I know you hate commas. You say they come in the middle of sentences and qualify them (they make you stop in the middle of the sentence to take a breath and possibly think about what you are saying) and indirectly make you think about reality. Also because commas remind you that you have to deal with life's cruel facts and you like to deny reality whenever you can.
But I have been waiting my whole life to see the Iranian team win the World Cup championships. I want to know: Are we going to win the World Cup championships next year? Or are we going to be exterminated in the first round? Please let me know now and reduce my anxiety.
The forever kind and loving Amoo Moji — who hates commas passionately — said with much kindness in his voice:
Salaam be rooy-e maahet amoo joon.
Humm! You are anxious about Iran's performance in the World Cup — after she (no doubt) decisively crushes Thailand, Bahrain, Iraq, and Saudi Arabia and qualify FOR SURE to the World Cup finals. No sweat.
Absolutely! We are going to be World Cup champions in 2002 and from then on forever until the end of the universe. No doubt whatsoever!
After winning the World Cup next year (all games 3-0 or better, including the championship game against Argentina), Iran is going to turn into a perfect state where religion will have its proper place in public life and the country's healthy economy will produce 160,000,000 well-paying jobs and the brain drain will stop. Furthermore Tehran's traffic problems will be solved forever.
Meanwhile our planet's pollution problems will go away, global warming will stop, Israel will no longer rape Palestinians and the brutal war of “civilized” humans against the poor and hungry people of Afghanistan (oops! I mean terrorism) will result in total and permanent eradication of all injustices and violence and no one will lie ever again.
AND finally the Earth is going to move just slightly off its axis so that there will be no more earthquakes, floods or other nasty things on our tiny and insignificant, yet wonder-ful piece of cosmic dust.
There will be no need for psychologists or religious preachers or reporters or philosophers or advertisers… they will all get real jobs. In other words everything in existence will be just peachy perfect my dear!
Feel better amoo joon? Aafarin bar to pesar-e khoob. I kiss your anxious forehead on which you have painted the colors of Iran's flag in order to show how much you would love to see Iran's succeed in the World Cup. Baarikallaa! Maashaallaah bar toh BILLIONS AND BILLIONS of times (as marhoom Amoo Carl Sagan used to say about the number of stars in the universe).
With love uncontaminated by any hint of selfishness whatsoever (and with no qualifying evil commas to remind anyone to pay attention to WHAT ACTUALLY IS),