Achmed, the Good-As-Dead Terrorist

by Tiger Lilly

We went to the Mediterranean Sea today. The water was warm, surprisingly enough, and the waves were… happy. In fact, they inspired a poem:

Ah, the blue of the sea
I am floating in a cloud of dreams
I am one with the– WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!

Okay, so Dad wrote most of that one. I just paraphrased. However, I had an… interesting experience, shall we say. There were some people in the water who were waiting until a wave was curling in on itself, and then diving headfirst into the wave. This usually ended up with them being tossed about in the water and washing up a few yards (meters) away closer to shore. Not that they were very far out anyway, probably just 15 feet into the water. I was wading, picking up nice rocks, when one of these wave-divers was swept towards me and managed to stop by hitting my legs. I saw it coming, but couldn’t exactly move out of the way, considering the water that was swirling up around my shins. The man was in his late-thirties and had long-ish hair, with a bald spot. He apologized, I asked him if he was okay, yadda yadda. I probably shouldn’t have encouraged him by saying that, though. He went back to his waves. I waded in a little deeper, letting bigger waves hit me, until 15 minutes later he noticed me again, just as a large wave came up and smacked me in the face. I went back to retrieve my towel to wipe my face off, and he beckoned me farther out to sea (we were in a set swimming area, so you couldn’t go out past a half-mile). I managed to make my way past the waves that were trying desperately to push me back. Finally I got to the point where the waves were swelling, but not actually breaking. It was fun to jump just as the crest of the wave comes up to you and then slide down the other side of it. It’s kind of hard to explain, and not really relevant to the story, so I’ll just shut up about that and move on.

ANYway, as we were moving with the waves, this same guy asked me where I was from, what my name was, and where I was going. He said his name was Achmed, and he was from Pakistan. My first thought was, Achmed? As in, the terrorist? As in, the Dead Terrorist? Then he said, “You look very beautiful.” Then my thought process changed to, Okay, a little creepy, what kind of person randomly says stuff like that? Maybe this is what passes for small talk in Pakistan. But I just smiled and said thank you and that was that. I lost track of where I was floating, and when I looked back to where Mom was standing and holding my towel, I saw she was waving her arms dramatically in some ancient form of communication. I surmised that she wanted me to go back to shore, so, thinking that it was time to go, I said good-bye to Achmed. His response:

A: “Do you have a mobile phone number?”

Me: *thinking* Oh yeah, it’s 612-232-1638 (which is actually the rejection hotline number. Call it, it’s a hilarious recording to listen to). *to him* No, sorry, I don’t have a cell phone (ah, the all-too-convenient truth).

He said something else, but I couldn’t understand what it was, so I just shrugged and went back to Mom. Mom simply said to watch where I was swimming, because the waves had carried me about 10 or 15 yards away from where I had originally started. Then she said,

RM: That guy (meaning Achmed) in the black shirt likes you.

Me: *thinking* No, really? *to Mom* I know. A little creepy.

 Back in the water, he again came up to me and started up some other conversation.

A: Will you marry me?

Me: *didn’t hear him correctly* What?

A: You’re just so beautiful.

Me: Thank you. *Dad, please get the shotgun…and shark repellent.*

Then, conveeeeeeeniently, a large wave came rushing up. We both went under and were being carried around by the waves. I’m not sure if this was an accident, but I think it probably wasn’t: under the pretext of trying to get back on his feet, I felt his hands wrap around my shin and climb up. Much farther up than they should have been (Ach-med, Oct-opus, not very much of a difference. They’re both grabby). I refrained from killing him violently (I have a katana that fits in my bikini, you know), for fear that the blood in the water would attract sharks. That’s me, always thinking of other people’s safety… Thankfully, the wave settled down just as another came up and I was swept away from him and his probably lecherous grip. After a couple futile attempts to get back into the middle of the swimming area, and a few mouthfuls of sea water (it was very very salty, and I thought I was going to throw up), Mom did her waving thing again, and this time it was actually time to go. As I waved good-bye (forever, I hope), he blew a kiss. My eye twitched, and I considered doing something rude. I settled for another half-hearted wave and turned away, to see Dad standing much closer than the action than I thought he was. Dad told me that he also waved to Achmed, only his wave was much more threatening.

All through the night now, I’ve been having weird little twitches and shivers, feeling like Achmed’s hands were still there, just begging me to chop them off…

Apparently, the reason Dad wasn’t at the scene sooner was because he was taking a picture of Achmed to wire to the Department of Homeland Security.

Guess which pervo is Achmed...

Guess which pervo is Achmed...

 

Okay, okay, I know you guessed wrong on that one (don’t try to lie to me, I can read minds through computers), so here is the correct answer:

Ta daaa!!! I know, it's really detailed. Is this enough info for a tag team effort with you and Dad, Kevin?

Ta daaa!!! I know, it's really detailed. Is this enough info for a tag team effort with you and Dad, Kevin?

 

Ciao for now!

18 thoughts on “Achmed, the Good-As-Dead Terrorist

  1. For the record, I was flying high-cover on this mission, positioned farther up from the water while the Rev. Mum watched TL from just above the wave line. Our antennae both twigged on the strange guy in the black tee-shirt who always seemed to be close to TL regardless of what the waves did. I moved down to the Rev. Mum’s position and was the one who noticed that TL and black shirt had drifted down the beach a ways from our position and had RM wave her back (RM was in capri pants and an easy to see purple shirt while I was dressed normally for the street, but not for the beach). It is a bit awkward to be fully dressed in a crowd of mostly undressed (if not completely undressed people) but it can be useful. A fully-clothed six-foot guy in a big hat and serious sunglasses standing straight up and looking intently at you from 50 feet away tends to get your attention, and Black Shirt made eye contact with my shades a couple of times before the last wave. I saw his good-bye and TL’s response as I moved into his line of vision behind her. As he looked up the beach, he saw my wave: my arm extended, my palm flat and facing down, followed by a sharp, horizontal motion. He raised his hand slightly from the water in acknowledgement. TL told us what had happened underwater after we had left the beach area, and I have since done some research on-line. From what I can tell so far, Spain does not have a waiting period in order to purchase a spear-gun.

  2. do you think courting might be the first step towards developing a friendship with your future husband? Just a thought.

  3. Actually Joe, the correct order is: Friendship, courtship, engagement, marriage. Not: Meet, grope, engagement, marriage.

  4. see what happens when you dont bring the chaperone on your dates?

    are all beaches clothing optional over there?

  5. WOW. You are ever so much nicer than I would have been. Do you have the don’t-touch-me-or-I-will-find-ways-to-make-you-wish-you-weren’t-a-man stare? I highly recommend it. Body language can be SOO effective.

  6. I was a little surprized to find this was a clothing optional beach. Not very many were taking advantage of the option. NW said it was too alternative for him. It didn’t bother me as much as I would have thought it would. The old dude strutting around in the nude obviously has a strong exhibitionist streak.
    It was kind of funny watching young men gawking at young women and trying to make it look like they weren’t.

  7. HT~ Yeah, I have the stare. Learned it from the daddy. I would have used it, but the waves that were coming in between us would have made it a little ineffective.

  8. Who’d have thought that you’d need security on a little trip through europe? I can recommend a group that would be happy to help out on your next trip… Talk to kevin, he knows how to get a hold of them (picture the A team with out the sweet van, but more fire power)

    NW – have you thought about offering classes to other fathers of daughters? While I don’t suspect that I’ll need them (I’ve got the cleanest shot gun on the street, and my daugthers are only <1 and 4) I suspect there are others that could use some tips on proper methods to deter unwanted interactions and such..

  9. DG – regarding lessons, I think it’s more a matter of will than technique. I think it was Bob Knight who said playing defense is all about the “want to”. It’s also about believing the cause is just, regardless of the attitude of the culture or of others around you.

  10. Actually, DG, I think the lessons out to be for the sons. The last three years I’ve been doing a monthly class for teen-age boys (and some of their fathers) on the proper ways to act and think, using movies as examples (see my Fundamentals in Film category).

  11. cant leave the sons out of the protection aspect either.
    the brother is usually traveling the same real estate as his sister and knows the what/where/who that a father at work cant.

    example, when my daughter was groped on the bus from school, my son took action and drew the blood i wasnt there to do myself.
    i was proud of him.

  12. In spite of all the “we should be more like Europe” drivel from liberals, it’s much less annoying to be a woman in the US. Men are openly handsy and make lewd comments at women. In Spain, there is even a phrase/word for it, echar piropos. Given that muslim cultures are even more sexist, (especially toward women who are not all covered up) I can’t imagine it’s getting any better with the islamic country immigration.

  13. Kevin, I think what was really required was a mini-sub – with weapons!

  14. Pingback: Songs of innocence and experience | thenightwriterblog.com

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