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John Boston: Throw a shoe, win a prize

How Beige Was My Valley

Posted: January 3, 2009 9:34 p.m.
Updated: January 4, 2009 4:30 a.m.

A solitary bad person sitting alone, harboring genocidal thoughts and wishing he ruled the world is not a problem unless he lives next to us in the trailer park. In the big geopolitical trailer park that is the world today, he does.”
— P.J. O’Rourke

Next to the very real possibility of giant fire-breathing dinosaurs returning to take over the planet, one of the great problems facing civilization is The Hillbilly.

I’m not just talking about our dear possum-swallowing neighbors to the northeast in Palmdale. Nope. Every culture has more than its fair share of gomers, those backwoods, back-desert, superstitious, Star-Of-Their-Own-Cops-Episode nincompoops raised on a diet of revenge and retard sandwiches.

Muntadhar al-Zeidi is not a household name, but you know him. He’s the Muslim journalist who threw his one-size-fits-all shoes at The Dubyuh a couple of weeks ago during an Iraqi press conference.

To many in the Middle East, the wide-eyed Mr. al-Zeidi is a cult hero. You know. Like our version of non-shoe-throwing Britney Spears?

I know in the Alice in Wonderland logic of the Left, it’s considered good manners to take aim at Christians, Jews and seated GOP presidents. Can you imagine a Baptist reporter going haywire and throwing a penny loafer at Barack Obama?

The episode wouldn’t be greeted with smug tongue-in-cheek coverage, complete with wah-wah-wah trombone sound effects. No. There would be parades, whistle-blowing and cars overturned in indignant protest.

But a Muslim chucking his smelly Dr. Scholl’s at George III? The mainstream media sniffs and asks why the commander-in-chief had the temerity to duck.

If I were Judge Of The Planet and presiding over Mutadhar’s hearing, I’d wiggle my index finger in an approach-the-bench fashion. I’d lean forward and whisper: “Munty. Look at me. Do you have any idea what sort of sissy insult-bankrupt culture you have when your highest form of derision is to throw your shoes at someone?”

Here in the West, we’ve produced rock ‘n’ roll, baseball, the Internet and Viagra. The Arab world? Five thousand years of civilization and the best slur they invent is the impotent chucking of their Espedrills?

Except for the North Pole, I can’t think of a region so completely inappropriate for the throwing of your own personal shoes at any visiting mucky-muck. Why? Because after the obligatory wrestling to the ground and ceremonial beating by the starved-for-affection Iraqi police, someone’s going to march you outside to the parking lot where the surface temperature is 312 degrees.

Do you have shoes to protect your tootsies from the bubbling asphalt?



You threw them away.

I know there are shining lights in Middle Eastern cultures. They invented the zero and, duh, have us by the squeakies over this bothersome petroleum near-monopoly.

But cripes. Don’t you guys get tired of trampling yourselves to death during our equivalent of Secretary’s Day? Maybe it’s this crazy democracy thing we practice, but if Ronald Reagan Himself rose from the grave in a bathrobe, grew an evil Santa beard and uttered some grumpy ayatollah diatribe urging me to take to the streets and protest shish kabob, I would not be remotely tempted to start a tire fire in the middle of McBean Parkway and dance around it weeping.

Speaking of dancing, have you guys seen yourself on Al Jarreau?

Or al-Jazeera.


You people are terrible dancers.

As if it couldn’t get any zanier, a new actor entered stage left in the Hillbilly Theater Middle East.

With 500 in his immediate family, Ahmad Salim Judeh is patriarch of an immense West Bank clan that would put the 101 Dalmations to shame. So taken by Mr. al-Zeidi’s V.I.M. (Village Idiot Moment), the 75-year-old Palestinian offered to send Shoe Boy one of his daughters as a reward.

The italics are mine.

Act like an idiot. Get a wife.

As if we guys haven’t already mastered that in the West.
Sweetening the deal, Mr. Judeh not only offered a sizable dowry, but volunteered to pay $30,000 toward Mr. al-Zeidi’s defense fund.

This is When Worlds Collide.

I cannot fathom a scenario in which the leader of — oh, say, Greenland — visits Fillmore. During the press conference, KTLA anchor Stan Chambers is visited with hysterical religious visions. He screams “Down with Odin!” yanks off his size XS wife-beater T-shirt, then flings it at Greenland’s head of state, Margrethe II.
Watching on CNN, I’m so moved by Stan’s well-thought-out political performance art that I burst into tears and stumble outside to sacrifice a goat. Then I offer to send Stan Chambers $100,000 and my daughter because I love her so much that I want her to spend the rest of her life with someone mentally unstable.
And that sums up today’s lecture on the Complete History Of The Middle East.

Perhaps we in America shouldn’t talk. We have reality TV, pro wrestling, the possibility of former odor eater Al Franken as U.S. senator and cash registers that don’t have numbers, but rather, cartoon pictures of cheeseburgers and French fries because everyone in the country is now apparently too dumb to change a 20.

I suppose in a contest of Your Hillbillies vs. Our Hillbillies, there really wouldn’t be a winner, would there?
Here’s where we differ.

I go to the Shell station. Gas has gone up. Again. Do I fall into a fetal ball and make turkey-calling noises? Am I going to take a package of Farmer John’s Pork Sausage and wrap it around my neck with a bungie cord as a sign of my disdain of Islam?



It’s rude. It’s childish. It’s stupid. And living so close to the national forest as I do, such a demonstration might backfire and attract feral dogs.

I know these are the high holy days of Political Correctness. But some of you people over there are a living, breathing, on-going encyclopedia of Polish jokes, only with weapons.

I can say that because I’m Polish.

John Boston has earned 117 major national, regional and state awards for excellence, all of them originating in the United States. Fridays and Sundays, his columns appear in The Mighty Signal.


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