Can a scowl be smug? It can be when it rests on the
face of a megalomaniac convinced that the privileged
puissance of his mission will encounter no obstacles
too great for his energies of persuasion to transcend.
The scowl is a permanent fixture, an outer reflection of a
deep-seated aversion to authority other than his
unquestioned own capable of storming the ramparts
of reason and justice to forge his very own conquest
in service to a sacred vision he has inherited from
one to whom the mountain refused to move. To him
however, the mountain will shift accommodatingly
in response to his skilled capabilities, his bellicose
rhetoric, his belligerent threats, the very power and
thrust of his unassailable argument of Islam as the
great slayer of false beliefs, the purveyor of peace
in the raucous world of conflict. For as anyone with
a single molecule of cerebral capacity is aware that in
the immortal words of Recep Tayyip Erdogan: The
mosques are our barracks, the domes our helmets,
the minarets our bayonets and the faithful our soldiers.
Concise, clear and entirely reflective of the mission
selflessly embarked upon by the man whose blessed
existence sparks the second coming of Mohammad.
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