The Rev. Fred Felch — I mean, Phelps — is touring the country, protesting at funerals of soldiers who died in Iraq. Of course this douchebag has been doing this sort of thing for years, but usually he sets up camp at the funerals of people who have died from AIDS, not war. His ever-shrinking brain, now the size of a kidney bean, is now trying to somehow link the deaths of these soldiers to America’s tolerance of homosexuality. Um, whatever.
Maybe he’ll go away if people start laughing at him and stop letting him get under their skin. I mean, he’s a complete joke, an embarrassment, a one-trick pony. His extreme shenanigans will, in time, fade into obscurity if we allow it. His only aim is to shock and stir up our emotions, which his female spawn readily admits: “It’s going to shock and enrage every person who sees it. That is our goal.” Why do we let him press our buttons, which only feeds his fire? The media is quick to report on his latest doings because it makes for shocking reports, but it’s always the same crap: God hates fags, blah-blah-blah. I used to feel a fiery outrage whenever I read about him, but now I just sort of shrug it off as the ravings of a lunatic whose views will never amount to anything more. If he showed up at the funeral for someone I cared about, I can’t guarantee I’d feel the same way, but I would initially try to ignore him. Or maybe I’d just make a few “God Loves Fags” signs of my own. (Thanks to Critter for passing this story along!)