Sniper Perpetuates Exciting New Muslim Stereotypes

eligious differences again proved insurmountable, this time in the case of the pair of snipers who terrorized the east coast of the United States with a string of fatal attacks that left ten dead and countless others terrified to walk in a straight line to work or school.

The suspects arrested for the crimes, John Allen Muhammad and John Lee Malvo, were like a Sanford & Son for the Guns and Ammo set, spending years of their lives as desperate loners together, acting for reasons not yet known to the public as they killed random victims and threatened the United States, requesting the reasonable extortion fee of $10 million to cease their terror. While little is known about the suspects, it is known that Muhammad, a Muslim, has done a bang-up job in putting a positive foot forward for the Islamic community.

"Oh, goody," said President of the Positive Islam Group (PIG) Al-Abib Farouzi, "at last, a Muslim making the news who is not a foreign terrorist. This is more than we could have hoped for."

According to PIG, Muhammad has managed to break the usual American stereotype of Muslims who live in faraway third-world countries who wish death on America and commit gigantic acts of terrorism.

"Now when people think of Muslims," said Farouzi, "they'll know that in addition to the foreign-born terrorists moving around them, Muslims can also be van-driving serial killers who strike without apparent motivation and prey on anybody who makes an easy shot."

Muhammad, in his two-man tirade of raining bullets, has challenged post-September 11th stereotypes of domestic Muslims being normal Americans with no desire to kill or harm in any way. He has also reminded most Americans, who are quick to assume security in the areas they live, that danger doesn't only lurk in air travel or opening strange envelopes, but can come from anywhere at any time. Death is only a random bullet away.

"Thank you, Mr. Muhammad," said 24-year-old Maryland college student Marjorie Block. "I had previously begun to speculate maybe the anger Muslims feel toward the United States was possibly politically motivated due to unwanted government intervention in countries we had financial stakes in—I now foolishly see that Muslims just want money. Or they hate people walking around without flak jackets and helmets."

The negative Muslim images couldn't have come at a worse time for Islamic Americans, who were beginning to make a dent in negative Muslim images in the wake of the United States' War on Terror and the possibility of war with Iraq. Plans to add an Islamic muppet to Sesame Street have been stalled in the wake of the sniper arrest and ABC has dropped a mid-season pilot for My Six Wives and Kids, a Muslim sitcom.

"We have worked diligently at improving the perception of Muslims in the United States, domestic and abroad," PIG President Farouzi later stated. "And our hard work has been brought down by another brazen asshole. Thanks, dickhead—any other negative racial or religious stereotypes you'd like to perpetuate, as long as you're up?"

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The gaudiest fad of the 1950's had to be the 3D movie. The early 50's were a desperate time for Hollywood studios, as audiences were staying at home on their big fat asses in record numbers and movies were faring poorly in competition with television and communist witch hunts. Studio execs were willing to try anything to get more people into the theaters, even toying with the notion of making films that weren't big fetid balls of dung. But before they could go that far, the studio heads at Universal discovered that they'd accidentally made the same movie twice.

Universal had bankrolled The Hungry Jungle, which featured a young Charles Bronson running like hell away from man-eating tigers for two hours, and at the same time they had inadvertently financed D.A. Steuben's cannibal tiger picture Run Like Blood. Rather than shelling out promotional funds for both films to wastefully compete against each other, the studio decided to play both of them, simultaneously, on the same screen. That way they could cover up their gaffe while boasting twice as many stars running away from twice as many man-eating tigers in one movie. Like I said, these were desperate times and it should be noted that back then, guys couldn't hold their liquor.

Unfortunately the "movie" didn't make any sense when played this way, but this was only a minor setback. A young Universal intern soon discovered that thanks to poor quality control each of the films was tinted a slightly different color, and if you watched the composite film while wearing a pair of the red and blue "Wacky Glasses" given away free in boxes Oat Shmote kids' cereal, it came out kind of sort-of in 3D. The intern was thanked for his input, then immediately fired since he was obviously stealing from the studio to be able to afford drugs that good.

The idea stuck though, and the composite film Hung Like a Jungle was released in 3D as a promotional gimmick in 1952. The movie was a gigantic hit, with the 3D technology making audiences sicker than a dog on a Ferris wheel, an experience many filmgoers petrified by the boring 1950's seemed to enjoy. All summer long, audiences suffered through a kind of nausea they wouldn't experience again until The English Patient was released in 1996. The trend caught on like wildfire, and fifteen more films were released in 3D during the next three days, most of them soft-core pornos. Unfortunately for Hollywood, 3D movies were soon banned since public health officials couldn't be convinced that hundreds of moviegoers spending two hours drenched in their own vomit was just good clean fun.

Deprived of 3D cheesecake by The Man's uptight cronies, American youths in the 50's were eager for a new thing to come along and waste their time. Thanks to Australian DUI king Chuckie Dubing, they didn't have to wait long. Dubing discovered the boomerang while pulling the body of a dead aborigine off the hood of his car during a drunken one-man rally race through the outback one night in 1953. The strange crooked stick struck Dubing's fancy, and he extrapolated that it must be a hunting stick used to kill wild game birds in the bush. Dubing further extrapolated that its crooked design must allow the stick to curve in the air and return to its thrower, and this is the concept he sold to Wham-o later that year. In actuality, the aborigine was just carrying it because he wanted to show his family the funny crooked stick he had found under a tree.

Regardless, Wham-o mass-produced copies of the stick as a children's toy, and within a year millions of "boomerangs" (the name came from Dubing's approximation of the sound the aborigine made hitting his car) had been sold despite the fact that nobody anywhere had ever had one fly back to them after being thrown. Wham-o deserves a great deal of credit, however, for recognizing that few would risk appearing physically inept by claiming that the boomerang just flew kind of lopsided and herky-jerky into your neighbor's bay window every time you threw it.

Probably the only 1950's fad that ended up being worth three-quarters of a damn was the PEZ dispenser. The candies themselves had been around in Europe for twenty years, sold hilariously to American tourists who didn't know PEZ was the German word for piss. It wasn't until 1952, however, that Germany got revenge on America for kicking their evil little asses by marketing the PEZ candy in irresistible dispensers with the heads of popular political figures on top. Before long, Americans couldn't help themselves but eat candy out of Franklin Roosevelt's neck, making true Hitler's cryptic vow from 1941 that nobody had understood at the time. Eventually over the years, political bitterness died down and American children were eating candy out of Henry Winkler and Kermit the Frog's necks as well, continuing a bizarre tradition that rivals any of the crazy shit the Orient ever dreamt up.

That'll have to do for the 50's, although I wanted to go into how they pulled the first batch of Silly Putty out of a Yak's ass; there just isn't time. Keep an eye peeled for future columns, when we'll take a look at how other generations wasted their time between wars and the occasional worthwhile dance craze.

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Well damn on Spam, Shorty, you never told me you was a artist! Yessir, that is one fine likeness you done skedoodled on the back of that there matchbook. Who you said that is, Cher? Who? Blinky the Pirate? Can't say as I ever hearda him, Shorty, but I'm sure it's a damn fine likeness. Kinda looks like Cher a bit, don't he?

That sure is one marvel to see there, Shorty. Dang. We ain't had no honest to Amos artist round these parts since I was knee-high to a horsefly. You remember Noodle McDougal, Shorty? Might've been afore your time, seeing as I is an always has been two months your senior. Yessir, Noodle was a artist like the kind they don't make everyday. He could draw a road apple an you'd think it was right there in your lap. He drew up a Mayberry pie one time so real that Oleanna Cardip done swole up her whole throat and near died, seein as she's allergic to Mayberries an all. Dang if that boy couldn't draw.

One time he challenged old Homer Bonetree to a drawin' contest. Now you remember Homer, Shorty, he talked a good game but he weren't good for much but fallin' out the back of a pickup truck on his weddin' day. Come to think of it, Homer Bonetree were dang near a fallin' machine. I'd say if there ever was a fallin' genius, it was Homer. He was famous in three counties for fallin' down a well that was already boarded up, and for the time he managed a way to fall out of a hole he'd dug in the ground. He might've even ended up on TV one day if it weren't for him fallin' out that skymascraper window when he was on that tour in the big city.

Anywhat, Homer got to talkin' bout how he was the drawinest fool in town and how he could draw pictures of flies just as good as a McEnroy could draw flies for reals. And after a while Noodles MacDougal'd had about enough of Homer's braggety Andy routine, so he went an challenged Homer to a drawin' contest. So they sat themselves down in front o' Beulah Crankle's old Ford and set about each o' them drawin' a picture of it, tryin to do one better than what the other was drawin'. As that afternoon done slip away a crowd gathered all around to watch them draw, sittin' there lookin' as serious as two monkeys on a orange crate.

Judge Farkbarn elected himself to be the judge of they contest, seein as how his name was Judge an that seemed good enough to qualify him for the job. And so when the nighttime fell like Homer Bonetree out o' a rowboat, and it worked it's way around to bein' too dark to draw no more, Judge called that it was time an had both Noodles and Homer turn in they drawins.

An what he had there was for certain a sight to see, I tell you Shorty. For Noodles had gone an drew up a Ford so real you think you coulda climbed right in an drove it into town, 'cepting for it's miniature size an the fact of Buela Crankle's real Ford hadn't moved a modest foot in over twelve years. But dang if that wasn't the drawin' to beat all, Shorty.

So naturally the crowd what was there was eager to see what Homer done drew for hisself, an so they all looked at his drawin'. Some stared right hard, others turning it this way an that, upside an whatnot, before they one an all decided Homer couldn't draw a lick to save the baby Jesus' life. Homer's drawin' looked like a box with a stick stuck out of it, 'cept the box was crooked an all the lines was wavy.

Judge Farkbarn spoke out that Noodles was the unanimate winner, an that Homer drew like a big retard with hooks for hands. Everybody in town had themselves a good laugh about that, an Homer got all huffed up an climbed up a tree, then fell out an walked home.

From that day on, Shorty, weren't no person who didn't know Noodles MacDougal what was the finest artist in these parts. Even when he got older an got into his consexual arts, like paintin' pigs green or settin' a big stack o' tires on fire an callin' it art, he was still one sight to see. An you know what, Shorty? I may never myself have understood him tyin' all those possums together into a ball or walkin' around all nekkid with but a gas can on his head, but that's what made him the artist, Shorty. Kinda like you.

Say, Shorty, is that there Pirate all you can draw? Lessie what else you got. A turtle? You bet your canned ham I'd like to see a turtle. Dang, Shorty. You're one regular Vincent Monroe.

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