Pierre and His Adventures With Islamic Extremism
Pierre woke up at the crack of dawn and scratched his itchy crack. “Merde” he thought to himself “This humidity is unbearable. And the salt, it’s everywhere. I have a salty ass!”
He walked, still half asleep, to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He then poured it down the sink because coffee drinking began in the Middle East and was therefore symbolic of Islamic extremism. He sighed and thought of getting a croissant. But since France had outlawed all crescent shaped things, his favourite pastry was now sold only in the black market. People paid as much as 50 euros for one stale croissant. These were desperate times.
He walked into his living room and saw his teenage son sprawled on the carpet doing his homework. He smiled to himself, this bugger is going places. He peered over Thomas’ shoulder to see what he was working on. He saw a lot of x,y, and z. He was livid. He ripped the notebook from under Thomas’ hands and flung it at the TV. “No son of mine will study anything invented by an “Al-Jabr”. There will be no symbols of Islamic extremism in MY house. Do you understand?”
“Oui papa” said Thomas, too stunned to say more.
“Pierre, what’s wrong mon cheri?” It was Elle’s voice. Elle, his beautiful wife. Just her voice calmed him. He turned back to hug her and screamed. “WHAT’S THAT ON YOUR HEAD?!”
Elle jumped back and started hitting at her head. “Is it a spider? Get rid of it!” she screamed.
“No! Why have you covered your hair with a cloth? Elle, my darling, did the Muslamics get to you?”
“Pierre! It’s a towel! I just washed my hair. What is wrong with you!”
“Well, from this moment on you will use only hair dryers to dry your hair. No wife of mine will be oppressed by clothing.”
“But Pierre, it’s bad for the hair and….”
“Shush, Elle” he said, placing a finger on her lip “you will thank me later”
Pierre then stepped outside into his garden (which had no plants or grass since green was the color of Islamic extremism) and took a deep breath. The day had started off on a sour note. He needed to set it right. Well, he had his job to look forward to. That’s the only thing that gave him a sense of accomplishment these days.
He went to the bedroom and changed into his navy blue shorts and shirt, tightened his belt and latched on his trusty baton that was also a pepper spray. Ah technology, making violence so much more fun!
He headed off to the beach and waited for his best friend and colleague Paul to arrive. Meanwhile he looked around the beach for any suspicious looking people. There wasn’t much activity today. Just a dozen nudists, a guy selling weed, and an American tourist with a machine gun strapped to his speedo. Man, today is going to be dull.
Then right when Paul reached, he spotted something in the distance. Was he dreaming? Was it a mirage? He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes, this was definitely what he thought it was. He looked at Paul “Do you see that?” Paul nodded, his eyes steely and determined.
Pierre dropped his soda can on the sand and ran towards the woman sitting on the other side of the beach, engrossed in a book. As he got closer he saw clearly her bright blue burkini ( just the word got him worked up) and the straw hat covering her head. In one swift movement he tackled her and held her hands down. Paul ripped off her hat and said “no symbols of Islamic extremism. Not on our watch, young lady”
“Dammit Paul, that was supposed to be my line! How many times do I have to tell you?!” Pierre screamed.
Paul shrugged.
Pierre was miffed but decided to take it from there.
“Listen, you terrorist sympathizer, this is a free country where women are free to wear whatever they want, wherever they want. You heard that? FREE! So strip right now and show us what a proud French woman must show of her body at the beach.”
“But I have sun allergy…” the woman, now at the verge of tears, sniffled.
“I DON’T CARE. And if you don’t want pepper spray inside your nose, you better start stripping”
The woman began to remove her burkini as the rest of the nude sunbathers cheered Pierre and Paul. The weed dealer offered them a free joint and the American tourist fired a celebratory round into The sky and high-fived Pierre.
The woman was already splotchy. Might be the withdrawal symptom of letting go of Islamic extremism. It’s a powerful drug.
Once the woman handed her burkini to them, Paul and Pierre set it on fire. Pierre spat on it. “It’s freedom or nothing” Paul drawled. And then they turned their back on the now red woman and walked the walk of freedom, away from the smoke of Islamic extremism dismantling rising into the sky as bystanders applauded and coughed.
In the evening news CNN confirmed what Pierre always knew to be true. There had been reports of ISIS terrorists in Syria and Iraq just dropping dead. Scientists had now confirmed that the timing coincided with each time a burkini was set on fire. “We need to salute our brave policemen who work night and day to guard our beaches, our country, and our values from fully clothed women. Vive la france! Vive la liberte!” Said the journalist and signed off.
Oh it has been a good day” Pierre thought to himself as he dug into his hot shawarma.
