No Muslim Ever Called Me A Beaner

I live close to little Bangladesh.  Formerly known as East Pakistan, the overwhelming majority of the immigrants here worship Allah.  Many of these individuals wear traditional clothing and color their hair and beards with henna.  The majority of women cover their hair, and a few cover their entire face.  Fortunately, we live in a country where if you want to wear a paper bag over your head, technically people are supposed to leave you alone.  I seldom hear people talking shit, but when I do, I am always reminded of the fact that this country was founded by people who were religious malcontents.  Several businesses are owned and operated by my Bangladeshi neighbors.  Lot's of filthy hipsters have recently discovered Restaurant Swadesh because it was featured on Anthony Bourdain's television show.  I am happy that people are coming to spend money in my neighborhood.  There is a place of worship over on Vermont and 4th where many of these people attend religious services.  Over the many years I have lived around here, I have never seen one of these people causing trouble or talking shit.  The crimes I have witnessed them committing amount to nothing more than a few simple misdemeanors, dealing in counterfeit videos, and viagra.  There are other groups of immigrants in the neighborhood that commit murders at the local laundermat in sharp contrast to the mostly non-violent, Muslim Bangladeshis.

Every time I look at any of our mass media, I am bombarded with broadcasts of Islamic terrorists poised to pounce on us at any moment and other balderdash.  Then I look around and see all of the obese people with amputated feet wheeling themselves out of Carl's Jr. and realize who the true enemy is.  Look in the mirror at your pig body.  You know the enemy well.