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I’ll Take My Nubiles Muslim Style…

I’m cooking in the kitchen, a nice Turkish dish this girl taught me a while back…  Just taking it easy for one night.   When Nadia, my roommate, comes in the front door all distraught.  She was supposed to be at the movies.
     “Did you see Munich?  How was it?” I asked.
     “I couldn’t take it, I walked out after 30 minutes…  I just want a solution to the problems over there so I decided to come home and pray to God to drop a nuclear weapon or just wipe out all of Israel and Palestine with some kind of a natural disaster like a tsunami or something.  I just want the violence to stop.”

     I keep stirring for a second and then look over at her.  “Holly fucking retard Nadia…  Your solution to stopping the violence is to drop a nuclear weapon on both Israel and Palestine?”
     “I just don’t want to hear about it anymore.  It’s so negative.”

     Let me tell you a little bit about Nadia.  Nadia was born in Boston, her father is from Pakistan/Atheist and her mother is from Trinidad/Muslim.  She was raised Muslim and supposedly practices it as well.

     “Nadia…  You are aware that Palestine is predominantly Muslim right?”
     “I don’t care; they are just dragging the whole world down; it’s so irritating.”
     “And genocide is your solution?”
     “Well what is your solution?”
     “Well getting on my knees to pray to God to drop Nukes on them isn’t the first one on my list, but go for it…  See if He listens.  While you are at it, ask for a dishwasher.  At least that way you can clean your dishes without the risk of contaminating the rest of us.”
     “What are you talking about?  I’m an excellent cleaner.”
     “Now you’re really talking crazy.”

     Once, when Nadia and I were first roommates back in our old place in Mission Viejo, she decided to clean the kitchen starting with the stove.
     She took a bucket of water and just poured it all over the burners and what not, flooding the water down into the oven even.  She was very proud of herself.  It wasn’t until someone mentioned that it was a gas stove and that she had just blown out the pilot light that it dawned on her what she did.
     We tried to explain to her that here, in America, we don’t clean our stoves by just flooding them with water.  That it wasn’t like a Third world country where you cooked with little fires on the floor and had to pour water over them afterwards for the safety of the village.
     She said we were racist.  When asked what specific race we were making fun of she couldn’t think of a specific one.  So she altered it to sexist, to think it was a woman’s duty to clean the kitchen.  Yet we pointed out that we didn’t ask her to clean the kitchen.  She was stumped…

     See this is not Boston.  This is California.  We do things differently here.  We also use soap and general antiseptics, which she seems to have a fear of.  But I’ll get back to that later.
     “I’m an excellent cleaner, not like you, you dirty infidel.  You don’t even wash before going to pray in church.”
     “Nadia, I don’t pray, and if I did, I think would probably pray for world peace before asking God to send natural disasters to take care of the Middle East conflict.  Are you sure your religion doesn’t have a touch of violence in it?”
     “There’s nothing violent about my religion.  Islam is all about peace.   It’s everyone else who is violent.  We are very accepting”
     “So why was it the first thing you thought to pray for was a mass killing?”
     “I don’t know, Ryan, maybe I shouldn’t pray for that, but I just think all the killing is really sad.”
     “How many nubiles do you get when you go to Muslim heaven again?  40 or 70?  And is it only for guys or do girls get nubiles as well?”
     “I don’t know, but I think women get them too.  Virgin nubiles.  Beautiful Youths.”

     My cell phone starts to ring in my bedroom so I set my sauce to simmer and go answer it.  
Ten minutes later I start to smell smoke and go back into the kitchen.  It’s not my sauce, it’s another cooking pan on the stove with black smoke rolling out of it that was left on high with nothing but a thin layer of grape seed oil which was now burning and takes a lot of heat when you are using that kind of oil.  This is the sixth time she’s done this in a month.
     “Nadia?” I ask.
     She’s sitting at the dining room table, three whole feet away from the stove playing with her laptop.
     “Oh!” she jumps up and takes the pan off.
     I guess the billowing black smoke wasn’t enough for her to notice.
     “You know Nadia, I’m still willing to throw down the money to get you tested for Autism.  Any time, just let me know.”
     “I’m not autistic, Ryan. I’m not like you, I can multi task.” She’s still holding the burning smoking pan as she babbles.
     “I can see that.”
     “I just focus too hard on things.”
     “Like?”
     “I was looking up Nubiles, and it comes from Aramaic, and it used to mean grapes.”
     I give her my look.  “Grapes?  These savages are blowing themselves up at border checkpoints, over grapes?  It better well damn be 70 grapes then because this 40 shit just ain’t cutting it.”
     “It used to mean grapes,”
     “Are they seedless grapes?”
     “No, it used to mean grapes.”
     “I heard you, what a wonderful death bonus system you guys have.”
     “Stop it, we don’t get grapes when we go to heaven, we get nubiles.”
     “Jesus Christ…  Why just 70?  Why not a 100 or even a million?”
     “Because 70 is all anyone could ever handle.  But I’m not sure if it’s 70 or 40.”
     “I don’t know, 70 sounds like a lot but I think after 10,000 years I could be wanting more than that.  Eternity is a long time, you know.”
     “Yes, Ryan, I know eternity is a long time.”
     “And would you really want virgins?  That’s a lot of teaching you’d have to do.  Be nice to get a couple of pros thrown in for good measure.”
     “I don’t know, but my husband will be a virgin.”
     I don’t say anything as I think about it.  “What did you say?”
     “My husband is a virgin.”
     “You’re not married.”
     “But when I marry him he will already be a virgin.  It’s being arranged.”
     “One, how does a person ‘Already be a virgin’?  It’s not like you upgrade your sexual status to it. You start out that way.  And two, what the fuck are you talking about arranged?”
     “In Sri Lanka, the family that adopted me while I was there, I’m going to marry their son.  He’s really attractive and they are well off.  I’m going to have an arranged marriage.”
     “Are you drunk?  Arranged marriage?  Why?”
     “Because I’m Muslim, and they are Muslim. It’s part of our culture, and an arranged marriage is so much better than a marriage for love.”
     “Wait, you don’t even love this guy?”
     “No, but he’s nice, and his family is well off.”
     “Well, it’s good to know you’re not doing this for shallow reasons.”
     “No, American marriages are so bad.  Love isn’t enough.”
     “Maybe not, but it’s how they should start.”
     “No, love isn’t as important as people think it is in a marriage.”
     “That’s insane. You went to MIT and got a Degree in Water Science.  Don’t you know how to think logically for a second?  Could you pretend at least?  You did actually go there right?  This wasn’t some degree you pulled out of a cereal box one morning, was it?”
     “No Ryan, I really got a degree.  But an arranged marriage is just better.”
     “Wait a minute…  He’s a virgin right?  How old is he?”
     “26.”
     “No fucking way he’s a virgin.”
     “Yes, he told me he was a virgin.”
     “A virgin with women?”
     “No he’s not gay, Ryan.  It’s against our religion.”
     “Hold on…  Nadia, you’re bisexual, and you aren’t exactly a spring chicken yourself when it comes to the virginity clause.”
     “Well, I’ll figure that out.”
     “You mean you are going to fake your virginity?”
     “No, if he asks me then I’ll tell him I’m not one.  I just hope he doesn’t tell anyone.”
     “Why?”
     “Because they might stone me.”
     “That I could understand.”
     “You have to be a Muslim before you get to stone women.  Oh, Ryan is that it?  You are jealous that you won’t be able to stone me to death?”
     “A little.  Don’t worry, though, I’ll bring a goat to the wedding.  I’ll be in good with the family after that, and then I’ll get to stone you, no problem.  They’ll give me a day pass.  Probationary period.”
     “You’re so horrible; only you could think of something like that.”
     “I’m not the one praying for a nuclear Holocaust because I couldn’t take 30 minutes of a Spielberg film.”
     “They wouldn’t even let you into Sri Lanka, filthy heathen.”
     “Speaking of, I’m going to have to send your ass back to Pakistan, 14th class air freight.  Worst 50 bucks I ever spent on Ebay.  I wonder if they will refund me.”
     “You’re horrible.  I’ll start a Jihad against you.”
     “Fucking Jihad…  I’ll show you a Jihad.”
     “Do you even know what Jihad means?”
     “To act, to strive, to struggle…  Yea, I got the e-mail too.”
     “Oh, Ryan.  You would’ve made such a good Muslim.  Too bad you’re a European Mutt.  We would never accept you.”
     “You’re right…  I should’ve only paid $25 for your ass.  They took advantage of my good will.”
     “You’re such a bastard!”
     “Fucking squaw… After I get done stuffing you into the fruit crate-shipping box, I think I’ll duck tape the holes closed.  For good measure, fruit flies and all.”
     “Oh my God, my brothers will kill you.”
     “Don’t worry, I’ll give you 70 grapes to keep you happy.  And in 6 months, when you arrive, 14th class and all, some lucky virgin goat herder named Jihad will open the box to discover your remains, and I’m sure the smell will be unique.”
     “You’re such a fucker…”
     “They’ll probably name a village after you.”
     “Oh God, you’re going to hell, with all the other whores.”
     “70 nubiles…  Fuck it.  Maybe it’s not all bad.”

     This cultural awareness moment was brought to you by Pepsi Cola…

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