Iowahawk Guest Commentary
by Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi
Former Senior VP, Al-Qaeda In Iraq
Yo brosephus, what's crackalackin' with the booty smackin'? Longtime no fatwa. Like what's it been, 5 years? Yeah, I know, I got a whole inbox full of emails from you infidel fags all like, "yo Zark, holla at a playa, how's that paradise shit workin' out witchu?" And by the way, you can stop sending me them stupid LOLgoat pictures, I seen 'em all. Listen chump, Zarkman ain't got time for your internet jibber jabber, or twitter twatter, or whatever that latest earth shit is. And stop asking me to friend you up on FagBook to play MafiaWars or Cowville and all that gayass computer shit. Yo cuzz, Zarkman gots bigger problems.
Let me help you out son: this paradise resort is a straightup kick in the dick. I ain't playin' with you holmes, this shithole is worse than the Ramadi Inn during Taliban convention week. Yeah, I know it's supposed to be Allah's own 5-Diamond eternal reward getaway, peace be upon him, blah blah blah. But for fuck sake, can't he afford to hire a better staff? Look, Zarkman don't like to bitch, but if these fuckers don't give me a room upgrade real soon I got half a mind to drop them a nasty rating on Priceline.
Yeah, I got all the brochures. The all-you-can-eat buffet, the beach volleyball, the 24-hour poontang room service. But every time I ask about it, that fat sunburned asshole desk manager Lou is all like, "oh, I'm sorry Mister Zarqawi, that part of the property is currently under repairs." And then he starts laughing again like some damn idiot and stabs me right in the nutsack with a frickin' pitchfork. Customer service, my ass. Even the fire alarms don't work in this dump.
And don't get me started on their "famous 72-flavor virgin menu." Cuzz, I ain't had no snappa in so long my nards look like a pair of bearded 5-pound plums. Not that I'm experiencing lack of nookie, though. Wordlife cracka, the last 5 years has been one non-stop muthafuckin' prom night. With Zarkman as prom queen. I guess it wouldn't be so bad if my goddamned mystery dates bought me a corsage once in a while. Or if they didn't uses cheese graters as condoms.
So yeah, I guess you could say this paradise shit has not really lived up to expectations. The worst thing is the stankass overcrowding. You'd think shitty word of mouth might slow down business, but every day there's a new dump truck full of fresh shaheeds showing up, courtesy the Great Satan's crusader travel agents. It's the entertainment high point of my day, watching all them headshot horny dumbass noobs asking for their free cooch, right before the resort counselors march them to the flaming cesspit for their orientation session. And that's another thing. Come on Allah - flaming cesspits in paradise? Srsly?
Where was I - yeah, the overcrowding. Instead of finding vacancies in some other resort for all these overbooked new assholes, you know what the management does? They fucking make us room up with them, even though the contract specifically says "private accomodations w/ shared foot washing facilities." For reals, just the other day even I got a new roommate. On Tuesday the bellhop let him into the room just as I'm cleaning up the sulfur from my AM prom date. So I'm like, "WTF, man? Didn't you see the Do Not Disturb sign?" And the bellhop just gives me the finger with his tail and says, "say hello to your new eternal bunkmate." And then the mouthy little fucker holds out his cloven hoof like I'm supposed to pay him a tip! When I refused the asshole dick-punched me and slammed the cage door.
So I'm bent over from the dick punch, and I look up at the new roomie and he's kind of mumbling quietly. Maybe because half his face was shot off. Big tall muthafucker with a ZZ-Top beard full of seawead and shit, and a swordfish spike through his head. So I'm like, "what you looking at, no-face?" and laid him out with another dick punch.
"You in the top bunk, bitch," I said. Yeah, even in paradise the Zarkman keeps his pimp hand strong.
Even before he could get up off the floor, the camp activities directors came into the room and drug Mumbles off for his "morning calisthenics." Now, mind you, paradise ain't been no Club Med for the Zarkman, but I still wouldn't trade places for Mumbles. For whatever reason the whole staff had decided to make him their special bitch. When they dumped him back in the room it was obvious he'd gotten the whole Round-the-Paradise special - the Yemeni Bow Tie, the Damascus Carwash, the Cairo Bundt Cake, the Bagdhad Chili Dog, the Mecca Brown Sock, you name it. Hell, I been here 5 years and I ain't had half the dance card Mumbles experienced in in his first day.
Good thing Zarkman ain't got that sympathy shit you infidels are cursed with, or I'da missed the best muthafuckin' laff riot I've had since I got to paradise. In fact I was beginning to think my luck was turning around and that Allah had sent me Mumbles as my own personal skit comedy show. But then the stupid fucker starts screaming and crying underneath that facemeat, and the stupid noise starts driving me nuts. So I dickpunched him again, but that only made it worse.
At this point I'd rather get another prom date than another minute of this faceless fuck's crying. So I'm like, "why don't you shut the fuck up bitch, and text me what you got to say." I give him my cell number, and then he whips out his Blackberry and starts texting with his brokeass thumbs.
HLEP ME BROYHER
I AM ISABA BOM LADEM
I HAVE SECREY ESCAOPE PLAM
2 PAKISTAN
"Pakistan? Fuck that shit, Isaba," I said. "That dump is worse than here."
But just then, like fwip-fwip-fwip, a bunch of goddamn Navy SEALs from Team Satan drop in on ropes, superspy style, and I'm like shhhhhhit. Those crazyass muthafuckers tracked us down to paradise, and without a warrant.
And then, to top it all off, my new roommate Isaba grabs me and uses me as a human shield. I mean, WTF dude, that's my move! Didn't make any difference, because right on cue, pa-papp pa-papp, Team Satan double taps the the both of us. And then zwip-zwip-zwip, up the ropes they go again.
Lemmee ask you something, playa. You ever had a .223 full metal jacket migraine? There ain't enough Tylenol in paradise for that shit, even if they had Tylenol in paradise.
So it's been pretty much like that here since Mumbles showed up. Every day, it's calisthenics, fwip-fwip-fwip SEAL time, human shield time, pa-papp pa-papp, zwip-zwip-zwip, Excedrin headache #1. Just like that infidel movie of yours, Groundhog Day, except you really don't want to know what they use the groundhogs for. Trust me.
I'd almost be able to take this martyrdom angelhood shit if it wasn't for Mumbles, who is driving me nuts with his stupid faceless crying and stupid escape plans. I keep telling the stupid douchebag, it's a waste of time trying to run from Team Satan. Like they said in another infidel movie: ever time a SEAL rings, an angel brain will sting.
Later haters,
Zarkman
