Al-Jazeerah Presents: Breaking News

Thongs of Australians Are Suspect--

Throngs of Afghanistan's tribal population are off the hook today due to a misprint in a Taliban Fatwa. Mullah Omar and his "Hooker Police" descended on an Australian Beach Resort where they confiscated thongs from the Australian tourist population. Later at the airport, Mullah Omar explained that "the whole incident was due to an unfortunate typographical derriere."

Kabul Women Feel Naked Without Veil And Robe--

Kabul ladies report that "not having to wear the traditional veil or burqa is like being naked." One lady said she "has sudden urges to hump the daylights out of Mullah Omar." Close-in questioning by our intrepid reporter said he "felt the truth of the matter." Other women in cities around Afghanistan have been flying their burqas, veils, brassieres and panties from kites high above the villages and in complete disregard of local tradition. A woman from Herat reported saying, "I feel like I set the town afire in my bra and panties." The top mullahs say they are extremely worried, but also that they are trying to look at the good side of the situation.

Pilots Aim For Malaysian Twin Towers--

The Petronas Towers, now the world's tallest twin towers, have become a target for local pilots in the Moslem nation of Malaysia. According to reports from the Malaysian Moslem News Agency; after several near misses on the towers, the local transportation board has stationed two Imam's atop the buildings to yell, "They're ours you idiots!" at pilots who are tempted to crash into the buildings. They also scream "The infidels are that-a-way!" as they point to the decadent western world. Authorities also have painted two large arrows on the buildings. One points to Mecca. The other points to "Western Hedonists."

Malaysian Air Traffic Control talks to Air Infidel

The following transcripts were recoded during a recent near-miss at the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur, capitol of the Islamic nation of Malaysia.

Airport Control Tower: Incoming Flight, please identify yourself.
Airport Control Tower: Incoming Flight, please identify yourself; you are heading for downtown Kuala Lumpur!
Airport Control Tower: Incoming Flight, Anybody home?
Air Infidel: I'm sorry, I didn't hear it ring.
Airport Control Tower: Huh? Who are you, identify yourself?
Air Infidel: My name is Osama, oops, I mean this is Air, uh, Infidel, flight number sixty-six or there-abouts.
Airport Control Tower: You are heading for the twin towers of Malaysia, steer a new course now!.
Air Infidel: Thank you, we weren't sure where it was. Not knowing the directions could have slowed us down a lot!
Airport Control Tower: Who are you? Who's flying the plane?
Aircraft Stewardess: I am. The passengers said they were gonna die for sure the way Osama drives.
Airport Control Tower: Oh no! This is a Moslem country--don't hit our buildings! (Pointing across the Pacific Ocean) The infidels are that-away!
Air Infidel: Are you pointing at the towers--I can't see you from here. Everbody looks like ants.
Airport Control Tower: NO!!! Don't---Hit---The---Towers!!!! You---Will---Go---To---Hell!!!
Air Infidel: Okay, Honey Babe, veer off. The map does show a little crescent symbol on the capitol. I thought it was a yin-yang sign or something. How am I supposed to know.
Co-Pilot Mullah Omar: Osama, I told you not to trust a rental car map!
Airport Control Tower: You aren't kidding.
Air Infidel: Mullah Omar is my Co-Pilot and geez, what the Hell was that?!?!

The jetliner just misses hitting the control tower. Air traffic controllers out on the bridge throw brazen gestures at the pilots.

Aircraft Stewardess: Oops, that was the airport control tower, I think got a little too close for comfort. Did you see them pointing at us?
Airport Control Tower: (To each other) Boy, did you see the beards on those two?
Osama bin Laden: (to Co-Pilot Omar) Come to think of it, I'm not so sure that they were pointing toward the infidels. It looked like they were pointing straight up.
Co-Pilot Omar: Maybe it means increase aircraft altitude?
Osama bin Laden: You're probably right. I've seen the American Air Force use it a lot.

The Air Infidel jetliner loops wildly around the city; Osama bin Laden has taken over the controls. He is trying to salvage some dignity by landing the plane himself. He and Omar have sent the stewardess to the galley for some Big Ben and Randy Brandy and have locked out the other passengers and crew.

Airport Control Tower: You @#$%! Please land immediately and report to the tower.
Osama bin Laden: We're headed your way!
Airport Control Tower: No, use he runway!
Osama bin Laden: I will, I will. Shut that thing off, Omar. Those guys are bugging me, man.
Airport Control Tower: No, don't land that way and don't turn the radio----crackle
Co-Pilot Omar: That'll shut them up.
Osama bin Laden: Okay, full flaps and hit the reverse power full!!!
Co-Pilot Omar: But we are still a hundred feet in the air.
Osama bin Laden: This is a short runway, we're gonna drop in with the brakes on.
Co-Pilot Omar: Okay, brakes on, flaps going full, tell me when to hit reverse engines.
Osama bin Laden: Coming right up, we are close, she's a shortie she is--NOW!
Co-Pilot Omar: Full speed backwards.

The plane hits hard, literally plopping down from a hundred feet in the air. The action put a trremendous weight on the wheels for plenty of braking traction.

Osama bin Laden: I'm standing on the brakes.
Co-Pilot Omar: Reverse full! Flaps Full!
Osama bin Laden: We're gonna stop in time!
Co-Pilot Omar: I hope!
Osama bin Laden: I think!

The plane screeches to an amazing halt right at the end of the asphalt. Osama and Mullah Omar look at each other and out at the runway.

Osama bin Laden: Man, that's a short runway.
Co-Pilot Omar: It sure is wide though.

Osama looks from side-to-side, sure enough, he has landed the plane sideways on the runway instead of the "long way."

Osama bin Laden: Man, I hope they don't dock my frequent flyer miles for this.
Co-Pilot Omar: (Looking side-to-side he repeats himself.) It sure is wide though.

Taliban Raids Belgrade Square

Mullah Omar reports a big victory in the recent attack on Belgrade Square. "We don't know where it is," the Mullah trumpeted, "We can't even make waffles!" But he stood firm under tough questioning by Al Jazeerah reporters and did not flinch under our hard-nosed inquiry.

Al Jazeerah: We are victorious over the infidels again?
Mullah Omar: Yes, we have taken Belgrade Square, wherever that is.
Al Jazeerah: Did we take it by force, or by strategy?
Mullah Omar: We used a proclamation. It was quicker.
Al Jazeerah: Yes, I can see how.
Mullah Omar: Exactly, not knowing where it is could have slowed us down a lot!
Al Jazeerah: So, who's that funny looking guy with his finger in his ear?
Osama Bin Laden: Hey, it's me Osama!
Al Jazeerah: I know, I've seen your videos. I was pulling your turban.
Mullah Omar: Take it easy on Osama, he's been a little shook lately. His family cut him out of the inheritance.
Al Jazeerah: Geez, people will drop him like a hot potato.
Mullah Omar: Yes, his personality is not like, er, charming or anything.
Al Jazeerah: You aren't kidding.
Mullah Omar: He's gonna have to hide out. I think he's gonna have to wear a burqa for the rest of his life.
Osama Bin Laden: I was just gonna wear a veil but--
Mullah Omar: --but his legs aren't that good!

Trafalgar Sqare Also Taken-- In a related proclaimation, Al Quaeda announced they had taken over Trafalgar Square, Radio City Music Hall, the New York Mets and Jersey City. Mayor Giulani of New York said, "You can keep the Mets." Other New Yorkers said, "You can keep Jersey City, too."

Late Update-- Mullah Omar reports that he is not dead yet. The distinguished Mullah explained that he always sleeps late after a being bombed all night. He said to "to just prop him up in a chair and everything will be the same."

Al-Jazeerah Editorial Policy-- The Al-Jazeerah Television Station wants to known as "Al-Jazeerah, the television station that supports tyrants who won't let their citizens watch television." That's our credo!

Are you a fundamentalist dictator who won't let woman be seen in public? Let us know! Are a religeous nut who makes men grow a beard as long as their arm? We'd love to hear from you! Does your country shoot people for flying kites? If yes, call us at Al-Jazeerah right now. We want you! We will publicize your idiotic deeds and plaster your ugly face all over the Islamic Hall Of Fame. Just don't show your ugly face in our country or we will call the American Army so they can protect us and our freedom! You see, we don't care about honesty or truth. We don't care about the high road. We have no standards. We think it's because we don't even know how to make waffles!

Not-So-Smart Bombs: Osama bin Laden always takes time to impart a bit of advice to the suicide battalions and the walking not-so-smart bombs. Osama recommends (mostly to those faithful few who stumble ignorantly into hell because it momentarily slipped their mind that blowing women and children to bits might be immoral) that they read Nuclear Tip #17.

Nuclear Tip #17. Today's advice from Osama is about safety. Most atomic weapons are implosion devices. This means that when they are going to blow, a jacket of TNT implodes inward to compress the atomic material into a small, nuclear-critical size. "Entirely safe! It's only those other kind of bombs that blow outwards that are dangerous to be around," says Osama. "Atomic bombs can be as safe as your aquarium. Don't listen to those people who say that uranium bombs are dangerous and radioactive and really heavy to lug around. Nonsense!"

"I want all you remember," Osama reminds us all, "that our bombs are safe! You can lean on them and if they implode, you'll just fall over like when Mullah Omar pulls the chair out from under you. It's their bombs that are dangerous to be around!"

Next week: Osama explains how a dynamite belt can help you lose weight and meet chicks.

Special Report: The Al-Jazeerah Side

by Al Jazeerah

"The capitalism in here has blinded me." Remark overheard at the Koffee Kitchen in Kandahar.

Opinions often are voiced at the local donut shop, even in Afghanistan. It was a sunny day in Kandahar where the customers recently overheard a conversation involving Shakenbaken, a millionaire fanatic, and Mullethead, his clumsy and bearded religious advisor. As the two men ordered take-out donuts, their dialogue was recorded by Socrates Jones, counterman at the Kandahar Koffee Kitchen.

"Jesus, Mullethead," said Shakenbaken as doughnuts rolled across the mosaic floor of the Koffee Kitchen. "I wish you'd get a new monocle."

"The capitalism in here has blinded me," replied Mullethead, he was crawling on the tiles gathering runaway doughnuts and talking through a chocolate honey-dip that he'd jammed in his mouth.

"Capitalism? Ha!" laughed Socrates as he helped Shakenbaken count his change. "The problem isn't capitalism, the problem is you! What you fail to understand is that capitalism is an effect, not a cause."

Both men, well known local fruitcakes, paused to listen as Socrates spoke. Mullethead, still down on all fours, looked like he was praying to Mecca for a doughnut break.

Socrates continued, "We are born into freedom, are we not? And this freedom that allows you to find Allah just as you would a doughnut. The freedom is the same, to worship Allah and to practice capitalism. Without one, we would not have the other. Capitalism is on the road to Allah or Allah is on the road to capitalism. It only depends on which way you're going."

"Hey, that's my job," said Mullethead without dropping the doughnut, "I'm the answer man here, no-one else offers opinions in my world."

"Doughnut man is dispensing interpretations now is he?" Shakenbaken agreed with his advisor, but nervously so. He'd been starting to suspect Mullethead's intellectual prowess.

"Ah Shakenbaken," shrugged the counterman, "what you don't understand is your freedom to preach the Koran is protected by the Americans. They are defenders of Allah. You sir, are a fruitcake.

"Only a cleric can interpret the Koran! You are an infidel," shouted Mullethead. "I think you're angling for my job!"

Socrates continued his logic, "In your view of the Koran, the interpretation is refined to an ever-narrowing point. First the the infidels are killed, because they are not in agreement with the teachings--"

"Of course," the two fruitcakes readily agreed. "Wax 'em now!"

"--and you think that will cleanse the nation of Islam," Socrates added.

"Yes, except for those with television!" Mullethead had caught up with the logic and forged ahead with the argument.

"Television?" Shakey was thinking out loud.

"Yes, we must murder everone with a television antennas," explained Mullethead, "Television is the opiate of the capitalists."

"How about cable?" Shakey looked to Mullethead for guidance.

The clumsy, bearded one paused, then he interpreted the great teachings for the lesser beings in the donut shoppe. "Yes, especially those with cable!" he said.

"Then Islam will be in perfection," chimed Shakenbaken who was holding a doughnut over his head and twirling in tight circles. His angelic dance reminded him of a flaw. "Radio! What about music?"

"Radio must go, of course. We should cleanse the head from all bodies who have listened to the radio. Then we will be the perfect Islamic world--after we kill all the musicians, of course."

"Musicians you say. I guess you are not talking about Rap, that's not music." Socrates was known for his sarcasm.

"You are correct, Rap is protected by Taliban fatwa!" Mullethead was not one to be caught without an answer although he obviously had never heard any Rap music and had guessed wrong on this interpretation.

"So, you will then have a perfect Islamic world," said Socrates. "And with plenty of Rap?"

"Hell, no!" said Mullethead as Shakes stood with him in agreement. "There will remain unholy people. We must ask our mullahs to rule on who is less holy. After we bury them, then we will be free."

"But, there's a big problem there--if you constantly determine who is more holy there will be a continual execution of offenders. Comitted Muslims will be vanquished for the smallest offenses--soon there will be very few people left." Socrates was mostly Afghan descent, but he could trace some ancestors on his mother's side all the way back to the army of Alexander the Great.

"Yes, the rarified air of true Islam will be breathed by few. We may have to kill everyone except for me and Mullethead."

"Only you two guys? Then there will be no children, thus no future. You two are the beginning of the end of civilization." Socrates narrowed his eyes, then brought his hands over his face as he visualized the spectre of the sexuality involved.

"Jesus! Mullethead, he may have a point." Shakey saw the same spectre.

Mullethead adjusted his pants self-consciously, "Yes, Shakey, it does seem that way. Worship and capitalism are both part of the complex nature of being human. We cannot have one without the other."

Socrates finished the point he'd been making all along, " And the Americans, with their penchant for protecting freedom in the world, are protecting our beloved Islam. Democracies of the world are standing up for people everywhere and capitalism is protected by the same odd logic which protects us fruitcakes. We have basic rights and freedoms. Without those freedoms we have no Islam. American is the great defender of Islam. Not you two!"

"Who would have thought that protecting the freedom to be capitalist was the same as protecting the freedom to be Islamic?" now Shakey saw the irony.

"I think it was an American named George Washington who said, 'Politics creates strange bedfellows.'" Socrates knew how to stir things up.

"Are you saying we should have hit the Washington Memorial instead of the Pentagon?" Shakey had had the magic carpet pulled out from under him. He wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

"The worst part of the irony is not political," Socrates added. "It's religious!"

"How's that?" asked Shaky.

"If you crazy fruitcakes want to meet your maker, I think the Amercians will help!" Socrates drew an index finger across the front of his neck. Shaky and Mullethead both knew the gesture, it was the executioners axe and their necks.

"They might insist," Mullethead agreed with Socrates.

Shakey winced looked around the diner suspiciously. at Mulletheadit was Mullethead's turn to be ironic.

"Well," he said to Shakenbaken, "you were right about one part."

"What part was that?" asked Shakenbaken.

"The part about living in a cave," replied Mullethead. "Right now, that's starting to look like a good idea."

fin

Special Report: What The Americans Are Up To

by Al Jazeerah

"If they want to meet their maker, I think we should help."
Opinion voiced by a presidential advisor in an office in Washington D.C.

The latch on the door to the Oval Office clicked and then then rattled. The sticky mechanism was well known to American presidents, for decades its sound had signalled impatience. The rattle was the sound of aides in too big a hurry to let the president's secretary step from behind her desk and announce their arrival. Inside the room, the President and his staff nervously awaited the psychological assessment team--a team comprised of two lady psychiatrists from a top-secret agency. The two had profiled the fundamentalist fanatics who threatened western civilization and their recommendations would shape national response in this time of crisis. The anxious men looked at each other and smiled, the answer had arrived.

Again the door latch clicked again, then rattled. Next, a knocking and pounding thudded against the far side, the heavy door budging a little but holding tight against the would-be visitors. The pounding continued as muffled assaults were pressed against the planks of the historic White House door, yet the sticky mechanism remained frozen.

The President, a good man at practical tasks, immediately moved to the doorway and tapped lightly on the lock button. As quickly as he arrived, he retreated a safe distance and from there he watched the chief of Central Intelligence burst through. Head-down, shoulder-first and out of contol, the secret agent lurched into a head-long sprawl and crashed into the Presidential desk, upon which he had knocked himself cold. Two professorial ladies, twirling their spectacles in one hand and clutching fat reports in the other, followed their boss into the room, although proper protocol was probably the last thing on their minds.

"What have you got?" the president asked as he stepped over the unconscious agent. His aides grabbed the paperwork and quickly flipped to the summary of important points.

"What do we do?" the president changed his question. He didn't care what they had, he needed to know what the nation must do. In the way that the chief executive of the most powerful country on earth neither introduced himself nor traded courtesies with the visitors told the ladies exactly what he was prepared to do, which was anything they said. The crisis was serious and American presidents don't mess around when they're facing some billionaire fruitcake with an army of fanatics.

The agency ladies glanced at each other, took a breath, and then they started.

"Tell them that Martians have landed," said Stella, an Ivy League Professor who'd been on loan to the CIA on and off throughout her distinguished career.

Tension boiled over as the government men looked at Stella, then to each other, "What in Hell does she mean by that?" their faces asked.

"It's not about religion--" Maryanne started the explanation, "--not religion nor politics nor culture." Groomed as Stella's replacement, she soon would become the CIA chief of personality assessment for men and other large primates. Maryanne also would carry on with Stella's continuing sessions with the boss. Stella was close to a breakthrough, "Another ten years of analysis and he'll be nearly normal," she had predicted during a recent lunch in the agency cafeteria.

"Those guys over there," Stella was talking now, "they have no idea what is going on in this world."

The two ladies wrapped their presentation with a final summary point. "Clueless," they said, pointing to photographs the leading fruitcakes. The two then paused to let the government of the United States catch up to what they had just said.

"No logic can be applied to this situation," Stella started again, "those nuts are out of touch with the reality of the world. They do not understand modern ways. There is no chance for them to compete in the marketplace of ideas or of commerce. Their notion of western life is a complete misconception. Those idiots say they've been blind-sided by capitalism, they don't think their religion can endure in the face of bikini swimsuits, pop music or the stock market."

"The market! Those people are savages," cried the president's economic advisor as he cringed in the face of sacrilege.

"This is not pejorative," Maryanne continued, "There are times when tribal people easily see problems that our government can't find. But the religious crazies forget that Mohammed was free to find Allah. We must all be free to find Allah, and many other things arrive with that freedom. Those fruitcakess are on a traffic circle of logic without an exit ramp."

"Bottom line," Stella twirled her finger to illustrate the circles of logic involved, "If they want to meet their maker, I think we should help."

Maryanne brought her index finger to her temple and pulled an imaginary trigger.

"I think we will insist," said the President as he looked at the nearest General. The General agreed. He pulled his index finger up to his temple, then quickly pulled his hand down to make sure it wasn't loaded. Most of the advisors noticed the slip it being well known that military men can get a little strange around firearms.

"Yes," agreed Maryanne as she echoed the index finger gesture, "the leaders can be handled easily," she rapped a knuckle down hard on the president's desk as she squeezed the imaginary trigger. "It was very thoughtful of them to dig their own graves. But we still have a large population of misled followers who are out of control."

"Lots of folks, there are times when whole nations can get it wrong. People," Stella nodded down at her boss, "are people all over."

Stella looked at Maryanne. So far, so good she smiled at Maryanne and the rest of the small crowd. Then the group at the very top rung of western civilization all looked at the man who was stretched out cold on the Oval Office carpet. The word clueless echoed in their thoughts and the picture the CIA boss presented helped explain the realities of the world. Just as the secret agencey chief was oblivious to the conversation around him, the religious fruitcakes who were causing so much trouble really had no idea what was going on in the larger sense of things.

The all male group of top American officials looked back to the women. "What do we do?" the President again asked.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Maryanne said. "It's tribal, but it's about all most of them understand. You see," she put her hands on her hips and nodded toward the large clock on the wall, "you see, the clocks of humanity run in strange ways. Several great civilizations started in Bagdhad. Persian culture was fabulous for centuries. The stars--"

Stella picked up, "--most of the stars in the sky were named by the ancients in Asia. Cultures wax and wane."

Maryanne stalled for a moment as the group of men looked at the comatose chief and saw the wane.

"We must unite humanity in the face of a common enemy," Maryanne started the solution.

"And I say we use Martians," Stella finished it. "We announce that it was Martians who mailed anthrax to the National Enquirer. Yes, the newspaper knows the truth about the Red Planet--for years they've printed stories about Martians on earth!"

"Yes, and now it's war," Maryanne explained, "The Red Devils have invaded. We can't see them--but we can see their evil in our thoughts. The Evil Martians are in our minds and we must fight them together."

"Yes, we are invaded by evil thoughts!" Stella declared the strategy to keep the fanatics occuupied, "we must fight them with our minds! We must struggle with the devils in our heads!"

"We must declare jihad against the invisible Martians devils," shouted Maryanne.

"I see Martians!" cried the president as he bugged his eyes out, "Jihad is the answer!" Soon the whole group of men was running around the office wiggling their index fingers on their heads like antennae and bugging their eyes out and making Martian sounds.

The commotion helped return the CIA boss to the conscious world. Rubbing his eyes he watched the oddball activity in the office and, for the first time in his life, he felt sane. Having briefly sensed what normal was proved salutary. Over the long-term, the quick glimpse of sanity accelerated the results of his psychoanalysis. He was certified as almost normal several years sooner than Stella had predicted.

Unfortunately, the fanatics of the world could not be cured as rapidly. Stella predicted it would be five-thousand years before we could progress to the point where we didn't need global psychoanalysis supplemented by propaganda about Martians.

The group of top government officials looked downcast when they heard Stella's prediction. Then they went back to wiggling their index fingers on their heads like antennae and bugging their eyes out and making Martian sounds.

Maryanne and Stella looked at each other, it might also be five-thousand years before America's government could get it together, they thought.

fin

Try also Alienstock!

Click that guest thingie to leave a note for Osama. Omar says he can't be reached right now. He is propped up in a chair on an Australian Beach pointed at the thongs of tourists.

copyright Al Baby Jazeerah 2001 Ossining, New York