Posts Tagged ‘holy shit’
HolyDude emailed me this comic and — oh em eff gee — I had to share it with you guys:
Whathefa? Seriously? Seriously?? Mo actually ordered people to drink camel piss? News to me! I looked up the verse to verify that this is actually what it says, and guess what? The full hadith is waaaaay more fucked up than just a little urophagia.
Narrated Abu Qilaba:
Anas said, “Some people of ‘Ukl or ‘Uraina tribe came to Medina and its climate did not suit them. So the Prophet ordered them to go to the herd of (Milch) camels and to drink their milk and urine (as a medicine).
Mohammed ordered a tribe to drink a camel milk-n-pee smoothie to cure their aversion to dryness? OK. I get that. According to Wikipedia, urine therapy was a form of alternative medicine in several ancient cultures. See? Alternative medicine was just as silly and kooky then as it is now. People are advised against drinking urine because it might — besides just being plain old gross — give them a rash. Or, as in the case of the ‘Ukl / ‘Uraina tribe, it might cause….urine madness.
So they went as directed and after they became healthy, they killed the shepherd of the Prophet and drove away all the camels.
The pee-drinkers turned into pee-zombies and killed a guy. Then they chased away the camels, which is dumb considering that’s where their “medication” is coming from.
How did the good prophet react to all of this? With vengeance, of course!
The news reached the Prophet early in the morning and he sent (men) in their pursuit and they were captured and brought at noon. He then ordered to cut their hands and feet (and it was done), and their eyes were branded with heated pieces of iron, They were put in ‘Al-Harra’ and when they asked for water, no water was given to them.”
Did you catch all of that? One more time, in bulleted form:
- Mo had the tribe captured.
- He had their hands and feet cut off.
- He branded their eyes with hot iron.
- He dumped them in Al-Harrah (a large volcanic field near the Jordanian border)…
- …with no water. So they can’t even make more piss to drink.
Wow. Just wow. And in case you’re thinking maybe Mo wasn’t such a nice guy after all, the hadith ends with some good old fashioned enabling:
Abu Qilaba said, “Those people committed theft and murder, became infidels after embracing Islam and fought against Allah and His Apostle.”
It’s never Mo’s fault when he has to torture and murder someone. It’s their fault. It’s always their fault. He’s great, you’re crap!
Anyway, here’s what seems more likely to me. Mo tells the tribe to drink the “medicine” and they believe him. They believe in him enough to drink warm camel milk (desert, remember?) mixed with warm camel pee (pee’s warm). This does nothing for their climate woes, and they realize just how full of shit Mo was. They got pissed (no pun intended), killed the shepherd and chased away the camels in revenge. And you know the rest.
And with that, I’m off to make a pee-milkshake to cure my aching buttcheeks. I had one of those killer workouts yesterday that left everything from the waist down in agony. Hurts. So. Good! Have a lovely Saturday and I’ll be back soon with more desert fun. Stay tuned!
Hey check it out. It’s a real update! It’s late and I should be asleep, but my schedule’s been pretty out-of-whack since New Years’ Eve. I actually went out for a change, and I went a little overboard with the drinking. OK fine. I went WAY overboard with the drinking. KafirBoy and I have a shared BFF who was visiting from Minnesota and he knows how to bring out that wild side that goes dormant when you’ve been in a long-term relationship for a while. You know what I’m talking about? That side of you that want so chug rum till you black out? I did not have a pretty January 1st. I’m pretty sure a part of my liver died.
I don’t usually do the whole new years’ resolution thing, but it seemed like a good idea this time around. I’ve got three:
1. Join the gym so I don’t feel like a total lump from sitting in front of the computer at work 12 hours a day.
2. Stop being a shoe-aholic. Seriously. It’s a problem. I don’t want to be the cutest girl in the poor house.
3. Blog. More frequently. And, you know, try not to vanish for a month and a half without warning. I still feel bad about it, ya’ll. I’ll try to make time and be more regular with the writing. It may not all be about the Quran, because that book is fucking depressing and boring.
I was planning on blogging over Thanksgiving, but I didn’t really get a chance. The part I failed to mention was that my sister got married that week, too. I ended up being her servant and running errands the whole time.
To top things off, my grandmother noticed my tattoos for the first time. You remember my grandmother? The one who thinks the devil owns your left hand? Yup, that one. She made a big fuss about the whole thing because — get this — God will no longer listen to my prayers.
Crazy Grandma went into some story about how one of her housekeepers back in Pakistan had a tattoo. She asked the guy how he could do such a thing to himself because it meant God would no longer listen to his prayers. The guy felt so ashamed that he went and removed his tattoo. By himself. Using a knife he held over the kitchen stove till it got red hot.
The guy felt so guilty about being a “bad Muslim” that he burned off his own skin. Ouch, dude. And Crazy Grandma said this like he was some noble person. Like she actually condoned that kind of thing. Luckily for me, an aunt stepped in and fought for my honor. “Where exactly in the Quran does it say that about tattoos?” And Crazy Grandma was left bumbling around because, seriously, I don’t think she’s actually read the thing in a language other than Arabic. Good times with the fam.
In a separate incident, I came out of the atheist closet to a couple of cousins who just didn’t get it. They got kind of angry and defensive and demanded to know how I couldn’t believe in God. “No evidence.” One of them replied back, “Oh, so you need evidence for everything, huh?” All sneery and sarcastic like. This, by the way, is the same cousin who believes love comes from the heart. Not the poetic heart, but the actual heart. The muscle. You cannot make that shit up.
And, finally, I came out as an atheist to my mother. Kinda. Here’s how it went down. My mother made some comment about how if she ever goes totally senile, she gives us permission to dump her in a nursing home. Cheerful! That led to a long conversation about assisted suicide. I’m a strong supporter and my mother, big fucking duh, is strongly opposed to it.
I told her that if someday I have a horrible fatal disease and I’m suffering, I’d rather just put myself down. And she went on this huge thing about how it’s against Islam and I’d go to hell if I did such a thing. And then it slipped out: “Ohhhh whatever, I don’t believe in any of that. And if you don’t stop talking about hell, seriously, I’ll fly out to Switzerland right now and sign myself up.”
Guess what? She stopped talking about it. Booya! Life is good. Even when I don’t have much of it outside of work. And with that, I’m off to bed. I’m packing my Quran and a pen in my purse for tomorrow’s commute. See resolution #3. I’m sticking to it!
Yup. Saturdays are bitchy rant time. Only this time, it’s not me doing the ranting.
If you’ve been following along in the comments sections of the past few posts, you’ve probably seen the novel-length comments left by a Muslim named Nissa. She* went through and dive-bombed a bunch of posts with her Muslim take on things (ie “You’re wrong, God is right.”), but I published only 2 of the 9 comments she made. Why? Because she’s commenting on posts from 3 months ago. Nobody’s tracked those comments in, well, 3 months. What’s the point?
Either way, a few people got a kick out of the published comments and asked me to publish the mysterious “other” comments for their entertainment. Happy to oblige! I took screen grabs of her posts from my spam box. The only changes I’ve made have been to black out the email & IP addresses.
* I’m assuming Nissa is a female since I’ve never met a boy named Nissa in all my life.
Here’s what old Nissa had to say about the second post from chapter 2 (Women suck. And Jews suck, too.). Remember that from way back in July?
This one is from chapter 2, part 3 (Oooh heaven is a place on earth.):
Chapter 2, part 4 (The cow in question, plus other Quranic silliness.):
I know I said I wasn’t ranting in this one, but I can’t keep my mouth shut. She had to go and drag coffee into it. First off — I am nobody’s servant. So I have a hard time tracking that don’t-ask-questions line of thought. And I dunno where Nissa orders her coffee, but here’s how it plays out at the places I go.
What would you like?
– Large….extra large. Wait, do you have anything bigger than extra large? OK, fine, I’ll just take the large and come back in an hour for a refill.
You want milk in that?
Whole? Skim? Cream? Half & half?
– Surprise me!
How about sugar?
– Packet of Splenda, pleaseandthankyou.
There is no if-you-say-jump-I-say-how-high in my life. There are conversations. Exchanges. So maybe I just don’t get it.
Also, if I had a secretary, I wouldn’t ask him to get coffee for me. And I wouldn’t call him a secretary either. That’s so 1950s. Maybe this is just in the area I live, but if you asked an administrative assistant to fetch you a cup of coffee, he’d throw a piping hot cup of it all over your face. And if he didn’t, I’d do it for him.
And since we’re talking about bosses and coffee, I might as well share this. On a few occasions when I’ve had to work superlate, my boss has gone out to get me coffee. He even remembered the Splenda, because he’s awesome like that. Boy, I really don’t know where I was going with any of that. I just get a little defensive when coffee gets dragged into it.
Lets move on to the comment from chapter 4, part 1 (A scientific miracle in the Quran. Not.):
And chapter 4, part 2 (Mohammed’s Wager?):
(Note: on the occasions that I “dig” in the hadith to find details about things, I get angry emails from Muslims saying I’m obviously using the wrong hadith. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.)
(Note: suddenly the hadith aren’t so convenient, are they? They describe Mohammed sucking on a kid’s tongue. One more time? Sucking. Kid’s. Tongue. My grandpa gave me plenty of kisses, but, um, he kept his tongue out of it. Just sayin’.)
And, even though Nissa does not wish to post any further:
Well, shit, now that I see it written in all caps, I believe it!
Yiish. I tried my best to keep my comments to a minimum, but it’s hard. It’s really hard. Now it’s your turn. All of you who asked me to post the comments — have a field day. Comment away!
Our friends at the Atheist Experience recently got an email from a viewer that got my old wheels turning. Saki wanted to know the best way to approach a certain argument that some Muslims pull out as evidence of their God being cooler than your God. Or your non-God, in this case. Russell Glasser thought I’d like to take a crack at it, and he was right. (Thanks for the forward, Russell!)
From Saki’s email:
ok, i realize that you probably don’t do this sorta thing, but i’m getting really really ticked of over this one god damned (pardon the pun) argument that keeps popping up that i’ve been having to put to rest a good ten to fifteen times now… someone or the other quotes something from their holy book and goes “well this refers to this scientific discovery that wasn’t made until recently. How could people from the 7th century possibly know that?”
Hey, it’s the return of the Quranic scientific miracle! We got into this a little back in chapter 4, but it’s definitely worth discussing on its own. The exact argument that Saki is referring to is laid out in detail at this site. You can read it in full there.
Here’s the 10 second run down for all you lazy bastards out there: the Quran describes embryology in vivid detail which Mohammed’s 7th century local yokels couldn’t possibly have known about. The Quran wins! May Allah have mercy on you silly assholes.
Lets jump in and do it to it.
Know what you need? A KafirGirl t-shirt. Know where you can get one? From my CafePress shop! Whoo!! And here’s the best part: I’m donating every single cent of profit to good causes! It’ll be a different charity or organization each month.
There are 3 different designs available on a variety of t-shirts and hoodies, plus a bunch of other cool shit like a mugs, buttons & bags. There’s even a t-shirt for your kafir dog.
Go check em out! Read the 5-second FAQ below if you have questions about how / why I’m doing this.
- Who designed the shirts?
- Why are you donating the profits?
My husband and I have good jobs. We make enough dough to live comfortably, so why not donate it? I’ll feel good about it, you’ll feel good about it — it’s a win-win situation.
- How do I know you’re actually donating the profits?
I have no reason to lie. If I wanted to make a profit off of my site, I would. But I don’t ask for donations and I don’t expect to ever make a dime off of it. This site is a labor of love.
- I hate CafePress. Why didn’t you go with SpreadShirt?
Anonymity. SpreadShirt has this rule where they display your name and mailing address on your store page. CafePress doesn’t do that. Safety first!
- When will you make the first donation? Who is it going to?
As soon as CafePress cuts me a check. I haven’t decided yet who’s getting the first donation. The first donation is going to the Ayaan Hirsi Ali Security Trust. Feel free to share any other worthy causes and we’ll take it from there!
- If you see me wearing my Kafir shirt out and about, will you give me a high five?
Fuckin’ A, I’ll give you two high fives. And a hug.
Got any other questions? Leave ’em in the comments & I’ll get back to you!
You know how PZ Meyers (correction, Myers, one e. Thanks, Barefoot Bum!) posts some of the batshitass crazy emails and death threats he gets from jackasses? I love him for that. PZ has balls the size of Montana. They’re so big that he doesn’t even need a chair at his computer desk. He just plops down on his own balls. They’re so big, his balls, that he can’t fit in a car. He uses his giant balls as a hippity-hop to bounce his ass to work. He even has airbags installed inside his belly button! Safety first!
Anyway, I love reading those posts because it exposes a level of crazy that I don’t see in my day-to-day life. Um, until this blog started, that is.