The Curse of the Jihadi Boy band.

A warning from the Freebeard – be terrified of the internet rage of teenage girls. The boys from semtex-land have got nothing on the ground-battering torrent of fury that flows when you mix hormones with righteous indignation - as veteran hate peddler and all round loon Debbie Schlussel will no doubt testify as One Directioners take exception to her attack on Zain Malik’s #creeping Shariah.

You see, Schlussel is convinced that teen pop clone ZainMalik,  whose interests include not wearing his shirt and expressing his appreciation of Anish Kapoor’s sculpturein hair gel, is the vanguard of the Islamisation of flowering young American maidenhood. 

Apparently Zain is a skilled Jihadi warrior who utilises the mysteries of “twitter” to type out nefarious coded messages such as “God is Great” and “Ramadan is hard” to extol the virtues of wearing Burqa and joining a harem as Wife 4.0. No doubt this must be stopped. One cannot have the mass audience of teenage girls, the future of America and the “Free World” corrupted by the blatant call to holy war and subjugation to shariah law envisioned by his deadly lyrical balladry.

It’s worse than she thinks. Surely Schlussel has missed the clues to the real purpose of Zai’s mission When he sings, “Something's gotta give now/ Cause I'm dying just to make you see /That I need you here with me now/ Cause you've got that one thing” this is obviously a command to the hordes of sleeper cell teens trapped in their indoctrination camps (also known as sleepovers) to burst forth and destroy civilisation itself.

However, unluckily for Schlussel, the One Directioners know about her little article, and they are beginning to spread the word. In those wonderful twists of life and the internet the online rage machine that Schlussel is trying to feed may have unleashed the online rage behemoth of teenage adoration. In one voice they rise and say:

 “if Zayn see this and he breaks down , not only me but all the directioners will break you face ! You hurt one of them by writing this shit, you hurt us too !"

It’s too late for Shclussel. The Freebead is heading to his bunker , he advises you do the same.

P.S For the less easily amused - this article is meant to be a joke ie. satire. Sadly Debbie Schlussel is perfectly serious.

Creatures of the Beardyverse - An Anthropology of the Net-based Muslim.

The Freebeard is back and is wondering happened to the online Beardyverse?

I step away for a few months (alright - years) and the place is over run by more face fuzz than waxing convention. It’s mildly disconcerting seeing all this multi-faceted multi-faith cyber delinquency going on while I have been languishing at the Mummy’s service bashing through an advance thesis on follicle studies.

There has been one fantastic side effect to the journal bothering, however. I now have super powers. Yes, The Freebeard has acquired a force field. Not one of those fancy schmansy invisible ones reserved for pneumatic looking young people with names like Hurricane, Raptor or Milliband.

Nope, compared to those amateurs the FB has a real force field, manifesting itself in four inches of flesh-table parked around a centimetre below my chest and arriving before the rest of me by a few milliseconds. It’s a multi-purpose force field, repels potential wife candidates and serves as a handy resting place for a cup of tea. The Mummy is not pleased and is torn between not-cooking (thus banishing said force field and acquiring wife) or cooking ( the natural Mummy instinct). Trust a Yorkshireman to go for a two-for-one deal.

Returning to The Internets and the Beardyverse, I have realised I need to reacquaint myself with the species known as Muslimanicus Internetibus (yes this bloke would be unhappy with that standard of latin). There seem to be many of these characters around. Not that the Freebeard is jealous/bitter/annoyed in anyway of the freeloading upstarts that have taken his rightful place in the pantheon of Fuzzy-glory, or anything.

First a warning: the following descriptions may include gratuitous references to 1980s/ early 1990s pop culture and an attention span greater than a squirrel on acid.

Let’s begin with Muslimanicus Fidelis. The online brothers (or sister) from another mother (or father) who remind the Freebeard of the halcyon days where one would hang around the undergrad Common room searching for the meaning of life, giving up, and going for sandwich around two o’clock. In those innocent days, Muslimanic Fidelis was restricted leafleting very confused Japanese Students with instructions of Wudhu, small talk about Super Mario on the SNES and how Sony PS1 was the Dajaal.

These days we have Fidelis v2.0. The Freebeard would call it an evolution of the species but that might result in an angry facebook group popping up at some point. This demonstrates the change in Fidelis, the power of the internet and the ability to pay the capitalists-muslim-hating west for iPhones has increased the reach of Fidelis.

S/he is no longer limited to running after you on the number 73 bus to make his/her point, slipping on a wet big issue and wiping out two pensioners. No. Now a distributed form of delivery is open to my brothers. Verily they now have access to the longest and shaggiest of beard and invariably they have declared my face fuzz inadequate and worth of approbation.

Next on the list is Muslimanicus Profectus. If the Fidelis is the kind of Muzzie that keeps his/her beard long then the Profectus is the Muzzie with a flock-of-seagulls mop on her/her/its head and raffishly appointed stubble. They love to vogue (use wiki young people) around the place with the haste of Ben Johnson , skipping from glorious open minded cause to other glorious open mined cause. If they feel the heat from Fidelis they just blank them like Beverly 902010 and dig in for a Rumi inspired sufitastic love fest. The lack of beard allows much air kissing and Paris style “discourse” taking account , of course, of the post- colonial-pre-post-modern-milieu with defiant sheesha breaks thrown in.

If Muslamanicus Fidelis has the intellectual complexity of repeatedly head butting an anvil; then Profecti are an enigma wrapped in a cipher, launched into a 512 DES encryption algorithm, pumped into a particle accelerator, sent in to an alternate reality and then teleported back in time to play cards with your Gran. Whatever happens either you or they will require chemicals by the end of it. Usually illegal ones.

Though both Fidelis and Profectus were hanging about a decade or so ago, an entirely new species has also emerged - Muslimanicus Vetus Fonzicus. These gents, and invariably they tend to be gents, are men of distinguished beard. A decade ago the internet would not have made it into their lives, however time and the mobile phone put paid to that. In his day the Fonzicus was cutting edge cool, with signature rumbling call and distinctive hairstyle, one could even consider them an older version of the Profecti.

If the Profecti Muslims are Ben Johnson, the Fonzicus is Ben Johnson after rehabilitation and serving out a ban. This shows up when the intention to run with the mad young things is usually undone by a snap or a tweak where the brain failed to snap into place. There’s a fine line between the Fred Astaire and dad dancing, though this doesn’t stop Fonzicus skipping forth over it with abandon.

Finally we have Muslimanicus Totalis who are truly the greatest incarnation of the online Muslim. For all the types of half/full/twisted/patchy bearded Muzzies on the interweb – one Totalis can provide the karmic balance. You can’t help but love them. They peruse the web and shower it with salaams, rainbows, muffins, flowers, nausheeds., more salaams and lots of love. If one was describing them as photograph it would be kittens, with babies, painted in gorgeous calligraphy with a waterfall background. Yes, they’re that good. Literally.

It’s easy to be cynical about Totalis. The constant RSS/twitter/facebook feeds of “Jazakallhah”, “I love Ramadan” and “EID ..YAY!” may have enough sugar content to give Mount Everest diabetes, but you know this Freebeard is genuinely grateful for their presence in the BeardyVerse.

Now I’m off to get some tea to rest on my force field and listen to Zain Bikha...

P.S Latin names Fidelis, Profectus and Vetus.. Google translate is your friend and I have no idea what they mean either ;)

Getting out the Woggle

There are times when one should be prepared. This motto was taught to the Beard-Grows-Free when he was a young stripling and was forced to sit through camp fire stories by the Akela while trying not to lose one’s woggle. Though even at a young age I was always a bit miffed at why one would require fire making skills when you could always nip down to the local estate on a given day and find police cars toasting away. It would come as no surprise that this particular fuzzy creature was quite happy in an urban environment.

As I have probably discussed before, this comes as no surprise to me considering the closest my ancestral history has come to a camp-life is Uncle Ali’s insistence on a Tom Selleck ‘Tache & Mullet at all times. Also one must consider that upon being confronted by mountainous terrain of speed bumps in the high street I come from stock that would be courageously heading for the Range Rover Dealership.

This brings me a bit of a conundrum that bothered me when I saw this particular headline.


Note my shock, horror, and carry-on based exclamations when the Daily Torygraph let it be known that children as young as seven are being trained into committing chicanery by the nefarious long-bearded types. The idea that “Around 10 primary school pupils” had been taken into the Surrey Constabulary’s Channel Programme – which disappointingly enough has nothing to do with French collaborators or perfume.

Apparently, the Plods of Suburbia had found some little rascal scribbling on his exercise book “I want to be a suicide-bomber”. I won’t pause for a moment at the quaint notion of a 21st century urchin managing to put together sentences that contain vowels, or wonder why he didn’t text/SMS the message to his teacher or even shake my head at the child’s inability to pick an appropriate violence-based role model.

These things miss the wider point. Surrey Constabulary have decided to re-educated the poor misguided younglings by offering them “football coaching and outdoor adventure courses.” Yes, fellow beard-lovers they want to send these little people off to grab their woggle and salute to Arkela and we know how successfully THAT worked with yours truly.

Gird your loins for 2010

Welcome to 2010 my fellow bearded ones. It may not have escaped your notice that we have been blessed recently by the arrival of three snowflakes and a bit of cold air that has managed to cripple large parts of middleclass Britain.

Although one must admit that up here in the North of England it has been cold enough to for some northern-lasses to consider wearing more opaque tops for New Year’s eve.

One has also been shaken in Beard-central by the arrival of Al Qaeda’s new line in men’s lingerie. Yes, my erstwhile friends, we have seen the launch of the AQ’s Detonator Pants, as demonstrated by Mr O.F Abumattalab of Lagos, Nigeria. I believe he was taking a sabbatical from sending e-mails asking for help with recovering his “Friend’s” millions. Though, being the amateurs that they are, the branding on the pants was woeful and will surely leave them open to counterfeits flooding in from China. There are times when a gusset full of PETN just isn’t going to be enough to visually build the brand.

As with AQ's attempt to break into the footwear market, the effect was less Detonator and more roasted chestnut. Look on the bright side ... at least they have a theme tune

This also presents the FB with a problem. As you all know, your friend the bearded one, is prone to international travel. As a result I have a feeling that I shall be having more close encounters with the gentlemen in uniform than is strictly agreeable unless you’re a fan of The Village People.

The response from our esteemed elders in government is to use bodyscanners. For those of you unaware of the devices just think back to when you were a teen and you thought Superman’s ability to use X-ray vision was wasted on saving the planet. The Backscatter Scanner lets the highly underpaid comic-book fan - who is your security official for the day - use x-ray vision on your lumpy bits. It's a great opportunity to rehabilitate citizens who's only other contribution to society is the VAT paid on their late night cable TV purchases.

In the FB’s case this might be more of a problem for the poor sod staring at the screen, but may cause a few issues with people of a more private disposition. At this point the FB wonders if it would be appropriate to reclassify the phrase “Going Commando”.

Production Values

Dear Jihadi-Video-Directors,

A polite request on behalf of the Freebeard. I must admit I have never been a fan of your productions. You really have failed to grasp the history of film and especially documentary making.

I know that we really won't see eye to eye on many things in film history, and you always seem to resort to trying to assasinate me, when I get to the bit about Goddard. I suspect, though, that might not be becuase of hatred of the man's ouvre.

But - moving on - I really have to ask you lot to sort out your production values. Alright the "documentary style" is all in, with the shaky camera a la Greengrass but , seriously, that dialogue. Who's your writer. The south london gangsta who wasn't hard enough for "Kidulthood"?

If you're going to go around "representin'" us poor muslims and make videos like this then please can you ask the world not to "mess wit da Muslims" in a refined and a Recieved Pronunciation manner. The finger jabbing doesn't work either - it's as if the guy is trying to press a lift button that's too high for him.

I mean, you're not really pushing the boat out here, it's just like those low rent knock-offs produced in the CIA backlot somewhere in Kandahar, Kansas.

Next time, try a bit of lateral thinking. How about a haiku - you know to bring in a middle class flavour. That way you could confuse Guardian readers as well as heap destruction on the evils of modern capitalism.

There is even on-site assistance, you could ask the MI5 guys watching you make the video which take works best. Anyway, remmember, even if you're pushed you could use Microsoft Moviemaker to add spice and drama to the whole thing - after all , the Devil provided the best tools for his minions.
FB

Mature/ Student : of Oxymorons and Learning Shock

As no one actually reads my badly typed scribblings, complete with terrible spelling and pointless, puncuation. I have realised that the best place for me is academia. That way I can spend hours in hairsplitting conversation with high minded individuals and garuntee that I get absolutley no work done.

So, the FB has gone back to University. This is more traumatic than you think. I was under the impression that it would involve careering on the infromation-super-highway of knowledge, via a few coffee shops and dozing through lectures. I was wrong.

That old tactic of leaving the book somewhere near the bed and betting on the words making their own way into your head by the time you woke up in the morning - busted. I had to open one. Even worse. I had to open more than one.

The worrying thing is that when I open the books the words decide to swap position and head off in the oposite direction to where logic is suppose to take them. It's as if they decide to hold campaign meetings when the book is closed and carry out their dastardly plan to make me look daft(er) when I get round to staring at them like a man who handed Bernie Madof the keys to the safe.

I also had the impression from my undergrad days that Mature Students had the right to sit in the corner and pontificate in their wise way to the (rather attractive, doe eyed) undergrads as a service to the field of knowledge. This would compensate for the ravages of time and high-carb diet, of course. It was a cunning long-run strategy (see I was awake for at least five minutes of Economics) that was derived by my genius and, as usual, was a noble(read halfwitted) failure.

I have had the opportunity to meet new and varied people from all around the world who have given me such joy. I will be introducing them to you lot later.

More importantly, as we would say in the current economic climate, there is a loss of capital in the FB market and I can say the following quite happily when faced with Potential-Mother-In-Law types:

I am currently unemployed. :)

Regrowth - Return Of The Beard

Dear Readers (yes I know that the only entities read this are the four and a half voices inside my bald head that resonate on the odd occasion.)

I am very very sorry for the age that it has taken me to get back to writing the unerringly dodgy missives about my non-life. I hope to correct that on a more regular basis.

Anyhow. I have been travelling the world in search of enlightenment and self-awareness, usually in seat 40C, with variously weird people sitting to my left and closer the emergency exit than I would like them to be.


This had two major effects on my life. The first is that I have been able to experience the depth and breadth of our fine race, all the way from shiny Dubai to the tip of Africa. I have even been to the depths of the primitive, rustic backwoods of civilisation but we only stopped over in Kansas due to a tornado warning.

The second was a period away from the Mummy. A mixed blessing. One being away from her wonderful spirit was sad. The interruption of the regular rhythms of a close symbiotic relationship symbolised by the immortal words "Come and eat. Ohh and lose that belly" was quite depressing.

This was in no way whatsoever offset by her inability to ambush me with more suitable matches. Being at 30,000 feet (very high for metric people) in a pressurised cabin, with the globe rushing past underneath, made insanely difficult for the Mummy to sneak in surprise visits from a collective of moustache wearing dudes with questions about property - which was, erm too bad.

Anyhow, those days are soon coming to an end. I will be ground bound again and enjoying a more sedentary life. And I have many many stories to relay to you ... but not quite now. The Mummy says we have to go and visit some old friends.