Yo, So, Get This - When The First German Saving Bank Decided To Flip The Script And Become An Islamic

Yo, so, get this - when the first German Saving Bank decided to flip the script and become an Islamic bank, it totally shook things up, especially when it came to the dress code. It was like a whole new world, fam, talk about a drastic makeover!

Zamzam's Blessing

With @next-pharaoh

Thomas could not believe he had made it. After toiling through what seemed to be all of Saudi Arabia, he had finally found himself in front of the Zamzam Well. According to the Islamic narratives, the well was a miraculously generated source of water which had opened up thousands of years ago for the son of Ibrahim, Ismaʿil. The legends and lore went on and on, and Thomas could see why. What stood before him was incredible.

Stepping a bit closer to the fount, Thomas could only imagine how silly he must have looked. Some scrawny white tourist, already sunburned after two days barely spent in the desert. Atheist nonetheless; he was certainly not the well’s typical affair. But he had had a passion for worldly monuments ever since he was little, including religiously-affiliated ones. When he had decided to take this journey, he had known it would be difficult, but now Thomas could finally find it worth it.

Smiling, Thomas peered a little farther forward, not noticing his foot catch on the edge of the gate protecting the holy well. With a small yelp, he felt himself lose his footing and tumble directly into the hole. Thomas immediately descended into the hole, each second flying by before splashing into the water. 

Thomas took a quick gulp of air as his panic began to rise. Questions began flying around as if they were bouncing off the well’s walls. How could he have been so careless? Was he going to be able to survive this? Did someone see him fall? Would he be deported? And last but not least: why was he not drowning?

With an awkward blink, Thomas considered that last question again. Timidly, he just barely opened his mouth to relieve some pressure. He was not prepared for his breath to be restored. Hesitantly accepting this realization, Thomas tested a bit more, until eventually he realized he could breathe while underneath the well’s water. It was strange, unsettling, and frankly exhilarating to the non-believer. It was as if he was trapped in a womb.

And like a womb, the water was getting warmer. The panic began to resettle as Thomas realized just how quickly the pool was heating up. The hot water was cooking him, streaming through every hole and crevice it could into his body. Thanks to the smallest amount of light from above, Thomas was able to witness his miraculous transformation.

It started first with Thomas’s skin. The low boil of the water burned him, but instead of leaving reddish scars, it darkened his exterior. Thomas’s skin crisped into a warmer brown, his hair darkened to a rich black, and his facial features subtly shifted to reflect a new masculine, Middle Eastern heritage. As his nose grew wider and eyes inhabited a deep, rich brown, Thomas could not help but emit heartfelt moan underneath the water’s surface.

The masculinization came next, for the well gifted Thomas with the prime body to carry out its will. Broadened shoulders now led to massive arms meant to carry the Qur'an's wisdom. A sturdy chest then traveled down to impenetrable legs to carry the new man across the world to aid in reversion. Larger feet to stomp out the dissension, a virile pouch to spread the Arabian seed. Thomas’s body was built to be an unstoppable Islamic machine.

And finally, his mind would become one with his new mission. In ecstasy, Thomas cried out as his past was rewritten for a new destiny. His old beliefs and ideals dissolved, replaced by a new understanding and acceptance. The atheist wonder that had once fueled his rhetoric was rewritten by Islamic empathy and peace. The passion Thomas once derived from multiculturalism was extinguished, replaced with an appreciation for full reversion.

As his transformation settled in, the well’s water level began to rise. Thomas’s metaphorical womb was ready to give birth to its newest disciple. The warm embrace rushed around him as he was pushed up and up, his magnificent body adapting to the masterful current. As his final change was instituted, the water exalted its creation to the top, leaving the Arab man dry beside the well.

“Ah, I thought I heard the well’s waters again,” a gravelly voice chuckled. “It had been a while since anyone was blessed.”

From the other side of the well stood an old janitor. The rest of the exhibit was empty, suggesting that the historic site had been closed for a while now. The janitor came around the fount and helped the sturdy Arab man up, leading him to a small room off to the side of the exhibit.

“What’s your name, brother?” the janitor asked.

“Tariq,” the Islamic disciple answered with the utmost clarity. “What just happened?"

“The well blessed you” the janitor replied, now searching through a drawer. "I thought it was fairly obvious."

Looking upon himself, Tariq was surprised to have not noticed earlier that he was bare besides a pair of underwear. By its branding, he knew the janitor's words were true.

“You can have these.” The janitor tossed a pearly white thobe to Tariq. “Now go out, you know your mission.”

I’m sure Tom Daley isn’t the only Olympian that has experienced such an enlightening transformation

Switching teams and going for the bronze(r)

Tom Daley had just secured his fifth Olympic medal, a momentous occasion as it was also his first silver in the synchronized diving 10m platform competition. The jubilation was still evident as he exited the arena, his excitement glowing in every step. He was practically buoyant with triumph, his smile a testament to the pride and joy of the achievement. His eyes sparkled with an electrifying mix of relief and euphoria, reflecting the culmination of years of hard work and dedication.

After soaking in the last of the accolades, Tom headed towards the locker room, his mind already shifting from the competition to the more mundane pleasures of unwinding. He slipped into the showers, the cool, cascading water a welcome reprieve from the day's adrenaline rush. As he disrobed, his toned body was revealed in all its glory, a symphony of muscle and definition crafted through relentless effort.

Tom’s physique was nothing short of a sculptor’s dream. Broad shoulders seamlessly tapered down to a chiseled waist, presenting a v-shaped silhouette that could be considered almost mythological in its perfection. His biceps and triceps, visibly rippling with each movement, underscored the countless hours spent honing his form. His abs, a masterclass in abdominal architecture, were nothing short of awe-inspiring. Each muscle was sharply defined, creating a washboard of six-pack abs that almost seemed to glow with the allure of his hard-earned dedication. Every shift and flex of his stomach muscles showcased a fluid grace, designed to flaunt his physical prowess.

As he reached for a bottle of shampoo labeled "Swagger Silk," Tom’s attention was momentarily diverted. He began to lather his body up, the rich, foamy suds mixing with the water. Without noticing, a deep, brown tan began to cascade down his body, spreading like a liquid bronze sheen. The effect was subtle at first, but as the shampoo's luxurious foam mingled with the water, it became more pronounced.

The transformation was gradual but striking. Tom's body, previously well-defined and toned, began to grow in height, his physique expanding with a noticeable increase in mass. His muscles bulged and swelled, each sinew becoming more pronounced and sculpted. His shoulders broadened further, and his biceps and triceps took on an even more impressive definition. His abs, already a dazzling display, evolved into a more pronounced and awe-inspiring six-pack, each muscle delineated with almost supernatural precision.

His skin, now a rich, sun-kissed brown, highlighted his enhanced physique with a striking contrast. The muscles of his chest, arms, and abdomen appeared more defined and pronounced, each ripple and curve accentuated by the deepened tan. The water and suds created a mesmerizing interplay, making his newly expanded and more powerful form even more captivating.

Tom’s face, equally captivating, remained a striking feature. His chiseled jawline and high cheekbones caught the light, creating a visage that seemed both regal and commanding. His eyes, dark and intense, continued to hold that smoldering charisma, a silent promise of adventure and indulgence. His hair, immaculately styled, framed his face with effortless sophistication, adding to his overall aura of polished perfection.

As Tom Daley finished basking in the afterglow of his achievement, his mind began to shift in unexpected ways. The euphoria of securing his fifth Olympic medal, a silver in synchronized diving, was still fresh, but the effects of the shampoo, with its strange, transformative properties, began to alter him in unforeseen ways. With each passing moment, Tom felt a gradual but unmistakable dulling of his mental sharpness. His thoughts became slower, more disjointed, and a peculiar, almost childlike laugh escaped his lips as he absentmindedly played with his newly expanded chest. His once-masterful movements grew clumsy; he fumbled with the shower controls and began to forget the fundamental techniques of diving and swimming that had been second nature to him for years.

As he stared at his reflection, his once-chiseled, refined features started to morph into something altogether different. His face, previously a striking example of Middle Eastern elegance with a strong jawline and high cheekbones, began to distort into a more exaggerated, almost cartoonish version of itself. His features grew more pronounced, his jawline more brutish, and his cheekbones more angular, giving him a somewhat sinister appearance. The transformation extended beyond mere appearance; his demeanor changed drastically. Where there had been pride and dedication, there was now a burgeoning cruelty and obnoxiousness. Tom’s self-assured charm gave way to an entitled arrogance that was both jarring and complete.

His once sophisticated demeanor now manifested as a loud, brash persona. He couldn’t help but smirk with a cocky grin as he turned off the shower, his attitude reflecting the newly adopted arrogance. The elaborate world he now embraced was one of ostentation and indulgence. The high-end, entitled Arab “bro” that emerged was the epitome of excess and swagger, a figure who reveled in the pinnacle of luxury and social status.

His life was a glittering showcase of opulence. His passion for luxury cars and motorcycles was a performance art of its own, his garage a temple to automotive perfection. From sleek Lamborghinis to roaring Ducatis, each vehicle was a testament to his refined taste and immense wealth. His social media was a stage where he paraded these acquisitions with digital bravado, each post dripping with self-satisfaction and dominance.

Fitness was no longer just a hobby but a religion, with his gym sessions turning into legendary displays of muscle and power. His selfies, flaunting his physique, became a visual sermon on the virtues of dedication, accompanied by hashtags like #MuscleGod and #GainsOnGains. His body was his divine offering, sculpted and polished to a perfection that he displayed with relentless pride.

Fashion became his battlefield, where he wielded designer labels like armor. His wardrobe was a collection of haute couture, tailored to showcase both his wealth and taste. Each outfit was a statement, accessorized with watches and jewelry that spoke volumes of his superior status.

Partying and socializing were his playgrounds, his presence at exclusive events and private yacht parties a theatrical display of high-profile enjoyment. His social media was alive with images of his nightlife escapades, his grin suggesting he lived a dream that others only aspired to.

In the modern elite's vibrant social whirlpool, Tom had morphed into an unapologetic maestro of opulence and swagger. His life, now an exaggerated display of luxury and arrogance, was a carefully curated cocktail of unbridled arrogance and charming charisma. Every aspect of his existence—from his luxury cars to his high-end fashion, from his extravagant parties to his cutting-edge tech—reverberated with the unmistakable hum of high status and indulgent flair. In this new persona, Tom Daley had become the very epitome of excess and self-assuredness, a living testament to the allure of the meticulously curated, high-status lifestyle.

Tom Daley emerged from the shower, a newly minted figure of grandeur and confidence. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, admiring his reflection with a mix of awe and vanity. His physique, now larger and more pronounced, gleamed with a golden sheen, a testament to his ostentatious transformation. Flexing his biceps and running a hand down his sculpted abs, he marveled at the almost exaggerated definition of his muscles. His reflection showed a Herculean figure, every sinew and curve screaming excess.

Next, Tom selected an outfit that mirrored his newfound arrogance. He chose tight, glossy leather pants that hugged his beefed-up thighs and calves, accentuating each swell of muscle. The pants were paired with a sleeveless metallic shirt that glittered under the fluorescent lights, emphasizing his chest and abs with every shift. Completing the look were oversized sunglasses and a gaudy gold chain that seemed to scream vanity and extravagance. The ensemble was both flashy and provocative, perfectly representing his transformed identity.

As he admired himself, his phone buzzed incessantly, each notification a new reminder of his altered reality. The texts, arriving one after another, began to chip away at his previous life: “Hey T! 😘 You’re looking absolutely incredible lately. How about we grab a drink tonight? 🍸”

T’s eyes sparkled as he read the message. A cocky grin spread across his face. He felt a rush of desire and self-satisfaction, savoring the attention. The message made him feel more powerful and alluring, reinforcing his new persona. He continued to bask in his reflection, but his phone buzzed again “Just saw your post! 🔥🔥 I’d love to get to know you better. Any chance you’re free this weekend? 💋”

Each notification seemed to pull him further from his previous life, erasing the remnants of his once-happy gay marriage. The flirtatious tone of the message added fuel to his burgeoning sense of entitlement. He could almost feel the fog of lust and desire clouding his mind, the excitement of the attention turning into a palpable craving. As Tom composed a response, another text arrived “T---, you’re turning heads everywhere! Let’s meet up for a private party at my place. 😉”

The constant stream of flirtation was intoxicating, each message reinforcing his growing arrogance and self-importance. His grin widened as he envisioned himself as the center of attention at a private party. The seductive undertones of the message only intensified his transformation. His phone buzzed once more, “Can’t stop thinking about how amazing you looked today. Let’s make some plans soon! 😈”

The flood of attention was overwhelming. Each text solidified his new identity, pushing him further into the realm of superficial allure. The lines between Tom Daley and his new persona began to blur, his previous life as a happily married gay man gradually fading away. The name "Tom Daley" slipped from his mind, replaced by something more exotic and brash.

Tom’s thoughts became muddled, his once-clear sense of self clouded by a fog of lust and indulgence. The name "Tamim" began to take shape in his mind, embodying the essence of a cocky, entitled Arabic bro. The transformation was complete. Tamim was now the epitome of high-status arrogance and excessive charm, thriving on ostentation and self-adulation. His life, once filled with genuine love and commitment, had been replaced by a world of superficial allure and luxury. The fog of desire swirled around him, solidifying his new identity as Tamim, the ultimate embodiment of opulent arrogance.

As Tamim's thoughts became more and more consumed by his new persona, a distinct bulge began to form in his pants. His mind was racing with images of lavish parties, exotic dancers, and the countless women who desired him simply for his wealth and status. The transformation was complete - he was now the ultimate representation of opulent arrogance.

Suddenly, a notification sounded on his phone indicating that he had received a text message. Without hesitation, Tamim reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. As he read through the message from an unknown number, a look of disdain crossed his face; it was clearly some basic white bitch trying to get her hands on him for attention or money or both! But instead of ignoring her like any normal person would do in such situations, Tamim decided to play along… just because he could!

"Hey there sweetheart," he said, reading out loud the slut's text, in an overly flirtatious tone that would make even seasoned playboys blush," I might be able to help you out if you know what I mean." He winked cheekily at no one in particular before typing back: "I know exactly what you want darling… meet me at my penthouse tonight at midnight sharp!" Pressing send with confidence beyond measure; after all – who could resist an invitation like that?

Tamim's mind was filled with a final burst of gay intrusive thoughts, but he pushed them away with a forceful determination. His soul burned with an intense anger towards those who would dare to question his masculinity or threaten his dominance. With every fiber of his being, he rejected these unwanted ideas and embraced the persona he had created for himself - that of an entitled, obnoxious Middle Eastern douchebag.

Feeling renewed and empowered by this inner transformation, Tamim reached for the bottle of cologne on his dresser and sprayed it generously over his body. The cloying scent was meant to repel any potential suitors who might not meet his high standards; instead, it served as a powerful reminder to everyone else that they were beneath him in every way possible.

Satisfied with how he looked and smelled (or at least as satisfied as someone like him could ever be), Tamim made one last check in the mirror before heading out into the world once more – ready to conquer new heights of luxury while trampling over anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with him.

The Stages of Arabization

With @next-pharaoh

“Jeez, it’s so bright here,” Henry oriented his phone up in front of the sun, hoping to block out a few of the direct rays.

“Well, you are closer to the equator,” his boyfriend, Alex, joked. “Dubai is a bit farther south than Boston.”

Henry rolled his eyes, “What would I do without that intelligence of yours?” 

“Too bad you don’t have your own.” They both laughed at that remark. The pair had started dating in graduate school, with Alex venturing down the path of mathematics and Henry following the racial trends of Sub-Saharan Africa. Everyone joked it should have been the other way around, given Henry’s geeky, pale exterior fit the math nerd stereotype better than Alex’s lanky, darker frame. But Henry loved his studies, so much so that he had been invited to a conference in the United Arab Emirates to talk on them.

Suddenly, Henry received an email notification from one of his sponsors. “Dang, looks like I have to get back to work. Just received an essay to review before the next presentation.”

“How long do you have?”

“Barely 30 minutes.”

“Well forward it to me,” Alex replied. “We can tag team it. I know this isn’t my strong suit but at least I can help cover more ground.”

Henry thought that was a great idea. Without a second thought, he redirected the email and wished his boyfriend goodbye. Alex would send his thoughts over text when he had finished.

“‘The Stages of Arabization’,” Henry recited aloud. He was planning to head inside to read–gingers burnt way too easily in the direct sunlight–but he noticed the writing was pretty short. Barely even a page. Henry was surprised to realize the essay was in Arabic, but he quickly utilized a translator app to resolve the issue.

Stage 1: Islamization  Islam becomes the majority religion or state religion.

Strange formatting, but Henry understood the statement as rather truthful. The historically successful Arabizations of Morocco, Algeria, and Egypt had followed a similar suit. Even some of the countries he had studied had shown signs of this progression.

Stage 2: Linguistic Arabization Islam brings fixation on Arabic language, thus the Arabic language becomes central to the society's identity. Arabic becomes the state language.

Henry found this statement agreeable as well. There was something so methodical about the Arabic language, how it melodically ebbed and flowed in such a way that it twirled through the hearing canals directly into the brain. Anyone who listened to it almost became entranced, as if captured by its beauty and awakened by its fluidity. Henry closed the translator app before continuing on. 

Stage 3: Cultural Arabization Arab cultural practices become common due to Islamization. Own cultural heritage is deemed closer to ages of ignorance and thus gradually forgotten and replaced with Islam.

Henry had followed this trend through his research. Many of the countries he had analyzed over the years had demonized their traditional practices once introduced to Islamic culture. It was like watching a child being given a new toy; the original quickly discarded for one deemed far more superior. These assimilations had even started to appear in Henry’s life. Thobes were the new fashion craze among his fellow researchers, midday prayer rooms had taken over labs, and even the cafeteria had become completely halal.

Stage 4: Ethnic Arabization Planned migration of many Arab tribes and deliberate suppression of the numbers of natives, consequently major demographic shift. Media encourages Arabs to multiply and mix.

This too had arrived in the workplace. Rapidly, it had become obvious that the university was prioritizing hiring Arab and Arab-American employees. Political discourse on abortion had suddenly disappeared, instead dropping birth control from medical insurances and advertising “Reversion Through Fertilization”. Luckily, Hussein had not been influenced much by this change. In fact, he almost felt as if he was somehow a part of it.

Stage 5: Fully Arab State Arabs and the Arabized become elite and majority. Non-Arabized are shunned and pressured to revert until no opposition remains.

Hussein smiled with pride, closing the essay he was sure to give high remarks to. His best friend Ali had a similar response, a text from him glowing with praise about the truth in the writer’s words. The essay was eloquent, thought-provoking, and would become mandatory literature at his lab, and soon throughout the reverting world. It reflected the future, similarly to his own phone screen: masculine, virile Arab men. Hussein felt a divine sense of conformity with Islam, one all were soon destined to see.

Indian Nationalist 🇮🇳

In Mumbai, Malhar was known for his fiery speeches against what he saw as the invasion of foreign cultures. He had always hated Arabs and Islam. His passionate rants were a common feature at rallies, where he railed against the threats to his country’s identity.

One day, Malhar found himself in Saudi Arabia for a business trip. As he walked through the streets of Riyadh, he couldn't shake off the discomfort that came with being in a country whose culture and religion he hated. He headed toward a mosque where he intended to make his hate known.

As he approached, he saw a large crowd of Arab men gathered outside. They were preparing for the evening prayers. The area was packed, with people standing shoulder to shoulder. Malhar was driven by his frustration and decided to push through the crowd to reach the front.

However, as he tried to force his way through, he found himself increasingly trapped. The crowd was so dense that moving was almost impossible. He was surrounded by people, and the sounds of prayers and murmured supplications filled the air. Malhar began to feel an unusual sensation, as if the atmosphere itself was pressing in on him.

The discomfort was at first physical, but soon it turned deeper. Malhar’s skin, which had been a deep brown, began to lighten. His facial features started to change subtly, aligning more with the features he had so long hated. His once fiercely nationalist thoughts began to fade, replaced by innocence, obedience to the sunnah and calmness.

As he was enveloped by the crowd, he felt more change occurring within him. His old beliefs and prejudices dissolved, replaced by a new understanding and acceptance. The anger and bitterness that had once fueled his rhetoric were now replaced by empathy and peace.

When Malhar finally emerged from the crowd, he was no longer the man he had been. Standing in the street, he looked around and realized people called him Marwan. The memories of his former self were vague and distant, as if they belonged to someone else entirely.

Without hesitation, Marwan turned back toward the mosque. He joined the crowd of faithful Arab men with their rituals and prayers. As he knelt in submission, he felt a connection to the traditions and beliefs he had once avoided.

Little Brother

With @next-pharaoh

“Eh, dirty Arab,” Markus muttered to himself, squeezing into the aisle seat next to the younger brown man beside him. He could only hope his suit would not get filthy while next to the fellow. Markus was on his way to a meeting across the country, hoping to be promoted to an associate at his law practice.

“I’m sorry, what did you say, zalameh?” Markus’s new acquaintance asked innocently. Markus grimaced at the hair that seemingly covered every exposed part of the young man’s body, and the musk that naturally wafted off of it.

“Nothing, nevermind.” Markus did not want to get into an argument. He was not worried about the other passenger’s size–Markus's hobby of weightlifting would definitely make it an even match–but he was on a plane. They were going to sit together for at least three hours.

“Picking a fight with me is rather bold,” the man beside him warned. “Just because we are in public does not mean your big brother Khalil won’t put you into place. I’ve had no problem doing that in the mosque, remember?.”

The second half of the comment caught Markus off guard. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Do not play dumb, zalameh,” Khalil smirked. “Although I guess skipping that post-secondary education may have slowed you down.”

“N-no, I’m smart…and I’m not Muslim.” Markus struggled to regain his footing, which was surprising for the lawyer of almost ten years. But then, something else began to alarm him. “Wait, what’s happening to my suit?!”

Right before the pair’s eyes, Markus’s suit had begun to dwindle away, pulling back towards his core. The jacket disappeared completely, while the starched button-up softened into a basic graphic tee. Markus’s pleading eyes searched for help but no one seemed to notice his pant legs curling up, becoming sweat shorts that reached halfway across the thigh. Finally, as his premium loafers morphed into beaten sneakers, Markus switched to the offensive.

“You’re doing this aren’t you, you camel-”

“Shh, brother,” Khalil placed a brown finger to Markus’s lips, shushing him. “You don’t want to make a scene, do you?”

Recovering fast, Markus ripped Khalil’s hand away, but then he noticed a new problem. “My-my arms! Why are they…”

“They’ve always been brown,” Khalil stated as they both followed the wave of melanin that flushed over Markus’s arms. “They’re as hairy as mine, but if you joined me in the gym more often than they’d be as buff and strong as mine too.”

Markus’s arms shrunk under Khalil’s comments, now more toned than muscular. “Wha-” 

“And that runner’s build too,” Khalil commented. “Sure you have abs and that thick treasure trail, but it makes you more boyish than man.”

“No, stop it!” Markus exclaimed. And yet no attention was given to him from the other passengers as his frame thinned out into a figure appropriate for a runner.

“At least you have that fat, bushy, Arab cock our family name takes pride in!” Khalil suddenly grabbed Markus’s crotch, both of them noticing the heftier weight. Markus did not understand how, but he could feel his white sperm rapidly evaporating within Khalil's grip.

“B-but I’m not Arab…and I’m a lawyer…and I’m-”

“You're my little brother,” Khalil finished, grabbing Markus’s face. “Praise Allah I have patience for your misunderstandings.”

Markus was going to comment, but instead was distracted by a foreign feeling on his chin, “Since when do I have a goatee…?”

“Since you could grow one, zalameh. You’ve wanted to be like me ever since you were little.”

Markus groaned. “I don’t...ow, my head...”

“By Allah you practically are like me at this point,” Khalil chuckled. “One could even confuse us for twins.”

“No…that can’t be…true.” Struggling, Markus got up. To his surprise, Khalil did not stop him–nor did anyone else for that matter–as he stumbled towards the bathroom. He had to see if it was true. Markus had to know if…

“Subhanallah!”

With the mirror in front of him, Markus was able to witness what Khalil had meant. Reflected back was a young Arab man, no older than 25. Attractive in a boyish way, but still held that Arab hair and funk that many brown men were proud of. Markus’s eyes began to water, but before he could cry his phone received a notification.

“Marwan, what’s taking you so long! We are about to take off!!"

Marwan shook his head, what was he just thinking about? It probably did not matter anyway. Luckily his older brother Khalil was looking out for him once again. Admiring his own brown, masculine beauty and quickly thanking Allah for it, Marwan left the bathroom to return to his brother. Khalil was beaming from ahead, eagerly awaiting him.