Don't Shout That
A waitress had just taken our order when we heard shouting outside in the street. Karen picked it as a Muslim attack straight away, but before we could even think how to respond one of the attackers barged through the door waving a knife and shouting about Allah this and Islam that. We could hear people screaming outside, and it was pretty obvious there had been stabbings, so everyone in the restaurant panicked. Another guy and I threw chairs at the guy with the knife, but everyone else tried to make themselves scarce. Karen had an ankle injury, so I pushed her under a table.
When the stabber looked like he was moving in her direction, I went over to the kitchen doors and yelled out, “Fucking Muslim cunt.” I was trying to make him come for me, to keep him as far away from Karen as possible. And that’s when this fucker cowering under a table near the doors said as plain as day, “Don’t shout that. You fucking idiot. It’s not Muslims.” Fuck me, if I’d had a knife I would have stubbed him myself. The stabber was shouting Allah and Islam over and over, like a broken record, and I said to him, “Hey, this guy here says you’re a fake Muslim.” I thought he might not take it well, but that’s an understatement. He went ape shit, and dragged this fucker out from under the table and stabbed him about twenty times.
I grabbed Karen and made a run for it while he was slicing and dicing the liberal twat. I guess I should be thankful, because without his sacrifice I think it might have been touch and go for a lot of us in there.
Of course, that’s not how it happened. What really happened was that after the plod squad shot the band of Muslim stabbers, the guy who had been throwing chairs in the restaurant with me went back and found the moron who’d told me not to be an Islamophobic cunt. Really? Some beard’s on a stabbing frenzy, and you call a guy a fucking idiot because he can see what’s in front of his own eyes? Anyway, we gave him a right thumping. He deserved it.
That’s not how it happened either. You’ll laugh when you hear it. The dickhead policing language under the table during a Muslim attack takes to Twitter afterwards and becomes a fucking hero. I kid you not. He’s a bloody hero. And the Met, because they’ve got nothing better to do, dedicate hundreds of man hours to track me down. All they had was my voice on that video, so they had to interview dozens of people. But interview them they did, and about a week later they smashed down my front door at 3:00 a.m. to answer “questions of a serious nature.” At my trial, the judge said I was a danger to Britain, that hate was not the answer, and that there was, and I quote, “no link between Islam and the attackers’ motivation”. I’ve been in solitary since I arrived, for my own safety. Apparently half the inmates have converted and want to kill me to curry favour with the beards who run the prison.
My granddad lost a leg in the war. I’m just glad he’s not alive to see how everything turned out.