Christmas in Khartoum
Posted: 2009-12-25 12:11pm
My Christmas gift to SD.net!
Christmas in Khartoum: (The Story That'll Ensure I'm Never Welcome in the Islamic World.)
It was snowing in Khartoum. Unusual, for it was usually a hundred degrees this time of year, and the last time anyone could say that it'd snowed in Khartoum, dinosaurs roamed the Earth. The people emerged from their apartments and homes, from their Internet cafes and from their workplaces to marvel at the sight.
None stayed long. There were screams as drivers, unfamiliar with the snow, skidded on slick streets, smashing into the rapidly growing snowbanks. And there was the snow itself. It was a malevolent snow, those who felt it upon their skin would tell their grandchildren it felt like being sliced by millions of tiny daggers. Even the very Nile itself began to freeze over.
Just outside of the Afra Mall, a child stood. Dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, he shivered with the new-fallen snow. Suddenly, a faint jingling could be heard in the air. The child froze, turning, trembling, wetness spreading on the front of his shorts at the terror he beheld. A corpulent, bearded, white man in a red suit stood before him, looking like he'd taken a wrong turn on the way to Laughlin.
Slowly, shakily, the child offered the bottle of cola in his hand to the fat man. For a moment, all of Khartoum seemed to freeze as the fat white man regarded the lanky dark child. Then there was an explosion of movement. The bottle exploded into a snow of glass and frozen Pepsi as the child's head leapt from his shoulders, blood geysering like a red Old Faithful, falling to the street like snow.
"You are on my naughty list! I only drink Coke, you shithead," the fat man rumbled, sheathing his katana.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" He said, stepping into the mall. Santa Claus had come to Khartoum.
The screams were deadened by the snow falling from the sky,
as Santa dashed through it, in the blink of an eye.
"Naughty!" He screamed, his katana singing as it cut beautiful blue arcs through the air.
Each one ending in a fountain of blood, a head, a limb, or internal organs flying from those who were dead right there.
"Naughty, naughty, naughty! Ho, ho, ho!"
The corpulent white man leapt effortlessly from the high-rises of the rich, to the tin roofs of the poor.
Fingers flew from hands and feet from legs;
guts spilled like spaghetti and skulls cracked like eggs.
The blood sprayed and gushed through the air,
falling to the street with nary a care.
Around the lampposts their intestines hung;
like bright Christmas garland, strung all around.
Upon a young dark-skinned couple Santa stumbled upon.
His eyes, like gimlets; his mouth, a frown.
"Naughty, naughty! No kissing under the mistletoe!
Your brains from your skulls, my TOW missile shall blow!"
Giblets rained down upon the city below.
Eyeballs, hearts, livers, and spleens covered the streets like newfallen snow.
Suddenly, the doors were flung open at the Mesjid al-Kabir.
Out from the darkness, did a fierce Arab appear.
"Halt O Ye Blasphemy Upon the Prophet Jesus," shouted Muhammed;
As he dashed before Santa, quick as a comet.
"You think you can stop me?" Santa cackled with glee.
"Feel the wrath of my elves, whom I shall summon to me!"
From every corner, doorway, car and manhole;
The elves sprung out, ready for gore.
Swinging their chains and clubs, and wielding their Uzis;
to the Prophet Muhammed, they seemed like quite a doozy.
But the fierce Arab had a gleam in his eye.
Like a martyr to Allah, ready to die.
"Now Abdul! Now Sufi! Now Khalid and Saddam! On Kofi! On Malik! On Farouk and Tazah!
Come O Ninjas of Islam.
Take apart the elves, like a giant truck bomb!"
From every manhole, every doorway, every window, and every car;
sprung the Islamic ninjas, ready to serve Allah.
With their scimitars and throwing stars and their turbans and their beards;
they presented a sight that was most definitely to be feared.
But the elves were ready, they leapt to the fore.
And the battle was joined like never before.
Elf and Ninja fought with their swords,
and the innocent bystanders died by the horde.
For the battle was causing much collateral damage;
like never before was Sudan being ravaged.
In the middle, the center, the midst of it all;
Santa and Muhammed battled across Khartoum's urban sprawl.
Sword strikes flew, and blows were exchanged.
Debris rained down, but nothing was gained.
When the day drew to a close as the lights faded down low,
the corpses covered the streets like blankets of snow.
From every fencepost, heads were strung.
From the dark skies, jingle bells rung.
As Santa screamed off in his sleigh, he yelled: "Muhammed, you may have foiled me this day.
But mark my words, I'll be back, and all of you will pay!
Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
I will be back, and the naughty will fall!"
And such, was Christmas in Khartoum.
Christmas in Khartoum: (The Story That'll Ensure I'm Never Welcome in the Islamic World.)
It was snowing in Khartoum. Unusual, for it was usually a hundred degrees this time of year, and the last time anyone could say that it'd snowed in Khartoum, dinosaurs roamed the Earth. The people emerged from their apartments and homes, from their Internet cafes and from their workplaces to marvel at the sight.
None stayed long. There were screams as drivers, unfamiliar with the snow, skidded on slick streets, smashing into the rapidly growing snowbanks. And there was the snow itself. It was a malevolent snow, those who felt it upon their skin would tell their grandchildren it felt like being sliced by millions of tiny daggers. Even the very Nile itself began to freeze over.
Just outside of the Afra Mall, a child stood. Dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, he shivered with the new-fallen snow. Suddenly, a faint jingling could be heard in the air. The child froze, turning, trembling, wetness spreading on the front of his shorts at the terror he beheld. A corpulent, bearded, white man in a red suit stood before him, looking like he'd taken a wrong turn on the way to Laughlin.
Slowly, shakily, the child offered the bottle of cola in his hand to the fat man. For a moment, all of Khartoum seemed to freeze as the fat white man regarded the lanky dark child. Then there was an explosion of movement. The bottle exploded into a snow of glass and frozen Pepsi as the child's head leapt from his shoulders, blood geysering like a red Old Faithful, falling to the street like snow.
"You are on my naughty list! I only drink Coke, you shithead," the fat man rumbled, sheathing his katana.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" He said, stepping into the mall. Santa Claus had come to Khartoum.
The screams were deadened by the snow falling from the sky,
as Santa dashed through it, in the blink of an eye.
"Naughty!" He screamed, his katana singing as it cut beautiful blue arcs through the air.
Each one ending in a fountain of blood, a head, a limb, or internal organs flying from those who were dead right there.
"Naughty, naughty, naughty! Ho, ho, ho!"
The corpulent white man leapt effortlessly from the high-rises of the rich, to the tin roofs of the poor.
Fingers flew from hands and feet from legs;
guts spilled like spaghetti and skulls cracked like eggs.
The blood sprayed and gushed through the air,
falling to the street with nary a care.
Around the lampposts their intestines hung;
like bright Christmas garland, strung all around.
Upon a young dark-skinned couple Santa stumbled upon.
His eyes, like gimlets; his mouth, a frown.
"Naughty, naughty! No kissing under the mistletoe!
Your brains from your skulls, my TOW missile shall blow!"
Giblets rained down upon the city below.
Eyeballs, hearts, livers, and spleens covered the streets like newfallen snow.
Suddenly, the doors were flung open at the Mesjid al-Kabir.
Out from the darkness, did a fierce Arab appear.
"Halt O Ye Blasphemy Upon the Prophet Jesus," shouted Muhammed;
As he dashed before Santa, quick as a comet.
"You think you can stop me?" Santa cackled with glee.
"Feel the wrath of my elves, whom I shall summon to me!"
From every corner, doorway, car and manhole;
The elves sprung out, ready for gore.
Swinging their chains and clubs, and wielding their Uzis;
to the Prophet Muhammed, they seemed like quite a doozy.
But the fierce Arab had a gleam in his eye.
Like a martyr to Allah, ready to die.
"Now Abdul! Now Sufi! Now Khalid and Saddam! On Kofi! On Malik! On Farouk and Tazah!
Come O Ninjas of Islam.
Take apart the elves, like a giant truck bomb!"
From every manhole, every doorway, every window, and every car;
sprung the Islamic ninjas, ready to serve Allah.
With their scimitars and throwing stars and their turbans and their beards;
they presented a sight that was most definitely to be feared.
But the elves were ready, they leapt to the fore.
And the battle was joined like never before.
Elf and Ninja fought with their swords,
and the innocent bystanders died by the horde.
For the battle was causing much collateral damage;
like never before was Sudan being ravaged.
In the middle, the center, the midst of it all;
Santa and Muhammed battled across Khartoum's urban sprawl.
Sword strikes flew, and blows were exchanged.
Debris rained down, but nothing was gained.
When the day drew to a close as the lights faded down low,
the corpses covered the streets like blankets of snow.
From every fencepost, heads were strung.
From the dark skies, jingle bells rung.
As Santa screamed off in his sleigh, he yelled: "Muhammed, you may have foiled me this day.
But mark my words, I'll be back, and all of you will pay!
Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
I will be back, and the naughty will fall!"
And such, was Christmas in Khartoum.