It was a routine case-the boys at Joe's Bar and Grille and Gun Club had hired him to go to Dallas, find the Muslim rat-bag that had killed his daughters for talking to Kuffar boys, collect a big fat reward, visit some old friends in Mayberry County, bust a few broncos and tell tall tales to people with short memories. Isn't that the way Sam Spade would have done it? Then he ran into Islam. Holy Moses became Allahu akbar. He was called a dhimmi and a Kuffar. What did he know about Islam, about Imams and Mullahs, about fatwas and hijabs, about Madrassas and the Qur'an? About as much as Barack Obama and probably a little more than Hillary Clinton. He was told the father hadn't killed the girls, their dhimmi boyfriends had. Mohammed Atta and Honi Honjour dropped by for a visit. He survived. He went to London. That's where the father of the two girls had gone...so he was told. He would be beaten and left for dead in the street; he would gain a Patron Saint that would give him a guardian angel puppy dog; he would fall through a wall at Lambeth Palace; he would be arrested for beating up teenagers on a talk show; he would commit one blasphemy after another. Wasn't that how Sam Spade did it? He would be turned into a ten-year-old boy so he could sneak into a Madrassas to spy on the Keepers of the Fleas. That was where he would meet Aisha and nothing would ever be the same. He would learn about Islam the hard way. He would be chased through the streets of London wearing her clothes...wouldn't he ever learn? There would be no turning back...
Dirty old men should not have the hots for preteen girls of either sex. It says that somewhere. Maybe not in the Qur'an or in the Bible, but somewhere. Sheikh Rahman al-Kabibble should have known that but if he did it didn't prevent him from declaring a fatwa that legalized the marriage of girls as young as nine years old to Muslim men, and then the old fool was off to the Osama bin Laden Madrassas for Girls to claim his preteen bride. He didn't know it but he was on a collision course with private detective Bernard Piffy who had just arrived in Gaza with a guardian angel puppy dog in a birdcage. The private eye was searching for Yasser Arafat's secret Fuhrerbunker and for Aisha Ahmad, the little girl that had won the heart of the ten-year-old version of the private detective in London and then had been dragged off to Gaza by her father. She was attending the bin Laden Madrassas. Piffy would run into Jimmy Carter and Che Guevara and be turned into a ten-year-old boy before he could get to the Madrassas. Things would get out of hand. There would be fender benders and roadkill. Stockton Bonds, the famous Agent Six-and-seven-eights, would be driving the Sheikh's limo. Her Majesty's Government had sent him to Gaza to track down the private eye and bring him to justice for offenses he had committed against England. They would meet at the Osama bin Laden Madrassas for Girls-Bonds, Piffy and the Sheikh. The Sheikh would change his mind about his bride to be. He would make a decision that would embarrass the girl, stun the private eye and rock the Madrassas to its foundations.
He was a ten-year-old boy dressed as a girl. He had just killed a couple of Jihadis helping two preteen girls escape from the Osama bin Laden Madrassas for Suicide Bombers. He had been knocked unconscious while fleeing the environs and had been captured. It hadn't taken long for Dr. Haribert ul-Heim, Islam's version of Dr. Joseph Mengele, to discover the child wasn't what she was supposed to be. The local ulema met to discuss the boy's fate. What was the punishment for men who dressed as women? Was it to murder them, to crucify them, to remove a hand and a foot on opposites sides? They might as well tap him on the wrist. Someone suggested a sex-change operation. A sex-change operation Were they mad? The boy was terrified. But he wasn't a boy; he had a secret-a big, big secret-he was a middle-aged private detective ensconced in the body of a child. He had been turned into a ten-year-old by Ka'b bin al-Ashraf, an old enemy of the Prophet, so he could sneak into the bin Laden Madrassa and rescue the girls. And now someone would have to rescue him. Could it be done? They gathered at ul-Heim's laboratory-old friends and enemies-Stockton Bonds, Beauregard Zolo, Wheatley W. Wheatley, St. Anthony-the Patron Saint of Lost Items, Sheikh al-Kabibble who thought the boy was a girl and intended to marry him, Captain Flip Corker who knew all the words to "Off we go into the wild blue yonder," and assorted Jihadis, pederasts, and UN Human Rights officials. The Three Doctors Muhammad were called in to perform the surgery. Surgery? Were they crazy? Yes, they were...most of them.
They couldn't stand the sight of each other-the ten-year-old boy that had stolen the UN helicopter in Gaza and Lieutenant Rochelle Hinds, the helicopter's copilot. Rochelle was on her way to Teheran to marry Mohamed Atta, the terrorist that had flown American Airlines Flight 11 into the World Trade Center. They would meet on an ocean liner to settle their differences. It would be a battle to the death with Jihadists, secret agents, praying mantises, life rafts, sharks and grim old ladies wielding whatever they could get their hands on.
He should have known better. It was the wrong time to visit Benghazi. Hillary had left it in ruins and the terrorists were arguing over what remained and he had forgot the words to 'Allahu akbar ' Bernard Piffy, a middle-aged private detective scrunched into the body of a ten-year-old boy disguised as a girl had been adrift on a life raft in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean for four days when he was picked up by an Iranian submarine. He should have been thanking his lucky stars. Unfortunately, the sub was headed for Benghazi where the American embassy had just been stormed by terrorists. He had been hoping for South America. Also rescued from the life raft was Lt. Rochelle Hinds, a UN helicopter pilot on the way to Buenos Aires to marry Mohammed Atta-the Mohammed Atta of 9/11. The Lieutenant and the little 'girl' were given their own room on the crowded sub. One of the other passengers was Che Guevara. That did not bode well. The people running Benghazi wanted to talk to the little 'girl.' A group of terrorists were preparing to smuggle a torpedo loaded with atomic wastes aboard the sub to start a Third World War. The convoy that was to escort Piffy to his conference with the leaders of Benghazi was ambushed by terrorists. One thing led to another, violence begot violence, Piffy stood off a mob. The sub's Captain soon convinced himself that the boy dressed as a girl was jinn sent by Allah to help him avoid the Third World War. He enlisted the child in the Iranian Navy. Benghazi, terrorists, a Yellow Unterseeboot? It was a devilish broth. If John Lennon were still alive he would set it to music...
Private detective Bernard Piffy came home in a rowboat, scarcely alive, he had survived the destruction of the Yellow Unterseeboot and he wanted a little time to recover but his boss had other ideas. Terrorists had put fleas from the Prophet's beard in the headscarf Nancy Pelosi wore when she visited Bashar al-Assad in Damascus in 2007. The fleas were supposedly still alive. Piffy would have to find the scarf and the fleas before they could be let loose on America. If that weren't bad enough his boss, the ten-year-old version of Asma bint Marwan, had lost her halo, the time warp that carried her back and forth from the Netherworld to the present day and her enemies were out to destroy her. Piffy would be locked in a battle to the death with Imams, Jihadis, and jinns that would carry him and his preteen boss from the mortuaries and Abrahamic Societies of Sacramento to the Ayatollah Khomeini Mosque in Coocoocachoo Valley.
They would kill the girl. And they would kill the cat too-it was her cat. It had foolishly chased after the kidnappers when they had abducted the girl. It would get what it deserved. The crimes the child had committed against Islam were endless. She had blasphemed the Prophet. She had accused him of killing all the leaders of her tribe. She was Asma bint Marwan, the 7th Century poet murdered on orders from Muhammad, but Zeus had taken her to the Netherworld and now after all these years she was back. She was only ten years old in her current form; lean, lithe, and athletic with a 1,400-year-old brain in her head. Johnny Bascomb called her bossy, sassy and grumpy and that she was, but would that be enough to get her through the perils waiting for her in the Caliphate run by the Necromancer and the Imam ali-Kazam? The Holy Man planned to convert her to Islam and then kill her. Among other residents of the Caliphate were John Wilkes Booth, Blackjack Ketchum, Giuseppe Zangara, Emma Goldman, Leon Czolgosz, Bobby Ford (the man that laid Jesse James in his grave), and assorted ISIS thugs. It would be a fight to the death in the swamps of the Louisiana Delta with man-eating crocodiles, wild boars, poisonous snakes, and retired pirates living on social security waiting for the Caliphate to collapse so they could gobble up the survivors. There would be no mercy. It was time for Asma to say her prayers. Would it be "Allahu akbar," or "Jesus saves?" Or how about the child's favorite, "Mother of Hera?"
Banzai had been to Iraq and Afghanistan. He had seen how Muslim women had been treated. He hadn't liked it then and he didn't like it now. So, when he saw this man beating the crap out of a woman in a parking lot he waded right in and knocked him cold with one punch. The man was a Muslim and the woman his wife. Banzai was arrested. He had to call his cousin to bail him out of jail. It was the start of the Second Underground Railroad. His name was Stover; they called him Banzai-write that down. It wasn't easy starting an underground railroad on a shoestring. He had to buy an island in the Louisiana Delta for a safehouse. And then he got shot in the butt the first day on the job and wound up in jail. His cousin Ramrod and the runaway Muslima escaped to the island, to a crumbling three-story mansion with secret passages and a graveyard on the other end where crocodiles came ashore to lay their eggs. Fortunately, the cousin knew this private detective named Bernard Piffy. Maybe he could give them a hand. The forces of good and evil congregated on the island for a battle to the death. It would be the Abolitionists against the Doughfaces. The FBI, Homeland Security and Sheriff Tobias Thompson Turnbuckle would be there. So, would Bigg Edd Redd of BSNBC and Morris Boris Garfarkle of the Southern Poverty Law Center. They would be out to get the private eye. A thirteen-year-old Muslim girl would be promised to an ISIS thug; she would seek refuge on the island. Bernard Piffy would have to do something about her too. Smugglers, drug dealers, Imams and the notorious Threegor triplets would complicate things...there was no end in sight?
It was an England where one could spend more time in jail for blasphemy than for raping five-year-old girls, where British soldiers were told not to wear their uniforms in public because it might offend some Muslim with hatred in his heart and murder in his soul; an England where Jews were one-hundred times more likely to be the victim of a hate crime than a Muslim; of a place called Rotherham where Muslim men, following the dictates of the Qur'an, raped 1,400 young girls and forced them into prostitution because the girls were infidels and Allah was oft forgiving; where the immortal Stockton Bonds and private eye Bernard Piffy were locked in a struggle to the death with the forces of evil to protect little Honey Rider, a ten-year-old girl who might never have existed.
Apple Pie For The Mind is not a cookbook, but a thought provoking Christian recipe for helping and loving others. It is a compelling book that documents supernatural spiritual miracles and true-life experiences that unexpectedly put the author in a position to touch, change or affect other people's lives, as well as how others have touched the author's life. The book's message will inspire you to help and love others using the gifts you were given by God. Helping another will also influence that person to help another, and another, and another. Even using your gifts one time can touch and connect with hundreds if not thousands of lives. Your gifts can determine how and what you can do to help others. It may be a family member, a close relative, a friend or a complete stranger. Apple Pie For The Mind will change your life. It will also influence you to change other lives too.
Meet Amelia, a beautiful raven haired femme fatale. Watch her seduce and sleep with the sleazy old man known only as The Mustache Man, a one eyed antiques dealer, in order to steal a strange object from his bedroom. A tablet with a carved eye on the center and intricate patterns radiating out. Amelia wants to collect three such patterned objects, the tablet, a box, and a knife.As she tries to sneak out of The Mustache Man's apartment she encounters a creeping voyeur who looks like a nosferatu and just happens to be her little brother, Sammy Amelia finds a flowery infection growing out from her stomach that resembles the pattern on the objects.Then things get weird."What makes (Amelia) so enjoyable is St. John's mixture of body horror, the humor of awkwardness, and sex. These comics are a love letter to many influences (including H.P. Lovecraft's fiction and David Cronenberg's films), but the biggest influence seems to be the horror comics of EC. In particular, Jack Davis seems to be a big influence here, and that can be seen in the way St. John draws his figures with slightly distorted facial features. "- Rob Clough (comics reviewer, High-low)"if (Richard) Sala's comics are a dark, crooked lane off the mainstream, St. John's work is a darker, crookeder alley off of that, and I think many Sala fans would find it well worth exploring." -Curt Purcell (The Groovy Age of Horror)
Ernest William Hornung (7 June 1866 - 22 March 1921) was an English author and poet known for writing the A. J. Raffles series of stories about a gentleman thief in late 19th-century London. Hornung was educated at Uppingham School; as a result of poor health he left the school in December 1883 to travel to Sydney, where he stayed for two years. He drew on his Australian experiences as a background when he began writing, initially short stories and later novels. In 1898 he wrote "In the Chains of Crime", which introduced Raffles and his sidekick, Bunny Manders; the characters were based partly on his friends Oscar Wilde and his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, and also on the characters of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, created by his brother-in-law, Arthur Conan Doyle. The series of Raffles short stories were collected for sale in book form in 1899, and two further books of Raffles short stories followed, as well as a poorly received novel. Aside from his Raffles stories, Hornung was a prodigious writer of fiction, publishing numerous books from 1890, with A Bride from the Bush to his 1914 novel The Crime Doctor. The First World War brought an end to Hornung's fictional output. His son, Oscar, was killed at the Second Battle of Ypres in July 1915. Hornung joined the YMCA, initially in England, then in France, where he helped run a canteen and library. He published two collections of poetry during the war, and then, afterwards, one further volume of verse and an account of his time spent in France, Notes of a Camp-Follower on the Western Front. Hornung's fragile constitution was further weakened by the stress of his war work. To aid his recuperation, he and his wife visited the south of France in 1921. He fell ill from influenza on the journey, and died on 22 March 1921, aged 54. Although much of Hornung's work has fallen into obscurity, his Raffles stories continued to be popular, and have formed numerous film and television adaptations. Hornung's stories dealt with a wider range of themes than crime: he examined scientific and medical developments, guilt, class and the unequal role played by women in society. Two threads that run through a sizeable proportion of his books are Australia and cricket; the latter was also a lifelong passion. Harrison Fisher (July 27, 1875 or 1877 - January 19, 1934) was an American illustrator.
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