TEHRAN, Iran (July 29)—Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has ordered government and cultural bodies to use modified Persian words to replace foreign words that have crept into the language, such as “pizzas,” which will now be known as “elastic loaves.”
—Associated Press
OKAY, so this is it. I am telling you now. Our jihad declares this: no more English. Wait, I know. I am speaking English, but just this one last time. No more English, once I am done speaking. When done speaking, I will do that zipping thing one does with the lips, and after that: our glorious linguistic jihad begins! It is going to really kick ass. However, hang on. “Kick ass” does not please the Prophet. How do I know? I just do. From now on, we will say, like: Our new linguistic jihad is really going to “put the foot in the old rumpus.” Got it? Or “rumpamundo” is okay. “Put the foot in the old rumpamundo.” Yes, yes, I like that.
Some of you have asked, “Mahmoud, why are we doing this?” One even asked, “Mahmoud, why the heck are we doing this”—more about “heck” later, but for now … Remember, back in the seventies, when we took those American, uh, “visitors who did not intend to stay quite so long as they did, in fact, stay”? At the time everyone was going, “No, no, Mahmoud, bad idea”—but look how great it turned out! Now everyone is futzing over us, because why? Because we asserted our—Oh, right, no, you’re right, absolutely, we must also purge our language of the expressions of the blood-drinkers. So “futz”? No. Thanks for pointing that out. How about “fuss”? “Fussing around”? What do you think? Show of hands? Too similar? Okay, instead of “futz,” let it be, uh … let me get back to you on that one.
But you see my point. When we draw a line in the sand with the Western imperialists, they pay attention. When we try to be nice, they treat us badly. I write the guy a sixteen-page letter, and don’t even get a note back! I put a lot of thought into that! I did, like, three drafts! I was trying to be an “egg that is good”! I was trying to offer “the branch of the olive”! But that “one who fucks” treated me like I was some “stupid rectum” from “HoboIntercourse”!
My friends, I am a simple man. That is why you elected me. I have never been anywhere other than our beloved country. I actually haven’t even been to that many places here in our beloved country. I have pretty much been here in my beloved house, nonstop, since the seventies. In my beloved room. With the door locked. Having nightmares in which Hulk Hogan is waiting outside my room—look, as for Hulk Hogan, do not mention his name ever again! He will be referred to, if we even need to refer to him, which I doubt, as “Blond Blondie, Big Blondie!” In this way, we will disrespect him! In this way, he will be driven from my dreams! No more sneaking up behind me, “Blond Blondie, Big Blondie!,” and putting me in a headlock, and I am naked, and have forgotten to study for all my exams!
No. For us, all Western decadence is finished. McDonald’s, chief villain of the American imperialist program, will henceforth be known as “Burger King.” That will really mess with everybody’s head. Some enemy of the revolution here in Tehran goes into a McDon—Do we still even have McDonald’s? I used to really like the cheeseburgers. The “snack that is surprisingly caloric because, you sense, there is even sugar in the bun.” Anyway, some enemy of the revolution goes into a McDonald’s, orders a Big Mac, and—ha-ha!—he is really in Burger King. I love it! He is undone.
Similarly, Burger King will be known as “Wendy’s,” KFC will be known as “Home Depot,” Farouq’s Funeral Home will be known as “Blockbuster Video,” and Pamela Anderson will be known as “Mrs. President of Iran.” Joking! I know she is already married! Didn’t she just—Well, in any event, I am. At least, I think I am. Can you get my wife on my cell? Is this going out live? That Pam Anderson thing might have rubbed her the wrong—
Speaking of women, that is another thing: Don’t you find that word provocative? Say it a few times, softly, kind of moaning it to yourself, while picturing some slut undulating. See what I mean? Provocative. So that is why we are outlawing that as well. No, just the word. At least for now.
Henceforth, let us call our sisters “that which is too hot to be seen.” Or should it be “that whom are too hot to be seen”? To tell the truth, I am not nuts about the word “hot.” It makes me … well, it makes me hot. Say it, kind of stretch it out: hot. No, that won’t do. We shall call them “those who are dangerous to see, due to they are nasty, which is why we shall henceforth hide them under the new immense heavy tents of steel for which I own the patent.”
Have I mentioned that? I am decided. Women are just too hot. Even in chadors, they are too damn hot. Try it, say it, really slowly, kind of prolonging the “ch” sound: chador. Right? See what I mean? So the chadors are off (stop it!) and the “comfort tents” are on. Here is one now. See how weighty, totally opaque (and therefore form-concealing) it is? This way, “those who are dangerous to see, due to they are nasty, which is why we, etc., etc.” will no longer be able to make any sudden sexy moves, or be seen at all, even when a bright light is shining right on them (during, say, an interrogation), or have a free thought, since they are essentially being perpetually crushed by about a quarter ton of steel, like wearing a damn VW bug.
Oops. Sorry. My bad. Did not mean to say “VW.” Meant to say “Volkswagen.” And did not mean to say “damn.” Meant to say “frigging.” Ha-ha! Joking.
Let no one say our revolution is without humor. Anyone says that, I will put my foot in his old rumpamundo in a way he will not soon forget. Trust me on this. I will “install, via rippage, an entirely new down-low-nasty-nasty orifice-stinky,” brother, and pronto, please believe me.
Because guess what? I have nukes coming. “Slender death-containing tubes by which righteousness shall be enforced, as per me.”
I shit you not.
2006