Hussein what you wearing
that funny looking turban for?
Man you’re in America now!
The land of opportunity
Judeo-Christian unity
respectable community
So don’t you go consorting with
Louis Farrakhan
when you could be endearing yourself
to the great American clan
Your name is Obama
So don’t you go looking like Osama
Wearing some MOOZLMAN pajama
Man you got yourself a Harvard Degree
to cleanse that impure pedigree
And with Oprah at your side
You’re sure to glide
Tell America about your papa
the one in heaven
In one afternoon a campaign boon
A reverent scene
Beside the media Queen
Spreading the American dream
We are all one in the body of Christ
So don’t you go traveling
among the disbelievers
the Allah deceivers
they may not like your version
of the great conversion
and go after your ass
till you do the reversion
Stay safe man
You’re in America now Obama
The religious freedom nation
of personal salvation
Your name is Obama
Barack allah feek
Baruch ha shem Ya Hussein
you’re related to the Queen!!*
* – See Juancole.com for Arabo/Islamic lineage of British royalty
From explaining myself to people who believe that being married to a Muslim is similar to being Frankenstein’s bride, or Jack the Ripper’s victim.
How exhausted am I?
Imagine:
Life as a marathon.
A sweaty marathon runner with a cramp. And someone with a terrible nasal voice nagging at her shoulder, lying to her about her shoelaces. Telling her they’ve come untied.
At every mile.
February 6, 2008 – 4:25 pm
My cousin did not leave a suicide note. They spoke of it as if it had been an accident. She had accidentally taken half a bottle of pills. Every family has secrets, you see.
And I should have known.
Her husband never struck her, and never smiled at her. She was grateful to him. He re-married quickly.
I should have known.
Her old classmate came to me years later, in a different city, where the air thankfully did not smell of her hair. Did I want to have a cup of coffee? Did I want to know the truth about my cousin? “My cousin had an accident.”
She had so many. Starting at age twelve.
I should have known. Read More »
January 30, 2008 – 5:50 pm
This poem speaks to stereotypes of Americans. We happen to think that the “fat” stereotype is particularly pertinent these days, especially in the Arab world. And yet, we bet you that your mouth will water by the time you are done reading. Go on. Prove us wrong.
Pay special attention to what’s going on in the poem. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill culinary fantasies. *wink*
Anyway, we think Sim Stafford is brilliant (look for more of his writing on GlobalComment), and hope you will enjoy.
- The AC Team.
I lust for: paella washed down with sake,
Flakey baklava layered with kraut,
Cranberry sauce as dip for souvlaki,
Another of soy for blackened jerk trout;
Mangoes with kimchi, vegemite vodka,
A steamy yam borscht, a well-pressed Cuban,
A Tahitian Treat, a deep-fried latke,
Crêpe Suzette, a tangy dim sum Reuben;
Frankfurter kebabs with Bavarian creams,
Stuffed between crispy frog legs au gratin,
Black Forest samosas with collard greens,
Kangaroo ziti baked fluffy as cotton; Read More »
November 28, 2007 – 6:06 am
Look up bosom buddies
In the dictionary
[revised edition, 1962] Read More »
Aly barely fit the bed,
which occupied its own snug little cubbyhole
off the wall of the largest room in Dar Tasfaout,
and twice, in his passion, he sat up abruptly
and cracked his head on the low-slung ceiling.
Lalla Khaddouja had to laugh,
lying there naked beneath him,
because he was so earnest,
so eager in his application. Read More »
