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Location:Texas, USA Naturalized US Citizen of Irish extract -   Fixed Wing and Helo trucker.Interests: "The Absurdity of Man". I am a proud supporter of Blarney, Nonsense, and Hooey. I enjoy being a chopper jockey, and trying to figure the world, people and belief systems out. I'm just not very good at it, so it keeps me real busy. I scribble, blog, run this website, mess with rental houses, ride motorbikes, and read as much as I can. I went solo 44 years ago, and I like to say I'm gonna get me a real job one day. When I grow up. ("but not just yet, Lord, not just yet") For my aviation scribbles see www.chopperstories.com.... enjoy! I wish you Peace in your Life. May you always walk with the sun on your face, and a breeze ruffling your hair. And may you cherish a quiet wonder for our awesome Universe. Life isn't always good. But it is always fascinating. Never quit.
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The Coming European Civil War (10) The other Allah


The Coming European Civil War

Part 10:  The Other Allah


     
       The presiding British Judge in his wig and gowns, spoke slowly and emphatically.
With as much ancient legal pomp and ceremony as he could muster. Secretly though, he was nervous. Whilst he talked, and feigned unruffled legal calm, he nervously scanned the tense audience in the hushed court room. He should have simply insisted on more Police Officers. They never sent him enough officers. The audience was packed by immigrants. Many were wild looking men, with bushy beards, rolling eyes, and the peculiar Pakistani dress that set them so apart from native Brits. They wore loose pants, that seemed a cross between a baby's pyjamas and a maternity gown, and over long shirts that hung down their front like the same baby's bib. Often down to or even below the knee. With their ever present dark scowls, and the frequent angry outbursts, the court room was hard to control. Disrespect hung heavily in the air. He was definitely not used to being jeered and heckled in his own court room. But today promised to be the worst.

He had to read the verdicts out. Sentencing. The end game.

Next time, he would just have to insist. That sallow-faced, mournful looking Police Superintendent would just have to listen up. The court needed more cops. And of course, there would be a next time. Many next times. He was just staring at the tip of the iceberg.

A few minutes later, he had read the verdicts. Interrupted by shouts, snarls, foot stomping and much muttering, that openly defied his practised glare. But the reactions of the defendants took the biscuit. Upon being sentenced to multiple years in prison for a stunning litany of child rapes, child molestations, child sexual grooming and assault, Amjad Ali, thirty-eight, formerly from some Muslim Pakistani village, now a British citizen from Muslim Worksop, proudly proclaimed his faith.

ALLAHU AKBAR...!

Tayab Dad, thirty-four, also formerly a Muslim Pakistani from a small, rural village, with limited electricity and dubious sanitation, now a proud British subject from St Lawrence Road, Tinsley, not to be outdone, greeted his multi-year sentence with an even louder celebration of... faith?

ALLAHU AKBAR...!

Their plentiful supporters in the crowd, seemingly quite unphased by the full glare of ancient, time honored (?) British Justice, chanted, cheered, and foot stomped.

ALLAHU AKBAR...!

The Judge sighed, behind the glare, and noticed the demoralized, weary, utterly fed up Police Officers move in to go through the motions of pretending to severely warn the rowdy protesters. Had an Englishman exhibited a fraction of such temerity in Court, he would have been forthwith arrested, cuffed, and been subject to the full wrath of British Law. An entirely different set of rules were applied to the defiant, wild looking Pakistani British, with their rolling eyes and their wild beards. It seemed almost everything was quietly accepted, with just a ritual adherence to tired, dispirited, and wholly ineffective British Legal Conventions. You weren't supposed to behave like that in a British Court of Law.

ALLAHU AKBAR...!

Would they ever shut the hell up? Reading the sentencing was going to take forever at this rate.

*              *               *              *           *

       Later that evening, the Judge, in the comfort of his home, sipped thoughtfully at a Gin and Tonic. He needed it. In the company of his wife, and some invited legal friends, they were discussing the amazing unfolding of the great Rotherham Child Rape scandal. It seemed everybody was aghast, and everyone was talking at once.
"They have NO respect in Court. Simply ZERO."
"How long has this been going on for? This is February 2017. This started back in 1999! This is just ONE town! Seventeen years to bring these animals to Justice?"
"Professor Alexis Jay talks about 1,400 cases in the town of Rotherham alone. Population only about 250,000 souls. That's just the tip of the iceberg, in ROTHERHAM ALONE. What the hell is going on across the country?"
"When the Police Commissioner responsible for children's services, that Shaun Wright fellow, refused to resign, and had to be dragged before Parliament, what does that tell you about people in official power lacking any shame?"
"It cost a few people their jobs, the Chief Executive and Leader of the Council, and four Labour Party Town councillors, but the rot goes much deeper. Social workers, Police, all looking the other way."
"No, they were just suspended for a while. They weren't sacked."
"Really? You're kidding!"
"Really."
"And what the hell has Allah got to do with it? Shouting Allahu Akbar in court? Do they see themselves as religious martyrs or something?"
"Yes, they do."
"What, it's a RELIGIOUS THING?"
"Yes, for many of them. It's permitted and encouraged by many followers of Islam. Positively condoned by many radical hate preachers."
"You're KIDDING."
"I wish I was. Believe me. You haven't seen anything yet. Just wait until they breed their numbers up."
"You can't say that. That's disrespectful."
"Sorry, but it's also true."
"Do you think Enoch Powell was right? Rivers of blood, and all that?"
"Yes."
There was a chorus of dissent. Arguing. Back and forth.

The old Judge, sadly, sipped his Gin and Tonic. In the privacy of his mind, he was free to think that which could never be said in public. Multiculturalism had been and continued to be an unmitigated disaster for Britain. He sighed in his heart, and worried deeply.
And thought of his grand daughters, innocent, so young, so beautiful.

Facing a terrifying future.



(to be ctd)








Last edited by Francis Meyrick on February 3, 2017, 9:12 pm
We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
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