The murdering morons hiding behind Islam

SECURITY is a really important issue for people whose idea of a comfortable retirement involves turning themselves into a pink mist with eyeballs.

(FILES) This picture taken on January 14, 2016 shows Afif, who also uses the alias Sunakim, carrying his weapon on the street during attacks in the Indonesian capital Jakarta. Indonesia has identified one of five attackers in the deadly Jakarta violence as a previously-jailed militant whose picture snapped amid the mayhem went viral in the country as the grim face of Islamic extremism. Police say they have identified four of the five attackers, and late on January 15, released the first name, a militant named Afif. Many Indonesians go by a single name. CHINA OUT /HONG KONG OUT AFP PHOTO/XINHUA -----EDITORS NOTE---- RESTRICTED TO EDITORIAL USE - MANDATORY CREDIT "AFP PHOTO/XINHUA" - NO MARKETING NO ADVERTISING CAMPAIGNS - DISTRIBUTED AS A SERVICE TO CLIENTS

WESTERN governments spend billions on counter-terrorism measures which aim to anticipate and prevent future attacks. For the most part, except when counter-terrorism measures are needlessly extended to cover the likes of elderly white women so as not to appear discriminatory, this spending is obviously worthwhile.

Western governments also spend huge amounts attempting to analyse the attitudes and mindsets of current and potential terrorists. They seek ways to understand the pre-detonation mentality of suicide bombers and other murderous extremists. They try to work out what, besides a semtex ignition timer, makes them tick.

Every cent of this money is completely wasted, because Islamic terrorists are idiots.

For all the good it will do, you may as well analyse the mental processes of a toddler-munching pit bull as ponder the reasoning of someone who believes he is destined for paradise if he kills himself in the act of killing others. These deadly clowns, and their supporters and enablers, are beyond range of any human capacity for understanding.

Readers may have seen images last week of Indonesian terrorist Afif Sunakim strolling around a crowded Jakarta street with a pistol as his colleagues fired on police. Afif was killed soon after, rendering him only slightly less able to think than previously.

It later emerged this fellow had spent several years in prison after being caught attending a training boot camp for militants in Aceh.

That must be some training camp. Afif and fellow morons managed to kill just two people during their attempted insurrection, while five of the terrorists were variously shot or self-exploded, thus delivering a net return of minus three. If they were batsmen, they’d have averages in negative figures.

Over in Burkina Faso on Friday night, brave Islamic freedom fighters attacked their sworn enemies: people eating dinner at a nice restaurant near a popular hotel. Obviously the main barrier to the establishment of an Islamic caliphate across western Africa is UN officials and their families ordering a third course at the Cappuccino Café in Ouagadougou.

Afif, who also uses the alias Sunakim, carrying his weapon on the street during attacks in the Indonesian capital Jakarta / Picture: AFP

The local al-Qaeda franchise quickly claimed responsibility, saying it sent a message “written by the heroes of Islam with their blood and body parts”. That’s handy, because any other form of writing might have been a stretch. These types probably can’t spell their own names, but if you want something penned in a combination of sinew and lung, they’re just the ticket.

Every African dirtpile and every Middle Eastern hellstate have one of these al-Qaeda offshoots. Some places have dozens, all engaged in their version of a Coke-Pepsi rivalry with various tendrils of Islamic State. They’re like the Starbucks of suicide. The Burkina Faso wing has a particularly fine line in anti-Western rhetoric, claiming their attack was aimed at “the Cross-worshippers, the occupiers of our lands, the looters of our wealth and the abusers of our security”.

Security is a really important issue for people whose idea of a comfortable retirement involves turning themselves into a pink mist with eyeballs.

A few years ago the Wall Street Journal’s Maria Abi-Habib interviewed children who had escaped Islamic State training cells in Syria, where junior jihadis went through 45 days of training and a 15-day post grad course before being placed into roles suited to their level of ability. If trainees showed signs of intellect sufficient to outwit a tree stump, they would be assigned to the battlefield, put in charge of guarding military installations or allowed to serve as bodyguards. “The stupid ones,” one 14-year-old said, “were always chosen for suicide bombers.”

Stupid is, of course, a relative term. In the case of the dumbest kids within a bunch of illiterates who collectively would struggle to wash a hubcap without hurting themselves, we probably need a new, more descriptive phrase.

Even the Islamists who somehow live to adulthood don’t seem to become any smarter. Willie Brigitte looks vaguely bright, with his glasses and all, but the Caribbean-born Islamic convert nevertheless featured in Australia’s most hilariously dopey terrorist plot. With several co-conspirators, Brigitte planned to blow up the Lucas Heights nuclear reactor. You can see what they were thinking. It’s a nuclear reactor, so blowing it up would cause a Chernobyl-style meltdown with boiling radioactive clouds cascading across Sydney, killing millions. Why, it would be the greatest attack in history! Rejoice as all those infidels are vaporised by Allah’s vengeful, glowing hand!

Trouble is, even if the attack was successful, no such devastation would have occurred. At the time, the medical and research reactor at Lucas Heights could only generate a maximum of 10 megawatts. Chernobyl was an 8000 megawatt reactor. Even the twice-as-powerful replacement for the original Lucas Heights reactor has a uranium core 33,000 times smaller than the core at Chernobyl.

Free Willie didn’t remain so for long. After being deported he continued to pursue his terrorism hobby in France until being thrown into the Fleury-Merogis prison, where authorities long ago gave up trying to extract from him any useful information. They’re even less interested in understanding his motivation or tapping into what passes for his mind. There is no point, when it comes to terrorists. No point at all.

TAKE NOTE, I’M STILL OBSESSED BY SPORT

I’M a former sports reporter, a role that lasted until people became aware of my own pathetic sporting history. Elite athletes prefer being interviewed by someone who didn’t need books and night classes so he could learn how to run.

Still, certain habits remain. I can’t watch sport, any sport, without taking notes. This occurs even though I’m not planning to write anything about whatever event I’m watching. My whole house is full of notebooks and pads crammed with cryptic messages to myself about long-forgotten games and contests.

“Three goals left foot one right — St Kilda,” reads one from 2011.

Observe that I’ve omitted the player’s name, which might point to another reason I was shifted from the sports desk.

Other notes are possibly more illuminating. Forget the 300-plus sixes that have been hit in this year’s edition of the Big Bash League. Divide each game up into five-over brackets and more than 40 of those brackets feature consecutive six-run overs. The lowest amount scored in a completed five-over bracket? Just 17. Highest? 91.

It’s all very Aspergery, I know, but I’m not alone in this. Some of us note nerds can even be helpful.

A few years ago I was at Melbourne’s Sandown racetrack to see a V8 Supercar race when the attention of some in the crowd fell on an older chap.

He was up to his neck in paperwork and kept scribbling away with every passing lap.

Everyone was gently amused by this. And then it rained. Some cars headed for the pits. Others remained on track. Still others slid off. It was chaotic. The race announcer lost his bearings for a time. Nobody knew who was leading. Nobody except the old guy, who immediately became our primary source for race data. Even when he was explaining the race to us, he still found time to update the progress of every competitor. Naturally, this alert retiree was a former sports reporter.

None of my notes, by comparison, have any explanatory value whatsoever. If anything they only make matters more obscure, especially when I’ve covered multiple events on the one sheet of A4. Anyone attempting to analyse this information might conclude that the 2014 NRL grand final was won by Protectionist and Ellyse Perry once finished second in the Stawell Gift.

Anyway, you’ll all be coming to me for your sports results when the internet is finally outlawed. Just don’t expect accuracy.

Now leave me be. There’s a Bangladesh versus Zimbabwe Test match I need to watch.