Adventures of Achmed

Call me Achmed. My mother did.
"You're not Jewish, Achmed, my little sand flea," she said, " because I'm not.
Ask your father.   He's Jewish. He should know it's the woman who decides all that."
My Father concurred, but said: "Also, you are not Arabic as your mother is.
In our family, it is the man who decides this."
Batted back and forth from Mosque to Temple for years, I became the battleground
for my parents' war of supremacy. It is written that when you need one most, a teacher will appear.
This is what happened to me.   Had I not met The Right Reverend Deacon Pastor Willy Bibb-Tucker ,
I might never have discovered my " inner Christian" or, armed with only a map,
a Bible, and my red carryall , embarked on my spiritual voyage to the Holy Land.

Right Reverend Deacon Pastor Willy Bibb-Tucker and his wife Vidalia Honey
of The Welcome Inn Church of Equal Opportunity Endtimes

Achmed's Travel Diary:
Pastor Willy told me my journey had to be "authentic",
so instead of a more comfortable conveyance, I chose to rent a camel and travel
as many did in biblical times. I was only supposed to use the map as a general guide
whilst seeking the omens and miracles that "would be strewn in my path if my heart was pure. "
As I mounted my chosen camel, I prayed to be made worthy.
The camel snorted. I could have sworn it said: "Give me that damn carry-all!"
Next thing I knew, it snapped the bag out of my hand, and we set off at a gallop.
It was only later I learned my camel was female, named Manon and she was psychic.
Sunset on the desert is breathtaking. Manon stopped, dropped the carry-all and said:
"That looks like an omen to me. Do you see that dove with a french fry in its beak?"
My hand shakes as I write this for fear any who read it will think me mad.
But I am committed to telling the truth--ALL of it. No matter what.
"You don't happen to read Hebrew, do you?", Manon asked. I told her no. Then you'll
have to take my word for it that those golden gates in the clouds there--do you see that, Achmed,
my little sand-flea?--are inscribed with the Hebrew for "Big Mac is Kosher".
" But how could you possibly know what my mother used to call me, Manon?"
That was when she admitted to being psychic.
*******

Achmed's Travel Diary:
Manon knows her omens. I'd be lost without her. Sure, my heart is pure or these visions
would not strew my path as they do, but how could I, a mere novice , know how
to interpret their abstruse meanings? Manon told me to buy a book called Bible Codes for Dummies
written by the very same rabbi standing before us.
"Why is he haranguing all those people, Manon?"
" Because he's pissed off that his publishers illustrated his Judaism For Dummies Book
with stills from Hollywood films", Manon replied. "He says Charlatan Heston
is a rifle-worshipping Christian not fit to portray the Patriarch Moses.
Seems to be gearing up the masses for a big class action suit."
"Are you hungry, Manon?"
"Do you see that resurrected corpse pointing to the golden arches down in Jericho?
That, my little sand-flea, is our next destination."
*******

Achmed's Travel Diary:

Even without Manon's psychic ability, I knew this
message was an omen. The only problem was
trying to decide if the sender really meant "desert"
or "dessert" as had been written. But now I knew
my destiny was beckoning. Quickly ordering
a happy meal for Manon, I raced back to
where she was parked only to discover....