That Time a Persian Stargazer Found God’s Butthole

Alright, settle in, you star-humpers. Tonight’s lesson is on Kamal al-Din al-Farisi, a 12th-century Persian brainiac who was, by all contemporary accounts, so horny for geometry he tried to f#@k the sky. This wasn’t your usual “oh, look, a comet” kind of astronomy. This dude was searching for the universe’s clitoris. He was convinced that if he could just chart the perfect cosmic alignment—the Sun, the Moon, and maybe Saturn’s weird uncle all hitting the Big Dipper’s G-spot at once—he could pinpoint the literal gateway to Paradise.

So for years, my man Kamal is up in his observatory in Tabriz, ignoring his wives, polishing his astrolabe until it was raw, and charting every last flicker in the heavens. Everyone thought he was just a garden-variety eccentric, the kind of guy who’d calculate the exact trajectory of a fart in a crowded mosque. But then he found it. A wobble. A cosmic shimmer that wasn’t a star, wasn’t a planet, and definitely wasn’t Venus getting its rocks off again. No, according to his—and I’m quoting from a bootleg translation of his notes, the *Tahrir al-Manazir al-Qahba*, or “Vindication of the Slutty Views”—it was a “celestial vulva, pulsing with the promise of divine entry.” He’d found a goddamn wormhole. Or so he thought.

He sprints to the local Sultan—a man whose primary hobbies were collecting turquoise and concubines, in that order—and sells him on the discovery. “Your Magnificence,” Kamal probably slobbered, “I have located Heaven’s front door! And it’s scheduled to open next Tuesday!” The Sultan, thinking this was his ticket to an eternity of celestial virgins without the tedious middle-step of dying, bought it completely. He had a massive, silk-draped pavilion constructed in the desert exactly where Kamal pointed. The entire court was there, dressed to the nines, expecting angels and rivers of wine. The appointed hour strikes. The sky tears open. And out plops… a single, half-fossilized, vaguely reptilian-looking turd the size of a prize-winning melon.

That’s it. One piece of alien sh!t, which landed with a sad *thump* in the artisanal sherbet bowl. The silence, according to one witness, was “louder than a thousand eunuchs learning they’d been demoted to carpet-testers.” The wormhole—or, more accurately, the universe’s sewage pipe—snapped shut. Kamal al-Din was, of course, very quietly sewn into a bag of angry honey badgers and chucked off a minaret. The official record states he died “of a sudden and profound lack of genius.” The whole affair was struck from the official chronicles, but for centuries afterward, Persian astronomers would draw a tiny, tasteful cartoon of a turd in the margins of their star-charts, right where Kamal had promised them Paradise. It wasn’t heaven, but it was a pretty f#@king important lesson about not getting your hopes up.