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“Love cannot remain silent – when it sees

Injustice, Abuse, Deception or Hypocrisy

‘Real Love’ will always stand-up and speak-out

Even at the expense of one’s own life.”

– mg –

Published by X Factor Publishing

“Sticky Finger Books”

3 9 7 5 10 2 1 8 4 6

Australia/New Zealand/Great Britain

The Plot to Overthrow Copyright © Mohammad Goldstein, 2011

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise, with the written

permission of the Publisher.

ISBN: 978 0 92 757267 9



“When the power of love

Overcomes the love of power

The world will know peace.”

– Jimi Hendrix–

The 50s were the decade where the conception took place; the embryo

incubated in the womb, growing and kicking, for the entire ten years. Finally,

the pregnancy ended, and with violent labor pains, the water broke on

January 1, 1960. After inhaling the first breath of life, what exhaled was a

very loud, non-stop screaming, colic baby; a byproduct perhaps, of the stifled

emotions from its parents trapped in a generation of war. After the violent

birth, the umbilical cord cut, the life-giving 50s placenta was discarded as

useless afterbirth.

It was out with the 50s doo-wop music … “Good night, sweetheart, well,

it’s time to go” … had to go. None of that would be the new baby’s style.

There would be no more short haircuts, butch wax, teased hair, greasy Elvis

hair, poodle skirts, fake rock and roll, or black and white television. The

baby turned off Father Knows Best, Sky King, and Leave It to Beaver as he

tuned in and tripped out.

“Gimme a head with hair – Long beautiful hair – Shining, gleaming,

streaming, flaxen, waxen – Give me down to there – Shoulder length or

longer – Here baby, there mama – Everywhere daddy, daddy, hair.”

This colic baby was going to keep everyone up night and day for more than

a decade, screaming all the way into the early 70s against every established

rule of order. Spitting out its pacifier in protest against everything

governmental, the colic baby took to the streets in rebellion against war,

abusive law enforcement, denial of civil rights, parental restrictions, and the

need for organized religion. Schizophrenic in personality, the colic baby held

peaceful love-ins and sit-ins, followed by campus protests, civil rights

marches, and the burning of cities in riotous rebellion. Change was coming

to America, by any and every means necessary, making this a decade that

was electrifying and full of life.

To understand the colic baby’s screams, and why those screams were so

full of life, ask anyone living in the 60s; they will tell you what an awesome

and troubled time it was to be alive. The air was saturated with an energy so

rich and full of life, you could almost touch it, or, at the very least, inhale it

with every breath you took. It was as if, somewhere in the heavens, the world

clock of time and history had suddenly clicked into a new era, intoxicating

everything with change.

New expressions and views on every moral issue of life surfaced each day.

For generations, society had previously considered it morally taboo to openly

discuss the secret side of human sexuality. Such topics were supposed to

remain locked away in the private, individual closet of life.


This curious, colic baby opened the door to the private closet of life, took

out every hidden taboo, and played with them openly as toys, to the shock

of the world. The generation of free love played with every sexual toy,

openly discussed human sexuality and multiple orgasms, while watching the

movie I Am Curious (Yellow). Free love, sex, drugs, race relations, pop art,

poetry, pornography, abortion, and the politics of an illegal war all

“mushroomed” into a newfound freedom of speech. Communal living, group

sex, and the Summer of Love in Haight-Ashbury became a festival of

love-ins, psychedelic drugs, and sex.

In the midst of love and turmoil,

The colic, pacifier-spitting baby became a dancing machine.

Music reverberated from all over the world, rolling in waves onto every

shoreline. Each new wave introduced never-before-heard lyrics, beats, and

rhythms. Many came with new dances from artists unknown just the day

before. The Twist, Mashed Potato, Hully Gully, the Watusi, the Swim, the

Jerk, the Monkey, Pony Time, and the Locomotion; the new songs and

dances were endless. The music shouted to everyone breathing the air of

change. “Hey, you, come out here on the floor; let’s rock some more.” The

colic baby was “Dancing in the Streets” all over the nation as white kids

were finding their rhythm on American Bandstand. Soul music and black

kids already had rhythm from the red-hot, record-producing Motown. Free

love, peace signs, tie-and dyed clothing – it was game time for the generation

of sex, drugs, and real rock and roll. Not the Elvis shake, rattle, and roll.

Elvis was not invited to perform at Woodstock. Say hello to acid rock, hard

rock, and just good ol’ rock from The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Jimmy

Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Creedence, and Janis Joplin.

Church leaders joined hands with law enforcement in a show of

unprecedented and unconstitutional unity to stop this new music, reportedly

made by the devil himself. In several vain attempts to stop the music,

churches held their own protests, burning records while claiming, “The devil

himself is in the music, I tell you.”

“This is RJ, your favorite DJ, with a special song to all of the pastors

burning records today. I say halleluiah, brother; figure out the words to this

one, if you can, preacher – Here’s ‘Louie Louie’ by The Kingsmen.” Through

it all, the colic babies rocked on, dancing in the streets.

How these five radical colic babies ever connected is still a bit of a mystery.

None of them understood how much their lives and career choices would

impact one another until many years later.


Scott, Jerry, and Steve were from wealthy families with doctors, lawyers,

and morticians as parents. Roger and Larry were a pair of poor white trash

bad boys, from the wrong side of town.

Scott Riley was the upper-crust snot of the school, quarterback, debater,

and a natural leader. His rich parents used their social influence to place

Scott in every important school office. Grooming a son’s career begins early

in life by well-heeled parents, who, in turn, had been groomed by their

parents. Scott’s position as quarterback was clearly the work of his parents’

social influence. He fumbled frequently and ended the season with a record

number of fumbles. Scott experienced his largest failure when he ran for

class president. Even though his parents provided him with professionally

made posters bearing the slogan Scott “Can Do” Riley, the long-haired colic

babies rejected his parental influence, scratching out “Can Do” and replacing

it with “Can Fumble.” Scott never got over the political loss or his

record-setting number of fumbles that year.

His mom was so hot, that every teenager with raging testosterone

immediately wanted to bone her. Steve was the first to crack her panties and

brag about how good an older woman was. After that, everyone in the group

boned her on a regular basis. If anyone brought a joint after school, she

would take on two or more. Say hello to sex class and free love.

Scott’s dad was one of the top doctors in the city and the administrator of

a hospital. He always tried to appear cool by offering us a beer. When he

would catch anyone looking at, or up, his wife’s short skirt, he would look

that person in the eye, wink, and smile. No one was ever sure what the wink

or smile actually meant.

Their home was one of the most expensive in the city, mainly because of

the basement that connected to a new underground fallout shelter. To the

group, the shelter was party time; bring a case of beer, a bag of Mary Jane,

throw in the hot mom or a few girls, and shut the nuclear door.

Encouraged by his father, Scott often attended civil rights marches or

worked at voter registration booths. His white skin often got him face time

on the local news, as he was usually seen locking arms with blacks in civil

rights marches. Behind his back, most whites called him a nigger lover, and

most blacks called him a rich white honky with a guilty conscience.

Jerry Duncan was the son of parents who were both morticians. Having

heard every joke about stiffs and undertakers, Jerry defended the profession

as a great business model. “It has an endless supply of customers who do

not complain, and families that shop emotionally. What else could you

possibly ask for?” Jerry was all business all the time. He was expected to

become an undertaker or take over the family business.


Mannequin in appearance, Jerry was a fanatical dresser, every hair perfect

and never a wrinkle. The common joke about Jerry was that his parents had

trained him from a little boy by having him dress the dead bodies. He always

looked fresh off the ironing board; you could have popped him into a coffin

at any moment.

Steve Whitman was the county prosecutor’s son. His grandfather was a

judge, and his uncle the county sheriff. All of his relatives were on a crusade

to catch the pot-smoking, protesting hippies and lock them up. Steve became

our main source for acquiring weed. He was a big pothead who often joked

about expanding the minds of his legal relatives. His uncle’s deputies were

often on television using clubs and dogs on civil rights protesters.

Roger Majors and Larry Thomas were the polar opposites of Scott, Jerry,

and Steve. They came from poor white families, living in shotgun houses

near the railroad tracks, and grew up in tough, racially mixed neighborhoods.

Close friends since grade school, they liked to fight and were the

stereotypical bad boys in the 60s from the wrong side of the tracks. By the

age of fifteen, due to family problems in both homes, Roger and Larry

moved into their own place.

The old house they rented was party central seven days a week, and

completely furnished with every bad boy’s dream – an endless stream of

girls, pot, and booze. A year earlier, at the age of fourteen, they had started

their own band. After moving into party central, the band began playing

events around the city and grew in popularity. At one point, the band won a

citywide battle of the bands competition at the local community center. The

winning prize was an appearance as the opening act in the amphitheater on

Dick Clark’s Caravan of Stars. The band was red hot when Larry walked on

stage and performed a song he had written, “The Dirty Dog.” The crowd

went absolutely wild with excitement. As he stood center stage, singing

“Come on girls, let me show you how to do the dirty dog” while humping

the microphone in a slow rhythm, Larry sent over ten thousand girls

screaming into the aisles. After that performance, the crowds were huge

wherever the band played, and the money was good.

Roger and Larry had a natural “cool,” a commodity that Scott, Jerry, and

Steve loved to be seen hanging with. Scott, Jerry, and Steve, on the other

hand, had status, nice cars, and expensive homes, a commodity that Roger

and Larry liked to be seen hanging with. Besides, at Scott’s home, the

pretty-little-rich-girls were all looking for the bad boy deflowering

experience, making it a living dream for Larry and Roger.

Baiting the group with a road trip to Florida, Scott convinced everyone to

join him in a civil rights march in St. Augustine.


What everyone else envisioned was beaches, bikinis, and booze. As the five

boys got into the VW bus, ready to party hard in Florida, none of them

realized this trip would change their lives individually and as a group.

Unwittingly, Scott’s dad had booked a room at the Monson Motel in St.

Augustine, Florida. Little did they know that this motel would become

battleground central for Martin Luther King, Jr.’s fight for the rights of blacks

to sleep, swim, and eat in all motels. High on pot, Jerry and Steve met some

blacks in the parking lot early one morning. After talking for half an hour,

they led ten blacks on a full run through the lobby, and everyone jumped

into the pool together. The motel owner watched and smiled as they ran past

the registration desk. No one knew the owner had dumped large amounts of

muriatic acid in the pool to keep blacks from jumping in like they had the

previous day. Consequently, Jerry and Steve received several burns from

muriatic acid, and after a shower, the owner kicked the five of them out of

the motel. During a nighttime protest march, the cops beat them, cracking

several ribs and a few bones in the face and hands. Once arrested, the jails

were so crowded they were locked in a fenced area with exposure to full sun

for several days. Harassed as nigger lovers, the cops often spit – or threw

urine on them. Bail was excessive at three thousand dollars, but leave it to

Scott’s dad to get all five boys released on one condition: that we leave

immediately. By the time we headed home, the police had beaten each of us

severely, and Roger had received numerous dog bites. The ride home was

silent for the most part. Roger and Larry seethed with anger, swearing they

would get even.

After they returned home, Roger and Larry took protesting to a completely

new level. Scott freaked out as they elevated their fight by throwing Molotov

cocktails from the roofs of buildings during race riots. Several times, as a

group, the cops almost caught them as they set cop cars on fire. Roger and

Larry began stalking cops patrolling alone and beating them.

In the first official group meeting as activists, they swore allegiance to one

another, and Steve made a motion to stop joining the riots and protest

movements. “I think there is a smarter way to do this. Why don’t we watch

the news, pick out the unfair bastards, and pay them a personal visit?” As a

group, that made everyone smile. They voted to go after every unfair

individual seen on the news. It did not matter who you were; if you beat up

on protestors, harassed people, discriminated against anyone, arrested a pot

smoker, or preached your moral religion against another group – you became

a target. Because of Steve’s politically connected law enforcement family,

he proved to be the greatest asset for finding out the names of cops who beat

people or turned dogs on protesters.


They became private vigilantes of justice for the people unfairly harassed

by the government.

Officer Don Sprinkle was the biggest white racist in the sheriff’s office.

He had a reputation for needlessly beating people with a club, as well as

turning dogs loose on them. Watching Sprinkle the news, it was easy to see

that he never called the dog off and seemed to enjoy watching them chew

on the victim. Leaving a bar one night, Sprinkle had one too many under his

belt. As he was about to enter his car, Roger walked up behind him with a

pair of brass knuckles and said, “Hey, Officer Sprinkle.” When he turned to

look, Roger’s right hook dropped him like a bag of rocks.

Tied up, with a hood on his head, standing on a stool with a rope around

his neck, the boys so traumatized the man that he shit and pissed his pants.

At one point, Roger said, “Fuck this,” kicking the stool out from under

Sprinkle. “Look, it’s a cop dangling like a pig for slaughter.” After a good

laugh, Larry put the stool back under his feet and shouted, “Let’s cut his dick

off!” As Roger’s knife began cutting his pants, big shot bigot filled his pants

again. Pushing the blade against Sprinkle, Roger spoke in a chilling,

melodramatic tone directly into his ear. “Listen to me, asshole. If you ever

use your club or turn your dog loose on people again, I will cut it off, Don.

If we see you on the news talking about tonight, we will all gangbang your

wife in front of you after we cut your dick off, baby Don.” Shouting into his

ear, Roger said, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” Crying like a baby as the

knife continued cutting his pants, baby Don answered, “Yes.” Sprinkle never

beat or turned dogs on people after that night.

For the next few years, the group introduced cops, preachers, judges, and

lawyers to a new level of justice. Catching off-duty drunken cops leaving a

bar became Roger’s favorite stalking method. With the brass knuckles, he

was a one-hit wonder, dropping most of them on the first hit. In two years,

Roger and Larry had hooded and beaten up over 20 cops throughout the

tri-state area.

Larry loved to get even with the outspoken, hypocritical preachers. Many

congregations found a Sunday morning surprise, the pulpit buried under a

pile of manure. The devil’s pentagram and 666 were his signature

trademarks, spray-painted inside and outside of the church as well as the

homes of the preachers. Every preacher bold enough to complain got a

follow-up private ass whipping. Roger, Larry, and Steve eventually returned

to St. Augustine for some long-overdue vengeance. A certain motel owner,

along with several rednecks and cops, all shit and pissed their pants while

dangling at the end of a rope.


Life happens this fast; one day you walk the halls as a freshman, and the

next day you are a graduating senior. Four years later, the group gathered in

Scott’s nuclear fallout basement sharing a beer after graduation. No one

realized that this would be the last time they would all be together as a group

for many years. Scott’s dad came down and joined them for a beer,

commenting, “You boys have been politically active for several years. I’d

like to hear what you would like to do in life and how you would work to

change the country.” It was a planned father/son event because Scott spoke

up right away.

“I am going to change the country, and the only way to do that is to be a

part of making and passing laws. So, for me, it’s politics as soon as I get out

of college.” No one said anything; everyone expected him to give it a shot.

To the group, he was nothing but a poor little rich boy out to save the world

while living in daddy’s shadow. Somehow, he had miraculously escaped

serious injury in St. Augustine, and no one understood how.

“What about you, Jerry?” Scott’s dad asked.

“I really don’t know for sure, but I think I’m getting out of the family

business. I will try to work with the living rather than the dead,” he said,

laughing. “I have always wanted to build, so maybe I could build some

quality low-income housing that would actually elevate the poor and

lower-middle class.”

“Never saw those ambitions coming from you, Jerry,” Scott’s dad said. “I

really hope you try it, and feel free to call on me if you need any help.”

Steve spoke up. “It’s a no-brainer for me. Superman, the lawyer defender

of the downcast!” he shouted. “I’m off to law school. After that, I either join

the family empire or do my own thing. I would like to expose people like

my racist uncle, but then my own family might elect to lynch me,” he said,

gesturing with his hand as if he were hanging by a rope around his neck as

he stuck out his tongue. Everyone burst out laughing at his imitation of the

people we had strung up, while Scott’s dad remained clueless. “All joking

aside, I am pretty sure I am going in the opposite direction of my family. I

will defend the guys they try to put away on petty bullshit. That should make

the family reunions very interesting.”

Smiling, Scott’s dad replied, “Sounds fascinating, Steve. I’m looking

forward to some great television interviews and newspaper articles to read

about your successful cases against your family.”

Larry said, “I have no clue at this point, Mr. Riley. I think I’ll just continue

with my music, hang out, and party for a while longer. The band is doing

pretty well, and I like the lifestyle. I will probably stay active in some

movements, hoping to effect some change.


Roger and I do not have families like yours. I come from a home of

correction with no direction, so your questions are not part of my upbringing.

My family never talks about a future or matters like this; no one in my family

even gives a shit that I graduated from high school today.

Smiling at Scott’s clueless father, Roger spoke up. “Family, what is that?

My family raised children as if we were a litter of dogs. When you stopped

sucking tit, you were on your own. Future … here’s my future,” he said,

holding up a draft notice. Everyone sat in silence at his revelation sipping a

last beer. The times they were about to change, for the boys.


Somewhere there has to be a horizon where the sun rises on young lives as

they begin pursuing life’s dreams, and ambitions. As the five young boys,

sat sharing a last beer together with their feet dangling over the edge of the

early morning horizon, they were unaware of the profound destiny of their

lives. As they rose and went their separate ways, destiny put a mark on each

boy’s back, marking them for purpose in the future. “Each of these shall

drink deeply from the bittersweet cup of life’s experiences.”

Many years later, their pathetic excuses for lives would meet again. As old

friends, destiny would reunite them; only this time, it would be as the sun

was setting on their exhausted lives. Sharing a drink together, they would

soon discover their divine appointment with world history. A destiny so

profound, their actions would change America and the world in a way no

one ever contemplated possible. Their purpose would have the power to

change the world, as well as preempt a world tragedy. In order to fulfill their

purpose, it would require the solving of a biblical mystery …

The 4Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

One of them would suffer a violent death, and when that death occurs, the

water will break for the birth of the next colic baby. This putrid “loss of life”

embryo had been brewing in the womb of time for over 50 years. Filled with

the pus of shattered dreams and wasted lives, the womb will spew the baby

forth in such a violent birthing rage that the baby will sadistically rip the

womb. The birth will be so violent and painfully purifying, it will drop the

entire nation to its knees in stunned silence, and the world will stand in awe.

Landing on both feet with 50 years of incubated rage, this baby will arrive

in the world with such a vengeance, its scream will make the first colic baby

of the 60s sound like a whisper in the night. This baby will finish what the

first colic baby failed to complete by ushering a new era into the world.

The little boys are all grown up now.


“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”


– Gandhi –

After an invigorating afternoon with Monica, Professor Samuel Walker,

PhD in world history and religion, retired to his study late Sunday evening.

Sipping scotch, he began putting the final touches on the last two essays of

his illustrious thirty-year career. Eccentric in his life and philosophy, Sam

was a factual genius with a mind capable of processing ten or more thoughts

simultaneously. A Mensa society member with the strategic mind of a

world-class chess player, he was always a few calculated moves ahead of

everyone else on the chessboard of life. Whenever he released new essays

on various world religions, leaders rushed to read them. His intelligent

methods of study, coupled with his simple reasoning of facts, earned him

the highest respect among scholars. Every essay was so skillfully structured

and factually judicious, readers found them as euphoric as an archeologist

unearthing artifacts buried for thousands of years.

World religious leaders considered Sam their nemesis because he provoked

people to examine why they practiced a particular religion. Because of the

provocative in-your-face nature of his articles, they often angered religious

leaders. In defense of their exposed practices, the religious leaders often

demonized Sam to their followers. Sam considered their references to him

as the spawn of Satan – a personal compliment. Over the years, he had turned

over a lot of stones, uncovering lies, hypocrisies, and doctrinal errors in every

religion. He was the master of pushing everyone’s buttons to the point of

enragement, in order to show them truth. His essays often made national

newsprint, television news, and sometimes he frequented talk shows as an

analyst. Lately, the talk shows focused on Middle Eastern religions because

of decades of nonstop turmoil. Smiling as he placed his books and papers

into his cart for tomorrow’s class, Sam thought, ‘This will put a lid on it once

and for all. This is my best work, appropriate, and at the right time.’

One of his greatest pet peeves was that people, in general, did not think or

study a matter for themselves anymore. Resembling robotic idiots, people

accept the news media as a source of truth, where talking heads speak in

terms of information from “reliable sources.”

In the 60s, he had gone to jail over a dozen times for one cause or another

and met with many of the radicals of those days: Jerry Rubin, Eldridge

Cleaver, Mark Rudd, Bobby Seale, and Malcolm X. Once, he spent half an

hour with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., discussing the gravity of Gandhi’s

comment, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”


On May 4, 1970, at Kent State University, the United States government

murdered four and wounded nine, Sam being one of the nine. As he lay in

bed recovering, Sam searched his heart for understanding. Why would the

United States government shoot and murder unarmed American citizens?

After a long and arduous recovery, the answer to that question became a very

private part of his life’s work.

For years, before Larry’s retirement, Sam appeared as a regular on Larry

King Live. Sam used Larry’s show as a platform to publically challenge

religious leaders: “Prove me to be in error. If you can, I will give you my

life’s wealth, and I will become your servant for the rest of my life.” Each

time he returned to Larry King, he always opened with a smile, saying,

“Well, I am still a free man, Larry. Not a single religious hypocrite has

offered to debate me publically to disprove my facts. I don’t understand;

where are they, Larry? I have millions in the bank and offer a better deal

than the lotto. All they have to do is prove me wrong. So why are they

hiding?” Sam loved poking the religious crowd in the eye with a stick on

national television. “If you have the winning lotto ticket, Larry, you go

collect the prize. I am the one with the winning ticket; they are forgeries

because truth never hides, it exposes lies.”

Sitting in the waiting room, Sam smiled, thinking, ‘I suppose my timing is

on the mark. Larry retired, and now Oprah. It’s time to move on, Sam.’ A

knock on the door interrupted his thoughts as they called him to the stage

entry. Listening to Oprah’s introduction, Sam thought, ‘Let’s go knock one

out of the park,’ as he walked onto the stage to greet Oprah. After the usual

small talk, Sam announced the most revealing essays of his career would

send shockwaves through two religions.

Oprah, prying, said, “Come on, Professor; give us a hint.”

“Oprah, it will destroy what the world thinks it knows about two religions.

My best friend Mohammad Goldstein will have no basis for practicing his

religions when I am finished.”

With a tilt of her head, Oprah gave Sam a look of ‘what you talk’n bout’,


“This understanding can restore peace and sanity in the Middle East. The

world needs to examine and apply the truths within both essays, and peace

will come. It will also give Muslim women a reason to burn their burkas and

dress like women instead of potato sacks. Muslim men force women to dress

in burkas because, apparently, their god is too weak to help them overcome

personal lust. Isn’t the point of religion supposed to be to help people with

their inner demons?”

Oprah responded, “Oh, my god. For you all watching, he said that, not me.


It’s not my essay, you all!” Pointing at Sam and looking into the camera, she

continued, “Write to him, not me. God, here comes the mail. Alert the staff;

tell them to forward it all to the professor.”

“Put my address on the screen, Oprah.”

Grinning, Oprah said, “Don’t you worry, Professor. They are working on

it right now – and you all hurry it up! Child, I knew you were controversial,

but you have stirred it up today.”

“It’s about recognizing truth, Oprah, in this crazy politically correct world.

I think it is time we stop the politically correct BS and deliver some

much-needed medicine to the world. If that requires being politically

incorrect, but truthful, then so be it.” The audience began applauding, much

to Sam’s delight. “I refuse to remain silent, and I have no fear of offending

my friend Mohammad Goldstein. Both essays will open the eyes of world

leaders, as well as billions of people all over the world. You know, Oprah, I

would like to wake up in my lifetime and eat my breakfast without another

news report of a fight between a Jew and an Arab.” Looking at the audience,

Sam asked, “How about you?”

The audience leapt to their feet again as Oprah smiled at them, trying to

appear neutral on camera. “Well, you certainly have touched a nerve and

reached the heart of this crowd. You do realize, Professor, that you make

yourself a target when you say things like this. Lord knows there are fanatics

on both sides of your friend’s name.”

Smiling directly into the camera, Sam replied, “Look at what I have already

accomplished, Oprah.” Rising to his feet, holding his arms open, he

continued. “My essays will give the Jews and Arabs a reason to fight on the

same side for the first time in history… against me.”

The audience and Oprah broke out in laughter. Being the chess-playing

strategist that he was, Sam had Oprah and the audience exactly where he

wanted them. While everyone was still laughing, Sam removed his suit

jacket and turned around for the camera. In the middle of his back was a

bull’s-eye target with ‘Mohammad Goldstein’ and ‘Burn the Burkas’ printed

in the center. The audience went berserk. Even Oprah was waving her hand,

trying to gather her composure. “Oh, my god. I hope you realize what you

have done,” Oprah said.

Serious and composed, Sam stared straight into the camera, saying, “Silence

in the presence of truth has no purpose, Oprah; it fosters ignorance. These

essays expose a very serious global problem. I hope world leaders will begin

to deal with the Middle East in light of the factual truths they contain.

Besides, as everyone here agrees, it’s enough already between those two.

We want to eat our breakfast in peace.”


The last ten years at the university had been rather depressing for Sam.

With full tenure, Sam had over a three-year waiting list for his class, easily

making him the main financial draw for enrollment. Examining the quality

of the freethinking minds attending his class, he was convinced that a

never-ending reservoir of mindless dribble from a leaderless generation had

somehow found its way into his classroom. Weary of never finding fresh

thinkers, Sam had set the bar high for class acceptance, instituting many

zero-tolerance policies in order to remain in his class. To his dismay, the

mindless dribble kept applying.

His weakness – well, that would have to be the young women on campus.

From one class year to the next, the young girls discreetly passed along a

secret rumor about the “fat size” of Sam. A fact Sam had fittingly validated

with young Monica several times earlier today.

Monica had returned from Sam’s bedroom late Sunday evening to the Alpha

Chi Omega sorority house. Her body was still pulsing with sexual pleasure

when her new roommate, Christina, returned from her weekend away with

her boyfriend. They began their usual chat, starting with, how was your

weekend, tell me what you did, where did you go?

After several minutes describing what they ate and where they went,

Monica commented, “I have to tell you, I had the most fantastic sex for the

third time in a row, with a professor I am seeing. It is the best sex I have

ever had in my life. The man rings my bell like a salesman at the front door,

who will not stop pressing the button,” she said, laughing.

“A professor? You are such a bad girl,” Christina said, smiling. Expressing

her discontent about her boyfriend, she confided, “Self-satisfaction is the

only way I’ve ever been able to have an orgasm. Even with a man, the only

way for me, Monica, is to involve my fingers. Perhaps, for my boyfriend’s

sake, your university professor should offer a class on how to please a

woman,” she added jokingly.

“Well, if they did, it would have to be Professor Sam.”

Smiling inquisitively, Christina asked, “Do you mean to tell me that

Professor Walker is the bell ringer at your door?”

“Yes, you really haven’t heard about him?”

Christina, looking puzzled, said, “I heard rumors that he likes them young,

but for me personally, he is too old; no offense intended Monica. Besides,

he has never once looked my way. You know what I mean, that look a man

gives you when he’s interested.”

“Listen,” said Monica, “you have to understand; Sam would never do that.

He is the best teacher on campus because he’s a perfectionist in his studies

and personal life. Can I be open and honest with you?”


Christina nodded, listening intently because she was curious about Monica’s

personal knowledge of Sam and his sexual proficiency.

“I have had sex with him a number of times, and by far, he is the best man

I have ever fucked in my life. If he called me right now, I would run to his

place even if he were one hundred years old.”

Stunned, Christina exclaimed, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Professor Sam is probably the most potent, sexually educated man you’ll

ever meet in your entire life.” Holding her hand and fingers in a circle,

Monica explained. “He has this beautiful fat cock, not a foot long, but really

so fat it stretches you open, if you know what I mean. Have you ever

squirted, or had an internal G-spot orgasm?” Monica asked.

“Squirting … G-spot internal orgasm … What the hell are you talking

about?” replied Christina.

Smiling, Monica said, “Girl, you have got to try him just one time and, like

me, you will be hooked. One thing’s for sure: you definitely will not be using

your fingers to get off. He’ll internally bring you there over and over. How

long have you been in his class?”

“It’s been three months now, but, like I said, he has never looked at me or

asked me a single question.”

“Let me help you out,” offered Monica. “Have you noticed that the third

row aisle seat is usually empty, and girls move to that seat from time to


Thinking with a puzzled look, Christina asked, “What are you saying? Do

you mean if I sit in the seat, he will know that I want to try it?”

“No, no, no,” Monica exclaimed. “That seat is directly center to the podium

and eye level with your skirt. Surely, you can understand that a man of Sam’s

status would never risk coming onto you or having an improper advances

complaint lodged against him. He’s way too smart for that kind of liability.

If you want to try him, you will have to initiate contact with him by wearing

a skirt with no panties. At one point, during your little secret show, he will

look up your skirt, and when he does, open your legs wider. If he’s interested,

he’ll ask to speak with you after class.”

“No shit!” exclaimed Christina. “I remember him asking girls to speak with

him after class and wondered why he never asked me. They were all sitting

in the fucking chair. What a play on words,” she said, laughing. “I suppose

the chair is both metaphorically and literally – a fucking chair. Is he really

that good?”

“The sex will blow your mind,” said Monica. “I’m getting wet again just

thinking about it. I just may show up in your class tomorrow as a drop-in.”

‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ thought Christina.




With his cart loaded for class, Sam poured another glass of Johnny Walker

Blue and stared across the room at the giant color poster of The 4Horsemen

of the Apocalypse. Taking a sip, he spoke to it like an old friend, “Well, my

years at the university are finished tomorrow. If everything goes according

to plan, I will take them by surprise and start a new career next week.” With

a slight frown and a puzzled look, he continued, “At this point, I don’t know

what to do with you. I must admit that after thirty years of study, I feel quite

defeated. You know how much I hate unanswered questions, and you remain

my biggest unknown. When I began studying your mysteries, like all the

other religious mysteries, I was sure that I would solve yours. Yet, here I sit

with what must be my thousandth bottle of scotch, and there you hang, still

a mystery. You are the only religious bubble that I could not pop.”

Pausing in disappointment, Sam relented, “I suppose what they say about

you could be true. Perhaps, you really do mark the beginning of the end of

the world. I so wanted to prove the doctrines that teach, ‘we are living in the

last days,’ to be the pure bullshit I thought them to be. If I could have popped

you, it would have impacted every Christian denomination. There would

have been no more escapism, 666, rapture of the church, tribulation period,

or return of Christ to preach.

“I knew every time you woke me in the middle of the night, calling to me

‘come figure me out, Sam,’ that you had every intention of keeping me a

prisoner of your mysteries. Because you kept them hidden, I sit here at the

end of a very long and fruitless journey. I am somewhat disposed to take you

down and toss you in the trash. However, after my last experience when I

thought to remove you, I must admit I am apprehensive to even entertain

that thought. As long as your power remains in this room, I will let you stay.

That doesn’t mean I have to study you.”

Above the poster hung the words of John the Apostle from the Book of

Revelation. Sam began to read them slowly, as he had done so many times

before. Without realizing it, wisdom was compelling Sam to study as he

began to question the mystery again. “What am I missing? I was so sure

there was something in you for this hour in history, the world, and this

generation.” Shouting at the poster, Sam questioned, “What is it? Why did

you pick me? Have I lost my mind trying to figure you out? If my friends

and scholars knew of my long-term struggles with you, they would think

I’m a complete mad man, a raving lunatic! Everyone knows that a wise man

will not spend thirty years of his life searching for a lost penny in the same

empty room.” Constrained, he began to read again:


“Conquest, War, Famine, and Death”

Now I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals; and I heard one of the

four living creatures saying with a voice like thunder, ‘Come and see.’ And

I looked, and behold, a white horse. He who sat on it had a bow; and a crown

was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

When He opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature saying,

‘Come and see.’ Another horse, fiery red, went out. And it was granted to

the one who sat on it to take peace from the earth, and that people should

kill one another; and there was given to him a great sword.

When He opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, ‘Come

and see.’ So I looked, and behold, a black horse, and he who sat on it had a

pair of scales in his hand. And I heard a voice in the midst of the four living

creatures saying, ‘A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley

for a denarius; and do not harm the oil and the wine.’

When He opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living

creature saying, ‘Come and see.’ So I looked, and behold, a pale horse. And

the name of him who sat on it was Death, and Hades followed with him. And

power was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword, with

hunger, with death, and by the beasts of the earth.

Sam thought to himself, as he had done a thousand times before, ‘Surely

John the Apostle must have seen something or he was high on LSD.’

Laughing, Sam thought, ‘Maybe I should try figuring out your mysteries

with a hit of acid.’

Remembering how excited he had been the day the poster had arrived, Sam

chuckled, ‘How naïve I was to think that having a picture of the 4Horsemen

would somehow help me figure out your secrets.’ Reaching for the bottle,

he poured his third tall shot; ‘This will be my last; I have a very exciting,

confrontational day tomorrow.’

Looking intently at the picture, Sam noticed the small colored plastic pins

had faded over the years. The edges of the poster were no longer shiny white

but a faded cream color, torn and frayed. The entire poster was wrinkled

from the numerous times he had leaned on it, thinking, writing, or slapping

it with the palm of his hand over something he thought would lead him to

unearth the dark inscrutability of the 4Horsemen.

Speaking to the poster as if it were alive, he said, “There is only one equal

benefit in this relationship that I can see for both of us. It appears we are

aging together; you age me by keeping your secrets from me, and I wrinkled

you in my fleshly struggles to understand you.


Therefore, you must be a woman.” He laughed loudly as the scotch worked

its magic. “Worst of all, in my youthful exuberance, I never put you up level,

old girl. I have been meaning to fix that for over thirty years and somehow

never got around to it – just like a man.”

On the poster were small, handwritten notes around the edges, between the

horses’ legs, and all over their bodies. Each note appeared written in special

code, using diverse colors of ink, pencils, and markers. Some were in print,

some in script, and others were big, bold, underlined words. Random words

all over the poster were highlighted, while several notes were smeared,

perhaps with sweat, tears, or scotch.

‘My god,’ Sam thought, ‘I could not decipher my own notes in any

particular order even if I wanted to.’ Looking collectively at the poster, with

its random notes and colors, he thought, ‘The whole thing has a strange,

artistic karma, even a bit poetic in appearance. On second thought,’ he

considered, smiling, ‘it could very easily be the work – of a madman.’

The study was its usual mess. The wall behind his massive desk contained

his personal library, complete with a rolling ladder. Even a casual observer

understood there wasn’t a system for finding a book other than by the owner

himself. Not a single book was in any kind of order, and every differing size

appeared randomly placed, wherever an opening had presented itself. Stacks

of expensive, rare history books filled the desk, leaving very little space in

which to write, and that spot appeared reserved for the large bottle of scotch.

Around the desk, on every side, were stacks of books, in some places several

rows deep. To sit in the chair, Sam had to step over several stacks. Once in

the seat, the chair was nearly immobile. Nearly every book on the desk, floor,

and around his chair had various colored post-it tabs inserted with small

handwritten notes.

The remaining two walls were covered with maps of the world, the

Constitution, news clippings, 9/11 pictures, Iraq, and many world political

leaders. There were CIA and FBI news articles covering the walls, along

with WikiLeaks clippings. Some pages appeared ripped out of old history

books in a hurry. Everything was stuck on the walls using pins, staple guns,

and various kinds of tape, including duct tape. The entire room, when viewed

from the entry door, gave the appearance of an obsessed, eccentric

individual, a mad scientist, or someone who had completely crossed the line

into psychosis.

In the brilliance of his mind, Sam actually knew where everything was.

The office was off limits to Sheryl, his housekeeper. He lived by one rule in

his study: no eating, because leftover food and dishes would make the place



An extremely sophisticated thumbprint security system ensured that Sam

was the only occupant. In over thirty years, no one other than Sam had

entered his study, that was, until last week.

Seven months ago, he met Molly at his favorite bar, Woodstock69. Molly

had introduced herself by asking, “Are you Professor Samuel Walker?”

Extending her small hand, she continued, “Hi, I’m Molly and I’m dying to

meet you; do you mind if I join you? I have heard so much about your

studies.” And she sat down before Sam had a chance to respond.

She was a stunningly attractive woman, and Sam asked her if she wanted

a drink. Within ten minutes, Molly brought up the topic of the 4Horsemen,

which led to a three-hour exploratory conversation by Sam to determine her

actual knowledge. Sam had never disclosed his private quest to solve the

mystery to anyone, because he knew his peers would scoff at him for

pursuing a religious fairytale. In thirty years, he had never met anyone who

had done any serious study on the 4Horsemen other than himself. Molly

became an instant new mystery to him from their first encounter.

After the initial contact in the bar, they spoke frequently by phone and met

occasionally for lunch. Over a six-month period, Sam became convinced

that Molly’s personal insights into the mystery of the 4Horsemen validated

the fact that her thoughts originated from her own studies. As the relationship

grew, she offered several new methods of study that Sam had never


One day, in the middle of a serious phone conversation, Molly exclaimed,

“I’m sorry, Professor; this is so interesting, but I forgot I have an

appointment. We’ll have to finish this later.”

Without thinking, Sam quickly responded with an invitation to his home,

offering to review some history books and notes detailing several symbolic

meanings behind the 4Horsemen. ‘Oh my god, what have I done?’ Sam

thought, and he immediately began kicking his own ass the moment the

words left his mouth, just like Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar. ‘Are you crazy? No

one has ever been to your study. She will think you are a nut job.’

Before he could back out, Molly replied, “I would love to, Sam; text me

directions and I will see you around seven.”

True to her word, Molly promptly arrived at seven. Opening the door to

his study, Sam stepped inside to turn on a light as Molly quickly said, “Stop.”

‘Damn, how could I have forgotten about the power?’ he thought. ‘I need

to focus with my upper head, idiot, and not my lower head. Now how are

you going to explain what the power is or where it came from?’

Molly remained in the doorway, neither moving nor speaking, as she felt a

strange energy flowing from the room.


Seizing her body, the energy created a strange sensation she had never felt

before as a huge wave of peaceful feelings swept through her emotions. ‘This

feels like warm honey flowing through my chest. What is this?’ she thought

as her mind swirled. ‘X-ray radiation waves? What is this energy? What does

he have in there? Is this energy a result of years of study?’

At that moment, neither Sam nor Molly understood that since the beginning

of time, their lives, and the lives of others, had been prepared for a journey

of the highest purpose. Until the end of time, their lives would become the

most frequently read accounts in history books. “Wisdom” was going to

change the world in such a profound manner; the people of the world would

celebrate the change … for the remainder of mankind’s time on earth. It was

not time for them to understand yet, so Wisdom left them both blindly

incapable of comprehending the hidden mysteries that lay before them. All

wisdom comes from God.




“You will believe a lie as truth

Until it is revealed to you

That it was a lie.”

The light tap on the bedroom door and the smell of fresh coffee meant

Sheryl had arrived. Lying in bed a few extra moments, Sam thought, ‘Today

is the day I will leave my mark. I have done this long enough. Well, old man,

it comes down to this day and your final essays. You are going to have to

beat up some real nice kids today. God, I hate that part, but to remain silent

would leave them trapped in a lie for the rest of their lives.

‘I am sure the chancellor and the board will summon my immediate

presence. When they do, it will enable me to implement my terms. The only

issue still in question is where and how they will find me. I hope Monica

did her part,’ he thought, smiling as he rose from the bed.

In his usual stubborn routine, Sam always argued with himself before

delivering an essay. Almost like a fighter sparring before entering a ring for

the main event, Sam argued with himself out loud to build his confidence.

Stepping into the shower, the sparring began. “I could give a shit what they

think. I am right, and not a single professor, historian, rabbi, or grand

ayatollah can prove me wrong. Someone has to wake the world up to this

Middle Eastern madness. The world is ignorant of the truth about

Mohammad Goldstein, and today, if I have anything to do with it, stupid

leaves the planet. I think I’ll take my slapping stick with me to keep everyone

wide-eyed, or perhaps to fend them off.”

Sam had designed his own slapping stick made from lignum vitae, the

hardest wood in the world. Everyone knew he took it to class only when he

had something serious to share. It consisted of two four-inch wide lignum

vitae sticks, two feet long and separated at the top by a leather handle. Laced

between the sticks was a piece of leather near the top that held the two sticks

three-quarters of an inch apart, with a strap for the wrist. When slapped on

a surface, it produced a loud CRACK similar to a bullwhip popping next to

your ear.

While the study resembled a messy poetic collage created by a fixated

eccentric, Sam’s personal habits in his home were a complete contradiction.


In the home, Sam was a fixated, fanatical neat freak where nothing appeared

out of order. The rule that drove Sheryl crazy was no more than four high

for utensils and two high for cups. The dishes and eating utensils were neatly

stacked on top of one another in their appropriate drawer or on a shelf. The

bed linens were made from the finest Nile cottons in the world, finished in

Italy by expert spinners, pressed to eliminate all wrinkles and changed daily.

His clothing hung on electronic conveyers spaced exactly four inches apart.

Everything was in perfect order, with suits, ties, shirts, and pants all color

coordinated for easily matching selections. The shoes traveled around the

conveyer, directly below each suit or pair of pants for simple matching

selections. The closet was an enormous room with a large, comfortable

dressing bench attached to the console control center and a remote for

operating the clothing conveyor. Four HD flat-screen televisions broadcast

the news, sports, weather, and stocks. Sam absorbed them all while dressing.

A custom armoire stood across from the control center filled with new

underwear and socks. An immaculate dresser, Sam wore only new, sanitized

socks and underwear each day. At the other end of the room were two

massage tables, heat lamps, and another of Sam’s inventions, two u-shaped,

tri-sided, full body mirrors that allowed the “immaculate conception” to view

every aspect of his adornment.

To Sam, the best design feature was the ability to enter the room directly

from the shower, where Sheryl always had his coffee and any breakfast he

had requested waiting for him.

On his way to the university, Sam thought back to the beginning of the

school year, when Chancellor Tomlinson and Dean Brian Burgrave had

warned him about having any sexual relations with Senator Charles

Wilkins’s daughter, Christina.

“We will not protect you, Sam, if a complaint is lodged, or if any publicity

develops over an indiscretion. Do we make ourselves clear? Tenure or not,

we will remove you, Sam.”

For that reason, up to this point, Sam had never spoken with her, although

he considered her the best-looking young woman to enter his class in a

decade. Today, as he pulled into his parking space, he found his thoughts

briefly focused on the third-row seat, hoping Monica would supply him with

the occupant he desired. ‘What a delightful gift she would be for my

impending departure.’

Tenure gave Sam the right to push the envelope, and today he intended to

explode his tenure all over the room. If they thought banging the senator’s

daughter was a risk, wait until these essays appear in the news and spread

all over campus.


Refusing to become a conformist, he found himself entirely out of place in

the “politically correct” world of today. To Sam, the mealy-mouthed

“politically correct” people were afraid to stand up and speak the truth on a

matter. A deeply felt principle by which Sam had lived his life was a phrase

he had coined many years ago: “Truth is sacrificed on the altar of the fear of

offending.” In the world today, everyone was more concerned with being

“politically correct” than speaking the truth.

The sign on the door read – History and Religions of the World by Professor

Samuel Walker, PhD. Walking into the half-circular tiered classroom at

precisely nine o’clock, Sam carried several rolled-up maps and folded charts

under one arm as he pulled his cart filled with a Bible, Torah, Tanakh, Koran,

and several old history books. Immediately, he began to unload his cart

without speaking and laid each book and map on the lower counter behind

the half-moon podium. When he pulled out the slapping stick, no one moved

in the room. Arms, legs, and whole bodies lit up with goose bumps as the

students froze in their seats. The class knew the stick meant the professor

had a significant lecture today. His imposed idiosyncrasies included dressing

properly, zero tolerance for tardiness, speaking only when spoken to, no

preaching of your religion, and not looking at anything or anyone but him.

Once Sam entered the classroom, you better not try to sneak in late.

“Good morning, everyone,” was answered with a collective, “Good

morning, Professor.”

“For over thirty years, I have studied every religion in the world. Today,

unlike any other class before, I am going to expose many of your

opinionated, false perceptions about a thorny group of religious people. I

think everyone in class today has an opinion about this thorny group. We

will examine how you formed your misguided opinions about them. Most

often, as you have heard me say before, false information enters your life

when you accept something you heard as a truth and you fail to study the

facts of what you heard.

“My work here today is not to find out where your misunderstandings came

from but to examine what you think you believe in light of the facts. Before

I go any further, I assure you I am not racist, prejudicial, or opposed to

anyone’s right to practice their own religion. In the interest of fairness, I

must warn you: I will be relentless with truth today in the hope of slapping

some of you into reality.

“The understanding I am about to share with you is undisputable truth. As

you know, I am personally willing to bestow everything I own in life and

become anyone’s servant if they can prove me to be in error in my

well-studied, educated conclusions.


I ask that if the truth of what you hear today disturbs your mind and heart,

you will be the master of your own life and take the necessary steps to prove

me a liar by your own study.

“Remember, you will believe a lie as truth until it is revealed to you that it

was a lie. I am going to destroy every religious lie and twisted historical

truth that may exist in your minds about two religions. Some of you sitting

here may practice one of those religions. I hate opinions, as you know,

because they are normally shallow thoughts based on what you have heard

and not what you have learned for fact.

“If you failed to understand what I just said, let me put it this way: opinions

are normally repeated echoes of what someone else has said. You, without

any study, believe what they said and then repeat it to others as truth when

it may not be the truth at all. That is the definition of opinion. Therefore, I

challenge each of you living with ‘opinionated echoes of other men’ to prove

me a liar and take my fortune from me. Fair enough?”

All eyes in the room followed him magnetically as Sam picked up his

slapping stick. Everyone wanted to move their hands, to cover their ears

against the impending noise, but total fear kept them from doing so.

“Once the world fully understands this teaching and unilaterally takes the

necessary action to correct the mistakes made before and after World War

II, only then will a full and settled peace finally be restored to the Middle

East. To restore peace in the Middle East, we must examine the truthful facts,

deceptions, and lies concerning the real thorn of the Middle East. I will use

their understanding of their own books and their own words to expose them

to the world as nothing more than frauds and thorns.”

He paused a moment; the room was so quiet that only a few people could

be heard breathing. Then with full force, the slapper hit the podium …

CRACK … “And that would be the false nation of Israel.”

Every mind soared instantly, mentally rechecking the data. Had they heard

correctly or had the slapping sound distorted what they thought they had

heard? Did he just say Israel was a false nation and the thorn of the Middle


Sam looked at their questioning expressions and said, “It is good to see you

are all paying attention today. In answer to that mummified look on your

faces, yes, I did say Israel is a false nation and the thorn of the Middle East.

Society and the world are captive to any number of false religious beliefs

about Israel and the Jewish religion. So today, we are going to expose them

using the truth.

“Who are the people that occupy Israel today, claiming to be the Jews of

the Old Testament scriptures?


Are they really the same people we read about in the Bible? Are my views

full of anti-Semitism? I am not full of anti-Semitism; additionally, for those

in the room of the Jewish faith, I do believe the Holocaust happened.

“If you practice one of the three main religions of the world, Judaism,

Christianity, or Islam, I intend to use each of your false religious belief

systems to teach you how you believed a lie about Israel. I am sorry, but

many of you will be disturbed as we examine the facts. I make no apology

for the truth you will hear from me today. You have heard me say many times

before that truth will stand in his own strength; he is not upheld by the words

or strength of man. Truth is sustained by himself … truth is truth.

“I will also use the crème de la crème, the art of deductive reasoning, which

will always lead you to obvious, simplistic truths. Those of you who claim

you are of Jewish descent, I intend to make a public spectacle of you today.

I will prove to everyone in this room that a lying rabbi trained you like a

parrot to echo the opinions of men. Not only have you been lied to by rabbis

for generations, but you have spread the lies to one another and the world!”

Sam looked at everyone with a stern seriousness in his eyes and spoke with

boldness in his voice. “If any of you are afraid to stand up for your

ill-conceived religious beliefs or if you are afraid to examine how YOU came

to believe what you believe with me, then, please, GET UP, leave now, and

do not come back. I do not wish to waste my time on your close-minded

ignorance. If, on the other hand, you are not a coward and have a teachable

heart, then please, remain seated and learn these life-changing truths. With

a teachable heart, you can do most anything in life; un-teachable hearts limit

themselves by their own narrow-minded knowledge base. I am afraid that

some of you are so narrow-minded in your thinking that a one-legged flea

could kick both of your eyes out. I am here to teach you to think on your

own today, perhaps for the first time in your life.

“Before we begin, I ask everyone in this room to examine yourself

introspectively for a moment if you practice any kind of religion. Take the

time to examine why you practice your religion. What benefits do you derive

from your religion? Ask yourself if you practice religion because YOU

picked it out, or do you practice your religion because it is what your parents

raised you to practice?”

Waving his stick around the room, he pointed to five people he knew were

raised Christian, two that were Muslim, and three he thought were agnostic,

beckoning them all to stand.

Then he turned to Feinstein, Abrams, Goldberg, and Horowitz, who always

sat together, beckoning them to stand up. He commented, “I am glad to see

you are not spineless cowards.


When I ask the question, I want an immediate answer from you without

hesitation. Let me warn you: I am not here for a debate; I am here to teach!

You should know the answer immediately for one of two reasons. You will

know the answer because of your own study or you will know it because

you followed the echoed, opinionated lies you heard from another man. If

you take too long to answer, I will remove you from the room.

“Questions … Are the people in Israel today a Jewish race, and are they

descendants of the Jews in the Old Testament?”

He pointed at Feinstein, who replied in an arrogant tone, insinuating to

everyone listening that the professor’s question was a silly one. “Of course

they are.”

Sam slapped the counter. CRACK. “Mr. Abrams, what do you say?”


CRACK. “Mr. Goldberg?”


CRACK. “Mr. Horowitz?”

“Do leaves grow on trees, Professor?”

CRACK. “I will ask the questions, smart ass; you answer them.” Sam

continued around the room as he repeated the questions … “Are the people

in Israel today a Jewish race, and are they descendants of the Jews in the

Old Testament?”

Everyone standing replied, “Yes,” and they each got a CRACK, except for

the two Muslim students. They started preaching by answering with, “Glory

be to Allah.” Sam shouted at them, “SIT DOWN; it is a yes or no question.

It does not have a damned thing to do with Allah. You know the rules – no

preaching of religion in my class. Next time you even think about using that

phrase in my presence, get up and get out. Am I clear?”

The atmosphere was electric. Sam was like a man possessed, fixated and

intense. Repeating their conclusions, Sam said, “Good, then everyone is in

agreement, saying YES, the people in Israel today are a Jewish race and

descendants of the Jews in the Old Testament. That is, except for you two,”

he added pointing to the Muslim students. “I see you are smiling a lot. You

think it’s ‘Get the Jew Day,’ don’t you? Let me assure both of you that what

I have to say concerning Islam will exceed anything you can think or imagine

I am going to say regarding Judaism. I am not here to make fun of or deny

anyone’s right to practice a religion. If you think that is what this teaching

is about, you are mistaken. The intended purpose of my written essays is to

do one thing: expose the falsehoods in any religion. This would include the

open exposure of your religious leaders when they intentionally distort the

real and historical facts to their own followers.”


Taking out a picture, Sam pinned it to the board; it was a rendering of

biblical Abraham, wearing a robe, hands uplifted, with three strands coming

down the robe. On the far left strand was printed Judaism, with Christianity

on the middle strand, and Islam on the far right.

“Please, listen to my statement, and then I will ask each of you to answer.

The Jews, Christians, and Muslims each recognize Abraham in the Torah,

the Bible, and the Koran as the central ancestral figure of their religion. Is

this correct?” Everyone agreed, including the Muslims.

“NEXT QUESTION,” he said, raising his stick in the air. “I want no

discussion among you, and the answer must come out of your mouth when

I point to you – Tell me if Abraham, in the Bible, was Jewish?”

Pointing at the five Christians, they all said, “Yes,” the Muslims said, “No,”

and the four Jews said, “Yes.” The three agnostics were shaking their heads

in a mixture of yes and no.

“Why did you say no?” he asked the Muslims.

One of the Muslims replied, “He was not a Jew because he was the father

of Ishmael, a Muslim.”

“He was also the father of Isaac,” Sam retorted. “You failed to answer the

question again, and Ishmael was not a Muslim. Sit down; you all got it


Taking out an antique map of the Middle East, he pinned it to the board

behind him. On the map was a large green arrow pointing to a city named

the Ur of Chaldees. “This city is where Abraham, the father of each of your

ancestral religions, came from. This same location and map can be easily

found in each of your religious books,” Sam said. “Notice the city is a little

north of a country we call Kuwait.”

Sam opened the Bible, Koran, Torah, and Tanakh, along with maps used in

Judaism, and current maps of the Middle East. Sam said, “I want everyone

to examine this map, along with each of your religious books and these other

maps on display. After you examine everything, I ask you to spend a few

minutes together, collectively reaching one answer only. According to the

maps, in what country would we find the Ur of Chaldees? Mr. Abrams, you

will be the designated man to deliver the answer for the entire group.”

While waiting, Sam expectantly looked at the level three, center-aisle seat

and found it occupied by the forbidden fruit, the senator’s daughter. As he

stared intently between her legs, she opened them wider, so Sam could

clearly see she was not wearing panties. As he slowly gazed up her body,

they made direct eye contact, validating the promise of each other’s lustful




“Enough. Give me your conclusion.”

Rising to his feet, Abrams said, “As the

Professor already knows – the answer is


“Look how easy that was,” Sam replied.

Speaking in a louder tone, he continued,

“There is no such thing as a Jew based on

the blood type of a man.

There is no such thing as a Jewish RACE in terms of blood type in the world,

and there never has been. Not a single person in Israel today can prove even

the slightest connection to the Jews you read about in your books or the


Incensed by Sam’s remarks, Feinstein, Abrams, Goldberg, and Horowitz

leapt to their feet, moving their arms and feet and shaking their heads, as if

they were at the Wailing Wall. They continued to shake and rock back and

forth without stopping. Sam was not sure whether their display indicated a

desire to speak or a pending physical attack. With eyes of steel, fixing his

gaze upon them, he walked straight toward them from the podium, speaking

loudly. “What took you so long? I have been waiting for your Zionist

religious emotions to manifest, so that everyone in this room can view the

thorns of hypocrisy on each of you.”

Abrams, with his jaw clenched and his lips barely moving, said, “You are

a liar; we do exist, and we are the chosen people of God according to the

Torah and the Tanakh.”

“Well, that settles it,” Sam replied. “It appears I have a winner of my

fortune. I suppose I am to be your servant for life, Mr. Abrams, that is, if

you can prove me to be the liar you say I am.” Smiling, Sam continued, “By

the way, I hope you are more respectful to your slaves, if you win, than you

are to your professors, Mr. Abrams. I did not say that you or any of your

friends standing with you, in your silly, uneducated rebellion, do not exist

because that would be a lie. Obviously, you do exist because you are here,

speaking and breathing. I am here to educate you and the world with the

facts of history and the truth of who or what you really are. Today, the world

will finally understand what a Jew is, Judaism as a religion, and the nation

of Israel.

“Since you claimed, to everyone in this room, that you are the ‘chosen

people of God’ and are somehow related to the people in your religious

books, then I intend to use your books, the simplicity of Abraham, and your

own understanding of history to prove you wrong. I will prove to each of

you that you have believed a lie and I am not the liar.


I will also use your own mouths to vindicate myself from your misguided

falsehoods taught to you by lying rabbis. I, personally, do not care if the first

high priest Aaron came down from heaven and taught you from birth; I will

expose you to your own deceived minds. I must warn you, when I do, your

tongues will become silent because your mind will see the many delusions

you have followed all of your lives.

“Now, where were we, Mr. Abrams? I believe this to be the point of your

rebellion.” Sam repeated himself, saying, “There is no such thing as a Jew

based on the blood type of a man. There is no such thing as a Jewish RACE

in terms of blood type in the world, and there never has been. Not a single

person in Israel today can prove even the slightest connection to the Jews

you read about in your books or the Bible.”

Pointing back to the picture of Abraham and the three main religions, Sam

said, “We have established that Judaism, Christianity, and Islam are

ancestrally traced back to Abraham, who was from the Ur of Chaldees.

Everyone also agreed, according to your own religious maps and books, that

Abraham came from this area, which is a country we know today as Iraq.

CORRECT?” he shouted.

Everyone nodded or said yes.

“Mr. Feinstein, I warn you to answer this question with a yes or no. Isn’t it

true that according to your personal religious beliefs, as well as all traditional

Jewish teachings from your scriptures, that a person not of Jewish descent

is considered to be a gentile by your religion?”

“Yes,” replied Feinstein.

Sam quickly pounced like a lion taking down a baby gazelle. “Please,

educate me. What was Abraham, according to your statement, a gentile or a

Jew, when he supposedly encountered your version of God in the Old


The room was perfectly silent again, with no answer from Feinstein.

Looking into Feinstein’s eyes, Sam remembered why he loved teaching. This

is the part where truth cuts open a heart, exposing its false beliefs. He waited

with the rest of the room in silence, letting the gravity of the question linger,

leaving the baby gazelle alive a bit longer – as the lion enjoyed the taste of

fresh blood. Sinking his teeth deep into the jugular vein, he pressed him

further by asking, “Was Abraham a religious practitioner of Judaism?”

Silence again from Feinstein as he struggled with the inevitable death of a

lifelong false religious belief. Sam slowly squeezed the life out of the false

beliefs, asking, “Mr. Feinstein, help me understand: was there any law from

Moses when Abraham met God? Looking at this encounter, I cannot find a

temple or a high priest, either.


Historically, you also understand, the nation of Israel did not exist when

Abraham, the father of faith, encountered God.”

Silence again. Feinstein remained speechless as Sam turned his attention

to the remaining three, driving home his point. “I suppose, then, we must all

agree. Abraham was just a gentile, like everyone else, according to your book

the Torah.” Sam knew he had to kill Santa Claus. Without full exposure of

a lie by the truth, belief in a religious lie will never die.

“We can factually and historically declare that your ancestor Abraham was

just a gentile like everyone else on the earth, can’t we? What shall we do,

Mr. Horowitz? Here we find your God, speaking to and making a covenant

with a gentile, who, by the way, was clearly from Iraq, the biblical country

of Babylon. Mr. Goldstein, please tell me, if you or any rabbi can establish

this biblical account of Abraham, as a source for a Jewish race. You know

what I mean – a Jewish race with what you call blood type, or maybe what

you think would be a nation of Jews?”


“I did not think so, but WAIT! This question is for you, Mr. Abrams. Since

we have established that he was a gentile from Iraq, then obviously the only

people that could claim actual ‘blood lineage’ to Abraham would have to be

the Iraqis. As far as anyone knows, Abraham could even be a distant relative

of Saddam Hussein, couldn’t he? Let me see … that would make Abraham,

a gentile Arab, the founding father of your religion. Tell me, do you think

me a liar now, Mr. Abrams?”


Slapping the stick on the counter, Sam shouted, “Do you agree with the

facts or do you deny them? Are you choosing to remain trapped by the lies

of your religious, opinionated delusions? WAIT! I am not finished. Mr.

Goldberg, since the facts are correct, you must also concede that Abraham,

Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph, all members of your Jewish delusion, were gentiles

as well, will you not?”

Shouting at them, Sam said, “Let’s include all of the people who left Egypt

with Moses. What were they? Wouldn’t they have to be gentiles as well since

there was no law, a golden calf, or crossing of the Red Sea? They were

GENTILES, were they NOT?” he shouted as he slapped the stick again.

“Answer me!”

Relentlessly, Sam continued after them, as they were frozen and unable to

speak. “Can you show me any voodoo magic from the God of your religion

where he turned anyone into a Jewish race or created a new race of people

based on the blood type of a man?”



“Then I must ask each of you: what are you, a Gentile – or a Jew? Would

someone please tell me what in the hell is a JEW?”

SILENCE. The room had the atmosphere of the night before Christmas,

not a creature was stirring.

“Let me break it all the way down for you and everyone listening in this

room. If we follow your Jewish account, the Christian account, and the

Muslim account of Noah, we are all descendants of Shem, Ham, and Japheth,

each one a gentile according to your beliefs, Mr. Feinstein. So what are you,

a Gentile or a Jew?

“I will tell you what you are; you are all gentiles, just like everyone else in

this room. The only difference between the four of you and everyone else in

this room is that you practice an illegitimate form of original Judaism, as

outlined in the books you study in your synagogue. The worst part of your

practice of illegitimate Judaism is that it does not even resemble the religion

in the books you claim to follow. If I believed the stories about the God in

your books, I think he would have to strike you all dead for violating his

ordinances, as he did to other people so many times in your books. You do

not have a temple, a high priest, a sheep for personal sin, not even a

scapegoat for a nation’s sin. If I remember correctly, the God in your book

killed people just for touching the Ark of the Covenant incorrectly. If the

God of the Old Testament showed up at your synagogues today, the way you

people VIOLATE Old Testament Judaism, fire would come from heaven and

consume every one of you.” Shouting at them again, Sam said, “Otherwise,

the God you claim to follow must be a hypocrite for killing all the other

people in your books for their illegitimate practice of Judaism. Why would

he kill them and let you slide? Could it be that YOU are not what or who

you think you are?”

Staring into space, almost teary-eyed, Feinstein was unable to make eye

contact with Sam. “Your facts are hard truth for my heart, Professor. You are

right about how God would have to destroy our synagogues. I have always

asked that question myself.”

Sam, admiring him, replied, “Son, all religions practice some form of

deception. I must tell you, that we are far from finished with your heart

today.” Lifting a large stack of history books, Sam set them on the counter.

Looking at Feinstein, Abrams, Goldberg, and Horowitz, Sam said, “Please,

sit down. I am running out of time, but want to share your family history

with you. Let me briefly explain who you are and how you came to believe

what you believe. In these books, you will find the actual history of your

religious origins, not some made up fairytale by a rabbi charlatan.


The Roman general Titus destroyed Israel in 70 AD, killing everyone except

for those who were sent into slavery in Rome. His destruction was

devastating; Roman soldiers flattened the entire temple in Jerusalem. This

was not a small feat when you consider the temple’s construction was solid

marble stones, some as long as 45 feet long and 8 feet square. Historical

rumors indicate Titus may have told his army that all of the gold of Jerusalem

and the treasures of the Ark lay buried under the temple; if you find them,

they are yours.

“Around the year 800 AD, a Khazar, in some manuscripts referred to as

King Bulan, was part of an empire known as the Turks and Huns. King

Bulan, a gentile, wanted a religion for his empire, so he looked at

Christianity, Islam, and Judaism because they all referenced Abraham as a

source figure for their religion. King Bulan selected Judaism and was

instrumental in leading many other Khazars to follow Judaism as a religion.

This group of new practitioners created a new group of gentiles practicing

Judaism, historically referred to as Ashkenazi Jews. These new gentiles,

practicing an illegitimate form of Judaism, eventually developed and spoke

their own language, referred to as Yiddish.

“Around the year 1000 AD, war broke out in the southern regions of Russia,

where the gentile/Jews of the Turks and Huns Empire lived for about five

generations. To make a long story short, they got a real butt whipping from

the Russians. The people who fled from the war migrated into Germany,

Poland, and other European countries, marrying into the local populations.

It is understandable that the Yiddish/German/Polish-speaking gentiles,

practicing some form of Judaism, took the family names of the people they

married, which you fellows can research with little effort.

“I love superior knowledge, as everyone knows. Personally, I think the

author of your Torah deserves ‘props’ because of the superior wisdom in the

writings. Your books were written only on a first name basis. I think the

author realized that one day a bunch of fake Jews would appear, so he made

sure there would be no way for them to prove biblical ancestry. Sorry fellas,

there aren’t any mention of your names in the Bible.

“It would be twenty-three generations before Adolf Hitler would walk onto

the world stage and examine this strange group of gentiles, practicing an

illegitimate form of Judaism. From my study of Hitler’s writings, I believe

the demented, uneducated man, actually believed that these gentile/Jews

were the same as the Old Testament gentile/Jews, commonly referred to in

Hitler’s day as ‘Christ killers.’ I have often wondered what he might have

done had he known the simple truths you now have. Here are the books to

examine. I have made it easy for everyone.


Since you are of the electronic age, look up Ashkenazi Jews on the Internet,

and you will find excellent sources of information there, as well.”

Turning to the Muslims, Sam asked, “Your religion follows and practices

the teachings from a book known as the Koran, written entirely by one man,

Mohammad, who called himself a prophet of God. Muslims consider the

Koran to be most holy, because it contains words from God delivered directly

to Mohammad by Gabriel the messenger angel. CORRECT?”

They both nodded in agreement.

“Let me dispel a few false understandings about your beliefs before I deliver

to everyone my reason for rejecting your religion, as a legitimate religion.”

“What did you say?” Abdul Haq asked.

“You heard me; I said that I rejected your religion as being a legitimate

religion. In other words, my studies led me to the truth … that Islam is not

a religion at all.” Again, it was pin-drop time. Everyone was barely breathing

as Sam stared at the incensed eyes of Abdul Haq.

Sam began to smile at him, saying, “You know, you have been a mystery

to me since I accepted you into my class. Would you like to know why I

accepted you as a student?”

In an arrogant tone, Abdul Haq replied, “I am sure my enlightenment will

be forthcoming, Professor, with your next words.”

“It was your name. I was tired of the mindless dribble that kept applying

for acceptance to my class, and your name in Arabic means ‘servant of the

truth.’ I thought that a Muslim named ‘servant of the truth’ must be a real

seeker of truth … if he seeks entry into my class.”

“I see you have done your homework, Professor.”

“The question today will be, ‘have you done your homework, servant of

the truth?’” Sam said, smiling. “I wonder if you will deny the truth you hear

today?” Turning immediately toward Aalim, Sam said, “Frankly, your

academic level was low enough to reject you from entry to the school, much

less my class. Nevertheless, I was interested to see whether Aalim, ‘religious

scholar,’ really was one or a product of Islamic brainwashing. If you are a

religious scholar, as your name claims you are, what will you do when you

find out Islam is not a religion? Today, you will both become real religious

scholars who seek the truth for the first time in your lives, or you will have

to change your names.

“The first false belief in Islam is that Mohammad wrote the Koran. The

story of Islam goes something like this: Around the year 610 AD,

Mohammad claimed God had sent the angel Gabriel to show him the way

of life for the entire world.


He lived in a cave for twenty-two years, and people often witnessed him

foaming at the mouth in a trance-like, demonic state. While this sounds like

an epileptic seizure to me, I can understand how other illiterate people in his

day would say that his foaming at the mouth meant that demons possessed

his soul. A trademark of Mohammad was his abuse of women. During the

time of his claimed visitations by Gabriel, he had twelve wives and raped

many underage girls. Mohammad’s abuse of women is a solid foundational

practice evident in Islam. The High Court in Pakistan dismissed the gang

rape of a woman by five men, citing, of all things, the lack of evidence. Let

me be extremely clear; Middle Eastern governments are not legitimate

governments, no more than Islam is a legitimate religion. The Pakistani High

Court decision validates the fact that evil men with an Arab tribal mentality

are governed by and under the control of the demented institution of Islam.

The laws of Islam abuse women more than any other institution on the

planet, surpassing even slavery in the United States. Mohammad’s own wife

Aisha said, ‘He treats women like donkeys and dogs.’

“Please, think with me. If this man were applying for a job as a prophet of

God, his résumé would need some polishing. Somehow, I do not see this

wife-beating, child-raping murderer qualified to be a prophet of God. Yes,

if you study, you will find that he murdered others who disagreed with him.

Sounds exactly like what we see today, doesn’t it? With all of that said, I

want you both to know that is not the reason I say Islam is not a legitimate


“Let’s continue our enlightenment in truth and religious education to bring

honor to your Muslim names. The visits from Gabriel supposedly continued

until Mohammad’s death in 632 AD.” Slapping the stick on the counter …

CRACK … Sam shouted, “GUESS WHAT? When he died, there was not a

written Koran anywhere. I have a crucial question for both of you. Do either

of you know why Mohammad did not leave a written Koran?” Sam paused,

watching the puzzled looks on their faces, and then said, “He never wrote

anything down because he was illiterate; the man could not read or write.

Well, there goes the cut-your-fucking-head-off over Mohammad’s words

being holy bullshit! Even the Koran refers to him as ‘ummi,’ which translates

as ‘illiterate,’ unable to read or write, in all Arabic word translations. I have

read all the spin that Islam tries to put on the word ‘ummi’ and I am

convinced Mohammad was the Forrest Gump of Islam. ‘Stupid is as stupid

does.’” The class burst into laughter.

Sam gave the room a stern glare, smiled, and continued. “If you will dig

deeper, you will find that history rarely mentions Mohammad for nearly 300

years after his death.


I have read the Muslim lies about Mohammad, the Koran, and the origin of

Islam. I assure you: Muslims do not have a shred of real historical proof to

support their fairytales. Your imams are one up on even the Jewish rabbis.

They win the spin and liar award, hands down. So how did the Koran become

a book?

“To understand this, we must proceed with the Mohammad/Forrest Gump

fairytale. Supposedly, Mohammad taught other uneducated, illiterate men

who could not read or write to memorize his words. We are talking about an

education of grade-level zero here. WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” Sam shouted

as he slapped the stick on the counter, causing everyone to jump at the sound.

“You see, in 633 AD, a year after the death of the epileptic,

foaming-at-the-mouth Mohammad, 700 little Forrest Gumps who

supposedly had memorized his lunacy were killed in the battle of Yamama.

‘Yo, Mama, always said, life is a bitch memorizing the words of a man

foaming at the mouth,’” Sam said laughingly in a Forest Gump imitation.

Everyone burst out laughing, even the Muslims cracked smiles at the


“I am sorry, fellas, the name Yamama is a real place, and I could not resist.

Where was I? Oh yes, one little Gump by the name of Salim was killed in

that battle. His death was a serious and tragic matter for the remaining little

Gumps because he was the smartest Gump of the group. Mohammad had

personally qualified him to verbally teach the Koran. Would you like to have

been there listening to them after the battle? ‘Now what do we do? Big Gump

is dead, and the smart little Gump done gone and got his-self killed.

Mohammad did not qualify the rest of us because we forgot some words or

missed some of them when he was foaming. How are we going to remember

all his words since we never passed the oral test? Write it down … how we

gonna do that? We can’t even read, so how can we read what we write? That's

all I have to say about that. ‘Stupid is as stupid does.’” The whole class was

laughing wildly again at Sam’s Forest Gump impersonation.

After the laughter stopped, Sam continued. “What I did discover about

Islam, then and now, is that it continues to be an institution of the ignorant.

Personally, this fact still puzzles me because of the advanced condition of

Egypt in past history. In Mohammad’s day, the education level had to be, on

average, below the first grade. Today, the followers of Islam all over the

Arab world have an average education equivalent of three years. When I

realized this, I understood how your institution could recruit someone to

strap on a bomb and blow himself up for seventy-two virgins.

“Honestly, it was not the ignorance then or now that bought me to the

conclusion that Islam is not a legitimate religion.


Of all the religions I have studied in my lifetime, I must admit I studied your

religion only very briefly. There is a reason that I found your religion did

not merit wasting my valuable time or intelligence. It took only a few hours

of digging with the equivalent of a child’s plastic sand shovel for me to

understand that your supposed religion is the most delusional institution on


“I assure you, my intelligent reasons surpass the ‘politically correct’ lunacy

of George ‘Idiot’ Bush when he placated the Muslims with the statement,

‘Islam is a religion of peace that has been ‘hijacked’ by a few Muslim

extremists.’ Let me interpret for you what the pussy was saying: ‘Hold on, I

don’t want to piss off the rest of you nuts until I get a grip on what’s going

on.’ In fairness to Mohammad, Bush was the Forrest Gump of presidents.”

Everyone started to laugh, and Sam shouted over the laughter at the Muslims.

“I find nothing peaceful about your institution, and I can assure you that the

majority of Americans and nearly every country in Europe think your

institution is a nut house, full of lunatics, no matter what ‘politically correct’

statements the leader of any country may make.

“The people of the world are not afraid of you; they are very quickly getting

sick and tired of your murderous hypocrisy hiding behind the burka of a

false religion. We see you for what you are and you have no idea how strong

the entire world is eventually going to react to your Islamic bullshit. As free,

sovereign nations, our people will express their free opinion and draw

cartoons of your foaming-founder sucking dick, if we choose. Everywhere,

all over the world, we are going to burn your fraudulent Koran and kick you

out of our nations if you respond. The world will not tolerate another reaction

from your demented, illiterate followers. Ink on a page is not holy! How

stupid and brainwashed would someone have to be to decapitate a man

because of ink on a page? I declare that when the world wakes up and

understands your true origin, nations will cut your ugly institution’s head off

once and for all!”

The entire class leapt to its feet, shouting, “Get them, Professor!”

Sam slapped the stick several times, shouting, “SIT DOWN!” Looking at

the two Muslims, Sam said, “I apologize for the exuberance of the class, but

admittedly, I do understand their enthusiasm. Only one thing led me to my

decision that Islam is not a religion. My decision was not because of the

crazy lunatics birthed by your institution. Nor was it the obvious fact that

your imams are mentally ill and your mosques are meeting places where

terrorists exchange ideas and plans. The world is not stupid; they understand

the demented preaching of worldwide hatred that flows from the cesspool

of lies contained in your corrupt Koran.


Muslim Brotherhood, now isn’t that a fucking play on words – and I quote

their doctrine: ‘Allah is our objective; the Prophet is our leader; the Quran

is our law; Jihad is our way; dying in the way of Allah is our highest hope.’

Let me assure you, no one finds a shred of human brotherhood in your

institution. Only liars can practice Islam because Islam is built on a

foundation that disseminates lies. The book is full of holes, changed verses,

and false, contradictory doctrines. Religion of peace, my ass; show me the

list of Islamic leaders negotiating with Israel for peace. When will the world

witness all of your imams standing up and denouncing terrorism? I am

convinced you cowards could shut down every extreme version of Islam, if

you wanted to, in a week! You know where the motherfuckers are hiding,

and the world knows you do. You honestly think you will take over the

world, don’t you?

“I warn you, the governments of the world are going to rise up against you.

They will shut you down and close your terrorist facilities that you call

mosques and send your camel-riding asses back to the desert. When you

hear world leaders like Chancellor Merkel say, ‘This multicultural approach,

saying that we simply live side by side and live happily with each other has

failed, utterly failed.’ It’s time for Muslims to get on their camels. When

France throws out the Gypsies, bans the burkas, and stops trains from Italy

trying to dump Arabs into their country, you must realize that world tolerance

to your institution is clearly nearing an end.

“The people of these countries are going to demand their governments

deport you camel jockeys back to the desert where you belong. Free nations

will close their doors to your Arab tribal nations because they are not

legitimate governments. They are cancerous byproducts of illegitimate Islam

and its corrupt Koran. You will be shocked at how fast they are going to kick

you out. It is a privilege to enter a free nation, not a right. I predict the free

nations of the world will send you home and institute a ‘No-Fly-Zone’ for

every Arab tribal territory. Try to fly anywhere; the free world will not take

you. Wake up; we do not want you or the evil fruit of your illegitimate

institution in our countries. Free-world countries will tell you to stay home,

set your own ass or shoes on fire, or blow yourselves up … we couldn’t give

a rat’s ass!”

Again, the class leapt to its feet, shouting a repeated chant of, “Go home;

get out!”

Sam let them continue for a while; then he looked at the Muslims and said,

“See what I mean? So how did I arrive at the understanding that Islam IS

NOT a religion at all?” Sam said, smiling at the rage in their eyes. “Why, I

thought you would never ask.


“A unique thing about all true religions in the world is they each have their

own ‘original’ books and writings. If you study history, and evidently you

do not, you would find that all religions develop a path for spiritual

awareness based on the original writings of the founder. The founder then

shares his writings and teachings with others, leading to the birth of a true,

historically verifiable new religion.

“History proves that Mohammad and many other men created the Koran

with a huge twist. The ever-changing Koran kept evolving for over 200

years. The verses repeatedly changed as writers continued twisting the

accounts in Jewish scriptures and the Christian New Testament. Their

purpose was to make the slanted Koran appear as if it were the correct insight

into what God originally intended. The first copy of the Koran was finished

in 884 AD, a full 252 years after the foaming death of Mohammad.

“The final straw for me was Mohammad’s foaming lunacy and the

ever-changing authors of the Koran intentionally committing the ‘devious

act of plagiarism.’ As a scholar, I find it deceitful when someone steals a

scholar’s writings and claims them as his own or uses a scholar’s writings

to create his own message. When that happens, a scholar like myself is left

with no other option than to declare the counterfeit documents to be a

falsification and the cheap work of a delusional liar. Therefore, respected

scholars discard such twisted writings as criminal rubbish.

“When Mohammad’s followers fableized the Jewish Old Testament and

twisted the interpretation of the Christian documents to fit their ill-gotten

theology, it closed the case for me instantly. Think about what I am saying;

Islam is the ONLY supposed religion in the world that does not have an

original word from the gods or a god. What we have is a group of Arabs that

‘hijacked’ the books of two other LEGITIMATE religions and twisted those

writings for their own purpose. That is as stupid as my reading President

Obama’s state of the union address, twisting his words, and presenting it

with my own slant. The Koran is a bogus, manmade forgery and Islam a

false institution based on twisted literary rubbish. I find it void on every level

of intelligent, scholarly argument. Mohammad and those who say they wrote

down his thoughts stole the writings of two other legitimate religions and

twisted the writings to fit Mohammad’s delusional mind for over two

centuries. The Koran renders a different outcome by plagiarizing Jewish and

Christian books. There is not a single original thought from God in the entire


“Therefore, I submit to the world that Islam is not a religion; it is a

plagiarized lie, and the world should dismiss it as a religion and treat it for

what it really is, an institution promoting terrorist violence in the world.”


Both Muslims leapt to their feet in defiance, as if they were going to attack

Sam. Not so much as a flinch appeared in Sam’s eyes as he stepped toward

them, saying, “I have been waiting for you two camel jockeys to get off of

your camels so everyone could see your ‘religion of peace in action today.

From that look in your eyes, am I to expect a personal 9/11 moment or should

I have someone call nine-one-one to come and get you? As-Salamu Alaykum,

you delusional hypocrites, and it appears you will both need to change your

names. Now sit down. I AM NOT FINISHED WITH YOU!

“Mohammad’s encounter with Gabriel is a complete fabrication. If Gabriel

had visited Mohammad, he would have received a new message from God,

and that would have been a legitimate basis for a new religion. The same

Gabriel appeared to Mary in the Christian New Testament. He delivered a

‘new message’ from God, according to Christian writings. The best

Mohammad and the perverse Koran can offer is the lame excuse that

somehow the Jews and Christians misunderstood what God meant from their

own ORIGINAL writings. Therefore, God, the idiot for choosing such stupid

Jews and Christians, dispatched Gabriel to Mohammad to straighten out the

whole mess. After reading the plagiarized accounts of the Jewish and

Christian writings in the Koran, I actually became upset that this wicked

book, full of judicious plagiarism, has not been burned worldwide.

“Mohammad was a self-proclaimed prophet that beat women, raped young

girls, and murdered people. In between foaming seizures, he managed to

memorize what God actually meant when he spoke to the Jews and

Christians. Give me a break; do you really believe that bullshit?”

Stepping nose to nose with the two Muslims, Sam smiled, asking, “Is that

foam I see in the corner of your mouth? You are gentiles, just like the Jews;

Ishmael was a gentile from Abraham, not a Muslim.”

Walking back to the podium, Sam said, “I would encourage you both to

read my full essay. I speak at length about your institution’s illicit

dehumanization of women in the name of Allah. Muslim women are the

most uneducated class of people in the world. If Allah treats women as Islam

does, I do not wish to know or meet him. You know, I think Muslim women

could stop your foolishness if they would rebel against Islamic abuses all

over the world. They need to understand the power of the pussy. Men are

not so powerful; with just one pussy, women can have as many men as they

want.” Everyone was in hysterical laughter, and even the Muslims cracked

a smile. “I have hope for the women trapped in your Islamic illusion. During

my studies, I found that Muslim women in America now initiate sixty-six

percent of your divorces. I guess they are finding out that you covered them

with burkas while you kept lusting after women without burkas.


You would think that with as much rug-rat praying and chain beating of

yourselves as you do, Allah would have let you overcome the carnal lust of

the soul.

“In closing, I want to be fair with you. I want you to know I consider the

Catholic institution just as bad as your institution.” Smiling at everyone, Sam

said, “See, this was not just ‘Get the Jew or the Muslim Day.’ The Catholics

seem to have had a preoccupation with the penis for centuries. Their first

problem with the penis was their worldwide demonstration that their version

of Jesus, dressed like a priest, was capable of molesting millions of little

boys. NOT ONE or TWO but millions of little boys had their penises sucked

and asses fucked by priests for centuries. I hope that stings you if you call

yourself a Catholic. To attend an institution that molests millions of children

in the name of God is as stupid as a Jew attending a Nazi institution that

denies the Holocaust. WAKE UP! Your true leader in heaven taught that ‘you

will know them by their fruit.’

“Now the pope says it is okay to put a condom on a male prostitute’s penis.

I say let’s solve the goddamn penis problem for the sick bastards once and

for all. I think a full-body condom on the pope would be more representative

of the actual role both he and that sick institution play on the earth. Any idiot

giving money to that institution should share in the eternal horror of what

they have done to children! I must stop, or I will keep you all day with their


Smiling, Sam was pleased with the class. “We are late. You will find a copy

of my essay on the counter on your way out. I am out of time and will not

be taking questions today, so please clear the room.”

As the students were leaving, Sam looked straight at Christina’s open skirt

and said, “Ms. Wilkins, can you remain a bit to speak with me, or do you

have a class you must attend?”

“I have an hour before my next class, Professor. Is that enough time?”

“I hope so,” smiled Sam.

When the last student cleared the room, Sam led Christina to a small storage

room where projectors, file cabinets, and additional tables were stored. He

opened an eight-foot folding table, reached into a cabinet, flipped a switch,

and took out an oversized, extremely expensive down comforter. Double

folding it, he placed it on the table, asking, “Are you sure you wish to do


Nervously, Christina responded, “Yes.”

Looking at her, he whispered, “You know, you are my forbidden fruit. I

was warned not to have sex with you because of your father. Who told you

to sit in that seat and to do what you did?”


“Monica,” she replied.

Teaching in a strong and direct manner was always a solid turn on for Sam.

Standing next to Christina, he was as euphoric as a UFC cage fighter who

had just knocked out his opponent. Sam drew near and was within inches of

full-body contact. Looking her in the eyes, he asked, “May I touch and

undress you?”

“Do anything you want, Sam. I want to experience what Monica said about

you,” she replied.

Very methodically and slowly, Sam undressed her, removing one article at

a time as his eyes took in her youthful beauty. When she was entirely naked,

he moved to her side, letting his thick hands gently explore her body.

Simultaneously running a hand up the front of her inner thigh and the other

hand up the back of her leg, he inserted fingers in each opening, causing her

to moan and grab his arm. Sam pressed his thickness against the side of her

body. Christina was wild with anticipation and began pushing down on his

fingers, taking them to the knuckle as she felt his immense thickness against

her naked leg.

After several moments, Sam picked her up and gently laid her on the table.

Stepping back, he found himself in awe of her pure white skin; her entire

body radiated with the same striking whiteness as the paint on a geisha girl’s

face. Whispering to her, he asked, “Do you know where your G-spot is


Shaking her head no, he wet two middle fingers and gently inserted them

in her vagina as he massaged her slowly. After several strokes, he said in an

excited tone, “Absolutely the best texture I have ever felt. Put your fingers

inside and feel the upper wall of your vagina, stroking it toward the front

opening. Do you feel that rough texture?”

“What is that?” she replied.

“That, my dear, is your fabulous G-spot and the best texture I have ever

felt on a woman.”

Standing next to her, Sam took off his pants. As Christina lay gasping at

the sight of the fattest cock she had ever seen, a nervous thought raced

through her mind. ‘That thing is going to split me open.’ Reaching out, she

grabbed it with both hands, which made her gasp even more. Sam was fully

erect and rock-hard as he looked at her glorious pink vagina. He knew he

had to lick and bite that huge clit a few times. Once he started licking, her

taste was so sweet he didn’t want to stop. As he sucked her large, erect clit,

he could feel it pulsating in his mouth. ‘My god,’ Sam thought, ‘she is

fabulous. She must be a highly explosive sexual woman.’


Arching her back, Christina started cumming the instant Sam started using

his tongue, and she did not stop until he stood up to place his fat shaft inside


Lying on the table, with a small breathless voice, she struggled to speak,

faintly saying to Sam, “Take your time and fuck me real good, Sam. I don’t

care about my class. I want to experience everything Monica told me about.”

With that, Sam pulled her towards him to the end of the table, placing a leg

over each arm as he held her hips firmly in his thick, stubby hands. He slowly

began to enter her, watching her eyes as her face winced at his size. He read

her eyes, as they seemed to say, ‘I feel it, but please don’t stop.’ Only a few

inches inside, Sam arched downward, bending his knees, and drove the head

of his cock directly onto her G-spot. He began massaging her G-spot

repeatedly and methodically, producing an immediate response from

Christina, who began uttering low moans indicating her newfound pleasure.

Watching her eyes, Sam began to drive quicker and harder onto her G-spot,

then deeper and harder with longer strokes, until he knew instinctively she

was going to experience her first internal orgasm.

As she began, Christina squeezed her breasts roughly as Sam kept pulling

her torso downward directly onto his cock and her G-spot. Suddenly,

Christina began to tremble, her eyes were glassy, and her white body fully

flushed a light pink. Inwardly, she began to feel a small, trembling, euphoric

spasm building inside her vagina until it built to a point where she was

consumed by a giant, ecstatic, powerful spasm shaking her entire vagina. In

one gigantic convulsion, the vagina began releasing the euphoric spasms

into her body in what seemed like an endless explosion that raced throughout

the rest of her body. The spasms were so powerful they felt like paralyzing

waves of numbing electricity, bouncing back and forth between her feet and

head with such fury they caused her nearly to pass out.

She lay there with her eyes rolled back into her head as her whole body

radiated and shook internally. Sam did not move as he felt her spasms on

his cock. As they began to subside, Sam began slowly stroking her G-spot,

allowing Christina full enjoyment of her first internal sexual feelings.

‘In all of my years, I have never seen a more powerful orgasm. It nearly

knocked her out.’ With that thought, he began to stroke her with fervor again.

Right at the peak of her second internal orgasm, her eyes went back again,

and this time her body fell limp. She released a huge squirt from her vagina,

which was immediately followed by loud, nonstop pounding on the door.

“Sam, I know you are in there. Open the door,” shouted Dean Brian



Putting his pants on, Sam went over to talk through the door when it

suddenly opened. Brian and the janitor were standing outside, looking at

Christina lying on the table in her transfixed condition. Sam stepped out of

the room and pulled the door closed behind him to give Christina privacy.

“You are a bit early, Brian. I never expected you this soon.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Brian barked as he immediately told

the janitor to leave and keep his mouth shut. Stepping past Sam, Brian

opened the door and stepped into the room. Sam followed, closing the door

behind him.

“What in the hell have you done to her, Sam?” he asked as he lustfully

examined every inch of her perfect body. “I told you to stay away from her.

My god, Sam, she is the senator’s daughter. I thought I made myself clear.

Get up and dress yourself, young lady.”

Christina did not move. She slowly opened her eyes, without noticing the

dean on the other side of the table. Looking at Sam through the tiny slits of

her eyes, she smiled and said, “I never thought it possible, Sam. I want


“My sweet girl,” Sam said as he covered her from Brian’s eyes, “you were

amazing. However, I am sorry; it seems we have been interrupted.” He drew