By Patricia Lee Sharpe
You gotta feel sorry for those ISIS guys. Young guys. In great physical condition. Yeah! Probably their equipment is in top working condition, by which I don’t mean the tanks and rocket launchers they captured from the Iraqi so-called army who got it from us U.S. taxpayers. They’re young and randy and ready and able and all they need is...well...girls.
Who are not so dumb, which means they are mostly not running after the ISIS guys.
So what are the ISIS guys to do? And the Boko Haram guys, for that matter, and all their super so-called pious ilk? Being healthy, physically if not mentally, they go out and grab ‘em. The girls. Whether the chicks are willing or not. By the dozens. By the hundreds. These guys are so hot for girls they’ll bomb schools and burn villages and slaughter the non-nubile, young and old, to get at them.
And then, since one lay is like any other lay, they dole them out. Hey guys! Wives for everyone! Or, should the day’s catch be limited, they share them around, for the fun of it. On the other hand, if they end up with too many girls to handle, they sell them off. As slaves. As wives. What’s the difference? A cunt’s a cunt. Created by God to follow orders. From men. Cover up! Stay indoors! Spread your legs! Make new fighters. To say nothing of: cook, cook, cook! Someone said an army travels on its stomach. In the ISIS world iron men aren’t Iron Chefs.
Yes, I know, it’s all very brutal and inhuman, but you really do have to feel sorry for these ISIS guys. How else are they going to get women and make more fighters?
It’s not as if the ISIS types can promise a girl a good time. They don’t drink. They don’t dance. They hate music and movies. They’re big on video and social media, of course, but the content’s not exactly seductive. Except to new recruits, who go orgasmic at the sight of blood. Wow! I, too could be a suicide bomber. Cars and bodies flying in all directions! Wow! I, too, can slaughter the infidel (or the other sort of Muslims), every man woman and child. Gimme a gun and they’re food for vultures and jackals. Look at me, babe. Look at my bloody scimitar!
I have news for these fanatics. Blood spurting from an aorta suddenly exposed to the air is not an aphrodisiac for most girls. Oh darling, I dote on your strong arm and your bloody sword. Why don’t you skewer another infant? Not likely.
Actually, it looks as if the ISIS guys aren’t so proud of what they’re doing either. They pull balaclavas over their heads. They swathe their faces in scarves. Which is not so good for—pardon the Western expression!—romance. What sweet young girl is going to fall in love with a guy who looks like a ball of yarn or a handful of rags? Foolish women by the millions have fallen in love with men of every conceivable bad habit, but they don’t usually fall in love with men they can’t see.
What a bind! If the ISIS guy unveils, the spy in the sky will know who he is. So will a lot of enemies on the ground. And yet, a guy’s got a right to girl, hadn’t he? And sons? And a good meal after a hard day’s killing? Anyway, any decent girl is just waiting, waiting, waiting, to be given to a man. She might as well be taken by a man.
So, guys, I'll hand it to you. You've found the secret to happy hunting. A girl’s school is the best target ever. Especially since girls shouldn’t be educated in the first place. It makes them picky and uppity. They might want to become doctors. They might want to choose their own husbands. How decadent!