Recently, while cloistered away in a cave in the Nevada desert, pondering the meaning of life and sleeping off the effects of a three-day bender in Vegas, I was visited by the Angel Gabriel, who seemed pretty eager for a chat. That's right; Allah's Koran-dictating messenger, who appeared to Mohammed at Mount Hira (and thereafter for twenty-three years, whenever the prophet needed a divine sanction for something, like his marriage to a six-year-old girl....for instance).
I'm sorry to report that I was less than gracious initially, when Gabriel came shimmering into view. I think I mumbled something about it being a little early for divine revelations, and suggested that he check back around noon. But Gabriel would not be put off so easily. Apparently the desert-loving, cave-haunting spook had been meaning to get back to us for some time now, on account of some misinformation that was passed on to us previously. But you know how it is -- you get busy, and the next thing you know, fourteen hundred years have slipped by, and suddenly the kids are all gone and your wife's tits don't seem quite as perky as they once did. And of course, Gabriel's choice of venue made angel-human interaction a little iffy, to say the least. I pointed out to him that people don't generally hang out in caves a lot these days; and that, if it weren't for the charm and carpe diem attitude of a certain Hennesey-swilling, coke-snorting stripper, he wouldn't have found my ass lying up in a cave either. (BTW: I gave him your cell #, Ginger. Hope that's okay.)
Anyway, Gabriel was obviously relieved at the opportunity to finally set us straight on some things that Mohammed didn't get quite right. It seems that errors were made. Liberties were taken. Divine revelations were twisted into misogynistic, self-serving bullshit. Okay, so...no surprises there. That's what happens when you choose a semi-literate, power-hungry huckster for your prophet, and end up with his dictations scribbled on scattered bits of bone, leather, and palm leaves. But I've got a computer, baby! And I know how to write (sort of), so this time around, the basic God-Angel-Prophet-Believer information flow will go much more smoothly. In fact, as long as Gabriel didn't fuck up anything on his end, I'd say we're golden.
The gist of Gabriel's revelation was that Mohammed totally misled us regarding the afterlife. For one thing, hell is not a lake of eternal fire. And that makes sense to me, now that I've been divinely inspired. I mean (now that I think about it), Allah would have to be one evil, sadistic, world-class prick to condemn His children to burn for all eternity -- having them grow fresh skin as the old skin is roasted off, so their torment can go on endlessly, as it's described in the Koran. (That's a nice touch, don't you think?) But, as it turns out, the real Allah is not a psychopathic monster. On the other hand, He does have a pretty twisted sense of humor -- so hell consists of the worst date you've ever been on, replayed over and over again in an endless loop. That's really all the motivation we need to be better people, I think.
Next up in the No Surprises Here department: the Koran's portrayal of Paradise is also the product of Mohammed's personal predilections and his sleasy, unenlightened character. While having seventy-two docile, virginal sex slaves to satisfy your every carnal desire may seem like....well, heaven, to an unevolved brute with no concept of romantic love, that's not what Allah has in store for the devout jihadist or imam. Because, as it turns out, Allah does not condone the misogyny and polygamy that His last prophet reveled in. Allah has a sense of romance, it seems. Therefore, Paradise is not a celestial cat house after all, but something much nicer and more Valentine-y than that.
When Ahmed gets to Paradise after sending some infidels to hell in a fiery suicide bomb blast, he'll still be glad he took the precaution of wrapping his junk a protective sheath of aluminum foil before setting out on his holy mission. (That's right; some of these guys actually do this -- because apparently all that matters to Ahmed is that his disembodied penis arrives in Paradise intact and in working order. Remember that, the next time you hear some Muslim "expert" claiming that it's ridiculous to think that suicide bombers are motivated by the promise of carnal pleasures in Paradise, and that it's really all about politics or poverty or whatever. Political grievances don't explain penises shrouded in Reynolds Wrap. The poverty that motivates these guys is a severe lack of poontang in the most sexually repressed culture on Earth.) Our singed, sooty martyr will still be glad he fireproofed his wedding tackle; but instead of being allotted seventy-two dark-eyed honeys, he'll be joined with just one heavenly mate. The ideal woman, perfect in every way -- who will magically be unaware of Ahmed's own shortcomings. Like a supermodel with beer goggles, that she never sobers out of.
The upshot is that, while Muslim men have been taught by their holy book and their prophet to think of women as sexual livestock, to be (basely) enjoyed in large quanitities (simultaneously), when Ahmed arrives in Paradise, he's gonna come up exactly seventy-one babes short. He'll be met by an incredibly fine woman, who's ready to be his soul mate for all eternity. But, after a lifetime of fantasizing about six dozen obedient sex-providers, he probably won't see the advantage of this sort of arrangement. He's apt to be disappointed. He may even wish that he hadn't bothered with the whole jihad business, if all he gets from it is one super-hot wife....who also has a brain and doesn't expect to be treated like chattel. That's why I'm here to spread the word, so that our buddy Ahmed can revise his sexual worldview now, in order to avoid an eternity of bitter disappoinment, spent putting the wood to only one celestial beauty.
What's that? You're not buying this? You're not ready to take a Sharpie to your copy of the Holy Koran just yet? Are you callin' me a false prophet?!
Well....okay. Fair enough. So, here's the real story....
Lately I've been toying with the idea that, in dealing with the world's most retrograde religion, maybe we should try fighting fire with fire. I'm not talking about sending suicide bombers to Riyadh, or flying 747s into the Mosque of the Prophet. I'm talking about fighting superstition with superstition. Revising an ancient, barbaric mythology with a new, more enlightened mythology. It's probably a lame idea; but it does have a certain elegance, I think. And a sort of devious appeal.
Of course, science and reason are the ideal cures for myth-based religions. (Perhaps served with a spiritually-satisfying dose of pantheism, IMHO.) But maybe certain people really aren't open to the influences of Darwin or Dawkins, or Sam Harris. Maybe we need to talk to them in a language they understand. (Without resorting to that other language they understand so well.)
Here's the basic premise. The average young man spends a lot of time fantasizing about women. And the same is true of young Muslim men; they just put a different spin on it. Predictably, this is not a very wholesome spin. After all, the prospect of being serviced by a harem of six dozen women pretty much precludes the possibility of seeing them as anything more than living, breathing sex dolls. And if Ahmed believes that this is what Allah has in mind for him -- well, that's not a mindset that's going to help him develop healthy, respectful attitudes towards women, is it? So the idea is to transform the thing that he'll be spending most of his time thinking about, so that his fantasy life takes his mind in a more healthy direction. Transform his image of Paradise, so that it represents a more enlightened view of women. And get him fixated on a heavenly bride who embodies all of the best ideals we've developed over the last fourteen hundred years, in the hopes that some of those ideals will be imparted to him.
Of course, in order for this scheme to work, Paradise still has to offer some powerful inducements for the young, sex-starved Muslim man. This heavenly soul mate has to be hot enough to fight and kill and die for. (Or to live a decent, compassionate life for, if that's your idea of righteousness -- sissy boy.)
And, since I'm the prophet/huckster who concocted this scheme, our amended vision of Paradise has naturally taken on certain characteristics that appeal to Yours Truly. Therefore, we now have a heaven in which the centerpiece is a smoking hot Italian babe. She's bilingual. A former art student from Florence. She's into romantic vacations, motorcycles, and water sports. (The surfing and diving sort of water sports; not the other kind.) Of course, I'm not saying she has to be Italian. She could be a Greek woman (who looks Italian). Anyway, physical beauty is not her only attribute. I'm not that shallow, fer Chrissake! And I realize that eternity is a long fucking time; and even that first date with a hot bimbo can get a little tedious. Therefore, the Italian supermodel I'll meet in Paradise is also a great person. Warm and intelligent and compassionate. And not the least bit bitchy. After all, I don't want it to seem like eternity.
But, as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. (And in the case of these particular photos, that estimate is probably a little on the low side.) So here's a glimpse of what's in store for the devout (heterosexual) Muslim man in the afterlife.
A Fresh Take on Paradise
I've just had a revelation!
The Italian hottie waiting for Ahmed in
Paradise has a great sense of humor.
(And her #1 turn-off is "Guys who blow up infidels".)
She's a tree-hugging environmentalist.
She's kind to animals.
And she's a vegetarian!
See how that works? The young, sexually-repressed believer in Kandahar still gets to imagine a Paradise that promises an eternity of frantic, headboard-rattling sexual activity. But now his feminine ideal has been brought into the 21st century. Now he's confronted with a woman who has a brain and a will of her own, and a moral compass that's far superior to anything Ahmed has ever known. A woman who expects to be treated with respect, kindness, and tenderness. And maybe, while pondering this luscious vision of Enlightened Womanhood, he'll take on some of her qualities as his own.
So, the next time you're talking to a Muslim, find some way to casually mention the Angel Gabriel's recent encounter with a drunken prophet in a cave outside of Vegas. And bring them up to speed regarding the corrected vision of Paradise, in all its modern, humanistic glory. Some twelve-year-old bride in Kandahar will thank you for it.
Copyright 2009 The Candid Progressive
Handbook for Infidels
The Candid Progressive's Guide to Islam & the Cultural Counter-Jihad
One of the best anti-religion books ever written, in my opinion. This is one that I frequently recommend (or give) to friends and relatives.
The chapter "The Problem with Islam" is especially pertinent to our purposes here at HFI.
Makes a great gift! -- for believers willing to consider other ideas, or for secularists who could use some additional rhetorical ammo.
