Note to radical Muslims: I've now named my favorite coffee mug 'Muhammad.' Hope that helps
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Here's what I like to do every time I see a throng of frothing religious zombies marching in the streets of Sudan or Pakistan or Colorado Springs or anywhere else in the world, carrying knives and torches and holding festering clots of fear in their hearts as they burn flags or photographs or copies of "The Goblet of Fire" or "The Golden Compass" or that sweet little book about the cute gay penguins in the Central Park Zoo and all screaming for the instant death of someone who dared to suggest that, say, Jesus was actually a liberal pacifist or that L. Ron Hubbard was a nutball hack or that it's perfectly delightful to let sweet little schoolkids name a sweet little teddy bear 'Muhammad.'
I try to remember. No wait, that's not quite right. First, I get past the wave of nausea and sadness, that hot, palpable feeling that we are, still and forever, a baffled and insane and deeply doomed species and the world of man is indeed bleak and hopeless on far too many levels to count.
Yes. Must get past that.
Then I remember. I remember the remaining 1.2 billion Muslims of the world who are also reading about the Great Teddy Bear Blasphemy of 2007 and going oh holy hell no, please, Allah no, not this again, not these inbred fundamentalist jackals making us all look so horribly bad, and why does the media insist on showing such a harsh, fragmented picture of a generally peaceful (albeit overly militant) faith and is there really nothing we can do?
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