So as most Americans have realized, there is a deep divide between our two major political parties today; deeper, arguably, then it has ever been. Hell, most of the world has noticed that we can’t get along enough to pass the simplest of matters through our congress anymore, much less the important shit. Is this because of a difference in ideals, morals, ethics or any other pretense that both parties like to invoke, I assume sarcastically? Continue reading
So Fred Phelps died Wednesday from what I only hope was a very painful and soul-shattering illness.
This is not a tribute. I’m not a believer in Hell, but I hope this piece of shit ends up there.
Brother Phelps was the founder of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. They’re renowned for their proliferation of christian messages like the following:
Made up almost exclusively of Phelps’ extended family, the WBC boasts only about one hundred members, joyously united in bigotry and vileness. It is not actually affiliated with any sane religion. (I’ve been to a Baptist church when I lived in the south. I thought they were nuts, but not evil.) As a matter of fact, Phelps considered it a great sin for anyone to preach of God’s love and forgiveness. Phelps once scornfully told a reporter “Can you preach the bible without preaching the hatred of God? The answer is absolutely not.” This paragon was certain that god had nothing but hatred and contempt for those who strayed from his version of morality.
These lowlifes used to crawl out of their holes and picket funerals of gays, waving nauseating signage in the bereaved’s faces. WBC first got national recognition for protesting the funeral of Matthew Shepard, a young gay man who was viciously beaten to death in 1998 by people who considered themselves christian.
Phelps’ followers also took to picketing the funerals of soldiers killed in Afghanistan and Iraq, interpreting these deaths as god’s judgment on America’s growing tolerance of gays. They even crashed celebrity funerals ‘cos publicity, yo? These people are fundamentally fucked-up and doctrinally disgustipating.
In celebration of a person’s life, I would normally suggest raising up your glass. Fred Phelps did not live a life worth celebrating. So how to commemorate the death of an evil, disgusting man?
T of V proposes that each one of you grab a person of the same sex and give them a passionate kiss, gay or not. Or at least hug a same-sex person. And may that be Fred Phelps’ last view of earth as he is dragged down to fucking hell.
So many times in life we fail, we fall, we lie broken. Speaking metaphorically now. Lurchingly, we pick ourselves back up time after time, and stagger forward some more on our life’s trail. We then plod on till we again fall. Each time we have to pick ourselves up it’s a bit harder, more strenuous, and the subsequent steps we take become more and more faltering, tenuous. Often we find ourselves merely slogging forward in anticipation of slipping backward again. And the next time we fall….will that be the final fall? Will we finally not be able to rise again? Should we even bother if the scant progress we make is inevitably going to be interrupted and pushed back by our next fall? Are we accomplishing anything? What’s the point? Continue reading