Uneducating a Suicide Bomber

If heaven is a rest for the imbeciles, the banes of hell my portion must be. If cloud nine is a bordello, and the streets of gold are carved along the red-light-district, then god must be a panderer. Am I not already rewarded? My woman is: an orange, perfect in the sun; a watermelon, succulent; a mango with sweet nectar; a passion fruit, freshly plucked. One woman is ecstasy, two is hell’s gate. A saphead is a glutton for pure virgins. Lives foolishly forfeit for peculiar sayings. Let not this bird fly, for the two that is promised? When god became a sexist, it came to pass that man recreate himself, a lunatic, and the woman he objectified became the dominant sex. Covet not the splendor of paradise, where the mansions in my father’s house are brothels perfumed with the scent of intercourse. A gift of seventy-two maidens is an everlasting punishment.