An Open Letter to al-Qaeda Recruiters

I wanna be a terrorist.

Dear al Qaeda;

Your terrorists – the dudes you pay a shitload of money to go to America and basically raise hell and hopefully put some infidel capitalist yankee pig-dog bodies into the dirt – well in a word they suck. In two words they fucking suck.

You basically have the most incompetent boobs on your payroll. A bunch of slackjawed idiots that couldn’t tell their buttholes from a packet of fizzling firecrackers on Chinese New Year. This will not do.

Look, I pay attention to the news media. At least the American news media, the one that says that we need to be afraid of you guys because you totally can come out of nowhere and strike us at any time like the big mean boogeymen that live in our closets and lurk behind every shadow.

You and I both know that’s bullshit. You guys are pretty inept. I doubt it’s your fault, after all, you’re an international, pan-global terrorist organization that employs fellas of all stripes, faiths, creeds, religions and nationalities to…

Oh wait no, you only hire illiterate Islamic fundamentalists. The kind you can easily brainwash into believing your line of bullshit about 72 black-eyed virgins in Paradise forever if only they martyr themselves for The Cause.

Well look, I’m not that kind of rube-ass rural hillbilly shitheel. Well I mean I am, sort of. I’m poor white trash from a trailer park in a rural-ass desert state out in the middle of nowhere Bumfuck U.S.A. If the two of us can agree on anything, it’s that hummus is awesome and camels are kickass. Beyond that, I think you’re a bunch of backwards dipshits that the world would be better off without.

That said, I believe myself to be the sort of guy you really need in your organization. I’m intelligent, educated, erudite, have an awesome beard, a kickass keffyiah, a highly sexual AK (on which I’ve qualified Expert) and a burning hatred for all infidels[1]. I’m white, English-speaking and unattractive enough to never arouse any serious attention from authority.

Your recent attempt to do some work in New York, your recent, disastrous attempt that was pretty much a clusterfuck of nitwittery all the way around, from your guy being completely inable to build a simple car bomb[2] to our law enforcement establishment barely bumbling their way into a last-second arrest indicate two very important points I’d like to address.

1: Your training doctrine and hiring policies are idiotic.
and
2: Our Law Enforcement Establishment is so fucking incompetent that had you an operative on the ground with a modicum of intelligence and foresight, he’d be able to do some serious damage and would be able to get away scot-free. He’d baffle the Law Enforcement Establishment to the point where only his hubris would allow him to get caught.

The whole affair in New York this week was pretty much the Keystone Kops chasing the Marx Brothers while Abbot and Costello looked on from the bleachers.

Since I’m the kind of fella who likes to approach problems from back-to-front and work out the back-end kinks before setting up a nice and shiny front-end facade, let’s deal with the Law Enforcement problem.

– ON DEALING WITH LAW ENFORCEMENT –

Now where your guy, what the hell was his name? Feliz Navidad? Oh that’s right, FAISAL SHAZAD, booked a flight out to the UAE on Emirates Airlines, in cash the day after he was named as a Person of Interest in the failed car bombing. He was caught on the runway while a vaudeville trumpet warbled out in the background: wah-wah-wah-waaaaaah~

If your training doctrine held any more water than a plugged canteen, you’d have trained your guy to have purchased the plane tickets, (ROUND TRIP, ALWAYS ROUND TRIP FIRST CLASS) at ;east two weeks ahead of time, using a stolen or forged credit card under an assumed name that was linked to an easily-forged passport. I hear that West African passports are the easiest to forge. Why don’t you have an army of counterfeiters and forgers on your payroll to crank out these funny passports day after day?

Make sure they have stamps in them, from airports all over the damn world. Honestly, people. I know you want the world to act like it’s the 12th century and all, but can we possibly, maybe please pretend that we’re doing business here in the 21st? A brand-new, unstamped passport from some tinpot West African nation just reeks of forgery. Take the time to weather the thing, make it look like the fella who’s using it has used it for a decade on many, many pan-global flights to even states that are considered pro-Israel.

I know that whole “pro-Israel” statement throws a big old wrench into your mental cogs and all, but hear me out a bit. The world knows that you want to destroy Israel and every last Jew on the planet. That everything’s the Zionist Media Conspiracy and that’s why y’all are painted as the bad guys et cetera et cetera whatever. If you want to be taken seriously as terrorists, you need to drop this facade of being Islamic Fundamentalists and go back to basics. Y’all want the money, y’all want the power, y’all want the money that comes with the power. That’s what everybody wants. I’ve seen Scarface like ten times, you don’t have to tell me how it works.

I know you guys are going to balk when I say that I need to buy a ROUND TRIP, FIRST CLASS ticket. Hell probably two. Those things are expensive (around 18,000$US see below). There’s a reason for this. First and foremost. Dude I’m a white guy. A big fat white guy with long hair and a beard. I wear hawaiian shirts non-ironically and really like to drink gin and smoke the occasional cigar. I also like cute little asian girls with square-framed glasses and big-titted blondes. Why is this important? Well let’s lay out a hypothetical, shall we?

Not cheap, but at the same time, what's the eternal fear of those imperialist American pigs worth to you?

One day after any terrorist attack, where are the authorities going to be looking? They’re going to be checking all the flights into any Arab-friendly airport. They’re going to be looking for single males, aged 18-40, with Arab-sounding names, who paid cash. What they’re not going to be looking for is some fat white guy in an aloha shirt, cowboy hat, drinking a martini and getting a handjob from some fake-titted blonde he asked that morning if she wanted to spend two weeks sunning herself on a beach in Dubai, no strings-attached.

If you’re willing to spend an extra little bit of cash, around 3-5K$US to throw the incompetent comedy antagonist police detectives off of my (our) trail, simply have another of your operatives find one of your little fundamentalist buddies, some dyed-in-the-wool, wide-eyed huckleberry True Believer who would love to make his once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to Mecca and just go ahead and dump a boatload of cash in his lap, under the sole condition that he leave today. Go buy a ticket cash and wait in line and get on the airline. A different airline at a different airport from the one I’d already booked two weeks ago. This is important. Local and Federal Law Enforcement will be so busy holding up flights and probing this poor kid’s butthole for so long that my flight will have long ago gotten into the air and it’s smooth sailing with an airhead blonde[3] all the way to Dubai.

Still with me? That was just a couple of steps, a couple of pretty expensive steps, but what’s 20 Grando compared to an operative that’s able to still move freely and undetected and without any suspicion at all on him. He can go back to America in two weeks, sunned and rested and loaded with enough hard cash money stuffed into the empty scarecrow shell of the vapid bleach-bottle blonde with which he came to move on to the next strike.

Wash, rinse, repeat[4] until the crybaby United States is reduced to a quivering, shivering little spineless slug on the beach, horrified at the mean old bearded guy menacing it with the salt shaker and magnifying glass.

Next, let’s talk training. I know the above three pages were a lot to get through, so you can go make a sandwich or pee or whatever. This is the internet, shit doesn’t happen in real time. You can pause and walk away for a bit and it’ll still be here for you. So don’t sweat it. Personally I moseyed off for a ham sandwich and a bottle of hefeweizen so I could collect my thoughts a bit before going into this next section.

– ON TRAINING –

Okay so which one of your derp-sherpas is responsible for Fievel Mousekewitz’s bomb training? Our media was all batshit bonkers about how he spent a whole five months in Pakistan learning the fine and subtle art of Improvised Munitions which apparently consisted of taping a bag of fireworks to the side of a 20# propane can and resting that on top of a couple bags of non-ammoniated fertilizer that he likely got at Home Depot for six bucks a bag.

Listen. There are these dudes, Paladin Press. They republish and distribute a bunch of U.S. Army training manuals from the 1960s. These are legal to own and redistribute under the Freedom of Information Act. You can buy them, copy them, distribute them. Christ I bet there’s a torrent out there[5]. Buy the book, download the .pdf, whatever. This book teaches you how to distill and recombobulate the components for C4 and RDX out of stuff you can get at REI. Since manuals such as this (whose copyright date is 1968 for shit’s sake) are pretty rudimentary and you, as a successful pan-global terrorist empire with access to funding that eclipses the GDP of some G20 nations, I’m certain you have access to information, tools, technology and training that put this little manual to shame.

Why aren’t you using them?

Now, I’m not a hardcore militant Fundamentalist Islamic whatever, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express some time ago so let me break this down for you.

Your boy Fyvush Finkel needed to build a simple car bomb that would be a big old flash and burn the hell out of the dudes seeing The Loin King. I can imagine why you’d want to torch the Loin King, what with it being about some royal dude’s junk and all. And then there’s that Toys R Us nearby, and if ever there were a symbol of decadent Western civilization, it’s a Toys R Us. I mean an entire supermarket-sized store devoted to overpriveleged manchildren spending trust-fund money on imported Chinese garbage toys instead of growing up and reading the Quran? Besides those fuckers never have the TFA Arcee in stock and it’s really the only one from that line that I want anymore so those cocksuckers need to burn.

So, S.H.A.Z.A.M. went and bought a car in cash. Good move. He paid 1300$ in a face-to-face via Craigslist on a cash transaction. Bad Move: He let the buyer know his name. Man never, never, ever tell anyone your real name, ever. Total rookie move on his part. Another rookie move was he didn’t spend the time on Google looking for the car’s Vehicle Identification Number and Chassis Identification tags. There are usually three. One on the dash, one on the drivers’ side door and one on the frame. Removing and/or defacing these is a pretty sure way to maintain the auto’s anonymity. Let me type that word out one more time in case you didn’t read it the first time (or at all because apparently y’all are completely illiterate), ANONYMITY. Being able to track anything back to the perp is a sure-fire way to get your dumb stupid fucking ass busted by the damn Feds. Being in a state of “busted by the damn Feds” is the opposite state in which you wish your operatives to exist, so to maintain this delicate state, REMAIN FUCKING ANONYMOUS.

You don’t have to go as far as wearing a plastic Guy Fawkes mask though, that just attracts attention anymore. And it gets the Scientologists involved and if you think fucking with the evil capitalist yankee pig-dog Americans is pulling a tiger’s tail, well as a wise man once said to me: “Out there is a fortune just waiting to be had; and if you think I’m going to let it go; young man you’ve got another thing comin’.” Don’t fuck with the Scientologists, basically. Take my word on this. Once you get “Fair Game”d, it’s all over for you. Y’all think you’re scary dudes with your beards and night gowns? You got nothin’ on attorneys in thousand-dollar suits.

Once the auto has been properly anonymized, it’s time to get to bomb-making. Let’s talk a minute about liquid propane gas. It burns, it burns hot. It makes a big impressive fwoosh of orange/red flame spilling out all over the ground and instantly dissipating. Propane, as used in the initial firebomb attack would actually make a pretty damned great initial charge, one to get the fires hot enough to ignite and spread the main incendiary – which as I assume – was what Phylicia Rashad was going for with the bags of fertilizer.

Unfortunately, world events, particularly the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995 rendered the sale of explosives-grade Ammonium Nitrate highly restricted. A dude cannot simply walk into a Home Depot or Wal-Mart or Lowe’s and buy up bags of AN to which he would add a bit of FO[6] and have a totally sweet bomb. Those days, unfortunately are long gone. Now a dude has to work at it. I know you muslims have a real hang-up about getting your hands dirty. Which is another big bonus for hiring me, not being a muslim, I lack this hang-up. I’ll get dirt and shit on my hands. No big deal baby. We here in the West have this totally sweet invention called “soap.” I use it all the time. It’s good stuff.

Various manuals, the 1968 Improvised Munitions Handbook as described above dictates how to process and percolate Ammonium Nitrate out of modern fertilizers. A simple Google search will also yield about one million results on how to produce the base components to make an ANFO bomb. Unfortunately, a Nissan Pathfinder with its quarter ton weight capacity would not hold enough of this homemade ANFO explosive to light a cigar, let alone level a city block and send a thousand Off-Broadway fans to their teriyaki-grilled demises. And fuck that Toys R Us for not stocking Arcee. Those bitches had it coming. Goddamned night crew’s a bunch of toy scalpers anyway.

It was said that the trigger to the bomb consisted of several battery-powered alarm clocks wired into a simple ignition (likely a cut-down light bulb, knowing how bright your boy was[7]) circuit. Granted that Saint Kalashnikov once stated so eloquently “Things that are complex are not useful, Things that are useful are simple.” – a fireworks fuse stuffed into a sawed-off Christmas light wired to the output signal on an alarm clock is complicated (and stupid). So complicated that I’m surprised it even worked. When your skilled, highly-trained-and-dedicated Pakistani bombmaker was out at Home Depot wasting his (your) money on bags of fertilizer, did he not notice there was a 9v electronic switch system in the garden irrigation and plumbing aisle that sells for like 25$? With this unit, no wiring, no fuss, no muss, no fighting, he has a self-contained unit that completes a 9v circuit. More than enough current to actuate any number of homemade blasting caps or even several commercial or military-grade demolitions caps as purchasable by fellas like yourselves, the pan-global terrorist organization with deep pockets and deeper blood ties.

So, if lame little ANFO bombs and propane canisters are out, what’s in? Well, as our Finnish friends learned when they tussled with your Soviet buddies back in the 1930s, nothing works better at smoking out pricks than a little half-and-half, diesel fuel and motor oil. The humble Molotov cocktail. Two bucks worth of fuel, oil, a mason jar and a bit of ammonium perchlorate can take down a million-dollar armored vehicle. Now imagine if you will, the same Nissan Pathfinder (or better yet, any light pickup truck or van), with its floor removed and replaced by a grate. On top of this grate will be stacked dozens of mylar balloons filled with that delightful Molotov mixture, diesel fuel and used motor oil.

Mylar? Deep sea salvage teams have long used mylar balloons filled with diesel to slowly lift sunken wrecks to the surface. If it’ll hold the fuel under millions of pounds per square of abyssal pressures, it can slosh around in the back of a pickup for a few hours.

The ignition source could be as simple[8] as the alarm clock and light bulb and fireworks ensemble that your buddy Navidad used, or it could be complex like I don’t know, a goddamned nine volt timer set to trigger attached to a rather simple blasting cap which itself actuates an homemade plastique booster built into a shaped charge, strapped to a small propane or white gas container. Ten minutes after the play has scheduled to end, this trigger ticks and the charge then burns through the mylar, the open flame ignites the Molotov mix, the ensuing conflagration is then clear to gush out of the grated openings cut in the bottom of the vehicle. Instant rolling sticky fireball that’s sure to reduce at least ten or twelve theatergoers to cinders and HEY FUCK YOU THAT TOYS R US. IF YOU’D STOCKED AN ARCEE NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED.

Naturally, by the time this delightful firebomb has ignited, myself, the decoy bimbo and the red herring are already in motion.

See, that wasn’t hard, was it? I haven’t had five months of bomb training in the hills of Pakistan. And I’m not even a fucking terrorist. Not that I haven’t already been confused as on by the head of the Department of Homeland Security, what with my Gadsen Flag and Ron Paul 2008 bumper stickers and all.

And to top it off, even if I do get seen, the media gets its White Guy, Aged 18-40, Annoyed With The Current Administration at whom to point fingers. This is a big win for you guys, since you don’t even need to claim responsibility, the media will have its witch hunt and tear the country apart from the inside. No matter the outcome, you win.

So, sirs. Have we a deal?

I’ll expect of course to speak with one of your guys. Preferably in someplace neutral, like say somewhere in the middle of nowhere Virginia, distant from my base of operations (west coast) and close enough for me to take in the sights I’ve always wanted to see since I’ll likely never get another chance (Smithsonian, Aberdeen Proving Grounds, the Patton Museum of Armor, maybe the Colt plant).

My fee for this operation is a scant one million dollars. Cash money in small bills. You’ll have to bring a few duffel bags. Hell why don’t you just buy me a new pickup and fill the truck with the bills? For this paltry price, you’ll have chaos and terror previously untold in the United States, and it’ll be wrought by an American citizen, one who doesn’t speak a lick of Arabic or Farsi, one that has absolutely no ideological ties to y’all (in fact thinks that you’re a bunch of dumb fucking retarded gynophobic pussies), with a decidedly W.A.S.P.y name, appearance and manner – coupled with a lifelong desire to be the bad guy (refer to my comment about the number of times I’ve seen Scarface. And Die Hard. Die Hard fucking rules).

I send this letter to you because COBRA isn’t hiring on account of being completely fictional but equally retarded.

If we have a deal, let’s meet. I’d like to get a good look at your guy and maybe snap a few candid photos of us having beers on my iPhone because I totally won’t take that to the feds or anything as evidence to use against you for them to build a case while I slowly sap you of your funds, bleeding you out of your very monetary lifeblood for absolutely no real return on your end.

I mean you hire dumbshits like Faisal Shazad after all. How much money did you waste on that idiot?

xoxo

– I Wanna Be A Terrorist.

[1]to be fair, I hate Christians as much as I hate Jews as much as I hate Buddhists as much as I hate Hindus as much as I hate Atheists as much as I hate Muslims. All y’all retarded.

[2]man, the Lebanese and Irish had car bombs down decades ago, where’s this guy’s head?

[3]to recoup the expenses of this flight, I can sell you the blonde.

[4]oh, I apologize, that’s pretty much against your sacred ideology, the wash part at least.

[5]http://thepiratebay.org/torrent/4369735/US_Army_Improvised_Munitions_Handbook yep!

[6]nitromethane racing gas, available at most high-performance shops. Buy me a fuckin’ cherry-sweet Chevelle SS or Mustang Mach 1 Fastback or that AMC Javelin I always wanted and I’ll have a totally plausible cover story as to why I needed all the racing fuel.

[7]ba dum tish!

[8]by which I mean “complex and stupid”

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