Tuesday, February 21, 2006

God Hates Fred Phelps

No, really. We had coffee last weekend, and He said I should blog about this. The subject came up about Phelps and his legions of idiots who travel to funerals of soldiers killed in action and basically thank God that the soldiers are dead, seeing as how they defend a country that harbors homosexuals. I mentioned to God that I've blogged about Phelps before. But God (being that He's God and knows everything, which is why I refuse to watch Jeopardy with Him anymore) said there was a new twist to the whole story. There's a group of bikers who travel around to the same funerals, waving flags, shielding the mourning families from the sight of Phelps and his flock of the Chronically Stupid.

God shook his head, and mentioned that even in the current Bible -- a book that's been perverted and maimed by thousands of years of passing through human hands -- no where does it say he "hates fags." God didn't use the word "fag," of course, for God finds such epithets demeaning, not only to the intended targets, but to the speaker as well.

He did say the words, "Fred Phelps," though I could tell they left a bad taste in His mouth. I could be imagining it, but I could of sworn He stumbled over the "F" in Fred's name. "F -- Fred Phelps." Then He wrinkled the bridge of His nose (God has the cutest little nose!) and quickly changed the subject to Avril Lavigne, presumably so as not so spoil His appetite for His mocha breve and banana nut bread.

Whatever God's history with Fred Phelps, He was pretty definitive about not hating fa... uhhh... homosexuals (not even the queenie ones), and that He completely disavows anything that Phelps has to say on the subject. God did mention that He thinks that Fred Phelps spends way too much time thinking, talking and dreaming about all things homosexual, and He speculated aloud between sips of His breve as to why exactly that might be. Hmmmm....

God does like bikers though. As He finished up the last of his breve and blotted the banana nut crumbs up from the napkin with a moistened finger, I could have sworn I saw a flash of a Harley tattoo from under His sleeve.


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