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He was an old man in a child's body--well, not an old man, a
middle-aged man but the principle was the same. He didn't belong
there. He wanted out. There was a lot of things a ten-year-old
couldn't do. He couldn't belly up to a bar and order a cold one, he
couldn't drive a Zephyr Eight at breakneck speed along Boiling Run;
he couldn't unsnap Miss Carbuncle's bra in a hot and hasty tumble
in a haystack--not that the preteen version of Bernard Piffy
hadn'thad a lot of hot and hasty tumbles with the ladies but it
wasn't as much fun on the deck of a flop-flop-slopping helicopter
or in a room at Dr. Frankenstein's with the ladies armed with
weapons that would have terrified a Caped Crusader. No, he would
not miss being ten years old. The problem was how to get to where
he would no longer be ten years old. A jail cell in Egypt was the
not the best place to start. But he was a kid and he had a cruise
ship to catch. He could handle anything--the Egyptian secret
police, terrorists, dead Jihadists, axe murderers, sharks and
snippity UN helicopter pilots like Rochelle Hinds who hated his
guts and was converting to Islam. He was boy--hear him roar
When Bernard Piffy arrived in Gaza City carrying a dog in a
birdcage he didn't think he would be there long. All he had to do
was find Yasser Arafat's Fuhrerbunker, steal a monitor from the
Keepers of the Fleas and bring it back to Asma bint Marwan. It was
a half day's work at the most. Then he could take a dip in the
Mediterranean and fly back to England--or better yet to the States
for a few beers with the boys at Joe's Bar and Grille and Gun Club.
Then he could start afresh on the trail of Yaser Abdel Said, the
Dallas cabdriver who had murdered his daughters, Sarah and Amina
Said, in a fit of Islamic rage. No one would ever mistake Piffy for
Mike Hammer or Shell Scott but he was as tough as a ten-penny-nail
soaked in Kickapoo Joy Juice and run through Dante's Inferno. He
had been a three-time Junior Calf-Roping Champion and a
close-combat instructor in the Marine Corps. He had won hundreds of
skeet-shooting championships. He had went over the falls in a
barrel; he had survived on goat pee and lichens while lost in the
Sierra Madre. But he wasn't prepared for what he encountered in
Gaza City--the land of Yasser Arafat, of car bombings, honor
killings and nasty old men filled with 1,400 years of hatred. Che
Guevara was there and so was Jimmy Carter. Guevara had been hired
by the Keepers to take care of some loose ends--one of them being
Bernard Piffy. And Aisha was there--lovely little Aisha who had
saved the ten-year-old version of Bernard Piffy from getting beat
up in an alley behind the Ahmad Madrassa in London, England. Her
father had sent her to Gaza to study at the Osama bin Laden
Madrassa for Girls. Gaza was also the haunt of Sheikh Rahman
al-Kabibble, the noted Islamic scholar and theologian. The Sheikh
had just issued a fatwa legalizing marriage to girls as young as
nine years old. According to the studies he had made, nine-year-old
girls provided more sexual satisfaction than grown women. He would
stake his life on this. He would find the ten-year-old calf-roping
version of Bernard Piffy so exciting, so delighting Unfortunately
he was old enough to be the ten-year-olds great-grandfather. Some
of Piffy enemies--and they were legion--had followed him to Gaza.
The Protectors of Virtue and the Preventors of Vice were there
ready to do the bidding of Prince Chauncey sixth cousin
twice-removed of the mightiest oil potentate in the world. Death
lurked around every corner and beneath every prayer rug. But Piffy
had his dog in a birdcage and if things got really rough, he could
always call on his guardian angel, the inimitable St. Anthony. And
there was Wheatley W. Wheatley, Abu Afaq's Gaza agent with her
one-hundred percent Mujahideen pizzle whip. And the great Stockton
Bonds would be along on the trail of Piffy and the Fleas. America's
last great private eye would have his hands full...
Bernard Piffy, private detective, was hired by the boys at Joe's
Bar and Grille and Gun Club to track down the notorious Dallas
cabdriver, Yaser Abdel Said, who had murdered his daughers, Sarah
and Amina Said, in a fit of Islamic rage and had then fled the
country for parts unknown. Piffy was not a hard-boiled private eye;
no one would mistake him for Mike Hammer or Shell Scott but he had
been a three-time Junior Calf-Roping Champion, had won dozens of
Skeet-Shooting Championships before he was twelve years old and had
been a close-combat instructor in the Marine Corps. He had wrestled
alligators and had once beat Mike Hammer in arm-wrestling. He went
to Dallas and on a dark and stormy night he met Ka'b bin al-Ashraf
who told Piffy he could take him to the soul of Yaser Abdel Said.
It was the beginning of an incredible adventure. Ka'b had been dead
for 1,400 years, murdered by Mohammad bin Muslama on orders from
the Prophet (Bukhari 5-369). The trail would lead to England--to
the Birmingham Central Mosque; to Abu Hamza al-Masri; to Archbishop
Rowan Williams; to Inspector Jean-Jacques Rousseau; to assorted
jinns, Jihadists, monsters and leprechauns and to a ten-year-old
Muslim girl that would become the apple of a ten-year-old Junior
Calf-Roping Champion's eye.
When Abraham Lincoln ran for President in 1860 he was opposed to
the extension of slavery into the territories. William H. Seward
had warned of an 'irrepressible conflict.' A house divided against
itself cannot stand," said Lincoln. "I believe the government
cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect
the Union to be dissolved; I do not expect the house to fall; but I
expect it will cease to be divided." The threat today is the
same--the extension of slavery into the territories with the United
States one of the territories to be exploited. Islam is on the
march . The world cannot exist half Muslim and half free. It will
become one or the other. This is the Last Crusade. It is the one
that must be won
Bernard Piffy was going home in a rowboat--a failure. He hadn't
done any of the things he had set out to do. He had not brought
Yaser Abdel Said, the Dallas cabdriver that had murdered his
daughters, Sarah and Amina Siad in a fit of Islamic rage, to
justice like he had promised the boys at Joe's Bar and Grille and
Gun Club, he had not rescued Aisha, he had lost puppy dog and
Fatima was dead. He had been arrested as an adult in Egypt by the
Muslim Brotherhood. Asma bint Marwan had helped him escape by
turning him into a ten-year-old boy. She got him on a cruise ship
and one thing led to another. He ended up on a life raft in the
middle of the Atlantic Ocean and was picked up by an Iranian
submarine. Mistaken for a girl because of the burqa he was wearing
to protect him from the sun, he decided to continue with the
disguise. His old enemy Che Guevara was on board; it would be
safer. The sub was hijacked by Jihadists. The sub's name was
changed to the Yellow Unterseeboot. One thing led to another and
the sub blew up in the entrace to the Ionian Sea with heavy loss of
life. The child disappeared and the retriever brought the adult
back to America where Asma bint Marwan had work for him. The
Keepers of the Fleas had inserted a number of the blood-sucking
insects from the Prophet's beard into the headscarf Nancy Pelosi
had worn when she made her obeisance to Bashar al-Assad in 2007.
Bernard Piffy was expected to find the headscarf and any of the
fleas that might still be alive. He would have his work cut out for
him. Bint Marwan, in the guise of a ten-year-old girl, would greet
him and get him pointed in the right direction.
It was a daydream come to life--adrift in the Atlantic Ocean on a
life raft with a pulchritudinous helicopter pilot of the opposite
sex. Any fifth grader struggling through Miss Wormwood's classes at
PS Six-and-seven-eights would have switched places with Bernard
Piffy without so much as a thought. A hot bod to ogle and the ocean
blue Dolphins and flying fish But Bernard Piffy wasn't a fifth
grader; he only looked like one. He was a private detective
scrunched into the body of a ten-year-old boy. He had an adult's
brain, a kid's slim physique. He had saved Captain Rochelle Hinds'
life and now he was paying for it. They were about to be rescued.
An Iranian submarine had been sent to pick up Captain Hinds. It
would take her to Iran where she was to become the bride of the
notorious Mohammad Atta, one of the 9/11 Jihadists that had brought
down the World Trade Center. Atta was the immortal enemy of the
adult version of Bernard Piffy. Aboard the sub was Che
Guevara--Berkeley's Patron Saint--another enemy of Mayberry
County's favorite private eye. And Mrs. Gadaffi, the
great-grand-mother of the late Maummar Gaddafi, was planning to
sneak a torpedo aboard the Iranian submarine, loaded with only
Allah knew what, to launch at an unknow target. Mohammad Atta, Che
Guevara, Maummar Gaddifi's great-grand-mother Bernard Piffy would
have his work cut out for him. An adult's brain, a child's body. An
Iranian submarine Surrounded by enemies Could it have been worse?
Yes, he could have been dressed as a girl--and Allah was
oft-forgiving.
It was tough being a middle-aged private detective trapped in the
body of a ten-year-old boy. It had never happened to Mike Hammer or
Shell Scott--or to Jessica Fletcher for that matter. But Bernard
Piffy had had no other choice. If he wanted to get into the Osama
bin Laden Madrassas for Girls to rescue his darling little Aisha
from a fate worse than death he would have to turn himself into a
ten-year-old boy. So he went to Ka'b bin al-Ashraf. The old poet
was reluctant. But Piffy was adamant and Ka'b performed the
transition. It would be as easy as pie insisted Piffy--he would
penetrate the Madrassas disguised as a ten-year-old, he would
locate Aisha and sneak her out of the dang place stuffed in a jar
of cooking oil on the back of a donkey. It should have worked. But
then his guardian angel puppy dog killed the Madrassas janitor
There was an uproar. To escape detection and possible death Piffy,
with the help of Aisha, disguised himself as a girl. He was only
ten years old. Who would know? And then Sheikh Rahman al-Kabibble,
the noted Islamic scholar and theologian showed up at the Madrassas
to claim his child bride. (The Sheikh had recently issued a fatwa
legalizing marriage to girls as young as nine years old) The
Sheikh's bride to be, Hanadi, was almost eleven going on thirteen.
No problem? There shouldn't have been--but then the Sheikh got a
load of Aisha's ten-year-old friend. It was lust at first sight. He
threw over Hanadi. And away they went in the Sheikh's brand new
Midnight Rider. With Stockton Bonds chasing after Piffy and the
Keepers of the Fleas chasing after Bonds there was never a dull
moment. And then the Sheikh tried to have his way with the
ten-year-old. Adrift in a sea of Viagra, the old fool was shorn of
his 'immensity' and Piffy remained a virgin. The Midnight Rider was
soon commandeered by a band of thugs out to dispossess Stockton
Bonds of the Sufi Flea. There was a shoot-out and the Midnight
Rider crashed into a ditch. When Hamas came upon the scene Piffy
was still ten years old and dressed as a girl. He was dragged from
the burning Midnight Rider. Dr. Haribert ul-Heim, Islam's version
of Dr. Joseph Mengele, gave the 'girl child' a shot of homemade
sodium pentathol to get to the truth. The last thing Piffy said
before he went under was, "I want my puppy dog." No, nothing like
this had ever happened to Mike Hammer or Shell Scott and Piffy had
a whole new bunch of friends to meet--Dr. Haribert ul-Heim,
Diabolica Tungsten, Colonel al-Thi'b, the usual mad Imam, Captain
Flip Corker and the three Drs. Mohammad--and the only person who
could change him back into an adult male, Ka'b bin al-Ashraf, had
washed his hands of the whole mess and was visiting with friends in
the Twilight Zone. It would not be easy pretending to be a little
girl in the land God forgot and the Devil remembered but Piffy
would try.
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