What Happened to the Ayatollah

A Mystery Solved

by Paul Martin Freeman (April 2026)

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—
The Ayatollah’s disappeared:
It’s just as all his friends have feared;
But where he’s gone to none can tell,
My guess is though it’s down to Hell.
–
He’s with his wives and mullah chums:
They’re sitting there with burning bums.
He’s asking, “What on earth was that
For goodness sake that knocked me flat?”
–
“It must have been those bloody Jews—
I guess we’ll read it on the news.
I really they wish they hadn’t come:
It bloody hurts, my bloody bum!”
–
Just then the demons bring the tea:
It tastes of moldy camel pee.
“Oh dear,” he sighs, “not this as well!”
Then notices the roasting smell.
–
His bum’s on fire! It’s all ablaze!
He tries recalling happier days;
But sadly, nothing works for him—
Eternity is looking grim!
–
He pours the tea upon his bum:
Of all his wisdom this the sum.
But then he blames it on the Jews;
And, feeling better, has a snooze.
–
Now Larijani’s all ablaze
And casting round a worried gaze.
He, too, has woken up in Hell
And noticing the funny smell.
–
But then he tries a cup of tea
And finds he likes the camel pee.
It’s actually a nice surprise:
He must be sure to tell the guys!
–
He’s thinking, Hell is not so bad
And starts to feel a little glad.
At least he can’t see any Jews;
Then, smiling sweetly, has a snooze
—
It’s getting crowded down in Hell
With Soleimani there as well.
Khatib has joined the three for tea,
Opining on the camel pee.
–
The demons, though, are quite confused,
And, frankly, not the least amused.
He’s telling them it’s really sherry,
And now it seems they’re feeling merry.
–
For yes, the chums are getting plastered!
The Ayatollah, too, has mastered
The way to hold his nose and drink
To get around the awful stink.
–
But worse, they’re just about to sing:
The tea’s restored their pep and zing!
The Ayatollah’s warbling loudly
With all the rest applauding roundly.
–
He always wanted as a child
When other kids were running wild
To join a choir and sing at mass
And ever virtuous deeds amass.
–
But sadly, Mum had told him no:
To Sunday school he couldn’t go!
So ended up the Ayatollah
And never wore a lacy collar.
–
But now he has a chance to sing
And wants the whole of Hell to ring
With all the happiness and joy
Inside him since a little boy.
–
For all those years he’d struggled hard
When by the job so cruelly barred
From spreading love for humankind
And brotherhood for which he pined.
–
He leads the others by the hand—
By now they’re all completely canned—
They frolic up and down with glee:
That truly is a wondrous tea!
–
Now, so consumed are all with bliss
Some noises off our heroes miss.
The fiends though have a job to do
And sterling efforts must renew.
–
For Hell, like any place of work,
Requires employees not to shirk
The projects by the boss assigned
Like skiving off when so inclined.
–
It also frowns on taking home
Assignments then discussed by phone.
They’ve found this doesn’t fill the quota
Nor help the torture one iota.
–
Just then the trapdoor’s opened wide:
Oh heavens no! Where now to hide!
They look aghast with guilt and fear
And pray to quietly disappear.
–
The Devil’s come—he’ll make them pay!
They’re not in Hell, he screams, to play!
“Get back upon your burning bums!”
His eyes devour the drunken chums.
–
Dejectedly, they do as told;
Then suddenly they’re feeling old.
They blame it on the stupid booze,
And naturally, those bloody Jews.
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