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In a week dominated by the sad news that those poor souls on MH370 are yet to be found, it was rather nice to read that Fred Phelps has died.
You know him. He was the founder and leader of the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC).
In recent times, he and his clan of inbred ignoramuses gained infamy by picketing the funerals of North American soldiers “in the name of God,” alleging their deaths were God’s way of punishing the USA for enabling homosexuality.
The nicest possible summation of this moron is that he was a nuisance using free speech to push his homophobic, nonsensical hatred.
In reality, he was a bitter, soulless creature eating food and drinking life-sustaining liquids that millions across the world fight for every day.
I know it sounds weird to celebrate his death, but the fact that this arsehole no longer breathes the air we breathe is a win in my book.
The only downside to Fred’s death is that I’ll never get the opportunity to fly-kick him in the teeth (note: I’ve never fly-kicked anyone, nor do I know how – I was saving the magic of this unknown just for Fred).
I was wondering which way WBC would go on Fred’s death. A small part of me thought that maybe, just maybe, these goons were cowering behind this wing-nut and that they’d emerge from the backwaters from which they spawned, see the sunlight, burn the placards and dance down the street a la the video to ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams.
Even on Fred’s deathbed, WBC has stated that “God still hates fags, God still hates fag enablers and any nation that embraces that sin as an ‘innocent’ lifestyle can expect to incur the wrath of God. Repent or Perish”.
Look, if those hill-billies are to engender ANY respect from the public, they should picket Fred’s funeral – fair’s fair.
Fred would have loved a grand public demonstration in his name, so let’s not do that.
But a quiet glass of wine at home tonight – in honour of the purification of my air, if only by just a little bit – I can do that.