Caliphate. Le Parfum.

With thanks to Darrin H. of australianidentity.net.

Siddiqui (of the otherwise commercially profligate but in this instance strictly non-alcohol Siddiquies) arrived in Sydney and was barely six weeks into target acquisition when he fell critically ill.

He went to doctor after doctor, but none of the unbelievers were of any use.

Desperate, he had no choice but to turn to his contacts in the State Department in D.C. who instantly directed him to a moderately genocidal Saudi Wahab practitioner who listened briefly to Siddiqui's list of symptoms, nodded sagely and quickly squeeked: "Take thees bocket, go into the other room, sheet into the bocket, piss on the sheet and then place you face directly over and down into the bocket and breathe in for ten minutes. Hamdellalah!

Siddiqui dutifully picked up the bucket, went into the other room, shit in the bucket, pissed on the shit, bent over and consumed the fumes for the prescribed full ten minutes.

Rushing back to the doctor's surgery, and completely ignoring the six seriously wounded explosives technicians patiently biding their time in the waiting room, he burst in and exclaimed: "Allahu Akbar! It worked! I feel terrific! I am ready for total Jihad! What was wrong with me?"

"You were homesick."

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