DEAR HUGH 18
Wednesday July 27th 2005
Alif lam mim ra. In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful.
No I’m not on the turn, you cultural pig. According to The Koran, this is the correct way to address each other. Seeing as Allahmania is the new big gig, I thought it would be wise – or at least polite – to get hold of a copy as I want to find out more about this virgin business.
As far as I understand it from reading Her Majesty’s Press, the job incentive for all these nutters who are going about taping Semtex to their tools is that once you’ve got over the shock of watching your head fly off, you get to go to Paradise and shag virgins.
One, ever shagged a virgin? I have; several. It’s crap. They have no idea where anything is meant to go and invariably they then go on and on about being pregnant. Which is not what you want to hear in Paradise; not when you’ve gone to all that trouble of exploding yourself and then spending bloody ages searching about in the rubble for your dick.
Two; forget virgins and them writing all about it in diaries that their mothers then read. No, if you’re on the stairwell to Paradise with all your bits gathered up in your arms what you want to be asking for is a single mum instead. Much more fun. They go like rockets and tend not to say “Sorry, I think I might gag”.
Anyway, this here Koran – or Cor-RAN, as I expect our American cousins call it – has an index. I looked up virgins. There is no listing for virgins. Maybe it’s a Liverpool edition.
But does this lack of chapters extolling the benefits of a tight fit mean that all of these Imploders have been wasting (a) their time and (b) TNT?
Well, not quite. If they turn up in the clouds asking for directions to the virgins they’re going to be looking for an eternity. Yes, I know they’ve got all day and all of the day after that ad infinitum, but it can get tedious. Ask old Moses; he packed it in after forty days.
But the smart zealot doesn’t waste his time looking for Mother Theresa and others of the untouched disposition (the type collectively referred to in my experience as “this is my friend, she’s got a lovely personality”).
Nope; Mr. Smarty gets to the celestial garden and follows the signs for “the high-bosomed maidens”, whom I believe can be found down past the bouncy castle and right at the maze.
I thought that would get your attention. According to page 417 of The K, as we shall snappily now call it, “as for the righteous, they shall surely triumph. Theirs shall be gardens and vineyards, and high-bosomed maidens for companions: a truly overflowing cup”.
A few observations here.
One, I presume that calling a maiden “high-bosomed” is a diplomatic way of avoiding use of the “sag” word. So what does that tell us – that Paradise is full of plastic surgeons?
Or are all of the 38EE ladies herded off to some isolation wing of the Aftergarden where nobody will see them traipsing about tripping over their nipples?
Two, what is all of this “vineyard” lark? Who are the vineyards for? I thought the Believers didn’t drink. Or don’t the rules apply up there? I only ask because if everybody’s pissed off their face playing with high bosoms in the vineyards, then I can’t see the difference between Paradise and a lock-in at The Kings Arms when that bird who’s now gone to Exeter used to run it.
Three, as you may know The Koran is the infallible word of God as revealed to Mohammed by the Angel Gabriel (who was obviously quite the gossip). So which one of those three was having a laugh by punning “a truly overflowing cup” on the high-bosomed business? Was the Angel Gabriel in fact Max Miller wearing a sheet?
Four, and this is the page (70) that The Imploders would probably prefer us to skip over, or at least to pretend that the pages got stuck together after somebody got excited reading it with maidens in the vineyard – this matter of “the righteous” needs examination.
Because page 70 makes it perfectly plain that there is absolutely fuck-all “righteousness” to be found in blasting anybody with an unpleasant flying cocktail of Semtex and your bits. And I quote:
“It is unlawful for a believer to kill another believer except by accident….He that kills a believer by design shall burn in Hell for ever”.
Excuse me for being dense but weren’t there a few believers on (a) The Bus and (b) The Tube trains?
Sorry, I think you’ll find that there were. Don’t you boys come moaning to me with excuses about how you’d left your spectacles in Leeds. I don’t care if you didn’t notice them, those were believers. No bosoms for you; it’s straight to bed in Hell for you, my lad. Consider yourself smoted.
By the way, can I just make it perfectly clear at this point that I, clearly, am a believer. I am, actually. I used to be an atheist until I realised I was God.
Hang on! I’ve found the virgins. They were hiding on page 378. OK, I take it all back; apparently there will be virgins Up There. Phew, thank God for that! For a moment there I was starting to think I might have to take a gerbil with me. Although judging by the explanation of what the virgins will let you get up to, it sounds like very little fun.
For a start, the virgins will be red. Yes, red. I don’t know why, I have absolutely no idea; maybe they’ve got a deal with the Native Americans or something.
“Therein are bashful virgins…virgins as fair as corals and rubies”.
Ever seen “fair” rubies? As I said, red. Great. Don’t fancy yours much. Have you got them in brown?
It gets worse.
“(The blessed of the right hand) shall recline on jewelled couches face to face, and there shall wait on them immortal youths with bowls and ewers and a cup of purest wine that will neither pain their heads nor take away their reason (my emphasis) and there’s shall be the dark-eyed houris, chaste as hidden pearls….we created the houris and made them virgins, loving companions for those on the right hand”.
OK, so now you’re probably thinking “did I keep the receipt?” How does that smoting thing work again? Does it hurt?
Exactly – because what is the point of wine that does not take away your reason? We all know what reasonable wine means; it means that German alcohol frei gunk that the misinformed believe reformed drinkers like myself will really enjoy.
Let me make it plain from my position of considerable authority and experience of the subject of being pissed, there is no point to drinking alcohol-free anything. You may as well shag a vir….
And there’s another point. How in Heaven’s name are we expected to chat up these houris (a houri is an alluring woman, by the way, dictionary-defined as “a nymph of Paradise”) if we can’t get the Dutch Courage up because the wine is crap?
Mind you, what else do you expect if you ask an angel, God and a prophet to organise a party? I bet they don’t do wedding receptions.
Also, if I’ve got to spend all of fucking forever lying on a jewelled couch asking some nymph what bands she likes, I’m going to need some heavy-duty vino, not least to numb the pain of all of those jewels poking me in the arse.
And on which subject, I’m not sure I like the sound of having all of these “immortal youths” hanging around with their bowls and spittoons when I’m trying to teach the houris what “nymph” is an abbreviation for. You can take the afternoon off, boys, I don’t even like Crocodile Rock.
Anyway, I think that 21st Century culinary developments can be called upon to give a make-over to Eternity and on this point the celebrated chef Michael Stone has created the menu below for men on the tug. The following recipes are especially designed for gentlemen planning A Seductive Evening and are guaranteed to please a houri girly. Hope you enjoyed this study of The Koran; next week: Understanding The Talmud Or 1,001 Ways With Chicken Soup.