Shaggy Werewolf Story

 Once upon a time there was a bloodsucking vampire whom we shall call Cradula.

The vampire was,  of course,  very cruel, but apart from that he also lacked all the traces of civilisation that others of his kind possessed. He was not tall, pale, svelte and elegantly  dressed, and if anyone gave him a red-lined black cloak he wouldn't know what to do with it. Far from romancing beautiful women,  he could hardly put two sentences together without devolving into a string of curses. He was bow-legged, ugly, thuggish, with straggly hair,  and such appalling  personal hygiene that he had to approach his prey from downwind so they didn't smell him coming. 

Cradula lived in an empty old house, a house so long vacant that everyone had long forgotten when it had been built and whether it had had a name. There, in the basement,  he had a bed in a grave cunningly disguised as an old chest with a seat on the lid. Every night, once darkness had safely fallen, he would crawl out of his entombment,  lifting the top of the chest away, clamber clumsily through a broken skylight, and go hunting. Before dawn, more often than not still hungry, he would drop with all the grace of a sack of potatoes through the skylight and shamble into his grave again. 

For as long as Cradula had lived in the old house, it had been empty, but one day there was the noise of doors grating open, furniture being moved, the busy sounds of hammering and sawing, and before Cradula knew it - that is,  before the poor vampire woke at the crack of dusk - the house was no longer empty. A family of four had moved in,  father,  mother,  son, and daughter. The first thing Cradula knew of them was the sound of the daughter singing and playing the guitar in her new room upstairs. She sang and played atrociously.

Of course, Cradula didn't know that she sang and played so badly. He was far too uncultured to care about that at all. All he wanted to do was to go out and drink his nightly portion of blood, and the confounded caterwauling was giving him a headache, so he went straight to his skylight. 

Whereupon he had a shock. The skylight had been removed and the space bricked in! And the basement,  where he had spent so many uneventful  decades,  was no longer empty, it was almost full of heaps of coal for the furnace that hadn't been used in so long that Cradula hadn't even known it was there. 

The poor vampire was in a state. He couldn't get out of the basement,  because of the skylight. He couldn't get out through the door up into the house, because it was locked. And he hadn't had any luck hunting in days, so he was starving. And,  on top of everything, he was so illiterate and uneducated in the ways of humans that he was frightened out of his wits, not that he had many. 

It was just as he was gibbering to himself in the corner that the light in the ceiling went on and someone turned the key in the door leading upstairs...

The night was cold, and the mother, deciding the house needed heat, had ordered her husband to start up the furnace. "And don't come back till it's burning nice and hot," she commanded. "Do you hear?"

Cradula, thrilling with terror, shot back into his grave so fast that the coal dust of his passage still hung in the air like behind a cartoon character who'd taken off running. The father came grumbling down, muttering about the television he should've been watching, and shovelled the furnace full of coal. Then, setting the load alight, he looked around for a place on which to sit while waiting for the fire to take hold.

The only place to sit was the nice old chest with the convenient  seat on the lid...

Cradula may have been terrified, but he could now smell the proximity of the human blood coursing through human veins. His fangs grew wet with saliva, he reached up, flipped open the lid of the chest, dragged the father inside, and drank him to a shrivelled husk in less time than it takes to write of it. Then he slammed shut the lid, belched loudly, and went contentedly to sleep.

What about the corpse? He kept it right there with him in the grave. I told you he was a slob.

After an hour, the mother - by now warm - began to wonder why her husband hadn't come back up. Was he drinking down there? She decided to come down for a look.

"Are you hiding behind that coal?" she roared, not seeing her lesser half anywhere. She stamped around the basement,  poking here and there, and then,  baffled, plonked her ample bottom down on the lid of the chest, so hard that it woke Cradula.

And, because he smelt her blood and was an uncouth glutton, he pulled her down and drank her dry as well, then closed the lid and went back to sleep. 

Some time after that, the fire in the furnace began to die down. The daughter began to shiver a little. "Hey, twerp," she ordered her brother, between songs, "go down and put more coal in the damned furnace."

"Go yourself, " said the brother, who was busy with a video game.

The daughter stuck it as long as she could then wandered down to the basement to stock up the furnace. Afterwards she looked around. "I wonder what it would sound like if I sang in here, " she said, and,  sitting down on the chest, resumed her guitar playing and singing. 

Cradula, of course, had been awakened by the terrible noise, and,  being without any refinement,  didn't recognise music when he heard it. He knew only that there was a fresh supply of blood sitting over him. So he opened the lid, yanked in the girl, and drank her dry as well before pushing the lid shut, and,  putting her corpse with those of her parents, went back to sleep. 

By and by the son finished his game and wondered where everyone was. He looked up and down in all the rooms of the house, but they were all empty. Then he came down to the basement,  searched around, and went away upstairs again. Later that night he came down to stock up the furnace, searched for any trace of his parents or sister, found nothing, and stood scratching his head. But Cradula didn't grab him and drink him dry, not then, and not in the many,  many days that have passed since. The son still goes down to the basement every day and Cradula can't lay a finger on him. 

Why not?

Simple!

The son never sits on the  brutish vampire.

Bloodhawk Down

 

As we all know, the Imperialist States of Amerikastan can never lose.

 

It didn’t lose in Vietnam, for example, or in Somalia, or Iraq, come to that.

 

What? You thought the Imperialist States lost in Vietnam and Iraq and Somalia? Obviously you didn’t watch any of the many, many Hollywood films dedicated to proving the opposite for Vietnam, or Black Hawk Down for Somalia, or American Sniper for Iraq, and that’s just the list I can be bothered to dig up.

 

Anyway, to get to ye olde pointe: Amerikastan can never, ever lose. I mean, Hollywood says so! Who are you going to believe, Hollywood or reality?

 

So: Since Amerikastan cannot have lost in Afghanistan yesterday, it is not possible, despite all evidence to the contrary, I decided to help Hollywood out and write a script for it. I mean, I am literally creating history here!

 

So, coming up: the new Hollywood blockbuster on Afghanistan, Bloodhawk Down.

 

Opening scene:

 

The heartbreakingly beautiful mountains of the Hindu Kush (the Pamir Knot will do nicely as a substitute, thank you, do you think the target audience for this kind of thing can differentiate between Afghanistan and Tajikistan anyway?). The purple shadows of evening lie deep in valleys.

 

Enter the shadow of a helicopter, along with the noise of its engine. Pan up to the cockpit, where we have our GRIM-FACED HANDSOME HERO, who is the pilot.

 

This is Major Bloodhawk, USAF. The camera moves up his body, hesitating briefly on his uniformed chest, which has his name in clearly visible BLOCK LETTERS, as well as the requisite stars and stripes badge.

 

Major Bloodhawk is, of course, played by Tom Cruise. It is always Tom Cruise as the aging, handsome, instantly relatable hero. Of course it’s Tom Cruise. Who else could it be, Arnold Schwarzenegger? Give me a break.

 

FLASHBACK to Major Bloodhawk’s many years in Afghanistan, starting with his service as a young gunship pilot back in the glory days of the invasion in the mid 2000s, then moving on to training Afghans to fly helicopters so they can do some gunshipping of their own (insert manly tears when one of his pupils is killed in a crash). He has friends among Afghans, including a brave translator who saved his life during a Taliban ambush. This translator’s name is Quislinguddin, and he has stayed in touch with Major Bloodhawk ever since.

 

Back home, naturally, Major Bloodhawk has a lovely and loving wife, and the requisite two children, male and female. This wife’s name is immaterial, call her Laura if you want, but she’ll be, naturally, played by Angelina Jolie. She was in Kabul, too, of course teaching Afghan women to read and write, but in recent days she’s gone back home. This is an opportunity to show her lovely, palatial home in a leafy suburb somewhere in California, with the compulsory swimming pool in the backyard, complete with a golden retriever who goes swimming with brat and bratess.

 

So both Bloodhawk and Laura are – are you getting this? You are? Good – absolutely genuine heroes, as everyone can see. And the Afghans love them! (Insert shots of profoundly grateful Afghans, begging him to bomb their villages some more and her to teach them some more to read and write.)

 

But times have changed, and it’s 2021, and the Taliban are threatening Kabul. (Gasp! Who could ever have seen that coming?) Major Bloodhawk is past his glory days as an Apache gunship pilot. He now flies a Chinook transport, and he’s been tasked to stay ready to evacuate Americans from the rooftop of the embassy in Kabul, exactly as President Bidet had sworn would never happen.

 

You’re still with me, right?

 

Bloodhawk has a trusty sidekick, who mans a heavy machine gun set in the Chinook’s door. (Never mind whether Chinooks have door gunners, door gunners and helicopters go together like napalm and Vietnamese villages, this has been holy writ since the first Vietnam movie came out, dammit.) I can’t be bothered to come up with a name for him, but he is played by the guy from Jurassic World.

 

So! The evil, vengeful, misogynistic, bearded, turbaned Taliban are battering at the gates of Kabul, when Major Bloodhawk gets a call on his mobile phone! Who can it be? Who??

 

His old mate Quislinguddin, that’s who.

 

Quislinguddin, and I don’t care who plays him as long as it’s a smallish round-faced man with a moustache and a pakol cap, is calling from a village near Kandahar. This village is ruled over by an Evil Taliban Warlord. (Maybe played by Danny Trejo in a beard and black turban? I think it should be Danny Trejo in a beard and black turban.) ETW has his eye on a beautiful young girl in the village, played by anyone, damn it, what does it even matter at this stage. ETW has decided to celebrate the impending Taliban victory by kidnapping the BYG, and intends to marry her as soon as Kabul falls.

 

“Bloodhawk,” the translator says, “the evil Talib has kept her confined within his dastardly fortified house in the village, guarded by the evillest Taliban guards in all Kandahar! You must save her!”

 

Bloodhawk’s orders are to wait and be ready to evacuate the embassy but... (Flashback once again to the moment that Quislinguddin saved him from the Taliban ambush, diving on him and wrestling him to the ground at the risk of his own life.) He calls Laura and explains his dilemma, and in an emotionally charged scene over the phone – he in his helicopter seat, she looking at her (very symbolically empty) bed, a photo of the two of them on the side table, they decide that he must Do The Right Thing.

 

Tom...I mean Bloodhawk...turns to his door gunner, GFJW. “What do you think, Guy?”

 

Guy, as anyone who’s watched Jurassic World is aware, is capable of just one expression, so he doesn’t move a facial muscle. “Let’s go get her! Hooah!”

 

So, without orders, the Chinook clatters into the air and heads off to Kandahar. (Insert more scenic mountains while dramatic swelling music plays, etc.)

 

Cut to the village, where the ETW has been taunting the BYG with her inevitable fate. Suddenly, from his window, he sees the helicopter clattering over the village roofs. Leaning from the aperture, he shouts at his army of guards to alert them to this threat! Bloodhawk, look out! The enemy knows you’re coming!

 

But wait! There’s help!

 

It’s Quislinguddin! Running from one spot to another, mobile phone at his ear, he directs Bloodhawk, telling him where the Taliban are! The heroic American helicopter – roundels and USAF legend boldly visible – makes several low passes over the village, GFJW mowing the Taliban guards down with his trusty machine gun, American firepower defeating evil! Then, in a great gust of sand and wind, the Chinook starts descending into the village square.

 

But what is this?!? The dastardly ETW has taken the opportunity to barricade himself in his evil fortified residence! He knows that Bloodhawk can’t stay long, and he’s determined to wait it out! Whatever will Bloodhawk do?

 

In the helicopter, Bloodhawk and GFJW exchange glances. “Do it, Major,” the latter says...I mean, grinds out between clenched teeth. “Do it!”

 

So, in a remarkable action sequence never before committed to cinema history, Bloodhawk flies his helicopter at almost ground level right up to the ETW’s house. His front rotor’s immense blades crash through the wall of the dastardly residence, sending a mass of rubble falling into the dusty street. Then he backs away and begins to swing around for another go.

 

But, look! Who is this slim, lovely figure who dashes from the broken house? Why, it’s the BYG! She’s free! But only for the moment, for behind her lumbers the form of the ETW! He wants her back! He’s too close to her for GFJW to use his machine gun! She’s almost caught!

 

And here comes Quislinguddin, armed with a piece of wood from the ETW’s own demolished house! He hits the ETW alongside the turban with the half-plank! ETW’s down for the count!

 

Bloodhawk, delicately as a feather, lands his helicopter next to Quislinguddin and the BYG. GFJW urgently beckons them aboard, but the girl’s afraid to climb on. Quislinguddin has to push her from behind and GFJW pull her by the arms to get her into the chopper. Finally she’s in, and Quislinguddin begins to clamber aboard himself.

 

But, wait! The ETW has recovered! Clambering to his feet, his mad eyes glaring, he reaches inside his sleeveless jacket and brings out a (Russian, this was given to him as bounty for killing US soldiers!) Tokarev pistol. Just as the helicopter lifts off, he shoots at it, and the bullet, going through the door, takes Quislinguddin through the chest.

 

As GFJW pilots the Chinook towards Kabul, Quislinguddin looks up at Bloodhawk kneeling over him on the chopper's floor. “We did rescue her, didn’t we?” he whispers, a heroic trickle of blood seeping photogenically from the corner of his mouth.

 

“We did,” Bloodhawk says. “We did.”

 

“I should never have saved your life,” Quislinguddin says, and grins painfully in the best buddy war movie tradition. “You just keep getting me into trouble.”

 

“That’s right, you shouldn’t have,” Bloodhawk replies.

 

“I won’t do it again,” Quislinguddin says, and dies in Bloodhawk’s arms.

 

Swelling music as Bloodhawk weeps bitter tears over Quislinguddin’s corpse. Then the girl lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her and smiles.

The American-flag-bedecked runways of Kabul Airport appear in the distance.

 

(End credits.)

 

 

Oscar material, yo.

 

AND WHAT PART OF “PH’NGLUI MGLW’NAFH CTHULHU R’LYEH WGAH’NAGL FHTAGN” DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?

Come in, come in. Sit yourself down anywhere – those chairs there will do, the small ones. They’re too big for you, yes, but they’re probably the right shape. They’re for shoggoths, anyway, and shoggoths can fit into anything.

 

What would you like to drink? No, really, I must insist that you drink something. I have visitors so seldom, and I couldn’t possibly let them go away without refreshment. Try that new wine from Kadath. I got it from the terrible old man who dwells in that strange high house in the mist; you must have passed it on your way here. It’s a bit tenebrous, perhaps, but then it’s a change from the usual, isn’t it? And, please, do try these; they’re Elder Thing tentacles fried in garlic butter with extra virgin MiGo oil dressing.

 

Now then, we’re all comfortable – except for your friend over there, who seems to be a bit green; perhaps he shouldn’t have been sitting quite so directly opposite that painting; it’s a Pickman original of ghouls feeding. It sometimes has an effect on some delicate minds.

 

Well, now that you’ve refreshed yourselves, let’s get to what you’ve come for. No, no, there’s no need to tell me; you want to ask about Cthulhu. That’s all any of you who ever comes here wants to talk about, Cthulhu.

 

What about all my other children, I often want to ask? What about Thlohthang Nghaksanga, whose fifty squamous tentacles writhe and curl endlessly with that pink and green tinge that can melt any maiden’s heart? How about Ibandabbiang, who has created for herself a blasphemous nest made of the bones of moon beasts and dholes, and there has been incubating ten thousand eggs for half a vingintillion years, in order to beat Shub Niggurath’s record of a mere thousand young? How about Rebethiang, who’s following the Great Race of Yith from migration to migration, reducing the remnants of the species the Yith leave behind to delicious, gibbering madness? What about poor Ghatanathoa, who only has to be seen to turn anyone who lays an eye on him into a living mummy? Why don’t any of you talk about any of them? Why?

 

Don’t mind Fluffy there in the corner. He’s just like any other Hound of Tindalos, and he’s nowhere nearly as dangerous as people imagine. Why, it’s been at least a week since he’s reduced anyone to blue protoplasm after ripping their heads off. Just stay away from the corner, and he won’t bother you. He likes corners, that’s all. And he likes you. Just look at his tongue, lolling. He’d just lick you to death, wouldn’t you, Fluffy, love?

 

But you don’t want to talk about Fluffy either. It’s always about Cthulhu.

 

Great Cthulhu, you call him, too. Great at what, I’d like to know. Great at sleeping, maybe. When his brithers and sosters were busy twisting space and time and breaching the veils of the billions of realities, what was he doing? Sleeping, that’s what.

 

I should have known, really, the moment he was born.

 

Oh, right, you want me to talk about him being born.

 

Well, it was a while ago, not that long, maybe thirty vigintillion years; your insignificant little universe was still a singularity waiting for a Big Bang to set it off, and someday I’ll tell you how that came about. It was on another plane of existence, of course, in the system of Klklbzzqrthnnngghkllykxx. I’m sorry, I think that burnt your recorders out. Well, you’ll just have to take notes on paper, then, won’t you?

 

No, I don’t have paper, but I think I can give you Gug parchment. Don’t mind the smell. You get used to it after a few thousand years.

 

Now that was a plane of existence! Nothing as dreary as this one. It was like sheets of fire and lightning that turned into planets and then turned into holes in space that vomited out sheets of fire and lightning. We used to lay bets on when any particular planet would fall down a hole and what it would turn into. It was fun.

 

Cthulhu’s father? What about him? I don’t even remember his name. He was just another handsome male, you know, how they each try to be more handsome than any of the others to win one’s affections. I think he was quite small, about the size of one of your system’s minor moons, with a rugose mantle and lots of tentacles tipped with hooked pincers. That’s the kind that always got my hormones going.

 

So we did it with each other, of course. Now I don’t think you want to know the details, but if you do, PlayEldritchAbomination Magazine interviewed me last month about it and you can read their article. Anyway, we did it, and after that I ate his brain. It wasn’t much of a brain, and I’m afraid Cthulhu inherited that particular feature. Anyway, as I was saying, I ate his brain, and then I pulled the egg case he’d fertilised out of my body and pushed it into the hole where that brain of his used to be. And then I just waited for the eggs to hatch.

 

I’ll say this for him: he was pretty fertile, and he was pretty nutritious. While some other males might only give their mates a few hundred, maybe at most a couple of thousand young, he fertilised no less than five thousand of my eggs. And when they hatched, he had enough meat in him that they didn’t have to eat each other for a while, not until most of them had become big enough to defend themselves. And so almost two thousand of them survived to childhood.

 

He was a good provider, as I said. Forgive the tear; sometimes I get a little emotional when I think of how males were then, and how they are now. Why, look at Cthulhu; he’s only fathered one single solitary daughter, and he didn’t even bother to die to do it! And I don’t think she’s interested in giving me great-grandbabies at all. What are the multiverses coming to, I ask you, when one’s granddaughter won’t even breed a few hundred darling little monstrosities the sight of which would be enough to drive one insane?

 

And you call him Great Cthulhu. Ha!

 

So what happened afterwards? The children, having eaten their father alive and then each other, swarmed out into the multiverse. Most of them, of course, scattered away; but a few of them saw me and came to hang around for a while. Hang around, did I say? Well, all but one of them chose to hang around.

 

The one exception chose to curl up and go to sleep.

 

And that was just the start. When it came time to send him to school, you should have heard his excuses. He didn’t want to do his homework. I realise that is not a new excuse. But other children don’t want to do their homework because they want to go to one of the rave parties around Azathoth, to dance to all the pipes and drums, or maybe because they want to watch a planet being burnt to cinders along with everything on it. Perfectly harmless and expected, and one can let them do that once in a while as long as they work hard most of the time.

 

But not your Great Cthulhu. He wasn’t interested in Azathoth’s concerts. He ignored burning planets. He didn’t want to study, didn’t want to do homework, because, he said, the stars weren’t right.

 

It drove his teachers to distraction. I remember poor Nyarlathotep tugging frantically at his head-tentacle in desperation. “It makes me want to crawl away chaotically,” he moaned. “How can you get a child to learn a mind-boggling thing if he says he won’t unless the stars are right? When are the stars right, I asked him? He said he’ll know when they are, and tell me.”

 

And that’s why all that guff about “non Euclidean geometry” and “eldritch architecture” in R’lyeh is about. That poor fool, Lovecraft, thought it was Cthulhu’s incomprehensible genius due to which the angles of the sunken city are of a kind your human minds can’t comprehend. All it was is that your so-called Great Cthulhu slept his way through geometry class and couldn’t draw a right angle or calculate the area of a conic section if his ravening for delight depended on it.

 

Sorry to puncture your illusions.

 

My, look at the time! I’m going to have to wake Cthulhu up, or he’ll be late for his job again. I’d better get him his breakfast. He’s always cranky if he doesn’t get his breakfast.

 

What’s his breakfast, you want to know?

 

Well, his favourite food is Shantak Bird egg omelette, but I give it to him only on holidays. They’re terribly expensive. You would turn white if I told you how much they cost. There, look at that friend of yours, he’s white already. He shouldn’t have peeked at my grocery bill, really, even though it’s my fault for leaving it lying around where he could see it.

 

And for a weekday breakfast? I’m glad you asked.

 

For a weekday breakfast, nosy journalists seem to do nicely.

 

 

Copyright B Purkayastha 2021

 

Image from DeviantArt

How Genghis Won The War Single Handed (And Two Booted)

 

As you probably know, the war between Azerbaijan and Armenia over the region of Nagorno Karabakh, which seemed set to go on forever, or at least all winter, suddenly came to an explosive end after Azerbaijan abruptly and apparently inexplicably captured the fortified and impregnable clifftop city of Shusha. The capture of this city led to the utter and total collapse of Armenian forces, and Russia (and Iran) stepped in quickly to impose a peace that left a scrap of Nagorno Karabakh still in Armenian control while ceding the rest to Azeri control.

    But how? How could Azerbaijan (and its Ottoman allies and its jihadi headchopper mercenary imports) capture this city so quickly and unexpectedly, leading to the utter rout of Armenia, and its prime minister Nikol Pashinyan going into hiding?

    In this remarkable account from the frontline, an exclusive account that has been specifically written for you, that story will be told.

********************************************

His name is Genghis Gobi. He is an Uighuristani from East Turkistan, and has been living in Syria for a number of years. Over time, he felt a burning desire to tell his story to the world. And now, as a mercenary who has gone to fight in Nagorno Karabakh, he feels it absolutely essential that his tale be told.

    Let him tell you who he is:

 Freinds and infidels!

    It grate pleasuring to announcement that I am able to giving you informationing from the spot on fighting in Armenazerbaijanistan.

    Allowing me to introduct myself. Who this Genghis Gobi?

    I am certificated instructor level Uighur headchopper from East Turkistan which as you might be known occupated by evil lefteous Chinese regime. So I look four freedom along with four wifes Hala, Bana, Lina and Fatma, because evil lefteous Chinese regime say I can having only one wife. How one can live with only one wife, I asking you? Also evil lefteous Chinese regime oppressioning my berthright to chop head in piece and quiet. This wrongeous and unacceptably!

    So I looking four freedom, and just then getting vision (by mobile phone video, that true) from blessed Shaykh Muhaysini telling me to coming to Jisr al Shughour in Idlibistan, which you might be gnawing is freedom territory where poor innocent jihadis can chopper head and murdering happily. So four wifes and I comed to Idlibistan, thinking troubles over. Happy ever after, righteous?

    Wrongeous! First thing happen in Idlibistan is three billion children there being sarinbarrelgasbombed by evil lefteous Nusayri regime of pointy nose dictator Assad and evil half naked Russia dictator Putin regime. To saveing three billion children and also become famous movie star I join White Hellmate organisation, but pointy nose dictator Assad regime stooge stealed my white helmet befour I can making false flag video and becomed famous. After that four wifes want me to buying car from Honest Jamal VBIED dealership, but problem is that it cost too much goat, and I only getting one and half goat a day. Supposed to get FOUR goat from dear friend Abu Salman al Bonesawi in Saudi Barbaria but two and half goat stealed by Abu Erdogan al Turki. How one live on one and half goat a day, you telling me? Even with position as top trainer and also bottom trainer at Idlibistan headchopper training institute I haveing to get second job as head twitterer at Uighuristan Cultural Centre and still not making front end and rear end of goat meet. When I try goat butt me into middle of next week.

    And then my four mother in law also comed to Idlibistan so I have to hide in hole below house. That is how bad situation is in Idlibistan. Bigly!

    Then I gottinged call from blessed Shaykh Muhaysini tellinging me that grate opportunity to escaping Idlibistan - not to mentionable four mother in laws - by going to fighting in Armenazerbaijanistan. And so I here and you getting my report straight from goat's mouth!

    Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar. Thank.

 

    Please do not marvel at Genghis’ terrific command of English. As he informs us,

 

I taughted English by Abu Alhamdo al LastTweetFromAleppoi in Idlibistan English Academic! He speaker best English in World as you gnawing if you read his last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last tweets from Aleppo.

 

    Some of you may remember Abdulkafi Alhamdo, who was about to be massacred by the Assad regime in Aleppo, and kept tweeting last farewells, until he wasn’t massacred and stopped tweeting last farewells. If you don’t remember him, no matter.

    Soon enough, Genghis and his platoon, under one Great Khan, found themselves at the bottom of the cliffs below Shusha, ordered to scale the cliff and capture the city. But they had other problems of their own as well. Here is a cry of protest from him to his platoon leader, given out to the world:

Grate Khan my freind and truely comrade! This righteous!

    Grate Khan, why you not giving me fair share of ten goat you get pay from Abu Erdogan four entire platoon? Only five men left in platoon, also five right, top and bottom, so each get half goat, righteous? Why you wrongeously keep two goat four yourself? This unacceptably!

 

    Despite all this, Genghis did not neglect to prepare for his assault on the mountaintop Armenian stronghold. And his strategic planning was totally out of the box!

    As you may have heard, the recent Armenia-Azerbaijan war was also the first drone war, with Azerbaijan making intensive (and effective) use of drones as its weapon of first resort. Well, Genghis and his friends thought of another role for these aircraft:

Freinds and infidels!

    I am going to telling you now of top and also bottom secret plan by which we planning to capture city Shushabad!

    Why I telling you this? Is because by time you read this planning will already be operation! Yes we doing surgerycal strike on Shushabad!

    Now I gnaw what you thinking. You thinking, but, Genghis, you at bottom of cliff and town on top, how you planning to get up to make surgerycal strike, fly?

    Yes! You understanding righteous! We fly!

    Plan told by Sultan Erdogan al Turki, who call us personification over app Zoom. Of coarse he wear mask but we gnawing who he is because of Ottoman turban and robe he wearing, and because he keep stick pins in effigy of Abu Gülen al Amriki while ranting!

    Anyweigh, here plan: you gnaw how drone aeroplane Bayraktar TB 2 being given by Sultan Erdogan to Abu Aliyev al Azeri, righteous? And how drone aeroplane Bayraktar TB 2 very successfully to bombing Armenistani? Now it have new roll four it!

    Yes. Now each drone carry under each wing one jihadi who holding gun in hand and headchopper knife between teeth, and fly up to Shushabad. Once above town small rocket fix to jihadi belt fired, projectioning jihadis on to Armenistani position! As soon as landed, jihadis can starting shooting and headchoppering anybody they find!

    It brilliantly idea, righteous? With blessing of Shaykh Muhaysini, secure by app WhatsApp, it not possible to failure.

    Soon I be back from mission and then I telling you how success it wented.

Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar! Thank.

 

    Indeed, it was a brilliant plan, and would have written a new chapter in military history, except for a tragic incident that nobody could have foreseen. Let Genghis tell you in his own words:

 

Freinds and infidels!

    This report of attempt to capture city Shushabad by surgerycal striking by drone aeroplane Bayraktar TB 2, which I telled you befour!

    We all very excitation at drone plan, and drawing lots to go on first drone. My dear freinds Abu Recep al Idlibistani and Abu Tayyip al Qaedi get honour of climbing first drone, and they're eyes full of tears that must have bean of joy! Our Idlibistani jihadi so bravely that even if they lose draw of lots, like these two, they as happy as though they winned!

    So Abu Recep and Abu Tayyip fixation rockets on belts, rockets fitted to wings of aeroplane drone, and then with guns in hands and headchopping knifes between teeth they take off! All of us watching as drone lift highly and higherly into sky.

    But then disastrous! Somehow undoubted sabotage agent in pay of evil bearded Abu Pashinyan al Armeni sneakering on to drone base and sabotage drone wings, make wings weak. Suddenly both drone wings brake off under weight of Abu Recep and Abu Tayyip! They fall all way down to martyrdom, but so bravely we hear them cheering all way. At least we think it cheering.

    Also even grater disastrous is that drone crash, and Armenistan get chance to claiming it shot it down, as big propaganda claim as big as capture of Azerbaijanistani capitalist Baku. So all air surgery strike plan stoppage until new drone with stronger wing brought.

    Or I have nice ideal! We ask Sultan Erdogan al Turki to giveing us ballisticated missiles, but with warhead removed. Jihadi with drone and headchopping knife sitting in warhead spacious and fired with it. When missile fall on Shushabad he come out and begin shooting and headchoppering. It excellently idea, righteous or wrongeous?

    I tell you what replying from Sultan Erdogan.

    Until then we taking rock climbing lesson on broken village wall.

    Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar.

 

    Utterly tragic, was it not? When I received this message from Genghis I despaired of his safety. Imagine my astonishment, though, when I then read the news update that the Armenians had been routed from Shusha and the Azeris were in occupation of the town! How did this miracle come to pass?

    Let Genghis tell you how:

 

Freinds and infidels!

    I telling you now how we Uighuristani headchoppers from Idlibistan capture Shushabad!

    It happen this weigh: after failure of drone aeroplane Bayraktar TB 2 surgery strike, which I telled you about elsewhere, I decide to climbing cliff and attack Shushabad single and even double handed! Why, you asking?

    This why: while practice wall climbing I suddenly look over shoulder and see four wifes Hala, Bana, Lina and Fatma coming! You can see them in picture.

 

    They not happy, four mother in laws demanding they bringing me back to taking care off them! I so frightful I beginned climbing cliff by one hand and two foots to get away from them! And when I reach top, I behind Armenistani position and they see me, think I am vanguard and lorryguard of full forceful of climbing jihadis, and run away.

    That truthful and righteously! Now I have to finding place to hide from wifes. You help me please.

    Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar!

 

    And so the impregnable fortress was defeated! Truly, behind every successful man is a woman (or four of them with guns).

    Unfortunately this was far from the end of Genghis’ travails:

 Freinds and infidels!

    Terribleacious news! My dear freind and comrade Grate Khan missing! We liberation a horse in Shushabad, and last we seeing him he get on it and gallop down road toward Stepanakertabad waving headchopper knife around and shouting "Mamtu Armenistani Ha ha ha!"

    We all disturbed not only because Grate Khan freind and comrade but because he owe us many goat which salary from Sultan Erdogan al Turki, but which he keeped four himself. At least forty goat! Now who pay us goat? If anything happen to Grate Khan we sue Abu Pashinyan al Armeni!

    Assuming he not runned away that is.

    Please to keeping both eye open four Grate Khan, freinds and infidels. Also nose, mouth and ears.

    Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar! Thank.

 

    Unfortunately Great Khan is yet to be found, along with all the goats he filched from Genghis and his friends. Genghis, in fact, is in such desperate financial straits that he is offering a course in headchopping (remember that he’s a certified instructor in the art):

 

    I run training coarse in headchoppering! You can joining if you want! Payment only one quarter goat a day.

 

    Obviously this is a golden opportunity and anyone not taking it is less than interested in his or her own future.

    Meanwhile, even as the Armenian resistance evaporated, Azerbaijan allegedly shot down a Russian helicopter with a surface to air missile,a MANPAD. But Genghis knows the truth of what really happened.

 

Freinds and infidels!

    My grate freind Abu Frank al CIAi who postedated in Azerbaijanistan telled me what really happen! Abu Frank want to get promote and transfer to nice warm station with pretty girl, like Colombiastan or Portugalistan! To get promote he need to show a victory over evil half naked Russia dictator Abu Putin. So he ordered manpad from Sultan Erdogan al Turki. Why from Sultan Erdogan? Because first he order manpad from Umm Merkel al Germaniya, but she send him sanitary towel four transsexual.

    Anyweigh, when he get the manpad he crawl to border at night and shoot down helicopter. Now he being promotioned and sented to warm country he want, I think it Saudi Barbaria.

    Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar!

 

    It is this shooting down that caused the belated Russian intervention that ended the fighting and brought in Russian peacekeepers. But even with peace, there were more pressing problems on Genghis’ mind:

 

Freinds and infidels!

    While looking four place to hiding from wifes Hala, Bana, Lina, and Fatma (who as you gnawing want to forceful me to return to Idlibistan and four mother in laws like stampeding elephant) I meeted evil half naked Russia dictator Abu Putin regime peacekeepers:

    It wrongeous and unacceptably that they keep uniform on, like their half naked leader they should half naked. Then maybe and junebe and even novemberbe four wifes see them, fall in love with them, and forget about me.

    Freinds and infidels, please to telling Russia soldiers to half naked immediately, or I might have to coming to your house for to be hiding. You not want that, righteous? Think of all the goat.

    Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar! Thank.

 

    Unfortunately nobody seems to have, and Genghis was constrained to keep running. But not so quickly that he failed to pick up some more information, the inside story of the alleged collapse of law and order in Armenia.

Freinds and infidels!

    Spy in Armenistani capitalist Yerevanabad giving me top and also bottom and left and right secret informationing.

    This riot and disturbanceing in Yerevanabad not really collapsation of law and ordering. No! It actually plan by Armenistan to find best mixed martial artist, who can beating up maximum number of people! Then Armenistan unleash these mixture martial artist horde on Azerbaijanistani position! Since unarmed it violation of ceasefire four Azerbaijanistan for to shooting at them.

    On hear of plan Azerbaijanistan also planning to find best mixture martial artist to fight Armenistani invasioning! Trial already being holded four best kicker, slapper, puncher and head butter. We trying to hire Abu Miketyson al Heavyweighti four to take course in biting as in the well.

 

    This sounds like a disturbingly plausible plan, does it not?

    But things suddenly seem to be looking up from Genghis. Here is his latest missive. He’s taken a Very Important Prisoner:

 

Freinds and infidels!

    While trying to find place to hiding from four wifes and mother in laws behind them (as I tolded you in last posting) I comes across deep hole in ground,like giant burrow of animal gerbil. So I crawl into it and then wented round bend. There I sawed small room with man with beard sitting with laptop writing. As soon as I see him I recognition him, it Abu Pashinyan al Sorosi. When he seed me he taked out pistol and threatening to shooting me, but it nothing to threat of second wife Lina who threaten to shooting me on daily and nightly and even dawnly basis. So I take pistol away with one finger. Now question I want to ask, what I do with Abu Pashinyan. Should give him to Armenistan? Should give him to Azerbaijanistan? Or should just give him to wifes in hope they take him and forget about me?

    Takebeer! Muhaysinihu Akbar! Thank four answerationing.

 

 

    Well? Do you have an answer for him or do you not?

    You need to help him, or he might turn up at your doorstep, and then hiding him from his pursuers is on YOU. 

    And remember - or let Genghis tell you:

Now Abu Donaldtrump al Twitteri declaration that Uighuristani headchopper not any longer or shorter terrorist, you gnawing I can doing anything I want without fearing of being calling terrorist! Except for four wifes and four mother in laws I fear nothing!

Takebeer.