“Now simmer down, Granny—aint’t no such thing as ham dust.”

“It’s raining cats and dogs out there, Jethro. Won’t be no possum huntin’ today.”

“Ye Gods! It’s nuclear fallout, Ygor! Civilization as we know it is doomed—doomed!”

“Run for your lives! The volcano has exploded! The ash will destroy everything in its path!”

“Do you have to eat beans everyday, Alfalfa? Honestly!”

“The gnats are getting in my soup, grandpa! Can’t we go home?”

 

Raining cats and dogs? It’s a play on words; who hasn’t stepped in a poodle? As for the rest—nuclear fallout, volcanic ash, Alfalfa’s flatulence, campfire bugs—nothing to worry about, everybody has ingested a little cesium-137 and so far nobody has grown horns. It’s human nature to complain. But suppose Jethro and say, Neville Shute, lived across the street from a pet food factory and had to put up with something far more dangerous to life, liberty and religious intolerance than cats and dogs, cesium-137 and volcanic ash—suppose they had to put up with ham dust? Ham dust? Yes, ham dust! Wouldn’t they be fit to be tied? Well—no, but it is what is threatening to happen to some folks in Merry Old England, Muslim folks who are terrified of ham dust!

Butcher’s Pet Care, a pet food firm, was hoping to open a factory in Cotton Park, Rugby, in Warwickshire, UK. Rugby is near Birmingham—Birmingham saw more than its share of pollution during the Industrial Revolution. Butcher’s Pet said the pet food plant was needed but protestors have put the facility on hold. Muslim residents are claiming that the pork used in the food will “rain down” on them like cats and dogs, like cesium-137, like volcanic ash. It will contaminate everything—make it impure. “Our religion,” said one protestor, “expressly forbids us to consume pig meat in any form. A significant proportion of meats used in pet food processes are pig meat.”

Some of the pig—an infinitesimal portion certainly—will go up the chimney in the form of vapor or dust. It will get in the air and come down as “pig rain.” It will get on everything! It will coat the vegetables in the garden; it will get on Hanadi’s burqa—make it glow in the dark! It will be in the air they breathe; it will get on the pages of the Qur’an and they will have to be cleaned! And the smell! The odor of ham and eggs! Yecch! Better to have ten million tires set on fire across the street than the smell of one bacon-burger. Then it got nasty—as it always does when they don’t immediately get their way.

“In this country we are allowed the right to follow our religion and religious beliefs,” cried one protestor. “By allowing this plan to go ahead our religious rights are being swept to one side for what appears to be economic greed.”

Had he wrapped himself in the Qur’an or the Union Jack? It scarcely matters. Dhimmis have no rights a Muslim need respect. A prostitute could have a more meaningful discussion on law and order with Jack the Ripper while being raped and murdered in an alley than a dhimmi can have with a Muslim on just about any subject. Silly? Nonsensical? The “I” in Islam stands for what?

Reason number one for not negotiating: On Islam's list of impure things pigs are number seven, the dhimmis at Butcher’s Pet Care are number eight. Would William Tecumseh Sherman talk to a group of people that considered him less pure than the sweat of an excrement-eating camel…less pure than blood-free snot? Please insert Sherman’s favorite cuss words.

“They’s people in England worried about ham dust getting’ on their vittles, Uncle Jed.”

“A Muslim is obliged to be clean spiritually, mentally and physically,” said one protestor. “We will be consuming pork via inhalation of this ‘rain.’ Not only that but our clothes will be contaminated by pork.”

In every life some rain must fall and it isn’t always in the form of ham dust. Shrapnel was been “raining” down on the Israelis for more than thirty years thanks to Hamas and their friends and few Muslims have complained, in fact, many hold it to be beneficial. And there are isotopes—how many Muslims protested when al-Qaeda threatened to wage radioactive war on American cities? Two? Three? There is a difference between ham dust and cesium-139 and strontium-90. Maybe it’s too subtle a difference for some of Rugby’s residents to comprehend.

How many Muslims protested or voiced concern when two Muslim youths were expelled from an Islamic school in Australia for urinating—“raining down”—on a Bible? It isn’t raining rain, you know—it is raining violets.

In Scotland, Doctors and health care workers have been ordered not to eat lunch at their desks during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan because it might offend Muslim workers. What are the odds of the ban becoming permanent? Never let a Wahhabi salesman get his foot in the door.

Sure, Butcher’s Pet Care can always build a factory somewhere else—in the Galapagos Islands, in the Bermuda Triangle, in Death Valley—but what about Andy Capp’s backyard barbecue? A little Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, chili powder, onions and the juiciest, most mouth-watering country style barbecued pork ribs in the world—wafted into the air on a friendly breeze—can draw a crowd of suburban dhimmis from as far away as three blocks. But what if a Muslim lives next door or across the street? Then what? It isn’t raining rain, you know—it is raining ham dust and it will be just as bad as if it were coming from a pet food factory. And when the protestors show up to say they are being contaminated, and eventually they will, what should Andy Capp say? (Please open the Andrew Jackson file and follow the directions) He should say what Butcher’s Pet Care hasn’t had the nerve or the courage to say. He should tell them to go to Hell!

It was they who immigrated to England; he was already there. They immigrated of their own free will. Their religion doesn’t trump the laws of their new nation. It they don’t like it they can go back to where they came from—or to Hell, which would be a considerable improvement over most of their countries of origin. It would be a defining moment—Shane stepping into Grafton’s Saloon to meet Wilson.

POSTSCRIPT

“What’s this ham dust Jethro’s been talking about, Jed? I’d like to try some on the collard greens. Can you drive me down to the General Store?”

“I reckon not, Granny. Jethro’s all mixed up. That ham dust stuff doesn’t exist. It turns out, it’s invisible. You can’t see it; you can’t feel it; you can’t taste it. You can put that pot away…you ain’t going anywhere.”

“Invisible? Are you sure? You can’t see it? You can’t taste it? You mean I got all dressed up for nothing?”

“Jethro says you have to be a Muslim.”

“A Muslim? Well, that don’t make any sense…Hmmm…Have you seen my switch, Jed…my good hickory switch? I’ m gonna have to teach that boy a lesson…Invisible ham dust…Oh, Jethro? Jethro honey? Granny’s got something for you…