BOYS WILL BE BOYS

 

LAST MONTH, Syria’s new president, Ahmed al-Sharaa (a.k.a. “Abu Mohammad al-Julani, a.k.a. “head-chopper”)* met with the U.S. president, Donald Trump and first lady Melania Trump at the White House without the usual fanfare and ceremony such a meeting would normally entail. The Trump administration has temporarily¹ waived its crippling sanctions regime on Syria following the coup that removed the not-so-popular-with-the-U.S. Bashar al-Assad from office last year and saw al-Julani take power in Damascus.

As per protocol, the Secret Service utilized IntraCranial Target^© software to record brainwave transmissions from President Al-Shaara, President Trump and the First Lady.

 

Al-Sharaa: These Americans are weak. This old man, this President Trump, is weak. His hands are baby soft and wet. He grips like a girl. He is so weak I could blow him over with kiss. Hmmpt? Why do I have such thought? Does he remind me of my jaddi? He smells like him. Like bucket of decaying olives. Or is it his whore who sends her reek under men's noses? If we were home, I would kill him and claim his slut as my own.

 

Trump: “You know Al. Can call you Al? Yah. Look, since last year, I’ve been asking experts, top people, all the pros you could think of, but it’s never helped. Not one bit. I do everything they say and still my swing is bupkis. Slices out the wazoo. I don’t know what’s happened. These last couple of years I’m chopping grass like a nubie. No. No thanks to those so-called ‘experts’. What do they know. Al, you don’t golf, do you? No, I suppose not. It’s one big sand trap over there.” [President Trump chortles] He’s taller than I thought. I wonder what it’s like to cut somebody’s head off. I’d like to chop a few of those assholes in Congress. What we need—is guillotines! Why not? I’m President. I could put one on the south lawn and hack any bastard that gets in my way. Who could stop me? Hey. What am I whiffing? The towel-head smells like dog shit, or maybe it’s his breath. Well Sunshine, you’re president over there for now—until Bibi decides to drop a big turd on your head. ‘Yas massa’ is all I want to hear from you right now. I've got enough problems. Huge problems! That kike in Jerusalem’s got my nutts in a vice. How’d he get those pics? Jesus! Who knew the cameras were on! Fucking Jeff. He calls me his ‘special friend’. Yes, he did. Some friend! Billy Boy took care of him and his black book or whatever. May you stew in your own juices forever, you lying bastard! “Say Aphid, lets grab some lunch. I’m starving. Hah-hah! I can smell the Wendy’s truck from here. Hey, Melania, can you go tell whoever’s picking up my cheeseburgers to grab their ass and move it! Nothing I hate more than warmed up meat, mine or anyone else’s! Hah-hah!”

Melania: Men. I am alone and on stage. Always. They whisper behind their hands about me. I feel their eyes, like leeches on my body… “Donald! You’ve not ordered “Happy Meals” for our guest again. Not everyone likes your American food.”

Trump: “Yes, I did dear. Honestly, for once can you….”

Melania: “No, no, ‘El Presidenta’, I will see to your disgusting and unhealthy lunch.”

Trump: “Don’t translate that.” [President Trump speaks to the Syrian president’s English language translator.] “Dear, please. Not now.”

Melania: “I know, I know. I go, I go.”

Trump: “Thanks, Babe.”

[The First Lady walks across the room, stopping to rearrange a flower setting] 

  

Melania: Men. They are all the same. Wants and needs. Needs and wants…I feel their eyes on me. His are cold and dark. Donald’s latest toy. A rough-trade jihadi, they tell me. I am chilled by his presence. Could I have sex with such a man? No. I think not. I wish he would leave...I was happy as a girl. We had a lovely home in Sevnica. We’d take picnics in the Na Gavgah forest with its stands of ancient oak trees. Mother seemed most happy there, I think. She’d laugh and smile so. Tell jokes. I want to build a cimprana in the forest, with sweeping eves and plastered walls. I’d paint them sky blue. And Barron is such a good boy! I want to take him away from all this…whatever this is. He doesn’t need or want it. Not my Barron. He is Slovene in his blood. He could make a life there. Raise a family. Make me Babka; I would be such a good grandmother! I could wear track pants, smoke cigarettes all day. Bake bread. Play my gosli. Does Donald even know or care? Does he see me anymore? I don’t know him; maybe I never did. He’s like…. [Intra-cranial intercept ends as the First Lady leaves the room to greet the Wendys^© delivery van arriving at the West portico].

[Door closes] 

Trump: “Women! Eh, Al? Wadda ya gonna do? You know how it is. Once they grab you by your dick, you’re theirs’s for life. Am  I right? [President al-Shaara chuckles] Tell me, Amen, I hope you don’t mind me using your Christian name? Call me Donald. Or Mister President. It’s just us two guys here, talking like men—I guess we’d better use your new name from now on, hah-hah! Tell me, what’s it like being a terrorist? No, no. I’m serious. You had a rough start, that’s the story, but you’re on the straight and narrow now. On our side. Yeah. You can’t change the past. What’s done is done. Hey, how many heads did you chop off? Between you and me. Any women?” He smells like a goat. I wonder if these guys' have ever seen a shower stall. You don’t keep chickens in there! Well, maybe Amid does. Hah! [President Trump smirks]

Al-Sharaa: Ah. Here is the question. I must answer the unbeliever as the CIA has told me would work best. I bow and scrape now. Someday, I will return and cut his head from his shoulders. Slowly.

 

[While the threat level to President Trump registered as low, as per protocol the Service positioned in hidden recesses within the Oval Office blowgun-trained sharpshooters using darts tipped with deadly Stonefish neurotoxin to render any target permanently flaccid.] “Mister President, Donald, it is the Holy Scriptures that tell us women are the holy terrors of Men.” [Both men chuckle] My Second Wife, Frasha, speaks when spoken to, otherwise she is silent, save when I take her to bed…”

Trump: “A real screamer, huh!”

Al-Sharaa: “Yes, but my First Wife, Alorah, she is the bane of my existence. Donald, she has a tongue that could cut through steel! The Prophet says we must take the grain and the chaff of life. Both. So be it. I have, as you American’s say, a 'boy’s night out' whenever I can. I thank you for your wisdom, Mister President. Indeed, we are just two men talking of manly things.”

Trump: “So, you were a ISIS terrorist in Iraq, then you moved to Syria and started the ISIL terror group in Syria. Why the change, Amerde? It’s a big change, moving to another country and all, going off on your own.”

Al-Sharaa: “Thank you for your question, Mister President. I left Al-Queda and ISIS in Iraq because I knew I had gone as far as I could. I destabilized the country and fought the infidel invad...forgive me, the foreign troops there to a standstill. I am sorry if me or my fighters harmed any Americans during that time. War is hell, as they say.”

Trump: “You got that right, Amon! But why Syria? Why move there?”

Al-Sharaa: I moved to Syria, really, to be near my home. I grew up in the Golan Heights. My birth name, ‘el-Julani’ means ‘of the Golan’…”

Trump: “Neat.”

Al-Sharaa: “… and I wanted to be near the land of my fathers.”

Trump: “You know the Jews got that now. I gave it to them in my first term. I hope there’s no hard feelings?”

Al-Sharaa: “I understand the politics of the matter, Donald.” Filthy pig! May you rot all the rest of your life! “I had a job to do and I did it. Eventually, we joined forces to defeat the unbeliever Assad. The Prophet says: ‘If thee has a king in your eye, you must pluck it out.' Allah be…”

Trump: Did you ever in your wildest imagination see yourself as president of Syria. You came up like a bolt of lightning!

Al-Sharaa: “I had help. Erdoğan. Of course, your CIA. Even the Jews.”

Trump: “Bless their coal-black hearts!”

Al-Sharaa: “But, Donald, you asked me whether I have cut heads off unbelievers and troublemakers. I have. Many heads large and small have rolled beneath my blade. It is the Way we must follow. Praise to the Prophet.”

Trump: “Yeah, yeah. That too.” Gawd! I’m getting a boner just thinking about it. Last summer at a garden party for Melania. Her birthday. Fifty-fifth. She looks younger every year! Must be good genes. And her spa treatments. I remember slicing open watermelons with this big ass kitchen knife. I had a boner sticking out to the moon! “What’s it like, Ampere, to do that? How does that work? I’ve always wondered.”

Al-Sharaa: Like the CIA said: Get him on the topic of beheadings and you’ll have him eating out of your hand. What a fool! "Mister President, I understand that you play video games in your off-duty time.”

Trump: "Yeah, I’ve been playing “Call of Duty” quite a bit; some oldies like “Grand Theft Auto” and “Resident Evil. Why?”

Al-Sharaa: He is so gullible! “I have one I brought you. It has a highly immersive VR environment. It’s called “Middle East Mayhem”. It comes with various replica knives and swords. It’s like you are there, Donald, and it feels so real! My avatar “Jihadi John” chops over forty heads off during a two-hour session. That’s my record so far. You play on-line with many who were, and are, in the ranks of God’s armies. I think you will like this game. Do you have time now for me to demonstrate it to you?”

Trump: “Do I! Oh yeah, Ahmed! Gawd, yes! Let’s go to my bunker, about ten floors down. It's got lots of room. It has a juice bar and a year’s supply of cheese doodles. And the VR game console is one to die for! Military grade!”

Al-Sharaa: “Yes, my President! About that loan we talked about?”

Trump: Don’t worry about it, it’s a done deal! I bet I can top your score!” [The President and the Syrian leader quickly leave the room, accompanied by Secret Service agents.] "Melania! Where's my cheeseburgers!"

 

…end of transmission…end of transmission…end of transmission…end of transmission…end of

 

Hah-hah!

CHEERS, JAKE. ___________________________________ 

  

* BTW, “al-Julani” means “of Golan”, i.e., the Golan Heights in northern Israel. It’s apparently something done by jihadists on the make to adopt names with biblical references such as Golan. So, his actual birthname, I don’t know.  

When I did a Google search for the Syrian president’s current alias name, the A.I. generated response was that Al-Sharra: “probably refers to some other geographical location.” Come on, A.I., you’re dropping the ball! You’ll never be able to go ‘full SkyNet’ on us if you can’t do a search in a quad-trillionth of a second to answer the "al-Shaara" name-game question. I’ll just have to ask my next-door neighbour what his name means.

 

1. THE SO-CALLED “Caesar Act” is a law passed during the first Trump administration which imposed crippling sanctions on Syria during the Bashar al-Assad presidency. The Trump administration cannot unilaterally repeal the law. The law can only be revoked by Congress. However, the sanctions can be temporarily waived for a period of 180 days. Which is what the Trump administration is proposing to do.