library for a late night research session. The neuro section was totally crowded and so I took my books and articles to the nearby self-explosives area of the physics stacks.

In a moment of inattention between synapses and brain cells, I happened to look up and spy a radiant beauty in a burqah. She appeared to be using her phone to photograph, I confess I took a peak, a textbook diagram of a terrorist bomb jacket advertised in, what looked like from a distance, The Seared Catalogue.

Odd as it may sound I found this to be an immediate turn on. Her fiery eyes peering out from under the ancient costume of her traditional vestment, the stark contrast between her technological skills and her orthodox weltanschauung...call me crazy but I had to have her.

We went to a hookah bar on our first date and the apple scented water pipe's smoke combined with her incessant chatter on her cell phone about destroying the Great Satan sent me over the top. I asked God and his cousin Allah why he had sent to me this enchanting angel of destruction.

We walked home under the Boston harvest moon and she told me how she hoped that someday she could destroy something like the Boston skyline and I pulled her close and told her that I wanted her to be the mother of my children.

Over time we drifted apart as she was deported to Pakistan and became involved in Al Qaida's struggle against the western oppressors but she always had a dark and shrouded place in my heart no matter how many drunk Irish hoes I picked up in Southie bars.

When I read this week in the NY Times that the girl of my dreams was shot in the stomach in an Afghani police station yesterday while firing a cop's automatic rifle into the air and screaming Allah Akbar, I knew for sure that I had missed the boat and let the love of my life get away.

Aafia Siddiqui, I am here in Beantown waiting for your release from the CIA covert torture chamber where you will probably spend the rest of your life in a living hell! Let us ask Jesus' Uncle Allah to make the time go fast so I can see your fiery brown eyes once more under the harvest moon as you plan to blow up something sacred to my people!

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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