When a young artist innocently puts out a Muhammad comic, she must hire Josh Pratt to protect her from a world of hurt.
The title Muhammad burst from the cover in three-dimensional letters like a Cecil B. DeMille production. A lean, mean fighting machine in a white suit, wrap-around shades, beard and turban with a scantily-clad houri clinging to one leg, cigarette dangling from his lip, side-kicking a Hassidic Jew with skullcap and phylacteries two feet off the ground.
“It’s meant to be satiric,” Polly Furst said. “I’m Jewish myself.”
Polly thought putting out her own Muhammad comic was a good idea. It wasn’t. Now she needs a full-time bodyguard, Josh Pratt, ex-motorcycle hoodlum turned guardian of lost causes. Josh must not only protect her from jihadists, but from angry liberals during the height of the summer convention season. As they make the circuit from San Diego to Chicago, the assaults increase, culminating in bloody horror.
Guided by the biker code, Josh takes a terrible revenge.