Gurkha Troops= Al Qaeda's Nightmare

HAT TIP: The Rottweiler at www.nicedoggie.net

Story:

July 07, 2005
Time For Class, Islamoturds
Gather round, Ahmed, Mohamed and Mahmoud and we'll give you a few history pointers. It's quite clear from your most recent cowardly attack hoping to get the British to turn tail and run like the nadless Iberians that you spent entirely too much time when you should have been in school chasing your pet goat Fatima for the only kind of sex you'll ever know.
Now, we'll try not to use big words and we'll even include a few pictures. One should always tailor one's lesson plan to fit the intellectual capacity of one's students, but since we aren't familiar with the language of protozoans, we'll have to try to make do with what we've got.
You may be thinking that it'll soon blow over and that the Brits will soon forget and move on.
Go ahead if you find any consolation in doing so, but allow us to point out that His Majesty has met Britons who still carry a grudge towards the french over their raid on Henry Vth's camp at Agincourt.
That was in 1415.
Just so's you don't get your hopes up unless you can wait another 590 years, which you can't. You see, you won't be around in 590 years with the way you carry on.
Another thing you might be thinking is that the Britons surely will pack it in in the face of civilian losses when they don't really stand to lose anything personally by pulling out.
There was an Austrian chap who thought along those lines as well. Yes, we know that you're familiar with him seeing as how you idolize him and love buying copies of his book.
Now, this Austrian paper hanger had one heck of a lot more going for him when he thought out that plan of attack than you'll ever have. For one thing, he'd successfully neutralized every other major power in Europe, he had the strongest military around and all that the Brits had going for them was the Royal Navy, a badly outnumbered RAF and whatever Home Guardsmen they could round up for duty, armed with whatever they could find since most of their heavy equipment was busy rusting on the beaches at Dunkirk.
So what did the Britons do when they found themselves in a corner with not a single ally left in the world and the nations that they'd gone to war over long beaten and occupied by the enemy?
They went straight on fighting until the bitter end. They didn't know at the time that the Austrian madman would turn on the Soviet Union and manage to get the US into the war against him as well so, using simple logic, nobody would have thought the worse of them if they'd decided to call it a day.
But they didn't. You see, they figured that they weren't dead yet and, besides, they'd given their word to the Poles and the Belgians, and an Englishman never, as in "not ever", backs down on his word. And they weren't facing a few dozen casualties at the time either. They were starved by the U-Boats, terror-bombed by the Luftwaffe, but they didn't budge.
Oh, and they won, as you'll know, having to make do with worshipping the ashes of that Nazi son of a pig instead of the real thing. He was a loser, and so are you.
But you are so much tougher, right?
You obviously haven't met this young man and his friends yet:
That's a mean looking knife, isn't it? Not near as mean as the young Gurkha holding it, rest assured of that. He loves his knife, he keeps it razor sharp, and he enjoys the sound of air hissing out of the gaping hole left in the throat of his enemy when he slits it from one ear to another.
But you can't really see it in that picture, so let's take another one:
Pretty, isn't it? Nothing like those rusty pieces of crap that you sand nits use when you're amateurishly hacking off the heads of unarmed, gagged and bound civilians.
And our young friend isn't likely to be whooping it up, shouting and hollering to keep his courage up when using that nice throat slitter. Oh no, quite to the contrary. He's quiet, very very quiet. So quiet in fact, Ahmed, that you won't know he was there until the sun comes up and your friend Mahmoud lays next to you in a pool of his own blood with his head half severed from his body.
And what's even more fun, Ahmed, is that you just know that he'll be back, just as quiet and deadly as the night before. Maybe he'll come for you this time, maybe he won't, but there'll be one less of your friends around when the sun comes up, night after night after night.
After a while you'll find yourself praying that it's your turn next time, just to set you free from the indescribable terror, the knowledge that your death is inevitable and that it'll be silent, deadly and bloody.
Because there's not a thing you can do to stop it. These guys are as invisible and as silent as Death itself, which is hardly surprising considering that Death is what they are.
And they're coming for you, Ahmed. They're coming for you.

Thread posted by Emperor Darth Misha I at July 7, 2005 10:10 PM