wishlist / four lions

Today I heard about Four Lions by Chris Morris. Which means I'd better bring out Wishlist - which was written sometime in 2007 (and performed rather poorly one Saturday morning on FBi).

Wishlist

Maybe I did join Al Qaeda for the chicks.
It's so hard to meet a nice girl these days
and it's not because I spend
my spare time in brothels, mother.
The man I met at the retreat
told me about 72 virgins:
pure, chaste, blessed by Allah
(May His Name Be Praised),
like 72 Pamela Andersons
running in slow motion across
the Baywatch beach of Paradise.
Not like the sluts & whores
who don't return my calls & texts
& special poems written in pigeons' blood.

The mountains are remote and sacred
and I have grown a holy beard
like the prophet
(Peace Be Upon Him)
Only it has flecks of orange
and a patch under my left ear
that won't grow.
I sometimes think the other
Holy Warriors of Allah
(May His Name Be Praised)
laugh at me behind my back.
But they mostly pick on Ibrahim
who wears glasses &
comes from Tajikistan.

It is cold here in the mountains
and we pray five times a day.
When my head is against the mat,
I shut my eyes tight and
try not to think of home.
In the afternoon, I carry a gun
so I must be important.
The gun oil sticks to my clothes
smudges my skin into pimples.
Sometimes my hands are too numb
to load my rifle.
Last week I found out
the smell of napalm in the morning
makes me what to vomit.
I wonder if this is truly the Will of Allah
(May His Name Be Praised).
I must remember that the mountains
are filled with tempters & demons.

They said I could not go for flight training,
that my claustrophobia was a liability.
They would not send me to Indonesia or back to Europe.
My hands are decorated with no infidel's blood.
One day they will pick me.