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Halal, Theo and ISIS

Theo had been acting a bit… Different.

Being different, of course, is what Theo does.

Jessie was the first to notice.

“Lazlo… Have you noticed that Theo has been wearing the same white sweat pants and hoodie for two weeks now?”


“Yes, the stains are the same every day except he’s got a new stain today. I think he sharted or some thing,” Jessie said.

Then a long discussion took place regarding Theo and his shift from World of Warcraft addict to his living in the garage naked phase to the Native American in a tent period to, well, Mr Stained Snowman.

“You should talk to him,” she said.


If there’s one thing I know about Theo it is that I never want to talk to Theo.

I know this sounds heartless but sometimes I wish he would go into either a “hobo wandering the highways” phase or maybe a “is that Theo on the Amber Alert” phase.

Theo wandered into the house around 4 pm. Jessie glared at me until, finally, I simply said:

“Hey Theo, we need to talk.”

Theo’s face turned white, paler than his well stained hoodie.

“I knew this was coming,” he said.

“You knew what was coming?” Jessie asked.

“I knew this was coming,” he said, sweat running down his fat face. “This whole intervention thing.”


Fuck me.

Theo burst into tears and said he knew we loved him. Jessie laughed hysterically. Theo ignored her and began explaining that he knows he’s a sex addict and he is trying to change but change is difficult.

“When I was a kid. My mom would lecture me about masturbating too much. She said it was disgusting how many socks I was going through. I lied and said the stains were from blisters on my feet that kept popping. She called me liar so I started sucking the cum out of my sock each time to hide it.”

I gagged.

“Woah… Wait, was the sock clean or dirty before you jizzed into it?” I asked.

“It was dirty…” Theo said.

“Theo,” Jessie said. “We all know you are Mr. Faggalicious. But this isn’t an intervention, gaytard.”

“It’s not?” he stammered.

“No, dude. We just want you to put on clean clothes,” I said.

“Theo, honey, it’s June,” Jessie said. “We live in Houston. I think you would feel better if you put the sweat suit away.”

“You shit your pants,” I said.

Theo suddenly became enraged at us.

“I will not change!” he yelled. “The white signifies the purity I have found now that I follow Mohammed.”

“Okay, but the front of your hoodie signifies that you should eat with a bib and, well, we think you shit your pants,” I said.

“Or… Sat in a candy bar?” Jessie said.

“I don’t eat candy bars. They are not halal.”

“You aren’t Muslim. Just like you weren’t a wizard warrior or a Navajo brave or Jessie’s love interest,” I said.

“Is a shit streak halal?” Jessie said.

“I fucking hate all of you!” Theo screamed. “I thought you cared about my sexual addiction and my new faith!”

“Don’t care,” Jessie said.

“Seriously, change your clothes,” I reasoned.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you! Fuck America, the Great Satan! Ali at was right. I’m going to join my brothers in Syria.”

“Just make sure you change because poopie pants will give you a rash,” I said.

“Fuck off!” Theo said and turned to run  outside.

Unfortunately, the sliding door was closed and he slammed his face into it. He made this guttural noise and said either “Allah” or “Holla” or “Owla” and fell to the ground.

I checked his pulse.

“He’s out cold,” I said.

“Ewww… You touched him,” Jessie said.

About Suburban War Lord

Suburban War Lord

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