heelers celebrates ramadan

Sitting in the Starbucks on Dawson Street watching the sexors go by.
Muslim music plays in the background.
You know.
The whiney sort they use for Tom Hanks films blaming the Free World for the War On Terror.
Neeerdly nir nir neerdly nirrr.
And so on ad infinitum.
I pause briefly to consider.
Why has Starbucks of Dawson Street been playing this unlistenable Arab drivel for the past five days?
And come to think of it, I was in another Starbucks on Grafton Street earlier today, and the same drivel was playing.
Neeerdly nir nir neeerdly nirrrrrrrrrrrr.
The sort of stuff that makes Michael D Higgins' poetry sound epic.
A thought strikes me.
Is it possible that Starbucks has capitulated to the Jihad boys?
This is after all the Muslim self designated holy month of Ramadan.
Mussies aren't supposed to drink coffee during daylight hours for the next thirty days.
Some of the Mussies in European cities have been quite forward in their attempts to compel non Muslims to buy into their fast, even going so far as to order certain coffee shops to shut down until Ramadan is over.
Shut down on pain of death, as they do say in the Jihad trade.
Ram it up your arse would be the standard recommended reply to that piece of Islamist aggression.
But Starbucks might be trying another method.
Appeasement.
Nir nir nirdly nir neeeerdly neeedly nir nir.
Finally I can take no more.
Taking a furtive look around to make sure none of the Arab staff are present, I approach the counter.
Sexy Miss Romania is on duty.
"Miss Romania, what the hell is this music!" I cry.
"You don't like it?" quoth she.
"It's awful," sez me.
"It's our new tape," explaineth she.
I goggle briefly.
"But what is it?" I expectorate. "Osama's Greatest Hits? His intriguing 1975 cross over album I'm not a transvestite, I'm Only Wearing This Burka To Blow You Up Baby. His 1980s flirtation with German electro funk We Fade To Shiite. I mean what the hell is it?"
"I'll change it if you like," proffers Miss Romania.
Over her shoulder one of the Arab waiters hoves into view.
His name tag reads Abu Bin Ahmed Al Mohammed Al Boom Boom Al Slash Yer Throat or something like that.
"That's okay," I fumble hastily. "I'm only trying to be funny."
My courage is never inadvertent.
It's always, gentle travellers of the internet, strictly vertent.
Happy Ramadan, y'all.