Miff-A-Muslim Day

     Once the Gang of Righteousness got all huffy over that bitty Christian minister in Florida,  I figured I'd go after .5 seconds of fame by burning my own copy of the Koran, but I looked around the house and I didn't have one.  I tried a weekly copy of TIME magazine, but it's gotten so thin it went up right away in just one unsatisfactory flare.  By now I was a bit panic-stricken.  I certainly wasn't going to ignite my weighty Random House Dictionary of the English Language even though I do have spell-check, and it felt like a sacrilege to burn my copy of The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor.  One step short of dispair, I got out my Bic holiday flamethrower and was finally able to start up a Bible and a Book of Mormon in the Webby Grill.  But neither of them burned very well, they just smoldered and threw off an evil odor under the sacred black dome.  Since I was also BBQ-ing some chicken wings at the time, I was about to call the whole celebration off when my neighbors sensed something in the air and texted the fire department.  By the time the men in yellow hats came, I had both the hot wings and the reading material under three inches of water, but this is Southern California so they gave me a ticket citing me for air pollution, anyway.  

     Never one to give up on a questionable course of action, I figured I still had  time to get in on the Miff-a-Muslim deal, so I went down the street to the local mosque to see if they would sell me one, but since I've last been by they've built up that place like a fortress.  No kidding, double fences, block walls, and the fortified house of worship is dug in on a hilltop in the first place.  I haven't seen such a defensive perimeter since the Fearsomed Foursome, The Purple People Eaters, and the zap-topped 35 foot high double cyclones around the National Security Agency's TOP SECRET Codeword Puzzle Palace. Even with all that, there were no armed guards and it looked like I might get in if I could physically hoof it up the steep grade and squeeze in the big iron gates which were invitingly a few feet ajar.  But then I theorized I might have trouble getting back out, particularly when I explained I was there to help celebrate International Koran Burning Day or whatever the hell the dipsy-doodle reverend from Gaterland was trying to do.   

     He may be crazy, but MAM Day does make some sense if you see value in poking hornet nests.  Actually, there is some merit in it, if only as a reality check.  Hornets are temperamental, they do sting and they can kill you.  You and I know this, but most of the joyful social curtsy bunch that constantly maneuver to do all our thinking for us seem to think otherwise.  They have forgotten that, while we believe all men have equal rights, some of the new folks who have moved in next door are intent on replacing your and my values with their own.  Although trans-continental, this isn't one of those metamorphic processes that takes place over geologic epochs...it's happening here and now.   So maybe MAM Day isn't as wackobird an idea as it sounds...unless you like the alternative, which would be to retreat to some other largely unoccupied New World where we can practice the freedoms we came here for in the first place. I think there's still Antarctica.  Maybe we could thaw Greenland or drain some place that's only a few feet under the ocean, like the Dutch did.  Does anybody own Tierra del Fuego?