Barking Moonbat Early Warning System

Sarah Palin is the only woman who can make Tony Romo WIN a playoff.

Monday - April 04, 2005

Pissed Off Enough Already?

Then read this by one of our members, Phil. His post can be read in its entirety here where you will find links to other illegal news stories that are NOT fiction.

Somewhere in the desert of southern New Mexico…

The burnt smell of smokeless powder was beginning to fade. His nose was welcoming the returning smell of the southwest desert, in particular the creosote bush he had seen so much of before the sun set. But his ears rung painfully. At his feet, now on the soil of the Great Satan, lay his escorts. They were both in pools of blood being soaked up by the thirsty ground.

Just two minutes earlier, they had made the last mistake of their lives. They had turned their backs on the diminutive Abbas.

After a brief stop for water and to rest his blistered feet, Abbas had motioned for the Mexicans to continue their trek into the US. They were happy to do so. The pair were being paid more than triple their usual fee for getting their guest into New Mexico and were fronted half when they met their new travel companion in Mexico City 5 days earlier. The catch was they had to avoid their usual illegal immigrant trails. They chose one of the less traveled drug running routes in the general area Abbas had suggested. It was more desolate and far less likely to encounter border patrols. If there was an afterlife, now the Mexicans knew why the Syrian wanted it this way.

When Abbas had indicated his rest was over, his escorts stood and turned north. They began joking and talking about the big money party they were going to have with their favorite whores once they got to Los Angeles. Neither of them had seen Abbas reach in his front pocket for his Makarov. Abbas could not see the fixed blade of the front site against the back of their heads, yet at point blank range, it didn’t matter. One hollow point bullet in the base of each skull was enough to do the job, but Abbas gave them both one more for good measure.

He rolled the cadavers and was fishing through their pockets, looking for his $30,000. He would need the money more than they would. Once the cash was secured, he straightened up, not enjoying the noticeable pain in his back. He had been warned about this by The Medico. There was no time to waste. He thought about leaving the spent shell casings behind but did not want to tempt fate by handing over more clues than necessary - not now when he was on the cusp of jihad.

See More Below The Fold

He decocked the East German semi-auto and placed it in his waistband. Removing the flashlight from his pack, he let the light slice through the cool evening air.

The shine from the brass was easy to spot against the desert ground. Each reach brought the pain in his back to the front of his mind. The Medico had given him a series of pills in increasing strength for when his pain worsened. Back in Mexico City, the Imam had warned Abbas not to use the medication until he absolutely needed it. His head needed to be as clear as possible. Abbas returned the flashlight to his pack, pulled out his handheld Garmin GPS and hit the power button. He waited for the unit to triangulate with the satellites overhead and thought about what else his Imam had said.

This jihad, Abbas was told, would be unlike any other, and would easily kill more infidels than the great nineteen had taken on September eleventh. Instead of hijacking planes, Abbas would carry the revenge of Allah in his blood. A blood that ran hot when his youngest brother left their home in Syria to fight the infidels in Iraq. A blood that boiled when Abbas heard that his brother was blown to pieces in front of a mosque in Fallujah. A blood that now carried what The Medico had placed there in his Mexico City hotel room.

The Medico was not Mexican, he was Libyan. The gloves he wore were not thin hospital latex gloves, but thick rubber. Whatever was in the syringe, The Medico wanted no part of. He was not willing to run the smallest risk of being pricked. Abbas knew this was a one-way ticket once The Medico stuck his arm, and that is the way he wanted it. Abbas knew his brother was waiting for him in paradise. He missed his brother terribly.

The Medico on the other hand, knew the painful death smallpox would cause, and that his three million dollar fee would set him up for life in San Paulo.

The GPS unit had synched. Abbas was close. He had less than two miles to go north northeast and just about thirty minutes to get there. He stepped over the bodies of his escorts and headed off. On the flat ground, this would not be a problem as long as his back held out. He took his first pain pill to ensure his timeliness.

When Abbas got to the destination indicated by the Garmin unit, he would be picked up by Hussein - or Henry as he was known at the Texas Oil refinery in Texas City. Henry worked there in the kitchen preparing food and had stolen a security badge and uniform for Abbas. Henry did not know Abbas, nor did he know about the smallpox incubating within him.
Henry would not know his true role in this jihad. The Imam said it was best this way. The reality was that it was not uncommon for jihadists to think twice about their plans after spending time within the borders of the Great Satan, as Henry had done.

Tomorrow morning, Abbas was to go to work with Henry, and stay there until he was certain he was spreading the revenge of Allah to the workers of Texas Oil via their cafeteria lunches. From there, he was to execute a similar operation at the Marathon refinery for two days with the help of another unwitting accomplice.

With whatever strength was left, he was to travel to the malls and cinemas of Austin. Under no circumstances, was he to allow himself to be caught by any police or official before his death. It was best not to tip the hand of Allah. His deathbed would be a hotel room in central Texas, paid for with the money he lifted from the Mexicans. He would be long dead before his cash ran out and the hotel manager came knocking. By then his task would be complete. The less the infidels knew, the better the revenge would spread. The care package from The Medico would help him fight the pain and malaise for as long as possible.

The Garmin unit Abbas held in his hand told him he had reached his destination. He looked to the west. In the distance, headlights approached through the dry evening air and eventually stopped. Abbas retrieved his flashlight and flashed it twice at the car. The headlights replied in kind as they resumed their approach. Abbas let out a long sigh and sat next to the road, lowering his head, resting his back. His jihad had begun.

...think this couldn’t happen? Think your “Compassionate Conservative” president will protect you? Guess again.

GET ME OUT OF HERE ...

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Posted by Ranting Right Wing Howler

on 04/04/2005 at 05:44 AM
Filed Under: • Terrorists •
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