I have wanted to be a terrorist ever since I was small and my uncle Abdul blew himself up in London and got his picture on the black and white television in our lounge. I asked my mother where one could learn how to be a terrorist but she just slapped me and told me to finish my homework. My father was not much help either, preferring to stare dreamily at me with unseeing eyes as he sat under the dead cypress tree.
So I ran away from home and headed towards Kabul by bus where I met some more informed people who told me the way to terrorist school. They took all my money, saying that Allah would provide my reward in the Paradise, including many virgins (though I wasn't sure what those were).
So I ran away from home and headed towards Kabul by bus where I met some more informed people who told me the way to terrorist school. They took all my money, saying that Allah would provide my reward in the Paradise, including many virgins (though I wasn't sure what those were).
Finally I arrived, standing in the piercing heat with a rag tag group of youngsters sharing a common purpose – to die in glory (and perhaps on television). We were filled with the thrill of Jihad and stared eagerly at our instructor who was wrapped up in dynamite, thumb poised on the detonator.
“Ok, listen up, you worms”, he said (I think he liked American movies), “and watch carefully because I’m only going to do this once.”
