<html><head><base href="x-msg://96/"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space; "><br><div><br><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; "><div bgcolor="white" lang="EN-AU" link="blue" vlink="purple"><div class="Section1"><div style="margin-right: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Tw Cen MT', sans-serif; margin-top: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><o:p> </o:p></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Tw Cen MT', sans-serif; margin-top: 0cm; margin-bottom: 12pt; "><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> The Politically Incorrect Mother of All Jokes<br> <br> BRACE YOURSELF!<br> <br> Two Middle Eastern mothers are sitting in a cafe chatting over a plate of<span style="color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>tabouli and a pint of goat's milk. The older of the mothers pulls a bag<br> out of her purse and starts flipping through photos and they both start<span style="color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span> reminiscing.<br> “This is my oldest son Mohammed. He would be 24 years old now.”<br> “Yes, I remember him as a baby" says the other mother cheerfully.<br> “He's a martyr now though” mum confides.<br> “Oh, so sad dear” says the other.<br> “And this is my second son Kalid.. He would be 21.”<br> “Oh, I remember him,” says the other happily. “He had such curly hair<span style="color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>when he was born.”<br> “He's a martyr too” says mum quietly.<br> Oh, gracious me...” says the other.<br> “And this is my third son, my baby, my beautiful Ahmed. He would be<span style="color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>18,” she whispers.<br> “Yes” says the friend enthusiastically, “I remember when he first<span style="color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>started school.”<br> “He's a martyr also,” says mum, with tears in her eyes.<br> After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully<span style="color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>at the photographs and says...“They blow up so fast, don't they?”</span></p></div></div></span></div></body></html>