In Catalonia, there’s a summer drink that combines beer with lemon soda. In Barcelona, it’s called “clara.” Further South, it’s dubbed, most charmingly, a “champu,” as in Head and Shoulders. Champu is quite good at eliminating the dandruff inside your skull.
It is late summer, and I’m in Cambrils, drinking my second champu in Hawaii, a beach bar. The tables around me are mostly empty. I face the ocean. There are few bodies on the sand, and fewer in the water. It is peaceful here.
In 2001, Mohammed Atta and Ramzi bin al-Shibh, of 9/11 fame, were in Cambrils, however, and just 2 1/2 weeks ago, five Muslim “terrorists” were killed by police a few hundred feet from where I’m sitting.
It is said that at 1:15AM on August 18th, these Muslims drove their car through a police checkpoint outside the yacht club, then ran over six people, three of whom were cops. The three civilians were an old couple, and the woman’s sister. The wife, 61-year-old Ana Maria Suarez, died.
Exiting their car with knives and an ax, four Muslims were killed immediately by police, while the fifth was gunned down 270 meters away, but not before he had stabbed a civilian and taunted the cops, it is claimed.
A cellphone video shows an unarmed Moussa Oukabir, 17-years-old, acting rather hysterical, but you would be too if you had just witnessed four of your friends murdered. Shooting him many times, a cop executed Moussa.
Interestingly, Moussa was located by a helicopter. El Pais, “El quinto terrorista ha sido abatido poco después cuando ha sido localizado desde un helicóptero por los policías.” It was already in the air, get it? It seems they had tracked these five Muslim youths to Cambrils and killed them. That evening, these kids were caught on a service station’s camera. Buying snacks and sodas, they appeared quite relaxed because they had no idea what awaited them.
After Trotsky’s skull was cracked by an ice pick, the 60-year-old still had enough sense to order his bodyguards to not silence his assassin, “No, he must not be killed. He must talk.” When it comes to Muslims these days, the running order seems to be, “Kill them all so they can’t talk and contradict our bullshit charges against them.”
How many Muslims are needed to drive one suicide car? Five, of course. What’s the best, most lethal vehicle for the purpose? The compact Audi A3, naturally. What’s the best time to stage such an attack? 1:15AM, grasshopper, when there are almost nobody on the Paseo Maritimo. Finally, what should you wear for such a momentous and self-defining occasion? Fake suicide vests, stupid, because they serve no purpose besides giving cops an excuse to perforate you immediately.
I go to the spot where Moussa Oukabir was murdered to find women pushing strollers and kids on bikes. Life is back to normal. Outside the yacht club, there’s a cop with a submachine gun, however, with two toddlers within four feet of him. Seeing the armed man, the girl points. They create a false problem, then bring the solution, which you welcome because you don’t realize that it will be used to solve you.
Astonishingly moronic, the five Muslims in Cambrils made all the worst choices possible, but the rest of their “terrorist cell” weren’t any smarter, it is said.
Eight hours earlier, a van had killed 14 people and injured 130+ more in Barcelona, and the purported driver of that van, 22-year-old Younes Aboyaaqoub, had rented the vehicle with his own credit card. Very stupid. He also left his IDs in a second van, meant as a get-away car.
From 9/11, Charlie Hebdo, Paris’ Bataclan Concert Hall, Berlin’s Christmas Market to Barcelona, etc., Muslim mass murderers seem expert at leaving behind their identity papers. Otherwise, the official narrative can’t be broadcast immediately. Wait a week or a month for a proper investigation, and the public won’t have any idea what you’re talking about, fixated as they are on a Kardashian pumped up buttocks or Messi goal.
In the Catalan incidents, a Muslim who was neither in Barcelona nor Cambrils still managed to leave his identity papers in an incriminating van, it is said. Driss Ukabir had the wits to turn himself in, however, before he was gunned down in the street. Similarly framed, could you be that decisive?
Roberto, a 42-year-old Cambrils resident, reflected, “People are saying how stupid these guys are, because once you drive onto the Paseo Maritimo, you can’t get out! It’s also strange how all five of them were killed, because Spanish cops aren’t like that. You almost never hear about a cop killing anyone here.”
He paused to sip from his glass of Rioja Reserva, pronounced it excellent, leaned back, “All along that street, people were kept inside restaurants and stores until five in the morning.”
“On Las Ramblas in Barcelona, people were kept inside until nearly midnight,” I added.
Jonathan Revusky, “That’s probably because they need all that time to clean up the moulage. Imagine someone tripping over some moulage kit, from the Acme Corporation. That would be some major fuckup, wouldn’t it?”
Trained as an engineer, Roberto has traveled to Iraq and Cuba on business, and now makes most of his money as a musician and singer of bolero classics. “People talk of Europe being overrun by Muslims, but Europe has always been multicultural. Look at the Austro-Hungarian Empire and how many nationalities it had. What Merkel has done in Germany is incredible. She took in a million, a million and a half refugees, and there has been no major problem. It has been a great success, a miracle.”
Roberto’s father is Castillian and his mother, German, so he grew up speaking German also. His maternal grandfather, a Nazi, was killed during the last days of World War II.
On another night, I talked to Francisco, a 69-year-old retired professor of philosophy and English. The Padres resident said, “The new slogan is ‘no tengo miedo,’ but of course, I’m afraid, and many of ex-students are also afraid. When I was teaching, I could see the anger in my Arabic students’ eyes. Feeling socially excluded, of course they’re angry. To tell you the truth, I don’t much like Arab culture, how they treat their women. There are too many psychopaths among them, but of course, there are Spanish psychopaths also.”
Francisco’s favorite country is the United States, “When I came to New York the first time, I was jumping up and down, out of joy! I went to Florida, California. I overstayed my visa, got a job everywhere I went. I was a waiter at a Jewish fraternity. I did drugs with them. It was the 60’s, man. We need another counterculture revolution! There is too much corruption these days. Your average Spanish politician makes 7,000 Euros a month. That should be the minimum income, for everybody!”
Every so often, Francisco would grab his right side, “Oh, it’s my liver,” or his left knee. Two chicas at the next table drew his too naked glances. The restaurant owners are a couple whose husband is Spanish, and the wife, Chinese. One of the waiters is from Venezuela.