By Ghostwtr
When reports filtered to Australia that Daesh murderer Khaled Sharrouf was killed in a drone attack last year, friends and colleagues were left to mourn a man of generosity, humility, and an amazing porn collection.
On a special field investigation I interviewed former colleagues of these fallen Aussie Jihadis to learn of their memory of their fallen comrades of terror.
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Mohamed Elomar; former failed boxer, Daesh recruiter and murderer for Daesh in Syria:
“He was just mellow, very down to earth. Of course he was righteous in the cause and straight-up as a man can be, but he’d give you the dishdash off his back and the kufi off his head, if it came to that. Very observant of the holidays, very clean, kept a strict halal diet and stayed in shape by regular cross-country running dodging drone strikes. I understand he was kind to animals, even married one when he lived in Australia, where they torture them and make them race each other as a form of culture. And what a porn collection he had! One of the best in the Arabian Peninsula, without a doubt.”
Mohamed Baryalei; assistant Halal certifier, Daesh poster-boy:
“Once I tried to get him to pose for a photo shoot showing him at home in his apartment in Syria with a goat. I wanted to capture him modelling his latest wardrobe of vests and dish cloths, mixing up some hummus, and converting brain-dead teenagers on the internet while hanging out with his devoted pre-teen wife and 17 devout kids. But he was far too modest and ascetic to make such a splash. And I admired him for that. It’s too bad, though; an issue like that would have generated more online traffic than the internet versions of Womens Day and Vanity Fair combined.”
Neil Prakash; Melbourne hipster and camel herder trainee:
“He took his success in stride. All that coverage we came to expect on the ABC and SBS News meant little to him—he laughed about it! Of course, when he first came to Syria from Australia he was full of piss and vinegar. His beard wasn’t fully grown yet, and he was kind of wild-eyed. It was, “Kill him, kill them, radicalize everyone,” all the time. I thought, “This guy really needs to get laid!” But it turned out he got a blowjob no one saw coming.”
Sharky Jama; Melbourne male model and popular Daesh bum boy:
“There was no vanity in the man. None of this, “I’m bigger than Osama now,” even though it might have been true. Or, “I’ve got a much bigger TV and laptop than No. 1.” Instead there was great modesty and the earnest desire to kill infidels, in about equal measure. Only once did I ever hear him speak disparagingly of bin Laden. It was after our leader was gunned down by the Americans. He said, ‘You mean he was living next door to an army base where U.S. commandos could easily come and go? That was dumb-ass.’”
Fatima Jama; full-time bimbo and Daesh bitch:
“Sure, he was dedicated to the mission, but he wasn’t all up in your face every minute about the Caliphate or the Great Satan. He had his calmer moments when he preferred to talk about anything besides the Umma, even former Australian Prime Ministers Julia Gillard’s new book, which he admired for its punctuation and font. As important as he became for Islamic State’s international image and message, he didn’t ask any special privileges and didn’t lord it over the rank-and-file suicide bombers. If you were a woman, you didn’t need to be a virgin to approach him. Of course it helped. When I heard the Kurds took him out, I couldn’t believe it. I said, ‘Hey, wait! He’s an Australian citizen! Isn’t that unconstitutional?’”
Yusuf Toprakkaya; candlestick maker and Adidas fan:
“As an Australian, he had an amazing fund of hilarious Yankee jokes, and kept everyone in stitches. And the regional accents he could pull off! He liked to say, “Gudday how they hangin’?” in Arabic, with a Queensland accent. Laugh? I thought I’d die. And the collection of songs on his iPod was most eclectic. It was Yusuf who introduced me to Maroon 5, the coolest of bands.”
Zia Abdul Haq; Council worker by day preteen celebrant by night:
“Sharrouf was simply at peace with the world. He knew his place in the universe and was as one with it. Once I drove us out of Falluja, where he stayed for a time, on one of the few passable roads. We parked, and under a blank azure sky we chatted. I asked him why he kept looking upward—was he expecting a winged horse to descend from that blue expanse? “No, Zia,” he replied. “Somewhere up there is an all-seeing drone carrying a Hellfire missile with my name on it, a missile that the citizens of the West paid a million dollars for. But smart as that bomb is—and it’s plenty smart—it won’t find me, not today.” And he was right. That day.”
Photo by quapan 