Being the observing Shia that he is,
President Ahmadinejad, Mahmood (let’s call him PAM, for short) has
adopted for himself a Marjae Taghleed (Spiritual Guide, Point of
Emulation), as recommended by Shia doctrine. The Spiritual Guide,
chosen from the ranks of the clergy, supposedly personifies a
living example of piety to be consulted in all matters, revered
It is no secret that Ayatollah Mesbah Yazdi (let’s call him AMY,
for short) is Ahmadinejad’s Point of Emulation. AMY is nicknamed
crocodile for his reptilian brains, by his numerous “admirers.”
Given the high office Ahmadinejad holds, he has free access to AMY
and frequently seeks solace and guidance from him on religious as
well as matters of the state. Furthermore, AMY often times serves
the role of father figure, confidant, as well as therapist for
Recently, petrified by a vision, PAM rushed to AMY for
interpretation of the meaning of his vision and regarding the
course of action he should take. Below is a digest of what
transpired between PAM and AMY.
PAM. Your Holiness, no words can adequately express my infinite
gratitude to you for your unfailing generosity to this worthless
speck, for your willingness to see me, for your priceless
AMY. (Okay Speck speak up, he says to himself). Yes, yes. No need,
no need. Please proceed. What is troubling you my son?
PAM. Your Holiness, I had a vision—an incredible and disturbing
vision. I could not sleep the night, counted the minutes until I
could attend your presence and find relief from my torment…
PAM. Last night, I was pulled by an irresistible force to
pilgrimage the holy mosque at Jaamkaaraan…
AMY. (Sighing exasperatedly and saying, “Oh, oh, not again”). Yes?
PAM. Your Holiness, you will excuse my imposition if I report to
you in some details. It is a matter of great disturbance to me. I
beg your forgiveness in advance for wasting your invaluable time…
AMY. You are already doing so by not getting to the narrative.
PAM. Yes, Your Holiness. As always, you are so correct and wise.
Yes, as I was about to say, it was last night, this very past
Friday. As it is my habit I performed the ablution, secluded
myself in my chamber and busied myself with earnest prayers of
thanksgiving to God, the Prophet, and the Pure Imams. I
particularly prayed to the object of my heart, the Hidden Imam,
the Saaheb-u-Zamaan__ Lord of the Age…
AMY. (If this s.o.b. was not the president of our nation I would
already have him tossed out). Yes, that is commendable that you
prayed so earnestly. So, what is so unusual about that?
PAM. Your Holiness, I am getting to that part. You, in your
infinite wisdom have frequently admonished me, “Patience is Godly
while haste is Satanic.” Hence, I am taking your advice and
describing things in details hoping that I do not tax your
AMY. (Well, you take in a snake, you live with a snake. Hear out
the bastard). Yes?
PAM. Immersed as I was in my prayers, oblivious of the entire
world, when bandeh manzel—my house [a way good Muslims refer to
their wives]—entered the chamber and entreated me to take my
evening meal. What an atrocious thing to do? Interrupting my state
of utter bliss and spiritual ecstasy in order to take food? But,
women! What is that old saying, “Women are catastrophe, yet no
home should be without one?” That is exactly what they are.
AMY. (I certainly can think of many men who give women a run for
that distinction. And you, my little idiot are definitely one of
them. Except that no home should ever be cursed with your
presence, and here you are inflicted on an entire nation). Yes,
yes, I have heard that gem.
PAM. My bandeh manzel is an insistent woman. She has her ways of
doing things in matters domestic. She insists that I eat and drink
more nurturing food to gain strength since on my frail shoulders
rests the responsibility of leading God-fearing Muslims of our
nation, nay the entire world of Islam…
AMY. (I wager that she has found you sub-strength in performing on
her, you little weasel. Just think what the faith of God has come
down to—for an imp like you seeing himself as the one to lead the
Muslim world). Yes, yes, it is so. Please get to the main
PAM. After consuming a sumptuous meal, together with delectable
beverages and partaking of a few puffs of smoke, bandeh manzel
felt amorous—if you know what I mean?
AMY. (No, I really do not know what you mean. I can not fathom any
woman, naaghes-ul-aghl—[mentally deficient that women are by
nature]—would feel amorous toward a monkey like you). Yes?
PAM. Having discharged my conjugal duty, once again I embarked on
AMY. (I bet you did discharge). Which wife?
PAM. The first one, Sakeeneh Sultan. She is so demanding Your
AMY. Yes, yes. Women, as they get older they become less pleasing
and more pain. This is one of the reasons that we men are allowed
tajdeede faraash—renewal of bedding [bedding in this case means
wife]. No matter, proceed.
PAM. Your Holiness, would you overlook my impertinence if I am to
ask you a personal question? I am terribly embarrassed to present
you with this question. But, it is of vital importance to me…
PAM. When you are in amorous disposition, how do you convey your
desire to a wife?
AMY. Simplicity itself, my dear son. I whistle.
PAM. But how would whistling convey the message to the desired
AMY. I whistle a different tune for each zaeefeh—[weak-one—another
Islamic way of referring to women].
PAM. Ingenious. It is an outstanding solution indeed. But, what if
a zaeefeh finds herself in amorous mood? How does she signal her
AMY. Simplicity, again. She enters my chamber and asks, “Did you
whistle, sir?” Enough of all this side-tracking, please proceed
with the vision.
PAM. Thank you, Your Holiness. You, with your infinite wisdom,
never fail to resolve my profoundest of puzzlements. Yes, back to
the vision. Deeply immersed in meditation, I lost track of time.
Suddenly the room was filled with luminous light, two magnificent
angels appeared. I was completely overwhelmed. Beads of sweat
covered me from head to toe, tears gushed out of my eyes, and I
felt soaked all over…
AMY. (You little creep. I wager you had pissed all over yourself).
You said that you consumed a sumptuous meal and delectable
beverages. What kind of beverages did you imbibe, my son? Were
they by any chance, God forbid, the kind that should never touch
our lips? And you also said that you had a few puffs of smoke
after the meal. You must tell me about that too.
PAM. Your Holiness, no, no. I swear on the Quran that not a drop
of that satanic brew did touch my lips last night or ever…
AMY. (Why is it that anytime anyone wants to lie, they swear on
the Quran?). Yes, yes. I do believe you that not a drop of the
satanic brew has ever touched your lips. I heard that line from
another president of our country, Akbar Refsanjani—a pistachio
farmer turned billionaire by stealing the nation blind. Yet, all
evidence indicated that the conniving hypocrite was a habitual
imbiber of alcoholic beverages. To make matters worse, rumor
circulated that he had a special affection for Scotch whisky and
Bourbon, distillations of the infidels. No matter.
PAM. Did he actually break that cardinal law of our faith?
AMY. Well, I had personally seen in him signs of drunkenness and
decided to investigate the matter for myself. First, I confronted
him and he brought out the Quran, placed one hand over it and the
other over his black heart and swore that not a drop of any form
of satanic brew has ever touched his lips. Never trusting a word
of him, I assigned one of my loyal agents to stealthily keep Akbar
under observation, and guess what he found out? You get three
PAM. I give up, Your Holiness.
AMY. Mullah Akbar was telling the truth, just like you are. Not a
drop of the stuff touched his lips, while his gut got loaded to
the rim. Do I have to spell it out for you? Fine. He was drinking
right from the bottle, using straws. Not a drop was touching his
lips. You must have at some point attended Akbar’s hozeh—religious
seminary—of chicanery. Have you?
PAM. Your Holiness, it is for this very reason that I have chosen
you as my Spiritual Guide. Not only are you a true man of God, you
have unsurpassed intelligence—something that I sorely lack.
Admitting my sins to you is like confessing to the All-forgiving
and Merciful God. You recognize my failings, forgive my sins, and
admonish me to do the right things and to mend my ways…
AMY. Now, be done with the confession and get to the vision. And
the puffs of smoke you had? Opium, correct? The stuff is not
forbidden in our faith. I can not chastise you for its use. Why do
you not limit yourself to the ones that are sanctioned? Does not
the holy Quran command us, “Eat and drink of what we have given
you?” Of course we must refrain from the use of the ones that are
specifically forbidden, pork, alcohol and the blood of the dead.
PAM. Are we allowed to drink the blood of the living?
AMY. (Wise ass s.o.b.). We suck the blood of the living of people.
Can't you see the emaciated skeletons of our poor people? They do
not have much blood. And that is the way it should be. They
prosper and we will have a rebellion on our hand. It is either
them or us. And I say, it better be us.
PAM. Yes, yes Your Holiness. Admitting that you are correct is as
superfluous as saying that the Quran is the book of God. It is
self-evident. Yes, indeed I took a few puffs of the stuff, but I
did not inhale…
AMY. Now, you are using a page from the book of another conniver
president. This one was the president of the Great Satan, Clinton
the name. Recall what he claimed? That he had smoked marijuana,
but had not inhaled. Also fornicating with that young Jewess,
Monica was it? Yes, Lewinski or such. The fool made matters worse
by saying that he did not have sex with that woman. Then, when he
was proven lying, he was demanding people define “truth.” What are
you doing my son, scouting the world to learn every form of
PAM. I apologize for taxing your patience, Your Holiness…
AMY. While I am at it, I would like to elucidate the
Clinton-Lewinski shenanigan. It was just another case of Zionists
controlling every aspect of America: its finances, by owning the
Wall Street; its culture, by monopolizing Hollywood; and, its
government by having the politicians by their proverbial. Clinton
was not 100 percent in their pocket. He paid some lip service to
the cause of our Palestinian brothers. So, the Zionist set up the
Monica trap for him and they almost had him impeached. Yet, they
stopped short of impeaching him, because all others got the
message. Fail to toe the line of Zionism, and you do it at your
PAM. Yes indeed, Your Holiness. It is precisely the way I see it.
Zionism and America are two sides of a bad penny; two names for
the same satanic entity. Once we defeat one, we destroy them both.
AMY. Yes. As for you being the president of our God-fearing
nation, it is understandable that you are in a very delicate and
difficult position; that you rightfully need to master the art of
statesmanship and exercise it to full effect to the advantage of
our people. You should study your predecessor’s practices. You
know who I mean, not the thieving pistachio farmer but the smiling
mullah Khatami: The conman who had the world fooled by his
rhetoric on “Dialogue of Civilizations,” reciting the names and
works of infidel philosophers, while all along pushing his agenda
forward. The Master Cotton Killer…
PAM. Pardon me for interrupting. But, what is a Cotton Killer?
AMY. There are two major ways of killing your enemies. The most
obvious and crude type is the overt method—use of the sword or its
modern versions. These weapons, as deadly as they are, are not
easy to use without producing undesirable consequences for the
user. The other is the covert method—Cotton killing. The latter is
most deadly and if practiced skillfully, it can kill without
anyone suspecting a thing. You perform the latter while smiling
and appearing most gentle all along. See how the Cotton Killer
Khatami in the course of his eight years as president managed to
kill the budding movement for democracy and secularism? Now, you
have it easy. Thousands of troublemakers are either dead, in
prison or in exile. It is credit to the smiling mullah, and no one
can really pin any blames on him, even to this day.
PAM. (How can Cotton Killing work for my mission, how could I
eradicate Israel by this method, and pave the way for the Hidden
Imam to appear? Each problem requires its own solution. I can
realistically achieve my objective by the bomb. But, Israel is in
a small area of Palestine. Palestinians and Jordanians are within
an earshot. A bomb can get them also. No matter, those people are
not true Muslims. They are Sunnis. They deserve what is coming to
them. What about our Shia brothers in the Baka Valley nearby?
Well, we all must make sacrifices for the cause. They will go to
AMY. My son, wake up. Speak up. Where are you?
PAM. I apologize, Your Holiness.
AMY. No matter, tell me about the vision. (Somehow Friday nights
seem to be the nights for visions. Every other two bits lout
imbibes the satanic brew, takes a few puffs and in his drunken
opium-induced trance has visions).
PAM. Your Holiness, I am afraid that I am taking the risk of
making a jackass of myself…
AMY. (You already have done that many times, take the next bus).
No matter, no matter.
PAM. As I was saying, overwhelmed as I was, soaked and shaking
uncontrollably with excitement, the two magnificent angels,
grabbed me, each under one arm and in an instant I found myself in
Jaamkaaraan. I am certain that only you can fully appreciate the
ecstasy that enveloped me. I felt that the Imam had sent his very
own emissaries to take me to his hallowed presence…
AMY. (Horse feathers, you bastard. Do I have to listen to you
gherd—a derogatory term for monkey). Get to the point and leave
the details out. I have a seminar to attend to.
PAM. Yes Your Holiness. Next thing I knew, I was at the bottom of
the well in semi darkness and I saw the visage of the beloved of
AMY. Are you absolutely certain that it was the blessed Imam?
PAM. Now that you mention it, I can not swear on the Quran that it
was him, particularly after what transpired in my extended meeting
AMY. Strange things transpired?
PAM. Yes, unbelievably strange and frightening indeed. For this
very reason I sought your presence to relieve me of my perplexity.
AMY. It sounds serious. You must tell me all about it.
PAM. Fearing to run the risk of boring you Your Holiness, I shall
make it short…
AMY. (Boring me? You are killing me). Please continue. So, you are
not certain that it was our Beloved? Then why bother with the
vision. It may have been nothing more than what we call khaabe
shekammee—gut-overload dreaming—as the saying goes. Or, it could
be that the demon alcohol had done its mischief.
PAM. No, no, Your Holiness. It was no such a thing, since I have
had those types on occasion. Yet, this vision was far from being
due to perturbations of the guts by excessive eating and drinking…
AMY. No matter. Proceed.
PAM. Thank you. I had difficulty breathing in that tiny pit. It
seemed like the walls were pressing on me from all sides. Dampness
and stench were intolerable. It broke my heart to think that the
beloved Imam had taken refuge in that dreadful hole for over a
thousand years. I looked all over hoping that there was a
passageway that led to paradise where the Imam actually resided. I
found none. Of course it was fairly dark in there…
AMY. Yes, yes. Wells are known to be dark, and the deeper the
well, the darker the well. And it is believed that where the Imam
is in occlusion is several leagues deep.
PAM. Now I understand. No wonder I could not breathe. No wonder
the stench and dampness. No ventilation. That is what I say.
AMY. (You must have lost control of your systems, covered under
the quilt. That is what I say you little twerp). Yes? Please
relate the salient points and dispense with the ancillary
PAM. Yes Your Holiness. As you can imagine I had so many questions
to ask. I did not know where to start. But, I felt that I must
first thank him for all the things he has done for me. It is only
decent to do that, is it not Your Person?
AMY. (If I and my hozeh were not dependent on your financial
largess, I would have kicked your bonny hindquarters out of here,
the minute you arrived. You are killing me). Please get to the
PAM. You will forgive me, in obedience to your command, if I share
with you some of the points in a random manner as they come to my
AMY. (I was not aware that you had a mind). Yes.
PAM. I thanked the Imam for making me, his servant, the President
of the Islamic Republic of Iran and his Viceroy.
AMY. (Why thank him? Thank the illiterate Khameniei, the egomaniac
supreme guide. He is the one who hand-picked you and gave the
desperate people of Iran a choice between a crook and a monkey.
People picked you, the monkey, hoping that you would not loot them
as heartlessly as the crook Refsanjani would). Yes?
PAM. I thanked him for answering my prayer by inflicting severe
harm on that fat Zionist dog, Ariel Sharon. Do you know what the
beloved said in response? You get three guesses just like you in
your fairness allowed me three guesses earlier.
AMY. I give up.
PAM. You would not believe this, Your Holiness. I swear on my late
AMY. (Oh, oh, he must be telling the truth. He is not swearing on
the Quran). Yes?
PAM. The Imam looked puzzled and asked, “Who is Ariel Sharon? I do
not get the papers here regularly. Besides, it is too dark to read
and my contacts with the outside world are infrequent and not very
reliable.” Would you believe that? See what I mean when I said
that the pilgrimage was most perplexing?
AMY. I see. I see. Is this the end of it, I hope?
PAM. I am not perplexed because I am dumb. It is a most
confounding thing to be coming from the one who knows everything,
spoken or unspoken, overt or covert…
AMY. (You could have fooled me. No, you are correct. You have to
work your way up to dumbness. Idiot. That is what I say you are.
PAM. I can see that I am taxing your patience. It shows in your
visage. In any event, I will make it short. Then he asked me to
tell him a bit about Sharon. I did. He was visibly upset when I
related to him the terrible things that this man and his Zionist
occupiers of our holy land have done and continue to do to the
God-fearing Palestinian Muslims in their very own ancestral land.
Then the Imam wanted to write down Sharon’s name. He said, “I must
be getting old. I do not remember things like I used to. I have
become very forgetful. I must write things down.”
AYM. (I might just forget that you, imitation human being, are the
President and have my servants cut your both earlobes, stuff them
in your mouth, before tossing you out of my chamber). Did he truly
PAM. Yes, he did indeed. The sad part is that there was no one
around to bring him his writing instruments. No one showed up.
Just the two of us squeezed in the terribly confining quarters. I
reached in my pocket and offered him my PDA. He was visibly upset
when I did that and chastised me, “What in the world is this? This
is not a writing instrument. Are you mocking me?” See what I mean
by this terribly puzzling vision?
PAM. Moments later, he calmed down and I decided to thank him for
commissioning Imam Khomeini on his mission of reviving Islam. Do
you want to guess what his response was? Again, you will
definitely get three guesses, even more if you like.
AMY. What was his response? (You slime).
PAM. Unlike his oblivion about Sharon, he indeed recognized
Khomeini. What he said however, seemed blasphemous to this speck
of dust, particularly coming from the Imam. He said, “That
imposter villain? Why do you call him imam in the first place? You
fools have no sense, do you? He was an imam, murdering thousands
of Iran’s young men and women for the sin of wanting to be treated
as humans, rather than fanatical jackasses like you and your ilk?
Tangling with the accursed Saddam in a senseless war and between
the two of them maiming and killing millions of people from both
sides? He was imam by making stone-age rulings, supporting
terrorism and promoting a doctrine of hate? By dishonoring an
ancient nation, making Iran a pariah, the nation of Cyrus the
Great who was the very first author of the Charter of Human Rights
and by thoroughly sullying the reputation of Islam? That killer is
presently, and forever, is paying for his crimes. No 72 virgins
for him, no rivers of milk and honey, no lush fruits, just the
full amenities of the dreadful hell. He shares a cell with Hitler,
soon to be joined by Saddam…
AMY. Please that is enough…
PAM. Only one last thing, Your Holiness. I begged the Imam to
appear and set the world aright. I told him that it was beyond any
mortal’s capability to do so. Do you know what he said?
AMY. No, and I do not want three guesses. Please be done with it.
PAM. He said, in unequivocal terms that we should not accommodate
the Great Satan and its little proxy, the Zionist State; that any
negotiated settlement of our difference would constitute
appeasement of the satanic forces; and, that we should take the
struggle to its very end. It is then and only then that he would
emerge and rescue the world. Would you believe that? Is it not
wonderful? He will be coming, only if we do our assignment and
prepare the conditions…
AMY. (I hope that he brings with him the sure cure for the
mentally-deranged like you).Yes, yes, yes. I believe that is
enough. I recommend that you completely forget about this vision
and attend to your urgent duties as the head of our nation during
these turbulent times.