Monday, April 2, 2007


Ask Fatimah: (Send us any questions to and we will force Fatimah to answer them. We don't oppress women. We only try to impress them with our male dominoes.)

Dear Fatimah:

I live in a small mental village of the mind in Pakistan but everyone thinks I am an Arab. I love carpets, if you know what I mean, sistah. But recently, I have fallen in love with a man named Allah Dershoshitz. He writes like a God and loves to bash Muslims and Arabs as much as I do those hywans! Anyway, how do I let A.D. know I want to marry him, and what do I say to my partner, the woman who heads the publishing house that publishes all my books between lap dances? Is there a secret to men I don't know?

Irshad Munchee

You Maniac:

I know what you mean about Dershoshitz. He is a publishing God, and publishes more books bashing Arab teazy than I get yeast infections from my husband, who, by the way, runs a liquor store in San Francisco's inner-city, Mahmoud Abdullah Hassen Yahya or, Mike, as he is known at Liquor industry conferences, Praise Be Upon Him (we can't drink alcohol but we can sell it to the infidels, again PBUH). Although sometimes he is also called "Big Booty" by the customers. Anyway, that's what he tells me.

I suggest that you get Dershoshitz's attention by saying something bad about Israel, rather than always shoving your nose up their tezzies all the time. I mean, I understand how you might waiver from your Lebanesian preferences given the shameless Red-Eye sucking you always offer to men. But Dershoshitz will immediately write a book denouncing you. You can then fall to his feet and beg for forgiveness. He'll then write and dedicate an entire book to you. From there, you're on your own.


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