Fags Unite!

Monday, March 31st, 2008

No, I’m not bashing here.

Because I am a fag, and proud of it.

Don’t worry, guys, I still like the ladies, but I’m going to proudly call myself a fag.

Why, you ask? Because I am, and so is anyone else who opposes Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church. According to the Phelps clan, that is. It has nothing to do with homosexuality any longer. In Phelps’ eyes, a ‘fag’ is anyone not a member of his congregation.

This past weekend Topeka, Kansas was the scene of the first annual Million Fag March, a peaceful protest against Phelps and his cronies. The motto of the protest is that freedom of speech works both ways. Fred Phelps may have the right to picket when and where he pleases, and so do the rest of us.

While I believe a peaceful protest against the WBC is a valiant and wonderful idea, I have to question whether or not it will serve the purpose intended. While Fred Phelps and his family are nothing but an array of vile creatures, this protest may give them attention that they do not deserve.

I’ve always been a proponent of ignoring the WBC and its idiocy. The more attention given to them, the more of the spotlight they monopolize. What they want is media attention, and anything done to attract that attention is welcomed by them. Even protests against them. Especially protests against them.

Fred Phelps is an old man who’s probably going to be dead sooner than later. Depending on whatever religion you follow, he’s either going to burn in Hell or come back as a retarded squirrel. Or just not exist, if you don’t believe in an afterlife.

Once he’s gone, that Church is not going to have the momentum to go on like it has been. I don’t think his daughter, Shirley, will be able to garner the same following as he has and the ‘movement’ will die.

Let nature take its course.


Hey, Fucking Prayer Cures Diabetes!

Saturday, March 29th, 2008

Being diabetic, I’ve got to say, I’d like to know what Dale and Leilani Neumann know that I don’t. Maybe they’re on to something? Maybe I can stop taking twenty goddamn pills a day? Maybe I can eat cake?

Oh, wait:

“Everest Metro Police Chief Dan Vergin says Madeline Neumann died Sunday, and an autopsy determined the cause was diabetic ketoacidosis, which left her with too little insulin in her body. The chief says she had probably been ill for about 30 days, suffering symptoms like nausea, vomiting, excessive thirst, loss of appetite and weakness.”

Here’s the story if you’re so inclined

According to the Associated Press, these fuckwits kept praying right up until 11 year old Madeline stopped breathing.

I can take religious people and their beliefs. Really, some of my best friends and closest family members believe in some Imaginary Man in the Sky. Great– that’s fine. If faith gives you comfort, I’m all for it. Personally, I find my comfort in my belief in myself, my love for my family, perhaps (just perhaps) some harebrained Zen mumbo-jumbo, and occasionally at the bottom of a bottle of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey, but that’s just me.

I gotta tell ya, though, when you start thinking your Imaginary Man in the Sky is going to cure your kid of an incurable fucking disease, so much so that your way to deal with watching her suffer and grow increasingly ill is to just get more people to HELP you pray (because, clearly, your Imaginary Man in the Sky must be deaf or something if he can’t just hear you), you’ve clearly missed the boat somewhere.

However irrational I may think faith is, I’ll never knock anyone’s belief so long as, (A), they aren’t trying to shove it down my fucking throat, and (B), they aren’t using it as an excuse to harm someone else. Which, unfortunately, is usually the problem with most religious extremists (and even not-so-extremists).

The Neumann’s have two other girls, 13 and 16, which, thankfully, since the above story was written, the authorities have taken away from them. Which, considering the fact that diabetes tends to be, oh, I don’t know, fucking genetic, is probably for the best.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be sitting in a dark corner, by myself, rocking and mumbling incoherently. I’m gonna see if I can get rid of this stupid diabetes by chanting.