THIRD POST – January 16, 2012 – As if ANWAR MALEK the Arab League observer who quit was not enough, we now have another relative of BURHAN “LE PIPE” GHALIOUN turning an angry cheek toward Dr. Assad’s Syria.  Guess who he is?  Yes, he is none other than feckless, worthless, rudderless IMAD GHALIOUN!!!  Wow.  What will Syria do now without this stalwart hero of Arab nationalism who has spent his life in the Syrian Peoples’ Assembly disporting with the pious pages in the corridors of power?  It’s amazing how he describes Homs in a way that contradicts everything I am told by people living right there.  

But, if the truth be told, Homs is in the past tense now as Syrian police clean up the tiny mess created by the salafist infiltrators. 



Born “Boniface Escubert Valvoleen” to a father from the Blue Mountains and a mother, Lilly Fudge, from the Bronx (NYC),  “Bonny” (as he was fondly called) was born in Kingston, Jamaica, during a Macumba Voodoo ceremony conducted next door at a Papa Doc Duvalier Seance attended by no less than French Madame Froufrou LaPouffe of the Comedie Imbeciles Centrales et Provencales de la Rive Gauche.  In such an atmosphere, one would have expected Bonny to grow up and march to a different drummer.

                  Bonny reacts jubilantly to cameraman Ogden Orffe and his Kodak Box Classic

It was during his sophomore year that Bonny became an advocate for Rastafarian culture and faith which, for no particular reason, took him to Samarqand in Central Asia and then to Alamut in Northern Iran where he conducted fusion ceremonies to unite the two faiths of Ismaili Shi’ism (Sevener) and Rastafarianism (Jamaican style).  Blinded by bouts of hashish and opium overuse, he became convinced that he was the Awaited One and joined an order of heretical, hermeneutical, heterodox hermaphrodites called the “Signs of God” who later made a name for themselves as a reggae band in Haiti before the last earthquake.  Impressed by the nomenclature of Twelver Shi’ism but fearful that he would be stoned for apostasy and waging war on God (Muharabateh Khodaa) in Iran, Bonny waited for his plane to land in Jamaica before declaring himself the Ayatolla Holyrollah Savonarola Cocacola – Savior of Mankind and Delivery Boy of the Day of Judgment. 

Many crowded the streets of Kingston to hear his sermons, often recited as canticles, and to absorb the arguably “queer” sort of ideations eructing from his throat.  He delighted his followers with humorous but serious tales of near-misses with both the Iranian morals police and the hated Saudi “Mutawa’ah”. 

He used to tell his parishioners:  “You know, man, I used to get stoned all the time in Alamut; but I didn’t want to get stoned by the Iranian government.”  All said to a cascade of laughter and infectious merriment.

                The Ayatollah dressed as a, well?  An Ayatollah! in Montego Bay at the age of 26
When he had his first “epiphany” on the road to Crab Cay, he donned his now iconic Tuareg outfit and started to roam the verdant lanes of Jamaica looking for new followers.  It was underneath a mango tree that we met and talked about events in the Middle East:

MNS:  (Being attacked by anopheles mosquitoes)  Gosh!  Could we find another place to sit away from this mangrove swamp? 

AYATOLLAH:  That means you are not ready for enlightenment.  (He grudgingly got up and we sauntered down to the Holiday Inn – Kingston where we continued our conversation over Planter’s Punch cocktails). 

To be continued tomorrow.  It’s now the cocktail hour.


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