THE SUFFERINGS OF ST. HOLIDAY - PART 15 - TALIBANNED

Two bearded men with turbans stand on the porch of the home of Show Low's pre-famous poet and all-around holy man, St. Holiday. They ring the door bell.

St. Holiday: Who now? Not another process server, I hope. O why do they persecute me? Should I open the door? Of course, it might be a supplicant with tithes in hand. (The door bell rings again)
St. H: OK. OK.
(Opens the door to find the two young bearded men wearing robes, turbans and name tags).
First Bearded Man: Peace be to this house!
St. H: Who are you? (staring at their name tags)
Second Bearded Man: I am Talib Yasser, and this is my missionary companion, Talib Omar. How are you today?
St. H: I'm sick, and I'm sore. I'm tired and I'm poor. Besides that, I'm doing pretty good.
Talib Omar: Are you the one everybody calls St. Holiday?
St. H: The one and holy, in the flesh.
Talib Yasser: So you're the one who started it all - making righteousness hip and trendy!
St. H: Well, I can't take all the credit. It all started in a small town in New Jersey...
T.O: (Cuts him off) How humble of you. I'd like to hear more. Some other time.
St. H: It's truly the untold story of what a diet of bean and cheese burritos can do for a man and a nation.
T.Y: How rare it is for us to find another member of the Holy Sapiens, living in partnership with the Divine.
St. H: Oh, I'm just a member of the poor, resting class, longing for a happiness that resides only on the frontier of my imagination. Who are you guys? I notice you both have the same first name.
T.O: Huh? Oh, Talib; that means "student." We are representatives of the Taliban, going door-to-door in your neighborhood, sharing the good news of Islam. Could we have a few minutes of your time?
St. H: Well, I'm in the bowels of a personal crisis right now. Could you come back another time?
T.Y: Perhaps, we can help you.
St. H: Do you organize closets?
T.Y: That's your personal crisis?
St. H: It will be when the little wife gets home. If she sees the mess I made, I'm doomed.
T.O: This is not the preferred form of martyrdom. We can show you another way.
St. H: I think you're barkin' up the wrong dog, to quote an old saying.
T.Y: We're giving free cookies and a t-shirt to anyone who will hear our short message.
St. H: Cookies? What kind of cookies?
T.Y: Goatmeal and raisin.
St. H: Yum! Come on in. Let me go shut that closet door before The Lovely One comes home.
T.O: Let me ask you, St. Holiday, what is it you really want in life?
St. H: A Red Ryder BB gun would be nice.
T.Y: That's it?
St. H: Well, how about round-the-clock protection and the long-lasting relief I deserve? That would be good.
T.O: I think we can offer you something greater.
St. H: Are you really with the Taliban?
T.O: Si. I mean, yes.
St. H: I thought you guys were all hiding in caves in Afghanistan. What are you doing in Show Low?
T.Y: We are forerunners of the Taliban's new world outreach program. Our imam, relying on the words of the blessed Muhammad, peace be unto him, recognizes that the Taliban has become too parochial and therefore, misunderstood. We have gotten bad press in the West.
T.O: Yes, ignorance must be fought!
St. H: How do you do that?
T.O: House by house; one person at a time.
T.Y: You know, Holiday, you can't believe everything you hear from the mainstream media. They hate us for our freedom.
St. H: I kinda like those robes you're wearing.
T.O: It's how we express our personal style, our individualism.
St. H: Nice! They have a timeless quality with a touch of glam. Menswear with an edgy distinctiveness.
T.Y: Thank you. Our women also dress fashionably.
St. H: You two speak English so well.
T.Y: Thank you. In our cell, I mean, in our mosque, we study your language every day.
St. H: So, where are the cookies and the t-shirt?
T.Y.: Those items will be sent to you from our homeland, after we collect a small fee from you for shipping and handling.
St. H: Oh, then you'll have to wait for The Lovely One to return, because she doesn't let me have any money.
T.O: You have no money?
St. H: None. The Lovely One says I've been blinded by my hatred of money. Besides that, she says I always give my money away to people in need.
T.Y: Well then, we won't be taking up much of your time today. Thank you for your kind hospitality.
St. H: Wait. Don't go. Aren't you gonna share your message with me?
T.Y: It may be too late for you. It appears your wife has a leash on you.
St. H: What do you mean?
T.Y: First of all, she controls all your money. Secondly, you allow her to drive.
St. H: You don't allow women to drive cars?
T.Y: Certainly not. Our women have no desire to drive.
St. H: Is that true?
T.O: Absolutely! Islam is all about keeping our roads safe.
St. H: Safe roads! That may be a doctrine I can get behind, especially the way the Lovely One drives.
T.H: Holiday, we're sure you recognize that this was meant to be a man's world.
T.O: Yes. Imagine your wife saying: "I agree with Talib Holiday on everything, and I always do whatever he tells me."
St. H: That's impossible!
T.Y: All things are possible to him who believes.
St. H: She threw a glass of water at me the other day.
T.Y: Did you cut her hand off?
St. H: Well, no....... not yet.
T.O: Then you are far too permissive with her.
St. H: What else do you teach?
T.O: We're sure you realize, St. Holiday, that there is change in the air. My companion and I, and many like us, are traveling thoughout pre-Islamic America, promoting war in this peace-ravaged nation.
St. H: War?
T.Y: Yes, war, a time for all of us to focus on life-taking activities.
T.O: Lives can be taken, and they should be. It is the will of Allah, the merciful and compassionate.
St. H: I've always preferred peace.
T.O: Well, we have been encouraged by the high levels of excitement for militarism in this country, much of it driven by hatred and bigotry.
T.Y: Refreshing!
St. H: Oy, gevalt!
T.O: We hope to see weapons taken out of storage, loaded and used to full advantage, allowing war to reach those most in need of it.
St. H: But that would mean wide-spread death and destruction, misery and desolation.
T.Y: A new reason to smile!
St. H: Wait; let me try to wrap my consciousness around that. Maybe I'm missing something.
T.O: You must not surrender to craven cowardice and fear of conflict.
T.Y: War brings peace.
St. H: Peace brings peace.
T.O: Infidel! Don't make me throw my shoe at you!
T.Y: Calm down, Omar. Holiday, we can give you new rules to live by.
St. H: I already have some of those.
T.Y: Like what?
St. H: Like 'Never shake hands with someone coming out of the men's room.'
T.Y: That's good, but we can teach you even more.
St. H: How do we begin?
T.Y: First, you will need to be circumcised.
St. H: Wo, wo, wo! That's a deal breaker right there.
Y.O: Hey, Holiday; we don't make the rules; we just enforce them.
St. H: But I'm already circumcised.
Abdul: Then you'll only need a booster. Just a few nips.
St. H: (In a defensive posture) No nips! No nips!
T.O: It's a very small matter.
St. H: Hey, you don't have to insult me.
T.O: No, not that! I mean the holy operation is a small matter.
T.Y: Maybe we can get an exemption in your case. Let me call the imam. Perhaps he'll issue a fatwa.
St. H: A fat what?
T.Y: A fatwa.
St. H: What's a wa?
T.Y: It's not just a wa; it's a fatwa.
St. H: Why is it fat? Are there thin was?
T.Y: No thin was; only fatwas!
T.O: Don't make me moon you!
T.Y: Hey, Omar, butt out! Holiday, a fatwa is Arabic for a religious ruling.
St. H: Look, Talib Omar and Talib Yasser, I've learned a lot during our interview, but truthfully, I'm not your guy. I've got to get back to that closet, because The Lovely One will be home soon. I also have to fix her predatory blender.
T.O: OK, we understand. Paradise is not for everyone.
T.Y: May I use your bathroom before we go?
St. H: Certainly, it's right down the hall, second door on the right.
(Talib Yasser returns quickly from the bathroom)
T.O: What is it, Yasser? You look pale!
T.Y: His toilet does not face Mecca!
T.O: St. Holiday, we really must leave you now.
St. H: You'd better hurry. I hear The Lovely One pulling up the driveway.
(The two missionaries rush out the front door)