Two moderate muslims are sitting around a fire, toasting goat entrails. The first moderate muslim says, “The stoning was beautifully done, but I held back in moderation out of consideration for the slut whore’s husband who rightly denounced her for showing her face at a window without a veil.“

“And rightly so,” the second moderate muslim said. “I too threw only small stones.”

“I heard at the oasis,” the first moderate muslim said, “that an infidel threatened to burn the holy book, may he be urinated upon by a herd of syphilitic camels.”

“There are worse things than being urinated upon by syphilitic camels, my cousin. I say we respond judiciously and moderately to the very thought of burning the holy Quran. Let us capture some infidels and slit their throats and send the pictures to YouTube.”

“Good idea,” the first moderate muslim said, “even though Allah, Peace Be Upon Him, has given the infidel guns.”

“Exactly,” the second moderate muslim said. “That’s why we’re moderate.”

 

 

Moderation, ain’t it grand

As long as things go as they’re planned

The Arab sits upon his sand

And contemplates the death

Of infidels worldwide and thus

On Allah’s scorecard it’s a plus

He’ll slit a throat with little fuss

As soon as draw a breath

The muslim doesn’t know the score

He thinks the West is weak and more

Than eager to give up the store

But what he doesn’t know

Is that the West is slow to rise
But pushed too far we’ll fill the skies

With planes that say the last goodbyes

With Allah first to go

 

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