Algerian Terrorist 'Hacks' Can't Escape Al-Qaeda's Shadow

hey're young. They're dangerous. They're filled with hate for all Western culture and the influence it's had on Islamic countries. No, they're not Al-Qaeda; they're Algerian, and they're tired of being compared to Osama bin Laden's terrorist units.

If you haven't heard of these Algerian up-and-coming homeland security risks, it's not surprising. They've only recently made any news at all, and it took a far backseat to growing concerns about Iraq and North Korea, as well as troubling domestic issues like the economy and Joe Millionaire. They're relegated to the back page of the World news right now, and they're not happy about it.

"It's just like Americans to ignore you as a threat if you haven't set off a bomb in their country or anything," said one leader of the as-yet-unnamed group, who refused to be identified by name but used the alias, "Stonewall." "It won't be that way forever. One of these days our name will be bigger than Al-Qaeda—as soon as we agree on one. People will ask, 'Al-Qaeda who? Were they anything like…' well, then they'll say the name of our group, when we have one."

It's a strong feeling throughout the group, as well as other aspiring Islamic extremist terrorists out there: Al-Qaeda has become the Elvis Presley of anti-Western guerrillas, and it's a double-edged sword.

"On one hand," said one youth, known as "Itchy," "people are finally taking terrorists serious again, for the first time since those Iranian hostages in the 70s. But now the bar is set so high nobody can compete with them. A lot of us don't have the kind of funds and numbers needed to destroy an American landmark or symbol of Western wealth. We're the independent terrorists, the ones doing it for the real love of Allah, and we have the better arguments, the better fatwas, and when we die for the glory of Allah's cause we're receiving the most rewards. But that doesn't matter much if you're operating out of basements and searching couch cushions for money to finance your terrorist camps."

One of the reasons the Algerians agreed to meet and discuss their situation was to raise awareness of smaller garage terrorist units. The press has not been kind—even when they cover their actions, like the recent news story in Britain where a group was arrested for possession of Ricin and killed a British police officer, the reaction of the American media is cynical and smug. Newsweek referred to the incident on page 48 with the headline, "Al-Qaeda Hacks Kill Just One in Manchester."

"It's completely unfair," said a thin, wiry terrorist nicknamed "Atwall." "Ricin is pretty dangerous, you know. Had that plan been carried out by our brothers, there's no telling the kind of damage it could have done, throughout Britain and America. Well, not America—that overseas postage would have killed our budget. But still, all the major networks are scoffing, like, 'Why couldn't they get Anthrax?' That stuff's expensive, infidels. We don't have Saudi oil money behind us. Most of our funds come from the donation jars we set up in Algerian supermarkets. That and loans from our parents, which are due back in a couple of years, when we start showing a profit."

"It's true," added Stonewall. "You kill one person these days in the name of Allah and you can't even get on the third page of a major news magazine. You have to be like in double-digits to get that kind of coverage. Let's not even talk about making the cover. We're optimistic, but we know it's a long way off. First we have to get a good name."

According to the group, several suggested names have failed to please a majority of the group. Suggestions currently on the table are "The Red Flag," "The Al-Roka," and "Grassy Knoll," which the group likes, but feel like it would take too much explaining and limit how much they make major newscasts.

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Keep me in your prayers, good people, because Rok Finger is sick as a dog. Not a healthy dog, either, but a dog with mange, or some kind of dog disease. I don't have mange, at least to my knowledge, though my back hair has been falling out lately. No, I have the more human kind of sickness nobody has a name for, some bizarre kind of illness leaving me covered with spots as if some sort of chicken had made pock marks all over me. Also, they itch like a bastard. And not a comfortable bastard either. All I know is I need Elvis medicine.

Who knew Elvis even had medicine? As foolish as it might sound, I didn't know until recently. Sure, I had heard rumors and gossip the king had been involved in drugs, but I always believed they were talking about the kind of illegal prescription drugs. Naturally, this turns me around 180 degrees on Elvis. I now think the man is a genius, and if he is a genius, it stands to reason he made pretty good medicine in his spare time. Quite a noble gesture on his part, too, if you ask me. If I were making millions and doing comeback concerts in Hawaii and designing my own sequined jumpsuits, you can bet your boots I wouldn't be spending my available off-hours making better medications for the indigent.

Since I was ill this week, I didn't bother going to the commune. I called and told them I was feeling under the weather, and at my height, it's not hard to do. A little good-natured self-ribbing. But the commune was very understanding, and told me not to come back until I was feeling better, or not at all. A little good-natured ribbing of me on their part, which I didn't appreciate. But I had the week to myself, to get over this sickness. So I began watching that Lord of the Rings movie I like so much, where the short men outwit and humiliate the tall people. Quite a good film, they should consider doing a sequel to it at some point.

And good people, here was my solution all the time! When the valiant little fellow gets stabbed by the grim reapers, he's all in a state, far worse than myself. The gargantuan hippie attends to his wound, but cannot fix it, so he calls on the daughter of Aerosmith, the girl who rides the horse, and he tells her he needs Elvis medicine.

Of course, I was intrigued. The rock star offspring scooped up the proud little man and carried him off to Gracieland immediately. Suddenly the movie made sense. They kept referring to the giant hippie as the heir of the king, but I thought they meant a king of England or something, not the King. It certainly puts the movie in a new light.

Now, I'm no idiot. I know Elvis is dead. But that doesn't mean his heirs or someone else isn't living the high life at Gracieland right now, sitting on piles and piles of Elvis medicine they're hoarding all to themselves. Or maybe they hand it out to tourists, as a good-will gesture and Elvis' last request. I could picture the man, clear as day: "Now, uh, lookee here, baby… I gotta go on, it's my time now, but you gotta look after these people. Medicine for everybody. Do me proud."

What a man.

Well, Elvis, you can certainly do me some good. In fact, after I finish this column, I'm going to Gracieland, Gracieland, Rumney, New Hampshire. Or perhaps this time it's the one in Memphis. If so, then Memphis, New Hampshire, here I come! I've got the urge for a little Kingly medication.

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Dear commune:

I heard rumors that the Pledge of Allegiance was being reconsidered in the wake of Sept. 11th. That some people had plans to make it mandatory to say the Pledge of Allegiance every day in school and optional at many jobs. And I heard that the new Pledge was going to include the phrase, "or may I burn like a tick on Hitler's ass in hell."

I'm not sure I like that, mentioning Hitler in the Pledge, I mean. The other stuff I'm benign about.

Danny Hatrack
Pounce, New Hampshire


Dear Danny:

It turns out the stuff you've heard about the Pledge being rewritten is a popular myth circulating in the wake of all this War on Terror patriotism. Some of it stems from confusion about the rewriting of the Constitution to remove Fourth Amendment rights for all non-wealthy Americans. But that's been going on for years.

We should also note, interestingly enough, the Pledge of Allegiance was actually rewritten long ago into the modern incarnation we know today. Straight from the desk of Red Bagel comes the original interpretation:

"I and my drinking buddies pledge allegiance to the flag, that one right there, what a grand ol' flag it is, with the stripes and all. Check out the stars, 13 o' those in all, each one for the colonies. Betcha don't see that kind of accuracy on flags of other countries. That's the kind of country we are, damn straight. We pledge allegiance to that flag as long as it's there—and to the Republic, always forget that part, the country for which it stands, one big nation we used to think was India, and the unexplored parts we haven't been to yet, who knows, this bitch could go on forever, and to God Himself, may he protect us from the monsters that may dwell in them unknown parts, be they invisible, for the liberty of those who have it and the quiet assent of those who don't. Now drink up!"

Several words were changed, according to Bagel, but the intent is still the same.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible, nor crunchy, we're creamy as all get out and you'll just have to accept it.

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