Two Arab mothers are reminiscing in a Café over a pint of warm goat’s milk. The older of the two pulls out her photo album and starts flipping through the pictures.
“This is my eldest son Mohamed. He’s 24 years oldâ€.
“Yes I remember him as a baby†says the mother cheerfully.
“He’s a martyr now you know†mum confides “A suicide bomberâ€.
“Oh so sad dear†says the other.
“And this is my second son Khalid. He’s 21â€.
“Oh I remember him, he had so much curly hair when he was born†says the other mother happily.
“He’s a martyr too†says mum quietly, “A car bomberâ€.
“Oh gracious me†says mum two.
“And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He’s 18â€.
“Yes†says the friend enthusiastically. “I remember when he started schoolâ€.
“He’s a martyr also,†says mum with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photographs and says……..
“They blow up so fast, don’t they?â€

That one's been on here a few times in differing virgins.