So when I first started looking into the Clarion Fund, I discovered their affiliate site radicalislam.org gives you the option of sharing your own pant-soiling stories of encounters with radical Islam. You’ve just got to register to post. Kind folks that they are, they give you four “campaigns” to choose from, including:
That last one probably seems a bit incongruous, especially for a supposedly non-partisan charity group. But who am I to judge?
Anyway, I heartily encourage all of my tens of readers to share their own harrowing stories with the Clarion Fund and its backers. I intend to do so often.
Terror in the Desert
On a recent trip to Las Vegas, an enormous tourism market for America and home to a sizeable extremist Muslim minority, I had a harrowing experience with what I can only reasonably assume was a reconnaisance mission for future Islamofascist terror attacks. Riding a bus down the Strip, I came across an easily-identifiable Muslim extremist–a bearded male–and his subservient forced-marriage mate, clearly identifying herself as his chattel with a dark-colored headscarf, or hijab. The male had a video camera and was taking surveillance footage of the south Strip, including several minutes’ worth in the front of New York New York (as if he and his kind haven’t done enough damage there!)
The pair got off the bus after a short ride, and I decided to follow. “Today ain’t your day, Ahmed!” I said to myself and several fellow busriders, who nodded in agreement. I remained a discreet 10 feet behind them at all times as they snapped dozens of photos of key American assets in and around the Strip, getting valuable intel on hotels, landmarks and attractions. I followed them inside the Flamingo Hotel, where the subservient wife used the restroom–presumably to find the best location to leave a bomb–and left her handbag with her bearded mujahideen husband. He looked around nervously, the bright lights of the Sin City casino glancing off his sweaty head and clashing with his dreams of Paradise.
And then he saw me.
My cover blown, there was nothing more for me to do but to show him a look of steely determination, a vision of American fortitude cast back against his swarthy cowardice. The look in my eye said: “I don’t think so, Ahmed–not on my watch!” He looked at me, slightly confused, as if suddenly realising that a confrontation with the USA wasn’t going to be as easy as eating day-old baklava. I hardened my gaze.
His wife came out of the bathroom and he waved her towards him, then pointed at me and conferred with her. Ever the obedient wife, she started toward me. “Aren’t you from Arlignton?” she said in a perfected Texas drawl–wonder how long she’s been working on that? And damned if she didn’t have good intel!
“What’s it to you,” I said. No quarter given, nor asked.
“Well, nothing really, but I think you live just down the street from us. Don’t you drive an old Mustang with a defective muffler?”
“You’re real good. You’ve been watching me,” I replied.
She laughed at me, openly mocking America and all it stands for. “No,” she said, “but we can hear you coming from a few blocks away. My husband likes your car, though!”
I bet he does, I thought. But I kept quiet. I smelled a setup.
“Hey,” she said, “would you mind getting a picture of my husband and me over by the showgirls?”
As if I’m going to help them in their Jihad, I thought to myself. “Uh, no, I gotta go.” I backed away slowly as she reached into her pocket. But I’ll keep my eye on you, I said under my breath.
Was this a dry run for a serious terrorist attack, or a surveillance operation to gather information on America’s tourism capital? To be honest, I haven’t heard enough evidence to convince me either isn’t true. But I know this: these extremists better think twice before coming out of their hidey-holes on my watch. Semper Fi, brave brothers and sisters of the Clarion Fund!