20160701 (recruiting)

Your future lookin’ bleak, Punkie?

Howdja like to go straight to that

Heavenly reward, no questions

Asked? Just think about it. Seventy-

Two lovely, innocent virgins

Lining up to receive your pump—

Every one of them will be so 

Impressed! With no knowledge

Of any other man what else could

They think? No more lonely 

Whacking the monkey all by

Yourself in a dark room. With

Any kind of luck after you’ve

Pricked their putz who says

They won’t want to suck your

Knob for a taste of your powerful

Man-gob. But wait, there’s more!

You’ll be joining a highly select

Company of heroes. Your family

Will remember you not just as

Some worthless scumbag who

Couldn’t hold a job, who got

Rejected by the army (and we 

Know they’ll take anybody

Who’s got a round warm

Asshole—I said “has one”

Not “is one”), but as a freedom 

Fighter, a slayer of infidels,

A bulwark (temporary, for

Sure, but a bulwark, nonetheless) 

Against the western devils,

Allies of the hated Jew. There’ll

Be flags with your picture 

On them so your buddies can

March in the streets waving 

Your banner in celebration.

Your pals will be licking their

Lips just thinking about you

And your seventy-two new 

Girlfriends. Can you visualize

Their envy? Little kids will

Happily join in your parade. 

Grandmothers, mothers,

Especially your own, will weep

Profusely for your brave deed 

And your steadfast courage.

They won’t ever again be thinking,

“Ahmed, he’s such a schmuck.

He’ll come to nothing, if you ask

Me.” Sadly though, there are some

Physical requirements. Can you

Carry another thirty-five pounds

And walk maybe fifty yards

Without falling over? And in

The right direction? Can your

Finger push a button when we tell

You? We could rig you up with

A remote detonator, but it’s so

Much simpler if you do it yourself.

This is all the Caliph asks of 

You—just one simple act of

Courage. Your likelihood of 

Becoming a big success on your

Own is, well, a little unrealistic.

The best indicator of future 

Performance is past performance, 

And let’s just admit there 

Are few medals dangling from 

Your mantle. We need a few

Men, not particularly good men,

So you’re our type. Put your X

On the dotted line and we’ll get 

Flags with your face on them

Printed right away. Don’t forget

The new vest is free and will be

Tailored to your measurements

(Plus packs of C4). Last of

All—unlike other war injuries—

There's no pain whatsoever.

(So far we've had no complaints.)

You won’t even hear the boom

Because your head will be flying

Faster than nerve signals travel.

Imagine that—war hero, no 

Suffering. This is an equal 

(Temporary) employment opportunity.

Ladies, young ladies, widowed

Or too ugly ever to get a man? 

We guarantee seventy-two of 

The hunkiest beards who ever

Raised a shaft. But further, sisters

You’ll break that glass ceiling-- 

Actually any ceiling really--your

Parts will be like cannon balls

As the rest of you becomes a

Steamy soup. It’s got everything:

Glory, recognition, an act of

Religious devotion (if that’s how

You swing) and a free fitted bra

For as long as you need it.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016