**Message from Caliph Abu Ja'far Al-Mansur to the Accidental Politician**

[John Churchilly]

translation from Arabic by Google. Maybe u find some mistakes.

**Message from Caliph Abu Ja'far Al-Mansur to the Accidental Politician**

After the preamble, I have been informed, you despicable lowlife, of your audacity against our high standing and your transgressions against our cherished capital, Baghdad. Because you and your afflicted cohorts have never once read history, I find myself compelled to remind you that the last person to dare defy us over 1200 years ago was the Roman king Nikephoros, who broke the agreement made by Queen Irene to pay us tribute. In response, we attacked and conquered the Byzantine city of Heraclea with our armies, defeated him, humiliated him, and he then begged for forgiveness and pledged to pay us double the tribute (this happened during the time of our son, Harun al-Rashid).

My era was one of civilization, science, trade, culture, and the arts. Your era, and that of your ilk, is one of darkness, backwardness, decline, misery, and vice.

My Baghdad was a great cultural landmark, unmatched by any other city in human heritage, eternally linked to my name. Your Baghdad, and that of your failures, tops the list of the most miserable and worst living cities.

In my time, Baghdad ruled a quarter of the Earth, and in your time, with your traitors and collaborators, there isn't a single corner of Baghdad untouched by the intelligence agencies of neighboring countries.

My legendary library in Baghdad, the House of Wisdom, attracted scholars from all over the world to read, study, and research its thousands of books. Your central library in Baghdad is empty after you looted everything in it.

My era is the era of Jabir ibn Hayyan, who established the experimental method in sciences with my support and his students. Your era, and that of your backward cohorts, is the era of Abu Ali al-Shaybani, who established the methods of fortune-telling, harnessing jinn, witchcraft, and debauchery.

Poetry in my time was the poetry of Abu al-Atahiya and Al-Asma'i. Poetry in your time, and that of your degenerates, is the poetry of Shahad al-Shammari.

My Baghdad attracted all scientists, doctors, engineers, and craftsmen. Your Baghdad, and that of your murderers, has expelled all scientists, doctors, engineers, and craftsmen.

India, China, and Europe sent their envoys seeking my friendship and begging for my favor. You and your failures are begging for the friendship of Mauritania, the Comoros, and Somalia.

My Baghdad was a mischievous child dancing to the tunes of Ibrahim al-Mawsili and the melodious voice of Zat al-Khal. Your Baghdad, and that of your perverts, is an old, miserable woman slapping her cheeks to the rhythms of Sayyid Faqid al-Mousawi.

I used to roam the markets and councils in disguise to know the conditions of the subjects. You and your cowards haven't left the Green Zone for years out of fear of the people.

The water clock gifted by our son Harun al-Rashid to King Charlemagne of France amazed him and his monks, who thought it inhabited by a devil. You and your outcasts are inhabited by devils in your bodies and minds.

In my time, lamps were used for the first time to light up Baghdad. Your era, and that of your corrupt companions, is the era of fake contracts that have darkened Baghdad.

My era is the era of canals, irrigation channels, and bridges, leading to surplus crops exported to neighboring countries. Your era, and that of your forgers, is the era of importing onions from neighbors.

In my time, wells were dug along the pilgrimage route from Baghdad to Mecca to provide water for pilgrims. In your time, and that of your degenerates, Basra has died of thirst.

In my time, Baghdad inaugurated its first paper mill. In your time, and that of your adulterers, Maysan's largest paper mill has closed.

I am remembered in history books, and my son Harun al-Rashid is mentioned in German chronicles as Aaron and in Chinese and Japanese annals as Alun. Who are you and your degenerates?